Heartlines

Summary: This isn't where he last closed his eyes. There are others here, roaming the halls after night. Campbell seeks answers as he sees Degrassi in a new light after death.

Rating: T

Notes: I'm really sorry if this sucks. I rushed through it pretty quickly. :l

Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi.

Heartlines

"What a thing to do...

What a thing to choose...

But know, in some way, I'm there with you..."

This isn't where he last closed his eyes. He notes it immediately as the lids flutter open. There's darkness, swirls of grays and forest greens. He wants to stand up, to see exactly where he is, but he cannot move yet. His eyes are barely open, glazed over and tracking around the room.

It's quiet.

What happened?

The thought bounces around in his head, but he can't speak it. His body won't cooperate with him, so he continues to lie there until he can regain strength. More questions swarm his mind; where is he? Who is he? Why is he here?

He manages to move his head to the side, barely registering the rough concrete below him. Something flickers in the moonlight (is it nighttime? Yes, he concludes that it has to be), and his attention is caught. Narrowing his slitted eyes, he tries to process the image merely inches away from his outstretched arm.

His fingertips itch to touch whatever the object is, or at least figure out what it is. Slowly, he lifts his arm – it feels like lead – to grasp the shining item.

But something else startles him before he can touch it.

Red.

So much red.

He forces his mouth open to let out a strangled cry, his heart sinking and a raw nausea hitting his stomach. A shaky breath passes through his lungs as he continues to stare. His mind races, asking questions again. Why is there red? Why so much? Where did it come from? His eyes trace the red back to its source -

His wrist.

His wrist is red. It's doused in the red, like his skin had been permanently dyed red. As crimson as a rose, as thick as paint, as sloppy as a chopped up piece of meat. And he realizes he's the chopped up meat. He's bleeding. There isn't any first aid that could save him, is there? No bandage could soak up so much blood.

Why is there so much splattered like vomit? Like water?

And then, like a hot knife, it cuts through him; his wrists explode with an agonizing pain that forces him to move. He writhes in agony, only spreading the blood across the floor like butter on bread.

His mind panics, adrenaline shooting through his body. Shakily, he attempts to bring himself to a kneel. He props one knee up, readying his weight to shift and place on the alternate knee-

He falls, into the puddle of blood again.

A gasp tears through his body, and soon he feels fresh tears trickle down his cheeks. His sobs are silent, and he finds he can't cry out. His throat is closed, his breath coming to a halt. Why is there so much pain? How can he make it stop?

"Kid?"

"Oh- oh damn it. Hurry, help me carry him inside."

"Why? It's not like he's gonna die again."

Voices surround him, their pitches blurring in his ears from high to low, quiet to loud. The meaning of the words elude him. A plea escapes his lips – a pathetic, trembling whisper begging for help. He can hear his own voice, but doesn't register it as such – it's simply another voice in those swirling around him.

Shadows are dancing around the ground, enveloping him. His eyes screw shut, and he shivers from fear and exhaustion. He's tired – so, so tired. Even if these voices bring danger, he cannot fight them off. He will submit; it's what he's best at, he knows.

Arms reach out to hold him, picking his limp form up and cradling him. Who is here? His mother? No, something tells him she is not here – she is so far away now. He doesn't know how he knows that, but it is etched into his mind. His mother is not here. She can't be here.

But this person – this shadow – carries him far away from the blood. And the farther they travel, the more strength he gains. He focuses on the footsteps of his savior, their even pace like the tick of a clock. Slowly, he falls into rhythm with them, closing his eyes and feels himself lulled to a peaceful state.

He doesn't keep track of how long they move, but it seems to last a long while. He is nearly asleep before the footsteps stop. He has enough strength to crane his neck up and look at his carrier; it's a woman, her jet black hair falling in front of her face like a gothic veil.

She sets him down, and he finds himself able to stand on his own. Where is he? There are lockers... A school hallway? He blinks at her, his eyes wide and still stained with tears. His lips part, almost hesitant to ask all the questions that rush through his mind. But she simply smiles – warmly, in a way that tugs at his memory. Has he met her before? Or perhaps her smile?

"Hey there, hon," she murmurs, her voice like honey. "Welcome to Degrassi at night."

So it's nighttime? He frowns, finally bringing up an arm to wipe his eyes. He avoids looking at slices on his wrists, pulling his sleeves over them protectively.

Finally, he attempts to speak. "W-... who are you?" he asks, his voice pitifully quiet. Her image vanishes, and his heart sinks, wondering if she had left him here all alone.

"No names yet, kid. First, do you remember yours?" Another voice sounds from behind him; spinning around, he sees a man with black hair tied tightly into a ponytail. Round glasses and a silver earring make his face stand out, as well as his thick mustache. He looks a lot older than the girl. His clothing is fancy too – black and white and old-fashioned.

"Well?" he says, raising an eyebrow. "Do you remember who you are?"

At the words, it all rushes back at once.

Ice Hound Number 67...

I'm...

"C-Cam," he squeaks, recognizing how familiar the name tastes on his tongue. "Campbell Saunders."

The boy (no, Cam argues, he's more like a man) nods. "That's right. And do you remember what happened?"

Cam thinks back. He recalls holding Maya, feeling her warmth under the blankets, their pillow fights, 'kidnapping' Hoot...

He sighs and smiles, remembering how happy she made him feel. Like a never-ending flame burning in his heart. He looks at her and he's home.

"Yeah... Maya and I," he explains, "had a good time last night. I'm – I'm supposed to meet her today, actually." A sick feeling sunk into his stomach – like stones – as he watches the man's eyes darken. He frowns, wondering what the problem is.

Footsteps echo the hallway. Cam turns around and sees another boy approaching. He has splotches of what looks like yellow paint on his shirt, with traces of featherlike pieces scattered in the yellow. He looks at Cam from behind glasses as well – with a knowing smirk.

"Anything else? There was something after that," he says.

And at his words, Campbell remembers more. Zig on the steps. Running to get his hockey skate.

"You're a psycho."

"If you cared about her at all, then you'd get out of her life now. Forever."

Psycho.

"Zig," Cam whispers, "He... On the steps... He told me to leave Maya forever. And I was so angry and upset, I just... snapped." Tears pool into his eyes as he recalls what had truly happened. However, while all the pieces may be in view, the puzzle isn't complete just yet.

The man with the ponytail nods. "And you...?"

"I... I got a skate from my bag, and went into the greenhouse." His voice cracks, and he feels as though he's going to be sick. "Did I... did I really...?"

Yet another person appears, almost out of thin air. He walks from the opposite end of the hallway – the dark abyss Cam can't see the end of. This boy looks a little older than Cam, with sandy brown hair and a smile plastered on his face. "Bingo! You figured it out. Good job. I'd give you a cookie, but I'm afraid we don't have any."

Cam blinks in confusion, his heart sinking deeper. Or perhaps, for all he knows... From what these people are implying... He may not have a heart anymore.

"I went through with it." Cam says it in disbelief, as if he cannot believe the words himself. It's not a question, but it feels like one. "I actually..." He can't finish; his face scrunching up in sorrow, he falls to his knees and lets out a wail.

"Hey! Quit it, kid!"

Campbell doesn't know who says the words, but he doesn't listen to them. He continues to cry, regret swelling in whatever is in his chest now, if not a heart. He actually did it. Why is he so weak?! He couldn't hold on. He sliced his wrists open with the skate; that was the scene he awoke to before.

He tries to pull himself together, but can't stand up. He looks up, pathetically, towards the three boys. "W-what... what happens now?" he asks, his question a pitiful whimper. "Where do I go?"

The smiling boy raises his hands up in defense. "Whoa, kid, you're not going anywhere right now. Let's at least get acquainted first, okay? My name's J.T. Yorke. I went to Degrassi a few years back, but I..." He purses his lips, the grin temporarily fading. "I was stabbed, and had to leave my classmates behind."

Cam's lower lip quivers. He's been to the memorial garden; he knows of J.T. - a great person, or so Degrassi legend says.

Just for a moment, Cam wonders if he's going to have a memorial himself.

And then he remembers that he doesn't deserve one.

Sniffling, he looks over at the other two expectantly. The paint-covered boy clears his throat. "I'm Rick. I... got bullied a lot, and ended up bringing a gun to school." His face is worn, as if he's been haunted by regret for years. "I didn't kill anyone, but I did handicap an innocent person, and I ended up killing myself."

J.T. snorts, and Rick shoots him a glare. Cam says nothing, trying to remember hearing about a Degrassi school shooting. He honestly cannot recall anything, indicating that it must have happened a while ago.

The ponytailed man steps forward now, looking down at Cam with eyes full of regret. "My name's Claude Tanner, and I'm just like you, kid." He mimics a gun with his hand, pointing his index finger to his head and making a quiet 'POW' sound. "Killed myself in the boy's washroom. A clean shot; didn't even feel anything."

Cam stares up in horror, unable to form words. He could only wonder what had pushed Claude over the edge; the man looks much stronger than Cam, both mentally and physically.

"W-wh...why would you do that?" he asks.

Claude shrugs. "I was having girl problems, and family problems, and I was just unhappy. Very unhappy. So I decided to end it." He pauses, crossing his arms in thought. "Come to think of it, your principal was the one to find my body. Snake? Er – Simpson?"

Cam feels as though he's been punched in the stomach. He can't breathe – or whatever he's doing now that he's dead – and more tears fall down his face. He hadn't even considered something like that-

"Who found me?" he demands, shakily getting to his feet. Campbell swallowed hard, afraid of the answer. He prayed that it wasn't Maya.

Oh god, please – please not her. Please.

The smooth, sweet voice returns, and Cam finds himself turning towards it. The black-haired woman appears again, her presence both frightening and calming. "That would be my Eli," she murmurs, her eyes unfocused as though lost in a memory. "He's a senior. Maybe you know him, Campbell?"

Cam shakes his head. He thinks he knows who that is, but he isn't sure. Cam was in a world of his own suffering since he got to Degrassi. He didn't even think of others. How selfish.

The girl nods. "I suppose I should introduce myself first. My name is Julia. I did not attend Degrassi, but my boyfriend... or, I suppose ex-boyfriend," she smiles mirthlessly, "does. Eli Goldsworthy... We were quite the couple, until one silly argument. I don't even remember what it was about. But it was enough to make me storm out on my bicycle in a rage and get hit by a car." She shakes her head sadly, her pink lips drawn in a frown.

"Eli's rather torn up by what he found, Campbell," she continues, "Much like you felt when you first awoke." She sighs, hovering a hand over where her heart would be. "I wish I could help."

"I- I'm sorry to hear that," Cam manages, turning to look at the boys as well. "All of you – I... I'm so sorry that happened to you. You didn't deserve it."

"And you did?" J.T. asks, raising an eyebrow. "Kid, don't beat yourself up. You were lost and confused. But there's just a little more suffering until you get to hang with us. Think of it as... initiation. You were all about that in hockey, right? Playing with the big kids?"

Cam grimaced. He grew to hate hockey since coming to Degrassi. So much pressure, and stress... He shivers, memories of the older players' roughness flashing through his mind.

"Hey, don't make that face. It's painful at first, but you're in good hands," Claude assures. "I think I understand what you're going through, better than any of these kiddos here."

"Claude, that's getting old," Rick snaps. "We're all eternally high school kids, so it's no use flaunting your age now."

"Sorry, who died a senior?" J.T. pipes up, grinning lazily.

"I would've been class of 1991!" Claude points out.

Campbell cannot believe what he is hearing. Are these ghosts... bickering? The thought is amusing, and he laughs slightly. It's not a humorous or happy chuckle, but it's something. He manages a weak smile, too.

Yes, he's dead. Yes, he's probably going to Hell. But the thought of these kids arguing over who is the oldest ghost is funny.

Julia places a hand on his shoulder and gives it a comforting pat. "What these idiots are trying to say," she says, "Is that things are a little... uniform in this afterlife. At night, we can all see each other and we roam Degrassi's halls. But during the day, we don't see each other. Rather, we watch over the living during school hours. Are you following?"

Cam gives a slight nod.

"Okay, so in order for you to be able to see us and see Maya and Dallas and all of them," Julia explains, "You need to watch the day of your death. From the moment your soul left your body, and all who were affected."

A bitterness settles into Campbell's heart almost immediately. "There won't be much to see," he whispers, choking back another sob. "I... I already know. No one misses me."

"You're even more stupid than I thought," Rick comments, narrowing his eyes. Julia shoots a glare towards him.

"Don't you know tough love won't work on everyone?" she asks, turning back to Cam. "Don't mind him, hon. He'll grow on you. Hopefully."

"Campbell, don't think like that," Claude says, stepping towards him. "I thought the same thing for a while. And there was no one here when I died." He looks around, at each one of them meaningfully. "But I know that there are people who miss me. Even if I didn't think there would be."

Cam has trouble believing it, but he shrugs. Arguing won't get him anywhere, he knows, so he chooses to hide everything (as usual).

Julia takes his hand and squeezes it. "It's time. You'll have to face this alone. But don't worry – we'll be here when you return. You're not going to be alone anymore, Campbell."

"See ya, kiddo. You'll be fine."

"I think you'll be surprised."

"See you tonight! We'll do something fun."

He watches as they all fade away before his eyes, and his body is lifted. He's weightless, he realizes, as his view of the world grows black, splotch by splotch, until a blanket of ebony is covering him. And his consciousness fades briefly.

And he's nowhere.

Sunlight rouses him. He is floating above Degrassi, the light feeling still affecting him. Without warning, he plummets to the ground. Bracing himself, he expects a bone-shattering pain to come, but is surprised when his feet simply slide onto the pavement. No pain. No blood.

He's okay.

Was it a dream?

He sees Maya getting off the bus; he calls out to her. She doesn't hear him, or pretends not to; rightfully so, he thinks, as his last message to her was probably not taken in the same context as he meant it to be. Sighing, he tries to touch her shoulder, or pull her into a hug from behind, but his form slips right through her.

He should have expected as much. And he rolls up a sleeve, finding the deep wound still there on his wrist. It all really happened.

Tears sting behind his eyes, but he refuses to cry. Not until he sees how much he isn't missed.

He follows Maya to the principal's office, where Simpson breaks the news.

"Campbell Saunders is dead."

The words slice into him, the reality hitting him once more.

He's dead.

He's not ever going back.

He's made a terrible mistake.

Maya's sister seems more affected than Maya herself. The blond-haired girl just sits there, arguing that it isn't possible. When Simpson confirms it, she is silent.

"Is it okay if I practice for my audition?"

His heart – or whatever is in his chest now – breaks into two.

He goes to see Dallas next, expecting the same sort of indifference. As he walks towards the room he's bound to find his hockey senior in, he dodges a trash can, forgetting that it couldn't hurt him.

"Dallas-" It's that girl – Alli? - that runs after Dallas, who seems to be in a fit of rage. He has a right to be upset; with Cam dead, the team will have a hard time getting to Nationals.

"It's going to be okay," she tries to assure, tears pooling in her eyes.

"It's going to be okay?" he echoes, scoffing in disbelief. Even from where he's standing, Cam can see the glistening tears in his eyes.

Alli's voice cracks. "I – I don't know what you want me to say..."

Dallas gets closer to her, his face distorted into pure agony and pain as he screams, "Say it's our faults! Say that we failed him! You, and me!"

Campbell's breath catches in his throat. Are they talking about him? Is Dallas blaming himself? Why? Cam can't wrap his head around this, it's too much, and his wrists begin to hurt again.

"YOU DID NOTHING!"

He jumps at the raw scream.. He's been at the end of Dallas's anger before, but never like this. Did he cause this? Why did he put people through so much pain? He hadn't realized Dallas cared that much; Cam's chest constricts at the thought and his wrists are throbbing.

Alli's sobbing as Dallas runs away. Cam's tempted to follow him, but he first turns to Alli.

"Don't blame yourself," he whispers. "Please. It's not your fault. It's not his. It's not anyone's but mine."

He turns around and follows Dallas.

"Dallas, no!" he cries out, though he knows the other boy can't hear him. "Please, please don't do this!"

His hockey senior is downing beer after beer, his footsteps wandering closer to the edge of the roof. He's overlooking the school grounds with a mournful expression, as if he's going to jump off at any moment. Cam rushes to his side and tries to grab his wrist to yank him back. But, as he expected, his hand slips right through.

He's powerless.

Does he have to watch Dallas die? Is this his punishment for not realizing that there were – no, are – people who care about him? That there are people who are crying, who are yelling, who are trying to hide their feelings – all of it.

How could he have been so stupid and selfish? Just because he was sad and angry and upset.

I really am a psycho.

He could have gotten better. He could have opened up, or talked to someone. It didn't have to end the way it did.

But it did end that way, and now he has to watch Dallas make the same mistake.

"Please," he begs, his plea a pathetic whimper.

A senior girl comes through the door just as Dallas prepares himself. Cam knows the look Dallas wore – he knows he was just about to jump. Had the girl come a few minutes later, and it would have been too late.

But it's not!

Cam smiles, despite himself, and watches as she talks him out of it.

"There has to be someone you can live for. Your family... your friends... someone."

Come on, Dallas... you have someone!

Dallas nods, tears streaming his face. Cam's never seen him cry, or show any sort of sorrow. It's almost unnerving.

"Yeah... there is," he whispers, and Cam wonders who it is.

Even though it's probably not, even though it's selfish, he hopes it is him. "You can live," he murmurs, the tears streaking down his own face. "Live for me."

Zig blames himself, too. He looks like he's in shock, the bruise on his face steering attention away from how pale his complexion is. He's sitting with Maya – something that would have angered Cam, had he still been alive. But now there's only a hollow feeling in his chest, as Maya's response to his death was devastating to him.

"I'm... the reason he did it."

Cam wants to tell him that he isn't, but he wonders. Zig's words had pushed him over the edge, after all. But... is that fair? It was Cam's decision in the end. It could've been anyone that set him off, or possibly no one at all.

"I told him to get out of your life, and... he did. It's all my fault."

Don't say that...

"Don't blame yourself," Cam murmurs, placing a hand on Zig's shoulder. "You were right, in the end."

There's a vigil. For him. He isn't sure how to feel about it.

They all have candles, and stand before Maya, ready to listen. He wonders what she'll say, bracing himself for more apathy. Cam had hoped that, if anyone, Maya would be the one to mourn him. To miss him. But she is unfeeling, and cold – and was even laughing with Zig.

She calls him selfish, says he doesn't deserve any of this.

Finally, someone understands how he feels about everything. Figures it would be Maya. She's the only one that matters, after all.

"Maya, he was sick," Katie whispers.

That's no excuse.

"He should've fought," Maya snaps.

I tried.

"He was really sick."

So what?

"He should've fought harder!"

I know.

Maya glares at the gathered people, saying that it was Cam's choice to do this, and they're the ones left to feel guilty or sad or angry. Cam nods in agreement; she understands. She knows how selfish he was. She has every right to be cold and unfeeling, he realizes.

"I won't cry. I won't."

Even though he understands – even though Cam knows she should feel that way – a tiny, insignificant part of him hurts at her words.

He'll miss her with all his being. And he's more saddened than he thought he'd be at the fact that she will not miss him.

Cam follows Maya into the school, where she confronts Tori. He knows the two had had their share of spats lately, so he feels uneasy. But the two of them talk, and Tori confesses that she wanted to be friends again "even before Cam".

He can't help but smile. Maya wraps her arms around Tori. "I really need my best friend right now," she mumbles, tears staining her eyes.

Cam chokes back a sob of his own. She said she wouldn't cry for him. He didn't want her to. But now she is.

When the girls break apart, Maya suggests they get to class. Tori nods in agreement, turning towards the classroom. Cam watches as his girlfriend (ex-girlfriend) doesn't move just yet.

He wishes he could hold her. He wants desperately to push a curly blond strand behind her ear, bringing her in for a soft kiss.

"I'll miss you," he tells her. And he means it. His heart aches just looking at her, but he is thankful he can see her like this.

She takes a deep breath and pulls something out of her backpack. He leans in, curious.

Of course. Hoot. The plush is Maya's comfort, after all. At least, in times like these, it's added support, not her only comfort.

"As long as he was there, I wouldn't be lonely."

Cam smiles softly. He hopes Hoot and Zig and Tori will take care of her, since he cannot anymore. But he'll still look out for her.

"I'll be watching over you, Maya Matlin," he says. "Every day, til I see you happily married. And even then, I might want to sneak a chair at the ceremony." He laughs to himself, watching her blissfully unaware actions.

And, maybe it's to make himself feel better, but he adds, "I'm going to try not to be sad anymore, Maya. I'm not alone here. They're an odd bunch, but I'm going to... be okay. I know I can make it through." Whatever challenges would come his way in the afterlife, he'd take them on. Because he wasn't aware of it before slitting his wrists, but people care about him, and they do miss him.

Completely unaware, Maya takes a deep breath and steps towards her classroom. He follows – as if he's in the class, as well. As if they're just going to class together again.

"Hoot," he whispers into her ear as she walks through the door. She stops, briefly glancing behind her, before curling her lips into a knowing smile.