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Author's Chapter Notes:
Here's a new oneshot! All of a sudden I wondered what it would be like if Henry was forced to drive Shawn's motorcycle. So, this takes place in season 1, or right after Shawn gets his bike back from Lassiter (I think that was season 1 at least).

Hope you guys like it and I might see you soon, who knows what my muse will be up to, haha. Have a happy holidays to those who celebrate and I'll most likely see you in the New Year. :)

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor even remotely know how to ride a motorcycle. I googled it. Apologies if it is blatantly clear that I do not ride a motorcycle. lol

Shawn pulled up to the side of the lonely stretch of road, sun high in the sky, a grin plastered happily and oh-so-passive-aggressively on his face. He parked his bike next to his father's truck, which was haphazardly pulled to the side of the road with the hood flipped open and an angry old man glaring at him with hands on his hips.

Shawn shut off his engine, giving his beaming smile to his father as he took off his helmet. "Hey, Dad!"

Henry just shook his head, dusting his hands off, where Shawn could see oil stained all over them. "You're still riding that thing?"

"You were there," said Shawn, patting his bike affectionately. "Lassie got it back for me and everything. Of course I am. And I don't think you're in the position to be judging my mode of transportation when yours couldn't even make it down the road."

Henry had called him nearly an hour ago with instructions to pick up extra jump cables from the house. Apparently something went wrong in the truck, and Henry's jumper cables weren't working, so he'd asked Shawn to bring his extras.

"At least people can't hear me coming from three miles away," muttered Henry. "You're playing detective now and you think that's a suitable vehicle?"

Shawn sighed. "You want the cables or not, Dad?"

Henry nodded, gesturing for them and dropping the mini lecture. Shawn swung his leg over the bike, pulling the backpack off his back to get the cables. He handed them over.

"Great, now get in the truck," said Henry, walking the cables back over to the car. "When I say so I want you to try to start it."

Sighing audibly, Shawn did as he was told.

As Shawn got in the driver's seat, Henry untangled the cables and paused.


Shawn looked over the dashboard at his father, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "What?"

"This," said Henry a little too calmly, "is one jumper cable," he lifted it, "and this," he lifted the other, "is MY HOSE."

Shawn blinked. He'd grabbed the first two cable-looking things he could find in the garage. He could have sworn they were both jumper cables.

But there was the evidence in his father's white-knuckled grip: one jumper cable and a garden hose.

Shawn swallowed.

Attempting to play it off, he laughed nervously. "Ah, that's what I get when I do you a favor while calling into the radio for concert tickets."

"That's why it took you forever to pick up?!" roared Henry.

"What?! If it makes you feel better, answering your call drained my battery so I couldn't call back!"

Henry growled aloud, throwing the cable and the hose on the ground. "I need two jumper cables, Shawn!"

"Just call AAA," said Shawn. "Unless you want to push your car six miles. Why were you fishing all the way out here anyway?"

"Fine." Henry dug his cell phone out of his pocket, muttering some other choice words. He pressed a button on the device, then swore again and raised it higher.

Swore again.

"Damn it!" He walked a few feet away. "I had signal when I called you!"

Shawn was beginning to feel a little bad for the guy. "Look, dad," he said, a bit more sober. "I'm sorry I brought the wrong thing. I can just give you a ride to the nearest gas station so you can pick up what you need."

Henry stopped trying to look for signal. He gave Shawn an incredulous look. Turned it to the bike, and then back to Shawn. "On that?! No way in hell."

"I said to a gas station, not Hell. Though if there was a Hell, this sure looks like the highway to it," said Shawn, giving the bare stretch of road a raised brow, only to see his father's very unamused look. Shawn sighed, and flicked the steering wheel of the truck. "This piece of crap doesn't even start up! It's not like I'm asking you to drive my bike! I have an extra helmet—for when Gus finally gives in—that you can use."

"I am not riding that death trap!" said Henry firmly.

"So you'd rather walk? Or hope that AAA's doing some round trip around Santa Barbara to look for fishermen who have faulty jumper cables?"

"The cables would have worked fine if my son knew a damn thing about cars!"

Shawn did know about cars, and he really had been distracted when he picked up the cables in the dark. What he wanted to respond with was well maybe you shouldn't keep a garden hose wound up next to a set of extra jumper cables but he didn't feel like seeing Henry's face get any redder.

"Dad," said Shawn, opting to shed the jokes for once. "Just let me give you a ride. We'll never have to talk about it again."

"Absolutely not!"

Shawn's brows kneaded. "Dad, it's almost night, and I can get us there in twenty minutes."

"I said no, Shawn!"

Irritated now because he doesn't offer his father favors often, and damn it he should accept them, Shawn pushed open the door, beginning to say, "Dad, just—" as he stepped out—

—only for his jacket to catch in the hinge of the door, making him miss his footing. With half a yell cutting off the rest of his sentence, Shawn attempted to land cleanly, but didn't. He rolled his ankle on the landing, making him fall and hit his head with a clang on the metal of the door.


Head pounding, Shawn blinked as his vision jarred. Suddenly there was Henry's face, anger gone, rare concern filling its place.

"Ow," commented Shawn after the world stopped spinning.

"Shawn, are you all right? How the hell did you—nevermind."

Henry slowly pulled Shawn up off the ground. Shawn's head pounded, but didn't hurt as much as his ankle.

"Man," whined Shawn.

"What?" asked Henry, that concern back.

"That's my driving foot," he complained.

Henry suddenly started poking and prodding at it, making Shawn hiss. "Ow—Dad! Stop!"

"Looks like it's sprained," said Henry. "Damn it, Shawn!" he said suddenly, anger back. "I already have one broken thing to fix!" He then muttered something that sounded remarkably like I knew I should have called Guster.

"As touching as it is to be called a thing of yours," said Shawn with a tight roll of his eyes, "this really hurts. I could use some ice or something." He touched the throbbing spot in the back of his head, wincing when he pulled back his fingers, which were tipped a little with blood. "And a bandaid," he added.

Henry sighed. "Let me try to find service for this stupid thing," he said, taking his phone back out. "I'll see if we can get someone to jump my truck." He stood up and walked away, holding his phone out in front of him like an old-timer cartoon.

Less than ten minutes later, Henry was back. "Nothing." He scowled.

The pain in his ankle was building, if anything. Shawn grimaced. "Okay, well this really hurts now."

Henry sighed again and looked at his truck. Looked at the end of the road, and the miles in the distance.

And then he looked…

... to the bike.

Henry let out another sigh, like he was suddenly shouldering the weight of the universe, as he said, "You said you have two helmets?"

Shawn's eyes snapped up. "What?"

"You said you have two helmets," repeated Henry. "Do you? Or is one of them a helmet and the other a watermelon?"

Shawn glared at the jab. But it didn't last.

Was Henry saying…?

"Yeah," said Shawn slowly. "I do. Why? I can't drive it; I hurt my driving f—"

"I know," said Henry. "You're not driving it. Now give me your arm."

Shawn stared at him like he'd never met the man in his life.


"Shawn! Arm!"

Shawn did as he was told, giving Henry his arm, and his father began to pull him to his feet, allowing Shawn to lean on him to avoid putting weight on his ankle.

When he was upright, Shawn said, "Wait, Dad… are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Just walk."

Shawn, a little stunned, allowed Henry to walk him around the truck toward his waiting bike. Once there, he heard another muttered curse from his father.

"Where's the extra helmet?"

Shawn pointed to the back, feeling like he was in shock, and it had nothing to do with the headache. "In the bag on the back."

Henry left Shawn balancing on one foot to pull out the extra helmet. A piece of paper fell out of it to the ground and Henry picked it up, reading aloud, "'Dear Gus, I knew you'd come around'. What the hell is this?"

"Nothing," said Shawn distantly. He mentally shook himself. "Wait, Dad—you're going to drive my bike?"

"Well, you need your precious ice, don't you, princess?"

The words flew in one ear and out the other. Shawn was far too stunned by the fact that Henry just said he was going to drive a motorcycle.

His motorcycle.

"Do you… know how?" asked Shawn in a smaller voice.

From the way Henry hesitated, that was a no. "Can't be that hard," he said after a moment. "You drive it."

Again, the insult didn't hit him. Shawn was still too focused on how Henry just admitted he didn't know something.

"Are you sure?" Shawn found himself asking.

"We're just going a mile or so down the road, so I can get a signal. And I'm not giving you a damn piggyback ride."

Despite it all, Shawn felt the tiniest smile tilt his lips. "Uh—okay, then. You have to get on first."

Henry gave him a look, something between anger and defeat. Then, he mounted the bike.

Shawn stared at his father sitting on his motorcycle, knowing that image would have burned into his mind, eidetic memory or not.

Shawn carefully got on behind him, gasping a little when he knocked his bad ankle against the metal. They both pulled their helmets on, and Shawn waited, but Henry just stared at the handle bars.

Shawn cleared his throat a little. "You, uh, turn the key first."

"I know."

Something told Shawn in the way Henry said that, that he didn't know. Thankful that Henry's back was turned toward him, Shawn smirked.

Henry turned the key, and the bike roared to life.

Shawn knew Henry would appreciate instructions without having to ask, so he said over the noise of the engine, "Both hands on the handlebars. Right's for speed and braking. Brake works like a regular bicycle. Left's the clutch, works the same as it does in a manual car. Left foot is the gear shift," Shawn glared at his left ankle, "and why I'm not driving."

"Not that I'd let you drive after smacking your head like that, either," muttered Henry.

Shawn let his smirk grow.

Henry wasn't fighting someone teaching him something.

Miracles do happen.

"Kick up the stand," continued Shawn, "and slowly ease the throttle by pulling your right hand toward you."

Henry kicked up the kickstand, then pulled the throttle. The bike skidded forward, and Henry clamped down on the brake, bringing them to a jerky stop.

"Uh—good," said Shawn, feeling strange to be on the other side of a lesson with his father. "Just a little easier on both. Less is more."

Surprisingly—since Shawn was ready for Henry to drop and give up the whole thing—Henry tried again.

This time, he approached accelerating slower. It was still a bumpy start, but he was soon going about five or ten miles per hour down the road.

"Left foot to switch—"

"Yeah, I got it."

Henry did so, and the bike gained a little speed.

Shawn gripped his father's waist, needing to as the man evened out the ride. But after a few moments, Henry found a smoother drive.

Minutes passed as Henry continued to drive, and Shawn said, "Want to check for a cell signal?"



"It's faster this way."

Shawn smiled.

Henry drove until they were back into town, subtly avoiding streets where his buddies might have seen him, Shawn giving him tips every so often. The first few turns weren't so great but the recent few had gotten better. Shawn now saw where he got his natural talent from.

Henry never replied to Shawn's instructions or commented on them, but he didn't yell or growl, and Shawn took that as a good sign. So when they stopped at an intersection, Shawn dared to say something other than instructional comments.

"Not as bad as you thought it would be, huh?"

"Remind me to print off the statistics of motorcycle deaths for you."

"Someone's going around killing motorcycles?"


The light turned green, and Shawn had to raise his voice a little to be heard over the wind. "Come on. You're enjoying yourself at least a little. Right?"

More silence.

Shawn sighed, knowing he wasn't going to get an answer on that one.

Another red light.

Shawn heard Henry sigh.

"I don't want you riding this because I don't want you to become a statistic, Shawn."


That was the most straightforward I don't want you to die because I care about you Henry's ever told him.

"To be fair," said Shawn, "your so-called safety conscious truck was the one that gave me an ankle and head injury. My bike is getting me some much needed ice."

Deafening silence.

The light turned green.

Henry took a turn that was a little harder than one would say necessary.

Shawn smiled.

"You're enjoying it, aren't you."

It was poking the bear for sure. But Shawn couldn't help it.

Red light.

Henry sighed. "Just because something is fun doesn't mean it's not dangerous, Shawn. That has nothing to do with it."

Shawn smiled wider. "You do think it's fun!"

"I didn't—" Groan. "Not everything is about having fun!"

"And yet," said Shawn, "you'd rather I have your truck that can break down whenever and nearly break my leg?"

"You didn't break—"

"All I'm saying," said Shawn as the light turned green, "is that safety isn't guaranteed and danger isn't either."

Henry didn't have a response to that, and they drove in silence.

Shawn decided to accept it for once, settling in for the ride until—


He could feel Henry's smile as Henry turned the bike into the driveway of the hospital.

"I don't need—"

"Too bad." He parked in a spot that wouldn't make them walk too far and turned off the bike. He took off his helmet. "If you insist on doing dangerous things—"

"Like getting out of your truck?!"

"—then you can deal with the consequences."

Henry got off the bike.

Shawn smiled at him, despite where Henry brought him.

"What?" asked Henry at Shawn's expression.

"You did well," said Shawn. "I'm proud of you."

Henry turned a shade of red.


"What?" said Shawn, carefully dismounting the bike. "That's what you're supposed to say when you teach someone something and they do it."

Shawn gave Henry a look, seeing if he caught the deeper meaning of the statement. And from the look in Henry's eyes, he sure did.

But Shawn didn't wait for a response he wasn't going to get, and he focused on making sure he didn't fall off this vehicle too.


Shawn hesitated at Henry's voice. Risked a look at the man.

"The things you do… you've done... I'm…" Henry's voice trailed off. Then, he finished with, "You know." He then nodded, as if that made the sentence any more complete.

Shawn stared at him in shock.

"Now give me your arm before you sprain your other ankle."

Henry helped Shawn off the bike the rest of the way, holding half his weight as they started their walk in the building. Shawn felt more shock setting in.

Maybe he did hit his head too hard.

Because Shawn was pretty sure his father just drove his motorcycle, liked it, and told him he was proud of him.


He should be seen by medical professionals for sure.

As they walked inside, Henry had his cell phone back to his ear, and Shawn listened distantly as Henry said, "Gus? Yeah, this is Mr. Spencer. Can you go to my garage and grab me my spare jumper cables?"

Shawn couldn't help a smirk.
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