Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi nor do I claim to. I do however like to play with the characters.
A/N: The idea behind this story is a look at Sean Cameron every few years through the lens of Thanksgiving. I thought starting the first chapter on Canadian Thanksgiving (yeah, I know it was Monday - I'm a bit late) and attempting to finish by Thanksgiving in the US would provide a nice time framework. I am American and I don't know a lot about Canadian Thanksgiving customs so please forgive me if I make an error or two (I did run it by a Canadian friend . . . so I tried?)
Also, this, like most things I write was inspired by my friend, Eva.
Thanksgiving was not one of those holidays the Cameron family celebrated well. Sure, there would be turkey, if Mrs. Cameron was lucky enough to find one to fit into the budget. Usually though, it was canned ham and instant mashed potatoes. Any money spent on the meal would be the liquid portion of the meal and usually downed before the Maple Leaf's game had even had the opening face-off. At the first intermission, Tracker would take his little brother into the kitchen, heat up the ham in the tiny oven and pour some potato flakes into water on the stove. The two of them would eat a meal together ignoring the sounds of their father's snores from where he lay passed out on the couch, their mother beside him.
It wasn't much of a holiday, but it was tradition and a day off school and Sean had trouble arguing with anything that got him out of school.
Which is why twelve year old Sean was so apprehensive, when he walked into his parent's house to find the entire place filled with the smell of a baking turkey. He hadn't expected much as Tracker had moved out of the house for a job in Toronto that summer, removing Sean's only actual support system, such as it was. But apparently his mother had outdone herself. The table had an actual table cloth on it and a pumpkin pie from a local shop in the center. Sean didn't realize his mother owned a table cloth.
The surprises didn't end there, however, as Tracker walked out from the kitchen and greeted his brother.
"Tracker!" Sean cried. He started to embrace his brother before realizing he wasn't a boy anymore and pulled back at the last minute. "I mean, how you doing?"
Tracker looked bemused at Sean's last minute change of heart. "Better than you, I hear, little bro."
Sean looked down at his shoe tops nervously. "So . . . umm . . . you heard about that?"
"Heard that you got jumped on your way to school last week? Or heard that you responded by hitting the kid so hard in the head they're not sure he'll ever hear again, let alone what other brain damage you might have caused?" Tracker asked, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice.
"For that to happen, he would have had to have a brain to begin with," Sean muttered, turning away from his brother.
"You think this is a joke, Sean?" Tracker lashed out, angrily.
Sean knew he should feel guilty or at least somewhat relieved. It was a serious thing and if Tyler or his parents had decided to press charges, Sean could have spent some time in a juvenile facility. However, it was hard for Sean to summon up even a little bit of pity for someone who had made his every moment that past two years into a living hell.
And Sean would be damned if he would get a lecture from Tracker on seriousness. Coming from a guy who just recently moved out of his parent's house, worked in a bike shop and brought home a different girl every night, Sean wasn't sure which Cameron brother had the bigger joke of a life.
Tracker seemed to give up on getting any sort of response out of Sean, though, and went back into the kitchen muttering. Sean needed to get out of the sitcom style Thanksgiving scene and retreated to his room. He threw his bag down on his bed and grabbed the basketball by the door, dribbling it one-handed as he sat on the bed thinking.
He was lucky he had gotten off without any sort of punishment, other than a week's suspension from school and he was thankful for it. Fortunately, the Bishops were too afraid of what would be revealed in court proceedings should Sean admit what had prompted him to hit Tyler so hard he would be semi-disabled the rest of his life to actually follow through with police action. Still, if Sean couldn't control his anger, he knew it was only a matter of time before someone else would get in his way and maybe next time he would be less lucky. It was hard to find some reason not to be angry with his lot in life, as he looked around his tiny room in a small mobile home with two parents who were ordinarily too drunk to notice his existence. Surrounded by rich kids at their parents beach houses, it was difficult to relate or control his resentment at the hand life had dealt him so far.
Plus he was going to get screwed over anyway. Why not get in a few licks before being brought down?
"Sean?" his mother's voice called to him from the dining room.
He couldn't help the feeling of dread that washed over him as he went into the living room and noticed his father sitting at the head of the table, stone sober. Nothing good ever came of his father sober. Nothing good ever came of his father drunk either, but at least that was normal. Sober meant it was something special. Something "important."
Maybe the Bishops had changed their minds? Was this going to be his last meal before jail food? Sean tried to bite back his growing panic by rationalizing that most meals at a correctional facility would probably be better than his mother's vodka inspired 'cuisine' or his own clumsy attempts to fend for himself when she passed out before he got home. It didn't much help.
Tracker, Sean and Mr. Cameron helped themselves to large portions of turkey and real mashed potatoes, stuffing, green beans and rolls before Sean's mother cleared her throat. "Would someone like to say the blessing?" she asked, tentatively.
Sean's eyebrow shot up and he looked for Tracker for answers. He couldn't remember the last time they had stopped to bless a meal, holiday or otherwise. He couldn't actually remember a time when all of his family sat down to eat one, but that too seemed irrelevant. Tracker, however, gave nothing away. He turned to glare once at his father, before volunteering.
"Thank you for each other and this meal," he started, bowing his head slightly. "Thank you for not letting my dumbass bro-"
"HEY!" Sean objected at the same time his mother made a small clucking noise in the back of the throat.
"Sorry, Ma. Thank you for sparing my younger brother a fate worse than death, deserved or not, and help him to get his anger under control," Tracker finished, looking not at all sorry. "Amen."
Sean glared at his brother across the table as his parents whispered their own Amens. Tracker cocked one eyebrow, as if silently challenging Sean to do or say something to prove his prayer was much needed.
Instead, Sean angrily took a bite of stuffing. Tracker smirked and returned to his own meal.
After a few moments of awkward silence, Mr. Cameron mentioned a fluke goal during Opening Night's Montreal-Toronto game. Soon a simple small talk about hockey had turned into a full fledged discussion on whether Curtis Joseph had the skills and save percentage to carry them through the regular season.
"He's 33 years old, Dad!" Sean argued vehemently. "He's got maybe two games left in him!"
"Whether he's 33 or 43, he had his best goals against average in his entire career last season. That's not a fluke," Tracker argued right back. "You see this guy live, Seany and he's got reflexes like a cat."
Sean scoffed. "Yeah. Like you would ever invite me to Toronto for anything."
For a moment, it seemed as if a flash of hurt crossed his older brother's face, but it was soon replaced by a smirk that very clearly indicated Tracker knew something Sean didn't. All at once, Sean's earlier fears and suspicions came crashing back down on him.
"About that, Sean," Mrs. Cameron started gently. "Your father and I were thinking that may be just what you need."
"You really want me to visit?" Sean asked Tracker, looking for any trace of hesitation. He wanted to be wanted, not to be a burden on his older brother.
"Not exactly," Tracker answered, looking to his mother to continue, but she seemed to have lost all power of words.
"Not exactly?" Sean repeated, feeling the earlier suspicion gnaw at his stomach. "What exactly then do you want me to do in Toronto?"
There were a few strong silent moments as everyone tripped over themselves to not answer his question and everyone glanced at each other around the table, looking everywhere but at Sean himself.
Tracker finally sighed, exasperated. "How about you move in? Get away from Wasaga. Get away from trouble."
"Move in? Away from trouble? You want me to run away?" Sean asked, confused.
"It's not running away, Sean. It's starting over," his mother answered, trying to take one of his hands in hers.
Sean pulled away angrily. "No. No way. I'm not a coward. And I'm not running from this."
"If you go in a few weeks, it's the end of the quarter and it will be easy to transition. There's a school right by Tracker's place, called Degrassi. It seems quiet and has a good graduation rate," Mrs. Cameron continued.
Sean couldn't believe what he was hearing. They had researched schools in the area. How long exactly had his family been planning on betraying him?
"Easy transition? Graduation rate?" Sean sneered, unable to keep his feelings out of his voice. "Tell me, did you rate the local female population on a scale of 1-10? Because I'm going to need at least a 9 to tempt me." He stood up from the table, pushing his chair back so hard it toppled over behind him. "I'm not leaving!"
"Damn it, I told you he wouldn't go. Too damn stubborn for his own good," Mr. Cameron said, pushing his plate away as if in disgust. He turned to Sean angrily. "Who said you had a choice in the matter?"
Suddenly the reality of the entire night set in. This had been his last meal, but not before jail. His parents were sending him away. He had finally pushed them too far and they wanted him gone. Sean knew that they were mostly useless drunks, but they were all that he had.
Sean felt sick inside as he looked from his mom's anxious face, to Tracker's guilty countenance and finally to his dad's, unreadable except for disgust. If they didn't want him, fine. He wouldn't stick around where he wasn't wanted.
"You want me gone? Fine. But screw this end of the quarter shit. I won't stay another minute in a place I'm not welcome," Sean seethed, stomping off to his room. He grabbed his duffle bag from the closet and started putting in as many essentials as he could – clothes, his walkman, his lucky jean jacket – trying to ignore the arguing from the other room.
"Well . . . that could've gone better," Mrs. Cameron ventured timidly.
"What did you expect, Ma? Thanks for kicking me out, glad you all agreed before asking my opinion?" Tracker snapped back at her. Sean inwardly made a note to forgive Tracker fairly soon. For one thing they would apparently be living with each other and for another, he sounded as disgusted with the situation as Sean himself.
"I need a drink," Sean heard his father say. "Talk about a waste of a good meal."
Sean lay back on his bed – correction, his former bed and stared up at the ceiling. That's all he would ever be to them, he realized. A waste. A waste of a good meal, a waste of a good education, a waste of a child. A child so horrible they couldn't handle him without retreating into the hazy world of alcohol and even then needed to ship him off to anyone who would take him.
Well forget them, then. Sean didn't need them. He didn't need anyone at all. He would prove it to them and the entire world. He would be better than this.
He stood up and slung his bag over his right shoulder. Striding into the living room, he stopped only long enough to say, "Mail the rest. I'll be waiting in the car."
Tracker got in beside him not long after, a plate of leftover turkey and trimmings covered in foil in his hand. "Ma didn't think you got to eat much." It was a gesture that at any other time would have touched Sean; it would have given him faith that in spite of everything, his mother did love him in her own way. Now it seemed one more way to mock Sean for believing in any of that to begin with. He was better off now. As long as he was on his own, no one else could betray him again.
The entire ride to Tracker's apartment was silent, the air tense. Tracker concentrated on driving, glancing every so often at his passenger. Sean for his part stared out the window thinking of what the future might hold, but also what he was leaving behind.
He couldn't help but think that as imperfect as his parents were, if they didn't want him, how would he ever find someone who would?
After what seemed like forever, tall buildings appeared on the horizon, their lights twinkling brighter than the few stars in the cloudy sky. A sign appeared on the outskirts of the city. "The city of Toronto wishes you and your family a safe and happy Thanksgiving."
Sean couldn't help the audible snicker that escaped him, momentarily drawing Tracker's attention. As far as Sean Hope Cameron was concerned, he had no family. Happy Thanksgiving, indeed.
