Disclaimer: I don’t own Psych. I never have, and alas, I never will.

A/N: Thank you Olivia94. You have saved me once again from my run-on sentence addiction lol! You’re the best!

Chapter 5: Rest in peace…in a hospital-not likely

Henry paused just outside the curtain partitioning around his sons bed. Slowly he eased his way in keeping his eyes on the tile floor as he made his way over to the side of the bed. A nurse had set a plastic chair inside for him to sit on, and in a few minutes he planned to do just that.

He tore his gaze from the floor to his son’s feet, slowly letting his eyes scour over the form of his son. He took stock of everything he could see, and his imagination conjured up images of what he couldn’t.

His eyes reached Shawn’s chest, but he hesitated before looking at his son’s face. He hated the way the respirator consumed his son’s features, and the hiss it emitted as it helped him breathe made his skin crawl, but he was breathing. That’s all that really mattered in the end. The heart monitor beeped with every beat of his son’s heart. His boy was alive, and for that he was eternally thankful.  

He lifted his non-restricted hand to brush a few strands of mussed hair off his son’s face, careful of the angry looking bruise with cuts running through it on his temple.

“Ah, kid,” he whispered, “you scared the life out of me. I probably lost another ten to fifteen years on this incident alone.”

He reached over to pull the chair close to the bed and let out a heavy sigh as he let his body sink down and relax into the conforms of the plastic. Slowly, he grabbed his son’s uninjured hand and began to gently stroke his fingers. He made a mental note on how much warmer his skin felt compared to the last time he had touched the kid. Beside the river, he was cold to the touch. It had felt like he was holding a corpse, not his child.

“I can’t lose you, kid,” he murmured, shaking the memory from his mind. “I never want to lose you. I don’t think I could bear it if I did.” 

Thirty minutes later, a nurse apologetically told him visiting hours were over. He didn’t go home though. He was too tired to make his way across town. Instead, he found a decent couch in a nearby waiting area, lay down, and fell asleep.

Sometime later he would wake up in a cold sweat with several other people in the room staring at him strangely. This would alert him to the fact that the shout in his dream must have passed over into reality. Awkwardly excusing himself, he would go find his son’s room once again, sneaking  in, uttering the words “consequences be damned” for the second time in a twenty-four hour period. There he would fall asleep, holding his son’s hand, and in the quiet stillness next to his son, he wouldn’t dream again.

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“Mr. Spencer?”

Henry started awake, and then hissed as the sudden movement awoke aches that were lying peacefully dormant until now.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have quite the crick in your back from sleeping in that chair.”

“I’ve got aches in more places than my back, Doc.”

Dr. Wesley gave him a look of sympathy. “Brenda the night nurse said you sneaked back in a few hours ago, and she couldn’t bear to make you leave again. She’s an old softy.”

“I’m glad she was on duty then.”

“Why don’t you go down to the cafeteria for some breakfast while we perform some tests? We need to see if young Shawn here can have the respirator removed.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s almost 9:30. Brenda says she thinks you’ve been asleep for at least five hours.”

“Sounds about right. When can I come back up?”

“Let’s just say no sooner than an hour, and maybe when you return your son will be breathing on his own accord.”

Henry nodded while easing himself out of the chair and slowly slipped out of the curtain, bumping into two nurses as he did. The younger one brushed passed him hastily, while the elder lady he assumed was Brenda patted him on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly.

“No problem, dear. I’m sure Dr. Wesley already told you I’m a big softy.”

“Nothing’s wrong with that,” he responded, flashing her a grateful smile.

“No I suppose there’s not.” She grinned, and then she was gone.

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Two hours later, the elder Spencer found himself back, staring at an empty hospital bed in confusion. His brow knit in worry. He backed out of the small space, stumbling over to the nurse’s station.

“Where’s my son!?” he demanded.

“Sir?” the startled nurse gasped.

“My son, he was just in there two hours ago. His bed is empty. Where is he?” he explained harshly, pointing in the direction of his son’s previous location.

“And what is your son’s name?”

“Shawn, Shawn Spencer.”

The nurse pursed her thin lips, while she typed the information into the computer’s data base. Moments later she looked up and smiled. “There’s nothing to worry about, sir. It says here that your son has just been moved to a private room on the third floor.”

The relief on Henry’s face was evident as he let out the breath he had been holding. “What room?”

“Number 342.”

Without even a thank you, Henry was gone, racing down the hall towards the elevators. He skidded to a stop in front of the silver doors, slapping the arrow button as he did so. He watched the numbers lighting up one at a time before the familiar ding brought the doors sliding open. He quickly moved inside and pushed the 3 on the panel beside him. A few minutes later, he was in the halls again glancing at the plaques, reading the numbers until his eyes came to rest on the desired 342.