I don't need a shrink, I need a hospital.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Psych.

Summary: Is Shawn sick because his mother left or is there something more to it.

"I can't take you with me, Shawn." His mother had said as she sat on the couch of their beachfront home.

"Mom, please," he'd pleaded looking from her to his father. When he'd walked in from school Shawn had been surprised to find his father home early from work. He wasn't surprised when his parents had told him they were getting a divorce. It had been coming for . . . years.

"I can't afford it right now," she'd said, begging him to understand. "Soon, once I get settled, I'll send for you."

He'd glanced quickly at his father before turning his attention back to his mother, "I can get a job, Mom. I won't eat anything. I. . . I won't buy anything, I promise."

"Shawn," she'd nearly sobbed his name. "Please understand. I'll be in Florida with Nana and Grandpa. You only have a couple of more months left of school. I'll be back for your graduation. I'll do everything I can to take you with me then."

He'd stood and left the room without another word to either of his parents.

That had been Friday afternoon, now his alarm clock was steadily reminding him it was Monday morning. He could smell the "Shawn sympathy breakfast" his father was cooking, hoping to lure him out of his room. The little bit of food Shawn had eaten the night before threatened to come back up on him.

Shawn had felt sick since he watched his mother pack up every thing that she thought she would need, minus her son, early Saturday morning. He hadn't left his room most of the weekend. He couldn't look at his father, not knowing he would be spending a minimum of two months, alone, under the same roof with him. Two months. It seemed like a lifetime.

He hit the off button on his alarm clock and pulled the blanket over his head. He was startled awake, a few minutes later, by his father's loud knock. Henry poked his head in the room, "Time to get up, pal. I made you breakfast."

"I'm not going to school today," Shawn replied from somewhere under his covers.

Henry walked closer to the bed and yanked the blankets down, "You've moped around for two days and I've tried to give you time and a little space. You are not blowing off school. Get up and get in the shower."

"Dad, I'm sick," Shawn answered pulling the blanket back into place.

"Look," Henry started as he sat on the edge of the bed. "I know this is hard on you. Hell, it's hard on me too, but you're in the home stretch, kid. You have a chance at a full ride to any college you want to go to, don't blow it now."

"One day is not going to ruin anything," Shawn snapped. He didn't mention that he wasn't sure he even wanted to go to college. That was an argument for when he was feeling better.

Henry sighed and pulled back the blankets again. "Shawn, I'm not telling you again. Get up, get in the shower and get to school." He left, slamming the bedroom door.

Shawn slowly kicked the covers off and sat up in bed. He felt like crap, he was nauseous and his stomach hurt and his head felt like it was going to explode. He thought briefly about cutting school but his father would find out, he always did. Resigned, he headed to the bathroom.

When Shawn walked into the kitchen, his father was sitting at the table dressed and ready for work. "Sit down and eat," Henry said as he picked up his newspaper.

"I'm not hungry." Shawn grabbed his backpack and slung it over one shoulder.

"You have to eat something."

"I told you, Dad, I don't feel good," Shawn said looking at the food. He grimaced at the eggs and bacon. "Besides, that stuff will kill ya."

Henry was hurt that Shawn seemed to dislike him so much that the thought of spending the next two months with him was making his son sick. "Am I that bad of a father? Are you going to punish me until you can get out of this house."

"Dad," Shawn whined. He didn't feel like having this conversation.

"What do you want to do, Shawn? Do you want to go to Florida with only a few weeks of school left? Leave all your friends? Gus? Leave the only home you've ever known?" Henry put the paper down. "If you can't stand to live here that much, I will figure out a way to get you to Florida with your mom. It's up to you, pal. Just remember, if you hate it you're stuck, until you can afford to come back on your own."

"Why did you make her leave, Dad?" Shawn snapped.

"Make her leave? Shawn, I didn't want–"

"You could have tried harder. If you hadn't worked so much, been home more, maybe she wouldn't have left you!" Shawn yelled.

Henry slammed his hands down on the table and stood. "She left both of us!"

Outside a car honked. Shocked by his father's words, Shawn whispered, "I hate you." He hurried out the door to the waiting car.

"Shawn, wait! I didn't mean that!" Henry called after him. "Damn it!" He berated himself, "Way to go, Spencer."

By the time Shawn had made it to the waiting car he'd swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn't want any of his friends knowing how upset he was about his parents' split. Nothing ever got to Shawn Spencer, at least, that's what he wanted everyone to believe.

"Hey, what's this?" He said to Gus through the passenger window.

"My new car. Get in," Gus smiled as Shawn got into the car. Finally he had something before his best friend.

"Dude, it's your Mom's Volvo," Shawn told him sarcastically.

"Shawn, I'll have you know this is a very safe and dependable car," Gus pointed out.

"But. . . Volvo," Shawn grinned, knowing he'd gotten under his friends skin.

"Better than walking," Gus answered pulling away from the curb.

"You know it," Shawn said and they bumped fists.

"So are you going to tell me what's going on?" Gus asked. He'd known Shawn long enough to realize when something was bothering him.

"What you do you mean?" At Gus' look, Shawn told him about his parents.

"And you were going to try and hide this from me?"

"Just don't say anything," Shawn said as they pulled into the school parking lot.

Gus parked close to school, he was always early. As they were getting out, Shawn grabbed his stomach and winced. Squeezing his eyes shut, he took shallow breaths until the pain in his side passed.

"You okay?" Gus asked from the other side of the car.

"Yeah, I just didn't eat any breakfast. I'm fine," he answered getting the rest of the way out of the car. "Come on, let's get to first period. Mr. Underwood is totally out to get me. He really doesn't want me to be valedictorian."

"Maybe you shouldn't have poured pigs' blood on him during his speech at the homecoming dance."

"It wasn't pigs' blood, Gus, it was ketchup and I was showing homage to Carrie."

"Well, he's probably worried about what you'll do if you are the valedictorian."

"I don't care if I am. I don't want to be."

"I wish I had a violin. You know, those of us actually have to crack a book on occasion really don't have any sympathy for you."

Shawn turned to look at his friend. "Can I help it if I remember everything I see? Blame my Dad, if he hadn't spent all his free time quizzing me I might have had a normal childhood. I didn't ask to be like this," he snapped.

"Hey, Shawn, I didn't mean anything. I was kidding around." Gus stopped in front of their first period class and apologized.

"I know, I'm just . . . I don't know. Go on in, I need to run to the restroom," Shawn said motioning across the corridor.

Gus watched Shawn rush away, he wished there was something more he could do for him.

In the restroom, Shawn splashed cold water on his face. He felt like crap. Seven hours and he could go home. He just hoped his dad was working late. He thought about what his father had said, "She left both of us!" It hurt bad enough that his mother had moved all the way across the country without him, but to have his father point it out . . . It felt like someone had stabbed him.

The house was quiet when Henry arrived home from work. He walked down the hall and knocked on Shawn's bedroom door. He waited a beat before opening it, "Hey," he said, feeling uncomfortable.

Shawn was laying in bed. He opened his eyes when his father entered the room. "Yeah?"

"I brought pizza."

"I'm not hungry," Shawn said closing his eyes again.

Henry walked forward and put his hand on his son's forehead. "You're a little warm. Did you eat any lunch?"

"Yeah, sure," Shawn lied. Then, "Dad, I just want to sleep."

Henry was really starting to worry about Shawn, "You know, I can see if the department shrink can come by if you want to talk to someone."

"Dad, I'm fine. I just haven't felt well the last couple of days. I don't need a psychiatrist," he told his father. "Go eat, I'll get something later."

"If you need anything, I'll be downstairs." Henry said, closing the door behind him.

It was late. Henry didn't know what had awakened him, but he was on full alert. He checked his alarm clock, two a.m. Something wasn't right. He made his way, slowly, toward the hallway. He could see the bathroom light coming from the crack under the door and knew Shawn must be awake.

When his son didn't come out after a few minutes, he went to the door. "Shawn?" He knocked. There was no answer. "Buddy, you okay in there?"

Henry turned the knob and opened the door. Shawn was laying on the floor. "Shawn? What's wrong, son?" He knelt down next to him.

"Dad?" Shawn asked, lifting his head weakly. "Dad, my stomach. I'm sick. My stomach hurts."

"Your stomach hurts?" He asked rolling Shawn over to get a better look at him. "Where does it hurt? Here?" Henry pushed lightly at Shawn's abdomen.

Shawn flinched and cried out, "No! Dad, don't," he felt like he was going to be sick again.

Henry could feel heat radiating off of his son. He felt Shawn's forehead for the second time that night. He was burning up. "How long have you been feeling sick?"

"I don't know, since . . . since Mom left, Saturday morning, I guess. I thought it was because she left, but . . . Dad, it hurts," he said clutching his right side.

"Okay, you know what? We are going to get you to the hospital," Henry told him. "Can you stand?"

Shawn tried to get up, but moaned and lay back on the cool tile floor. "Okay, I'm calling an ambulance. They'll see you faster if you arrive in an ambulance anyway."

Henry ran to the kitchen phone and dialed 9-1-1. When the dispatcher answered, he explained Shawn's condition to her. "I think it might be his appendix."

"And he's running a high fever?" The dispatcher asked.

"Yes, he burning up."

"I'm sending an emergency crew. They should be there any moment."

"Thanks," Henry said and hung up the phone. He ran to the front door and opened it, before returning to Shawn in the bathroom.

Shawn felt like someone was twisting a knife in his gut. When his father came back into the bathroom, Shawn tried once again to sit up without success. "Here, let me help you," Henry said scooting in behind his son to help support him. "Paramedics are on the way. Just try to relax."

"What's wrong with me?" Shawn asked quietly. He moaned again as another pain shot through his abdomen. "Am I dying?"

Henry gave a small chuckle and wishing he could take away his son's pain answered, "I don't think so. I have a feeling it's your appendix, but we need to get you to a doctor. It's funny, I had my appendix out when I was just about your age."

"I think I'm gonna be sick again," Shawn said quickly trying to move away from his father. Henry helped him until Shawn was finished. "I wish Mom was here," Shawn said quietly crying.

"Me too," Henry admitted. He pulled a towel from the rack above him, then he used the bathtub faucet to wet it. He wiped sweat and tears from Shawn's face. "But you're going to be okay. I'll call her once–" Henry wasn't able to finish what he was going to say.

Two paramedics rushed into the bathroom. After asking a few questions they loaded Shawn onto a stretcher. Henry followed them out the front door and climbed into the ambulance behind his son.

Henry sat in the hospital room. Shawn had been rushed into surgery and was going to be fine, minus the appendix that had ruptured. He would be there for about two weeks and hooked up to an IV that would pump several rounds of strong antibiotics to kill any infections that might cause the teen complications. Henry didn't know how he was going to be able to keep his usually active son pinned down for that long. He'd call Gus later, maybe he and some of their other friends would be able to come by and entertain Shawn.

He'd already called his partner, John, and asked him to go by the house to get his address book. Henry's wife was driving to Florida. She wouldn't be there yet and the only way for him to get in touch with her was to call her parents and hope she checked in from the road. Shawn wanted her here, so Henry decided he'd get her a plane ticket to come back.

"Dad?" Shawn said from the hospital bed.

Henry leaned forward. "Hey, pal, how are you feeling?"

"Groggy, sore, but better," he answered.

"I wish I had paid attention a little sooner. I just thought . . . " he trailed off not wanting to upset his son.

"I know, Dad. I thought I was just bothered by Mom leaving, but then I kept feeling worse. I figured I caught a bug or something," Shawn whispered, then yawned.

"Everything is fine now. I called your grandparents, they'll let Mom know what's going on and I'll get her a ticket to come back. She's better at dealing with this kind of thing than I am."

Shawn was nearly asleep when he mumbled, "You did just fine, Dad. Thanks."

As his son dozed off, Henry leaned back in his chair and smiled.

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I hope you enjoyed this fic. Raych