Shawn's shoulders hunched, coming up around his ears as a chilly breeze blew in off of the ocean, ruffling his short hair. A chill zinged down the back of Gus' own skull. Despite the cool gusts of air, the weather was actually pretty nice, with the pale sun overhead in a bright blue sky and the water a darker, richer reflection of that. However, Shawn's sullen expression didn't exactly make sense as a reaction to the temperature.

Gus sighed, and, as they stepped onto the pier, their footsteps sounding hollow on the wood, he said, "Okay, what's the matter with you?"

Shawn's face crinkled up into an expression of distaste. "Who says there's something wrong with me?"

"Oh, I don't know, not the sulking you've been doing all morning, or that face you're making like when Mrs. Randall's Shih-tzu pees on your shoes or-"

"Okay, I get it!" Shawn's mouth pinched into a tight line.

"Well?" Gus prompted when he didn't say any more.

"Nothing, I'm fine," Shawn said. His shoulders hunched again.

Gus rolled his eyes. "I didn't come out here to watch you sulk while I eat, Shawn."

"I am not sulking!" Shawn protested, his body language growing more animated than it had been all morning.

"Sure," Gus said, looking around at the buildings on the pier. "You keep telling yourself that. In the meantime: where are we eating?"

Shawn coughed. "Eating?"

"Yes, Shawn. That's why we came here. We discussed this hardly twenty minutes ago."

"Technically...I never said anything about eating."

Gus immediately began to get suspicious. Instead of looking back at him, Shawn's eyes focused on something ahead of them on the pier. Definite sign he was hiding something. One of his hands came up and he flashed a grimace in that direction, which he attempted to force into a smile. Gus' eyebrows rose when he followed Shawn's gaze and saw Henry not far ahead of them at the end of the walkway.

"You invited your dad?"

Shawn's head tipped to the side, that same grimace-smile still fixed on his face. "Well...technically, he invited us."

Gus smiled politely at Henry, meeting his wave with one of his own. And that was when he noticed the tackle box. And the fishing rods.

"'Technically', Shawn?" he said, voice sharpening.

Shawn flinched, lowering his voice as they approached and tried to explain as fast as he could. "He wanted me to come fishing with him. But you know how that always ends! I figured if you came along it might not be as bad. We can still eat, we're just going to have to catch lunch before we can eat it. No bi-"

"Shawn!"

Well, that explained the moodiness.

"I can't believe you-"

"Gus!" Shawn's hand caught around his arm, his eyes pleading. "Don't leave me out here all alone with him! He said he wouldn't help with any more cases if I didn't come! He didn't say you couldn't come along!" Shawn's eyes flicked back and forth between Gus', tacking on a silent, pathetic, "Please?"

Gus shook him off, scowling as fiercely as he could. "I'm not touching any bait."

Relief washed across Shawn's face and he clapped Gus on the shoulder. "I knew I could count on you, buddy!"

"And I'm still getting something to eat," Gus said, deftly removing himself from Shawn's grasp. "Now. I'll be back."

Shawn's face fell, but he didn't move to stop him. As he headed toward Moby Dick's, Gus heard Henry say with more than a little smugness, "You didn't tell him we were fishing, did you?"

~ * ~

By the time Gus returned with a box of fish and chips in hand, Shawn and Henry had staked out a spot at the end of the pier and set up. Henry was already fishing while Shawn sat on a cooler, struggling to get a small wriggling squid onto a long black hook.

"This is just wrong," he was saying. Immediately following that statement, he jammed the squid down on the hook, tearing it in half directly down the middle.

Gus grimaced; Shawn muttered, "Oh, god," covering his mouth with the back of his wrist and turned a vague shade of green. Henry turned, saw the mutilated creature, and rolled his eyes.

"Shawn. Do you think you can try not to destroy all of my bait? Those things aren't cheap you know," he chastised, lip curling with exasperation and disgust.

Looking pale, Shawn let the destroyed squid slip from his fingers and back into the bucket. "When PETA shows up on my doorstep tonight, Dad, I'm blaming you."

"Ooh, I'm scared now," Henry replied, his fingers waggling in little jazz hands to show just how afraid he was. "You know, the poor things wouldn't suffer so much if you did it right."

"How is it that I'm always doing things wrong, even when I'm not supposed to do anything?"

"Now, that's not entirely true," Henry said and Shawn muttered to his new squid, "Just mostly." The squid kept curling its tiny tentacles around Shawn's fingers and Gus could see the inner animal rights activist that Henry brought out in him going soft, his efforts to actually hook the squid only half-hearted.

"Gus-" Henry started.

"Oh, no," Gus said, shaking his head. "I have no opinion."

Henry stared at him. "Are you kidding me? You don't even-"

Gus wasn't about to back down, however. "I refuse to have an opinion when it gives either of you ammunition. You have enough without my help."

"I do not get-"

Gus cut Henry off with just a pointed look.

"There," Shawn said, letting go of the line. A squid now dangled from the hook. "Told you I could do it." Instead of looking pleased with himself, Shawn's face was contorted into a faint grimace, his eyes deliberately avoiding the lethargically wriggling tentacles.

Henry eyed the hooked cephalopod out of the corner of his eye. "Is it still alive?"

"...it'll wiggle," Shawn replied vaguely. Henry snorted.

A second later he tensed suddenly, his grip tightening around the rod. "I've got something!"

Gus moved forward despite himself to get a better look at the action. Shawn muttered under his breath, shooting guilty looks at the squid, as he worked to keep his line from tangling while he moved to stand beside his father.

Henry grunted as he fought to reel the fish in, the muscles on his arms straining. There was a huge splash in the water below that had Gus stepping back, his mouth opening in a little 'O', the flash of a tail and then, without warning, the line snapped free.

Crying out in surprise, Henry staggered backward, landing hard on his backside. Gus flinched instinctively as the pole whipped past his face. "Dammit!" Henry growled just as Shawn let out a sharp yelp. His rod dropped to the pier, clattering noisily on the wood.

"Nnnh--shit!" Shawn's hands clasped over his neck and he began breathing heavily through gritted teeth.

"What did you do?" Henry asked, glowering furiously at his traitorous pole, "Get a splinter?"

"Not funny, Dad!" Shawn replied, and Gus immediately set down his box of chips, recognizing the strained, annoyed pitch of Shawn's voice. Something hurt-pretty badly, too. Henry seemed to recognize it, too, because he turned, some of the irritation fading from his expression to be replaced by concern.

"Oh, god," Gus muttered, catching sight of the problem.

Shawn had his hands splayed in a protective, open-fingered arc over the left side of his neck, between which the enormous black hook could be seen protruding from. Blood trickled out from twin punctures in the flesh of his throat. Shawn's eyes were screwed shut, teeth bared in a pained grimace.

Henry took one look at him before muttering, "Crap," and stepping quickly toward Shawn, his hands coming up to gently cup the back of Shawn's neck and the hands he was using to guard the wound.

"Is that what I think it is?!" Shawn demanded and then made a little whimpering sound and swallowed, which only had him whimpering again. Gus was very glad he couldn't see more.

"Shut up for two seconds, would you, Shawn?" Henry snapped. He took Shawn's fingers to move them out of the way and Shawn jerked back, a defensive, whimpery noise slipping from his throat.

"No, no, don't touch it!" he cried shrilly.

Henry kept hold of his fingers despite of his reaction. "Shawn, just let me look at it. I won't touch it," he said, tone gentle, if a little impatient.

"Ow, ow, ow," Shawn whined as he reluctantly parted his hands. Gus grimaced and looked away.

Henry huffed in exasperation. "I'm not even touching anything, Shawn."

"That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt!" he shot back and then hissed.

Henry wrapped a hand around one of Shawn's to keep it from drifting back into his line of sight and peered critically at the wound. From what Gus could see over his shoulder, the hook had gone in and come back out, tiny rivulets of blood oozing from the holes it had left in it's wake. "Jeez, kid. We're gonna have to go to the ER."

"Do you-nnghhh-see why I don't like fishing now?"

Rolling his eyes, Henry said, "What happened to your noble fish-saving?"

"Screw the fish. I'm the fish now," Shawn said. The strain was starting to show in the lines of his face and in the lightening pallor of Shawn's skin. He was even more freaked out than they were.

Henry pulled a knife out of the tackle box and deftly cut the line still attached to the hook in Shawn's throat. "Just stand there and hold still, all right?" he said, holding out a hand, like that would somehow make Shawn more apt to obey. "Gus, help me gather up this stuff."

"Yeah, okay, Mr. Spencer," he agreed, glad to have something to do that didn't involve standing and staring at Shawn's neck and feeling queasy.

In just a few minutes they had everything gathered up and ready to go. Gus cast anxious looks at Shawn throughout the process, but Henry was single-minded, repacking everything with astounding speed. A few of the other fishermen and some of the other bystanders had gathered around Shawn, and it was a testament to how much pain Shawn was in that he completely ignored a brunette in a bikini trying to make sure he was all right. His skin had faded to the color of sand, the lines on his face multiplying two-fold.

"Dad," he said and his plea to get the hell out of here was clear in his voice.

"All right, Shawn, just a minute," Henry said, gathering the poles in one hand. He glanced around one last time and then said, "All right. Get moving."

They moved quickly down the pier, earning double-takes and horrified gasps from some of the passers-by. With Gus carrying the tackle boxes, it freed Henry up to linger close to Shawn, one hand brushing against his back.

"Unbelievable, Shawn. One day of fishing and somehow you're in exactly the wrong place at exactly the wrong time," he grumbled. "I swear, only you!"

"Yeah, because this is how I-nnffgh-wanted today to go. Kill a few-nnngh-innocent squid and then get hooked by my Dad."

"Shawn, if talking hurts, maybe you shouldn't be doing it," Gus suggested pointedly.

"Gus, please, I-" The toe of Shawn's sneaker caught on the edge of one of the boards beneath their feet and Shawn staggered forward, throwing his hands out to catch himself. Henry's hand closed a second too late, curling around empty air.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHGH!"

"Shawn?!" Gus and Henry dropped everything to the pier in a huge clamor, practically hurling themselves at Shawn's hunched over, moaning, and-fear caught in Gus' throat. Were those sobs?

"Shawn?" Henry demanded, dropping to his knees and pulling Shawn's head up despite the terrible moan it drew out of him. And then Henry swore.

Shawn's hands, grasping at his throat, moved for an instant and Gus suddenly understood, his stomach lurching violently. Blood was pouring from Shawn's neck like a fountain, soaking his neck and shoulder in red.

Gus lunged for the side of the pier.

As he heaved his half-finished lunch into the ocean, Gus heard a man shout, "Holy shit!" and then, "Here, take this!"

When he finally stopped heaving and turned around, there was a frantically murmuring crowd around Henry and Shawn and the latter had a bright yellow t-shirt (which would be an entirely different color in just a few seconds) pressed against Shawn's neck.

He was shivering and whimpering, his fingers clutching weakly at the sleeve of Henry's shirt. Red that hadn't been part of the design a few moments ago was splashed down the front of it.

There was a puddle of crimson on the pier, too, and streaks of it trailing drunkenly down Shawn's arm. More coating Henry's hands.

"Gus!" Henry barked, eyes wild, "Get the car, dammit!"

His stomach was still roiling around furiously, but Gus nodded and took off, sprinting as fast as he could. He was almost amazed when he made it to the car because his limbs felt like they were going to give out on him any second.

The moment he squealed to a stop at the end of the pier, a bystander yanked open the door and then Henry and a whimpering, terrifyingly pale Shawn were conveyed inside by a multitude of hands.

"Drive as fast as you can!" someone shouted. "Just honk the horn and don't stop!"

"I called the cops!" another voice yelled, "they're going to escort you!"

Henry was muttering over and over again in a low voice, "It's gonna be fine, Shawn, don't worry. You're gonna be fine."

"Santa Barbara Cottage-GO GO!"

The door slammed shut and Gus hit the gas his heart pumping so hard against his trachea that it hurt. "How?" he demanded breathlessly. Another part of him, numb from the shock, noted that the upholstery in the back seat was going to be utterly ruined.

"His sleeve caught the hook when he fell. Ripped it right out." Henry's voice got terribly brittle. "it nicked something important."

Swallowing hard, Gus felt a tiny modicum of relief when they shrieked around a corner only to have a police car-lights and sirens blazing-speed up beside them and then take the lead as the other cars moved to accommodate the emergency vehicle. Together they gained a little more speed. Gus had never driven so recklessly in his life.

His already frayed nerves only unravelled further at the sounds coming from the back seat. Shawn was making small, unnerving noises, whispering, "Da...Dad...Dad..." over and over in a quavering, fragile voice that was rapidly pushing Gus over the edge. He blinked furiously to try and keep his vision clear, his hands clenching ever tighter around the steering wheel.

"Shh, shh, it's going to be okay, Shawn," Henry was murmuring reassuringly. His voice was steady and calm and Gus envied his control.

"Nnuh-nuuh-no." Gus caught a glimpse of Shawn's hand wrapped around the material of the shoulder of Henry's shirt, loosening and tightening as he fought to keep hold of it and Gus sucked in a sharp breath and held it, blinking hard and forcing his eyes back to the road. Not now not now, god, not now. Get Shawn to the hospital, then freak out.

The sirens were all around them now, nearly drowning out Henry's voice. "Breathe, kiddo. You need to keep breathing."

"Nyuhh-"

Henry's voice was suddenly dangerously sharp. "Shawn!"

And then they were screeching into the hospital ER lane, brakes shrieking and tires squealing. Gus jerked the parking break on and turned to see Henry with Shawn slumped back against his chest, one of the older man's arms wrapped around Shawn's neck in what looked like a choke hold. His other arm was wrapped around his son's waist in some kind of freakish bear hug. Gus had never seen Shawn as white as he was now. The only thing that stopped him from lunging over the seats screaming his name was the fact that Shawn's eyelashes kept fluttering weakly, his lips twitching in soundless speech.

Henry looked up and for a split-second he could see the abject terror in his eyes. Then there were emergency workers pulling open the back doors, shouting at one another and trying to get answers from Henry all at once. They grabbed Shawn and Henry moved with him like the fishing line was still there, tying him to Shawn.

Gus shoved his way out of the car, nearly taking out a nurse trying to do her job. Oblivious, he pushed himself up, using the shoulders of those around him, struggling to keep sight of Shawn as he was manhandled onto a gurney. Finally all he could see was Henry's pale head just barely visible amidst the dozen or so ER workers racing along with the stretcher. Gus followed in their wake, but he couldn't understand anything they were saying. It all seemed like gibberish, just tense, barked sounds that didn't make any sense. His best friend was dying and they weren't even speaking English.

They flooded into the ER like a wave crashing onto the beach and Henry was shuffled away and pushed back, given looks and orders that Gus just could not understand and then it was just them, standing in the ER, breathing hard and staring at the violently swinging doors Shawn had just vanished behind.

Words came from Gus' mouth, but they were just as impossible to understand as those of the others. But he repeated himself again, and then again, and again, breathing growing faster and faster until they were just short little pants and he didn't understand why everything was so bright.

Henry Spencer pulsed, muffled voice matching the opening and closing of his mouth.

And then, abruptly, Gus realized he was passing out.

Like hell he was.

He immediately backed up, ignoring the way it felt like his legs were a thousand miles away, and didn't stop until his back hit something solid. He sat. Henry was giving him a look that was equal parts worried and incredulous, but he ignored that too, carefully counting each breath in and each breath out.

The light became more bearable and the stuffing in his ears began to dissolve.

"...Gus?"

He took another deep breath and gave one single nod. "I'm okay. Just-freaked out for a second. I'm okay now." His voice was shaking.

Henry didn't quite look convinced. "Are you sure?"

Gus nodded again, feeling it as everything grew more solid around him. "I'm sure." And when he looked up at Henry, really looking at him, he could do it without feeling woozy.

The elder Spencer looked as though he had tried to bathe in his son's blood. There were dark specks of it splattered across his face, his once Hawaiian-patterned shirt crusting and darkening down the front in a wide streak-his forearms mottled with the dark, drying stuff. Bright, painfully fresh blood covered his forearm where it had been pressed against Shawn's throat.

His hands were shaking.

Gus took another careful breath. "It was an accident, Mr. Spencer."

Henry snorted and his hands clenched into fists before he crossed them fiercely over his chest. "I'm not an idiot, Gus. I know an accident when I see one."

~ * ~

Six hours passed before anyone came out to speak to Gus and Henry. By then Madeline, Abigail, and Juliet had been notified and Gus couldn't shake the feeling that there should have been more people to inform. Both Juliet and Abigail had joined them at the hospital along with Lassiter, who seemed exceptionally uncomfortable as he watched the four of them cope with the stress.

Madeline wouldn't arrive until the next morning.

"Family of...Shawn Spencer?"

Gus immediately shot to his feet, only to sink back into the chair as his knees turned to Jell-O. Henry rose more slowly and waved a hand at the group. "That's us," he rasped.

The doctor nodded and stepped closer, glancing down at his clipboard briefly. "Let me begin by stating that Shawn made it through surgery with no further complications."

The others let out various noises of relief and Gus had to swallow hard, covering his mouth with his wrist to choke back a noise that probably sounded a lot like a sob. Oh, god. Oh, god, Shawn wasn't dead. It hadn't hit him until now that he had been building himself up for that announcement. He had been feeding himself the worst case scenario all day and now to hear that Shawn was okay-Gus felt sick with relief.

Finally, he managed to get a hold of his emotions and he managed to croak out, "So-so he's going to be okay?"

"Shawn is going to have to take it easy for awhile while the graft takes hold, but yes. Barring complications, I'm optimistic that Shawn will make an easy and full recovery."

"Thank God," Henry muttered, his voice still hoarse and it was a struggle for Gus to force back the excessive moisture in his eyes.

"When-when can we see him?"

"He should be coming out from the anaesthesia shortly, so if you'd like to head up and be there when he wakes up, I don't see a problem with that. We'll keep the visit brief, but I see no reason why you shouldn't be there."

With the assurance that Shawn was okay, that he was going to be okay, the questions grew more practical, focusing on his recovery and how best to expedite it. They were still discussing what Shawn was and was not going to be doing when he woke.

He began mumbling, just barely loud enough to understand: "Mm, da...Dad...make it-make it stop, Dad. Dad-"

"Sometimes people wake up with the same train of thought still running as when they went under," the doctor explained in a low voice.

"Shawn, I'm here," Henry said, moving to the bed. He put a hand over Shawn's arm, the other carding gently through Shawn's hair. He had been coaxed into cleaning up and putting on a spare pair of scrubs an hour or so into the surgery. "It's okay, buddy," he murmured. "It's stopped."

Shawn's eyes dragged open and Gus couldn't help it any more. He sniffed noisily and a tear streaked down one cheek, followed rapidly by another.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, kid," he said. "I'm here."

Shawn's eyes moved slowly around the room. He paused when he saw Gus and Gus managed a wobbly smile and a thick-sounding, "Don't ever scare me like that again, Shawn."

His eyelids began to droop again, but he murmured, "No more fishing, 'n you got a deal."