His senses were slow to return. Feeling was first. But it wasn't the agonizing pain that had pulled him into unconsciousness; it was an even more discomforting numbness. For the first time ever, his senses were failing him. The dryness of his mouth was the next sensation. It had been ages since he could remember anything passing his lips, specifically the pineapple smoothie he'd been enjoying in the Psych office while mulling over clues before driving to the storage yard. The strong smell of antiseptics pulled him from his memory of delicious goodness. For once, it was a welcome smell, much more welcome than the motor oil from the garage. As his mind focused more on the smell, the noise became apparent. The steady beeping that said he wasn't dead, despite the bullet wound, the head trauma, the blood loss, and his audition for stunt guy, his heart was still beating. He opened his eyes but couldn't make anything out. He resisted the urge to panic. Though it rarely happened, he felt off kilter when one of his senses was impaired, even though the others could more than compensate. He willed his eyes to focus faster. His desire to know what was going on quickly overcame his black oblivion.

When his vision was finally clear, he looked around. There was still a small amount of light filtering in through the window, which placed the hour around dusk. He had probably been out for about six hours; his math wasn't the most accurate-not having been paying much attention to the clock on the auto shop wall. As his mind calculated the passage of time, his eyes were drawn to the lone figure in the room.

Standing with his back to Shawn, facing out the window, was his father. Shawn noted his stiff posture. His gaze swept to the chair next to Henry. Sitting on it was a newspaper, one that had suffered a lot of abuse at the hand of its reader. Shawn also noted several disposable cups in the trash, the white Styrofoam ones you got in hospital cafeterias, which had most likely been filled with coffee at some point. His eyes returned to his father's back; the man had not left his side since he'd been found. As if Henry could feel Shawn's gaze on his back, he spoke, "You know Shawn, you've done some pretty stupid things in your time, but this by far takes the prize." He turned around as he spoke.

Shawn took in his father's face. His eyes were red, from holding back tears, and there were dark circles under them. He felt bad for keeping his father from his bed and he felt worse for worrying the old man. A big part of him wanted to offer his father comforting words about how he would be fine and promise to never do anything like this again. But they would both know that that promise would be more or less hollow, so why bother making it. Shawn lived his life on the edge; he pushed the boundaries and did things his own way. There was no room for rules or caution in his world, for the most part. Being at a loss for how to ease his father's worry, he did what he did best. "Come on, this isn't the stupidest thing I've ever done. What about the time I climbed in the dryer? Or the time I practiced my lassoing skills in the living room? Or that time…"

"Ok, maybe not the stupidest, but it definitely makes the top ten." Henry stopped his son from continuing. Thinking about his son's more minor indiscretions calmed him. When he'd received Gus's call, his heart had momentarily stopped. While he wouldn't say it out loud, Shawn was the most important thing in his life. He'd spent too many years estranged from his son, there had been too much bad blood between them. He and Shawn were just starting to get to know each other, just starting to have a relationship. Losing him was not an option. "How do you feel?"

Shawn took a minute to do an internal check. "Numb, mostly, everything's a little hazy. The pain is gone though, which, let me tell you, is a nice change." He stopped talking for a moment, trying to piece together his memories from after the car chase. "What happened? I remember Lassie complimenting me, and then I must have passed out from shock."

Henry suppressed a smile. Hearing Lassiter call Shawn 'detective' had been one of the proudest moments of his life. Of course, it had been followed by one of the scariest when Shawn's knees had given out and he'd crumpled to the road. Henry had moved quickly to Shawn's side to check on him, only to discover blood once again seeping from the hole in his shoulder. He had quickly removed the dirty, bloody rag from the wound. By this time, Gus had appeared at Shawn's other side, holding the first aid kit from his trunk. He quickly opened two gauze pads and handed them to Henry, who immediately began applying pressure. Shawn was unconscious, his forehead cold and clammy, the skin surrounding the wound on fire. With nothing more to do but wait for the ambulance, Henry had simply sat there holding his son, listening to Gus tell Shawn he would be fine and watching Juliet pace back and forth, her worried eyes never leaving Shawn's face.

"You passed out." The events rolled quickly through Henry's mind, "but it wasn't from shock. It was from a combination of blood loss and dehydration. You see after you sustain an injury, like say a gun shot, you're supposed to seek medical attention. Not go gallivanting through the forest for hours or…or performing acrobatics while speeding down the highway. You're lucky you didn't lose your arm." The words were harsh, but then again, they usually were when he was worried. And Shawn had had him worried.

"On the plus side, if I had, I could have joined the circus, travelled the countryside as The Astonishing One-armed Soothsayer." He knew his quip was not what his father wanted to hear. "I wasn't exactly planning on getting shot, Dad. And I asked the nice men with the big guns to mail me to your house, but they weren't very cooperative." There was a slight trace of anger in Shawn's voice, being held hostage did nothing for his morale.

"You never should have gone to that yard alone. You're not supposed to go alone, Shawn. That's why you have a partner. That's why we work with partners, so things like this don't happen. You could have died, Shawn. Do you get that? If we hadn't gotten to you in time, if that guy thought you were more of a liability than an asset…" Henry trailed off. The image of Shawn dead on the auto shop floor instead of that crook, stole his breath.

"If you hadn't taught me everything you had," Shawn injected. He had spent a long time hating his father for the way he'd raised him. Even all the success Psych had had over the last few years had not erased all the animosity he'd had for his father. But what his father taught him had saved his life. Teaching him to kick out the taillight had allowed him to tell Gus where he was. Teaching him how to lose a tail had bought Lassiter and the others some time to find him. Honing his observational skills had helped him to unravel Garth's secrets and get that call to Juliet. And all those weekends at the shooting range had allowed him to put two rounds into his captor's engine.

Henry's eyes shot up to lock on his son's. He could hear the gratitude in Shawn's voice. He'd never heard it there before. Shawn had never once, in over twenty years, seemed the least bit grateful for the skills that Henry had spent years imparting on him. But it was there now. He wouldn't say the words out loud, but for once, Henry could read it on his face. For a second, Henry was too choked up to reply. He took a second to listen to the reassuring beep of the heart monitor before opening his mouth again, his lips tilted in a smug smirk. "I taught you not to get shot in the first place."

The gruff tone of Henry's voice said he was forgiven for scaring his father. He gently nodded his head, trying not to move too much. He allowed his father that moment of triumph before replying. "I'll remember that one for next time." Henry's smile disappeared as Shawn's grew.