Please be advised that this chapter includes a description of the physical injuries of a minor. Read at your discretion.

I (the author) owe poor Shawn an apology ...

"Shawn, I'm not the doctor who was treating you in the hospital – obviously you know that – so you'll have to bear with me. I'm just going to ask you some questions to get a clearer idea about your injuries. That okay?"

Though Jonathon knew that to Shawn it wasn't okay, he saw Shawn nod out of the corner of his eye.

Dr. Henshaw continued. "So, I understand you were assaulted. That was in February?"

Shawn shot him an unsure look, prompting Jonathon to pipe up: "Yeah. Couple months ago, now." This fact alone was difficult to wrap his head around.

The doctor was scanning a document in front of him. "At the time, Shawn was treated for hypothermia. And there's a note from Dr. Zimmerman about him having pneumonia. Was he treated in hospital for that?"

Jonathon sat forward in his chair. "That's news to me. No one ever mentioned pneumonia." He said, glancing at Shawn. He appeared to be confused – probably as confused as Jonathon must have looked.

Dr. Henshaw nodded. "Pneumonia can be a complication when someone is recovering from hypothermia. If he was feeling shortness of breath, pain or fluttering in his chest, that might've indicated infection in the lungs. Shawn, have you been having any trouble breathing?"

Shawn frowned. "Not really. My ribs hurt."

"The ribs were broken, correct?"

"Yeah."

"Any cough?"

"No."

"Fever?"

"No."

"Low energy?"

Jonathon interjected. "He doesn't sleep much. He gets night terrors. I've taken his temperature and he does occasionally have a fever."

He could feel Shawn's eyes on him and knew he was wearing a look of betrayal.

The doctor made a note on his pad and returned his eyes to Shawn. "How often would you say?"

"Well, I think it's only been over 100 a couple times. The last time was maybe a few weeks ago."

"Okay." The doctor seemed less concerned by this news. "Any sweating at night, Shawn?"

"No," Shawn replied, but a look from Jonathon made him rethink his answer. "I mean, I guess. Sometimes when I'm dreaming, I wake up and my shirt's soaked."

"Enough that you have to change your pyjamas? Or your bedsheets?"

Shawn shot a look at Jonathon before he answered. "I've had to change my shirt I guess."

Jonathon nodded. He was omitting the handful of times when he had to remake his bed with fresh sheets after waking Shawn from a nightmare. Though it was maybe unwise, he opted not to mention it to save Shawn the embarrassment.

"Could that have to do with having pneumonia?" Jonathon inquired.

The doctor shook his head. "I don't think so. Shawn's been through a trauma and that's likely what's causing the night terrors and the sweats. And a low-grade fever isn't usually a cause for concern. They would've tested him for pneumonia by sending him for a chest x-ray, and I'm sure they would've done that because of his injuries. I can see if I was sent a copy, but regardless I want him to do another one so I can see how his ribs are healing."

"And your jaw got broken, too, I see." Henshaw added, wheeling his chair in closer to the kid. "Raise your chin for me, Shawn."

As Shawn complied, the doctor leaned toward him and gently angled his chin toward the light as he examined the left side of his jaw.

"Still pretty bruised." With his thumb, he applied light pressure over the area causing Shawn to wince. "That hurts, huh? I'm sorry, bud. It's still swollen, too."

Turning to Jonathon, he asked: "They didn't operate on it, did they?"

Jonathon shook his head. "They said it was a minor break and he wouldn't need screws. Is it not going to heal on its own?"

Instead of answering, the doctor turned his attention back to Shawn. "On a scale of one to ten where ten is the worst pain you've felt in your life, how bad was it when I pressed on it just now?"

Shawn shrugged. "I don't know. Seven?"

Jonathon felt like he'd been punched himself. How didn't I know he was in so much pain?

The doctor turned Shawn's chin toward him and took his face in both hands.

After a few seconds, he asked him to open his mouth as wide as he could. Slowly, Shawn's mouth opened, and as he did so, his eyes shut tightly.

"Does that hurt?"

"Eight."

"Okay. Close, buddy." While he continued studying his face, Shawn kept his eyes closed. "His jaw isn't aligning. I can tell just by looking at him. Are you able to chew?"

Shawn opened his eyes but stared down. "Kind of. On the right a bit."

"Any loose teeth?"

Shawn seemed alarmed at this question and looked up. "I don't think so."

Henshaw smiled. "Any baby teeth left?"

"No, I think I had most of them knocked out when I was seven." Shawn didn't shy away from the doctor's gaze this time. He wasn't ashamed of the violence that he had just suggested happened to him; but when the doctor glanced in Jonathon's direction, Jonathon looked away.

Henshaw stood and washed his hands in the sink. When he sat back down, he replaced his hands on Shawn's cheeks and told him: "I'm going to take a look. Just relax your jaw. Don't try to open your mouth. I'm just going to open your lips with my fingers here." He said this while doing the action. "I'm lifting up your lips just a little. Tell me if this hurts you and I'll stop, okay?"

Shawn said nothing.

"Doing okay, Shawn?"

"Mhmm." He mumbled, which was evidently the best he could offer in response at the moment.

"I'm just looking at your gums. I'm going to try and look at the back here. And I'm sorry in advance. I know this is your sore side. I'm going to slide my finger inside a little and pull your bottom lip down so I can take a look. Is that okay?"

"Mhmm."

"Good man." Henshaw was carefully examining Shawn's lower gumline. "So that must've hurt. Did you see a dentist when it happened?"

Shawn started to shake his head but stopped himself and instead grunted: "Uh uh."

Henshaw paused. "Have you ever been to a dentist, Shawn?"

Shawn smiled, forcing Henshaw to drop his hands from his mouth. "Nope."

The doctor grinned back. "Well, things look pretty good anyhow. I see some scar tissue and you're actually missing a couple adult teeth in the back there. But on the bright side, no sign of your wisdom teeth yet so there's one less problem on your immediate horizon." He winked.

Henshaw rose again to wash his hands and when he sat down, he wheeled himself back to his desk.

"What medications are you taking?"

Shawn shrugged. "Nothin'."

The doctor raised his eyebrows and looked at Jonathon to confirm this was the case.

Jonathon nodded. "He refuses to swallow pills. They had him on Prozac, Ambien, and uh Tylenol 3 in the hospital."

"Yeah, well they'd hold me down and practically shove it down my throat."

"No, they didn't Shawn. It was through IV." Jonathon said, remembering reluctantly that they did have to restrain him once or twice but that was to sedate him. He spoke to the doctor: "They wanted him to keep them up when he was discharged, and he gagged them down the first couple days but that was it. I tried crushing them up and putting them in orange juice but then he said it was making him nauseous. I think it was the codeine. But he wouldn't take anything after that."

"Shawn," Dr. Henshaw sighed. "You've got to start swallowing pills. I know it's hard, but it'll help."

Shawn crossed his arms. "No, it's not just that. I don't want to feel that way. All slow and tired and numb."

"You mean the antidepressant and sleeping pill made you feel that way?"

Shawn nodded.

"How are you feeling since being off them? Are you still feeling depressed or having suicidal thoughts?"

The kid dropped his gaze again and shrugged. "I don't feel like I did anymore. I just want to move on with it."

Henshaw clicked his pen a few times, watching Shawn. "Okay. How about this? We'll make a deal. We won't put you back on those, but you're going to have to take an anti-inflammatory so we can take down some of the swelling. It'll also help with the pain. We need to get you eating again. So, one pill, three times a day. Can you do that for me? Do we have a deal?"

Arms still crossed over his chest, Shawn looked unsure.

Reading him, Henshaw continued laying down the law. "If not Shawn, here's what's going to happen. This is all so you start eating and put some weight on. If you can't, we're going to have to readmit you to the hospital. We'll need to put in a feeding tube. We can't let you starve yourself, okay?"

Shawn thought about it and finally decided to agree. "Deal."

The doctor held out his hand and Shawn shook it.

"Alright." He scribbled something on his prescription pad. "I'm prescribing Naproxen. It should help reduce the swelling. I'm also going to refer you to an oral surgeon. Your jaw may need to be reset."

"Can't you just do it?" Shawn asked to Jonathon's surprise.

The doctor stopped writing and levelled with him. "I want to leave it to the professionals, Shawn."

"Why? I thought you were a professional." Apparently, Shawn had warmed up to this man and wasn't prepared to be passed off.

Henshaw was trying not to smile. "I am but I'm a general practitioner. An oral surgeon specializes in things like what you've got going on. They're a lot better at what they do. And look. You've already been dealing with a lot of pain. It can only get better from here, alright?"

Shawn didn't say anything. He didn't look thrilled, but he seemed to be finished arguing with him.

"Alright. Can I get you to sit up on the exam table?"
When Shawn didn't budge, he elaborated.

"I want to take a look at your ribs and listen to your heart and lungs if that's okay."

"No."

"Shawn," Jonathon said in a warning tone.

"He said 'if it's okay.' I thought I get a choice."

Jonathon leaned toward Shawn and rasped: "Knock it off."

He glowered back at him. "What?"

The doctor waved a hand in Jonathon's direction as though signalling for him to lay off. "That's fine. We can do this right where you are for now."

Shawn seemed satisfied.

The doctor picked a stethoscope up off his desk and slung it around his neck. Once again rolling himself in his swivel chair up close to Shawn, he ushered him toward him. "Let's bring your chair out from the wall. There you go. Sit forward if you can, alright?"

Jonathon knew it would've been a lot easier if Shawn had just done what Henshaw had asked. This doctor's patience was incredible.

"Let's have a look at your ribs. Could you remove your shirt, please?"

Slowly and carefully Shawn pulled the t-shirt over his head. Though he seemed to be in pain, neither man moved to help him. Instead, the doctor's eyes were pouring over the file on his desk. It was a point of protecting Shawn's dignity. For Jonathon, it was that and knowing from experience that Shawn would just recoil and bite his head off for trying.

Shawn's naked torso was pale and gaunt. His collar bone stuck out over his protruding sternum and his ghastly thin arms fell reflexively around his middle, shielding himself.

"Just rest your arms at your sides, Shawn." Dr. Henshaw said, leaning in to get a look.

From his spot next to Shawn, Jonathon could already see the bruising on his abdomen and down his side while he was still struggling with his shirt. It had healed quite a bit since he last saw it – which must've been while Shawn was still in the hospital – but a deep red colour appearing almost rash-like now dominated what once was an ugly black and blue.

His back was a whole other story. The bruises wrapped all the way around him like a belt and carried down his right hip where the bruising had started to yellow and fade. The rest of his back was covered with dark lines: welts that had scarred and would never disappear. Some were wider than others. One or two crossed over another, marking him with a long and narrow X. But for the most part, they all were angled the same: from his left shoulder to his right hip. The person who strapped him was right-handed.

The middle of his lower back was the worst. The skin was discoloured and uneven, and Jonathon guessed it must have been an open wound the size of a golf ball before it healed over, likely from a belt buckle. The stripes continued down the small of his back to the waistband of his jeans. It was apparent his buttocks bore the same marks.

Once Jonathon had looked, he couldn't tear his eyes away. He stared on horrified that someone could've made such a mess of the poor kid's body. He remembered seeing those scars for the first time when he took Shawn to see Nicky all those months ago to report Chet. At that time, it enraged Jonathon and as he stood by letting Nicky photograph Shawn's injuries, he made plans to improve Shawn's quality of life and to protect him. Now, those ugly scars stared back at him for a second time and he felt disgusted. Disgusted because despite all those plans, the marks were still there and weren't ever going away. And he hadn't protected him.

Jonathon wanted to cover him up and he was fighting the urge to drape Shawn's sweatshirt – which he was still holding on his lap – over Shawn's shoulders. He wanted to smooth his hand over Shawn's hair, to apologize to him, to tell him that he was going to be okay. But he knew he shouldn't do any of those things. Instead, he stayed silent, watching in disgust and waiting for the doctor to say something.

"This is quite the break, kid." Henshaw said in a voice that sounded different from before. "Have you been icing it?"

Shawn grimaced and looked away as the doctor prodded his abdomen gently. "Not really."

"You need to start doing it regularly. You can buy ice packs now that have a belt attached so you don't have to hold it to yourself. That should make it easier for you. Just do twenty minutes on a few times a day."

Still focussed on the wall beside him, Shawn muttered a low: "Okay."

"Have you been doing anything to aggravate it? Sports? Pushing or pulling activities? Horseback riding?"

Shawn smiled at the last question. "No. Just running drills in P.E. I guess."

Jonathon had forgotten Shawn was even taking P.E. this semester. Shit.

"Let's see if we can get you out of P.E. then, okay?" Henshaw said this while looking at Jonathon. He shouldn't have had to say it.

"Of course." Jonathon croaked, meekly.

Dr. Henshaw placed the ear tips of his stethoscope in his ears and then stood to reach the head against Shawn's chest. "Can you take a deep breath for me?"

When Shawn's chest rose only slightly before it fell, he asked again: "Deep breath?"

Henshaw smiled. "I need you to go a bit deeper, Shawn. Like this." He stood back and took a long drag of air into his lungs. "In through your nose and out your mouth." He exhaled a rushing gust of wind.

He returned the stethoscope to Shawn's chest and listened as Shawn filled his lungs with air. "And out."

As he released a shaky breath, a groan came out with it. Shawn was gritting his teeth and his eyes had suddenly teared over. "That hurts!"

"Scale of one to ten?" He asked,

"Ten. Stop making me breathe!" Shawn said, wincing as Henshaw placed the chest piece in a different position on his breast.

"You need to breathe, Shawn." Jonathon frowned, wishing he could be as lighthearted about it as Henshaw.

"Yeah well, I don't usually breathe like that or sit up this straight."

"Try this." Linking the stethoscope around his neck, Henshaw slipped his hands under Shawn's elbows and raised his arms over his head. "This'll open up your airways a little."

"Just relax." He added while Shawn shot Jonathon an impatient look. "One more big breath, okay? Any better?"

Shawn's face still wore a pained expression as he exhaled. "Yeah. A bit."

Resting a hand on Shawn's shoulder, the doctor brought him forward and placed the chest piece on his back between his shoulder blades. "Just breathe normally." He said quietly and the doctor's pale face made Jonathon wonder briefly if his instructions were intended for himself.

Henshaw was getting his first look at Shawn's back and it clearly wasn't what he'd expected. After a few seconds, he put the stethoscope back around his neck, took a step to Shawn's side, and asked him to lean forward.

"Do these hurt?" He asked softly, running his fingers over a welt below his arm.

Jonathon watched Shawn's face. His eyes were shut, and he refrained from responding with anything but a shrug. His fingers were interlocked behind his head. He was merely waiting for it to be over.

Henshaw then laid his hands on the upper part of Shawn's arms and guided them down to his sides. For a moment he seemed to be frozen there, staring down at the boy. There was a long enough pause that Shawn turned his head back to peer up at him.

The second he did it, he was told to lower his head again. Henshaw gripped the base of his head and tilted it toward him. His fingers combed through his hair and separated it. He was looking for something, something that caught his eye. Finally, he stopped pushing tufts of hair apart and held a section back as he surveyed it.

"How long ago did your head get split open?"

He had found the same scar on the boy's scalp that Jonathon had the first time he caught him sleepwalking. It was thick and the length of a finger.

Shawn didn't answer his question, but the doctor didn't ask again.

He continued searching Shawn's head and worked his way to Shawn's hairline. He pushed back his bangs and located yet another scar along the length of his temple. It was from Chet throwing him through a sliding glass door and it had opened up and required stitches after the assault. The stitches had long dissolved.

Eventually, the doctor let his hands drop, untangling them from Shawn's thick, brown hair. He moved back over to his desk but didn't sit down.

"Can I put my shirt back on now?" Shawn asked, hugging himself. His small body was layered in goosebumps.

The doctor ran a hand over his mouth. "Actually, I need you to do one more thing for me before you go. I'm going to get you to hop up on the table really quick so I can feel your belly for any swelling. Then I'll give you a gown to change into and I'll do a quick exam. Then an x-ray and you'll be free to go."

Shawn's mouth was gaping open, ready to retort before he finished. "That sounds like a lot of things."

Jonathon agreed with him. They'd already been there a while and the kid wasn't getting any more tolerant.

The doctor squinted at the clock on the wall. "I can have you out of here in twenty minutes."

"Is it okay if I just don't want to?" He sounded like he knew it was hopeless, yet he still asked.

"The other option is you come back another day, but Shawn," his tone grew more exacting. "It'll have to be in a couple days max."

"Jon?" Shawn was looking at his guardian like he could make the doctor change his mind.

"Take a minute to think about it, okay? I'll be right back." Henshaw said, nodding at Jonathon before slipping out the door.

Shawn leaned back in his chair and hugged himself tighter. His lips were beginning to tremble as he griped. "This is so stupid. Why do I have to do all this?"

"Come here." Jonathon sighed, holding out his sweatshirt for him and wrapping it around his shoulders like he wanted to do before.

"I want to go home."

"But do you want to have to come back on Friday? That's what's going to happen if we leave now."

"No."

"This guy knows what he's talking about, Hunter. He's trying to get you feeling like your old self again." Jonathon wasn't sure if that was the right way to put it, but it seemed to make sense to Shawn.

He groaned. "It better not take more than twenty minutes."

Thanks again for reading. I've already written the next chapter. Just hoping to plan out 18 before I post again. Should be soon.

Please let me know what you think. Happy Friday!