Disclaimer: I do not own these characters I
just put my story on their heads.
It had been three months since Shawn had left Mr Turner's place to go back to his Dad, to go back to the trailer park. To go back and try and discover what it was like to have his Dad, his actual real Dad, about in his life.
And for the first month it hadn't been all bad. They had arguments and stepped around each other like two tom cats on a street corner, but Chet tried. And Shawn really tried. He didn't want to get left again. He didn't want the embarrassment of having to say he'd screwed up, again, and made Chet leave, again.
Cory, as usual, was the first to notice something a little awry with his best friend. But even his judgment was cloudy. Having just got back with Topanga he was doing what any 15 year old would do. Being her boyfriend, making out, doing homework assignments with her and enjoying the sweet feeling of being in love, together again. Having Shawn doze off in class was nothing new. Have Shawn late for occasional classes… that too was nothing new. But slowly being late turned into skipping classes, which slowly turned into skipping days.
Cory asked, finally realizing his best friend had cut two days of school for two weeks running, and had missed more classes than Cory had excuses for. "Every OK my Shawnie?"
Shawn looked up from his locker. "Everything is fine. I'm fine Cory." Same refrain, repeated enough, until he could make it sound like he was. Each day he pulled on one of his many masks and pretended all was fine, that he wasn't lost, a complete screw up. That he didn't spend so much time every day just pretending to be a real person, a normal person, that he was exhausted.
Cory had his worried face on. "Its just I've not had much time to catch up with you, and you didn't answer when I tried to call you yesterday to see why you weren't in."
Shawn turned away to put his books in his locker. It gave him a precious few seconds to compose his thoughts. He didn't want to lie, not to his best friend, but he couldn't tell him the truth. He put an arm around Cory's shoulder and gave him his biggest grin. "Well hey… you know that cute blonde from homeroom…" Cory rolled his eyes, grinning back.
" I knew it had to be a girl. You dog Shawn! Spill the beans."
Behind the mask the lies came easily. Keeping the mask on though, that was getting harder. More so in front of the people he both cared about and was scared of disappointing, again.
– – – –
He knew, knew as soon as he opened the trailer door. The sour smell of whiskey and vomit. He stopped without entering, head down. What could he have done so wrong to make his Dad start drinking again? Was he such a bad person, such a total screw up that this was the only way his Dad could stand being around him?
The occasional beer, the odd lapse into old ways, slowly increasing until it was becoming more expected each day. And each time he tried to be good, tried to stay out of the way, but more and more his missing school was coinciding with his Dad's drinking days. The nights when he didn't keep out of the way and his life got a bit… complicated. Without a job, spending money on alcohol, there was never food in the house, no clean clothes, no routine… And his Dad, drinking, didn't really notice what was going on.
He peered cautiously around the door, heard snoring, and crept in. If he got to his room, he could get changed, head over to Cory's. Mrs Matthews would insist he stayed for tea and he could be... he could be a normal kid, for a bit.
In the gloom he stepped over his Dad's prone snoring figure. In his concentration to not wake Chet he missed the shadowed figure leaning against the bathroom door. "Hey Runtboy. Tsk Tsk. What did I tell you this morning? What was the one, tiny little thing I told you you had to do? You were supposed to clean up the shower before you left. And yet... I come home and his puke is still in it. You're a waste of space Runtboy."
"Eddie…" He could tell by that softly admonishing tone that this wasn't going to be a good evening, and bolted for his bedroom. The lock gave way after two blows, the door crashing against the thin wall leaving another mark on the grimy paper.
He begged, he pleaded. He apologized and promised not to screw up. He curled his body into as small a space as possible and took the kick to his side. When rough hands grabbed his hair forcing him to look up he took the slap. And when he was thrown against the wall, he took the slam to his head too. But he would not cry… crying made it worse. And he had done wrong, hadn't he. He had to take his punishment like a man. Like a Hunter…
– – – –
"And so, by reading the poem aloud, you can hear the rhythm, you can feel the words. And Mr Matthews, it does not have to actually rhyme!" Jonathan Turner grinned as he caught Cory's eye.
"But they're the funniest ones!" Cory shot back.
"Poems do not have to be funny either Matthews. This you will find out for yourselves with tonight's homework – writing a poem about your day. That does not rhyme!"
As the class groaned in unison a slight movement at the back of the class caught Turner's eye. A black leather clad arm slipping off the side of a desk to dangle limply. Turner inwardly sighed. Hunter, dozing off in class, again. No, he corrected, as he strode past Topanga and Cory's desks. Not dozing. So deeply asleep his usual instincts to detect a teacher's presence failed him. Turner slammed the paperback he was holding hard on the desk next to Shawn's head.
SLAM!
"Nnngh!" Shawn made an incoherent startled noise and launched himself sideways from his seat. He stumbled but caught himself and straightened up, blinking. He hadn't been in the trailer, he'd been sleeping, he was fine, he was in class..
Shawn pushed both hands through his hair, giving a lopsided smile at Turner as he brought his hands down. "Jeez, Mr Turner, why not just set an alarm clock next time huh?"
Turner regarded the boy he had almost, almost, took in permanently. For one brief moment he had seen Shawn without any of the barriers he put up and the only word that came into his mind was terror. It was gone so fast he wasn't entirely sure he had seen it. That all too familiar, fingers through the hair gesture was a habit Shawn probably wasn't aware he had and Turner knew he did it to shield himself for a few seconds. Those blue, puppy eyes could be nakedly revealing otherwise.
"Why not just try and stay awake and listen next time? he countered.
Shawn glanced upwards into the face of his teacher, innocent face, and thrust his hands into his jacket pockets. Turner knew that little habit too. Shawn's hand could betray him easily. When animated and talking they flew around him, when he was upset they tried to retreat into the sleeves of his over-shirt but the fingers would creep out and scrabble and squeeze on his cuffs.
"I was listening. Honest." He tried a smile.
It was hard not to believe. Turner smiled back. "Okay then. What is the homework for tonight?"
Behind Turner's back Cory and Topanga exchanged a quick glance and with some form of couples telepathy both scribbled quickly. They simultaneously held up a piece of paper each.
Shawn's eyes barely flickered off Turner's face. He was good at this. "Homework um... write a poem about today. No rhyming."
"Impressive Mr Hunter. Sit down." Turner gave a slight smile. "And DO the homework. I'll know if you get Cory to do it okay?"
"Yeah." Shawn replied, grinning wider. "It would be a really bad limerick about Topanga."
Turner returned to the front of the class and Cory turned to his best friend. "You were lucky Shawnie, minute more you'd have probably started snoring."
Shawn lent back with a smirk which dropped the moment Cory turned to face front again. Another moment more and he'd have woken himself up screaming NOOOO. And that, in class with Mr Turner, would not be cool. Not cool at all.
- – – –
When the final bell rung Shawn made sure he was out of the door and lost in the throng of students before Cory could leave his seat or Turner call for him to stay behind for 'a chat'. He didn't feel like chatting to anyone. It was hard enough during school hours to keep up the act, he just wanted to get away from everyone for a few hours and lose himself. Walk around aimlessly, not having to hide or to think about what you were going to say, how to say it, how to make your face perform.
His feet took him on a circuitous route but still he found himself outside the Pink Flamingo trailer park anyway. Where else did he have to go? This was still his home, of sorts. He trailed slowly over the hard packed dirt, deep in thought.
It hadn't been so bad, not to start with. His Dad had played cards with him, taught him poker. They'd watch cartoons together and he would ask about school. And Shawn would ask him about working at the bus station.
But then he'd lost his job.
And then he started drinking.
And then... Eddie came back.
Eddie made an almost tolerable situation into a nightmare.
The drinking got worse. They had no money to pay bills so the TV and 'phones were cut off. Sometimes there was no money for the meter and the lights would go out and the only showers would be cold ones.
And Eddie really hated the half brother he called Runtboy.
– – – –
Shawn had no idea when he went home 6 weeks ago that everything he thought he knew was going to change that evening. He went into the trailer, throwing his bag beside the couch and glad to see his Dad sitting at their tiny, chipped dining table reading a paper. "Hey."
"Hey yourself Slimjim." Chet glanced across at his son and vowed to try and be a better father. He knew he made that vow most days, but maybe if he kept making it, he'd maybe keep it one day. "We got ourselves some family reunion here."
"Huh?" Shawn, halfway through taking off his leather jacket, paused. "Mom's come back?"
"Nooooo Runtboy," a horribly familiar voice drawled. "I got myself released from prison."
Eddie stepped from the bedroom and stood in the middle of the room, between Chet and Shawn. At 22 he looked very little like Shawn... and very much like Chet. He had Chet's big build but on Eddie it was muscle honed in a prison gym for 2 years. He had none of the delicacy of Shawn's features, but the square-jawed, hardened face was straight from Chet too. Blue eyes, that was the only feature he and Shawn shared. But whilst on Shawn they could be windows into his thoughts, on Eddie they were frozen, icy. And now they bore into Shawn in a gaze he knew well. A permanent anger burned in the ice that one little thing could spark into seething rage.
"Thought you had me locked up for good did'ya?" he sneered. "Seems you couldn't get that right either. But then you are the runt of the family."
Chet coughed. "Hey Eddie, Shawn's a good kid. Mostly."
That hurt. Shawn dropped his head, unable to look at his Dad. Mostly. Yeah, thanks for the enthusiasm. "So... um... where you staying Eddie, at the trailer park.. or?" He trailed off as the older brother laughed.
"Oh I'm staying right. Here." He moved across the room and grabbed Shawn's chin, squeezing hard. "Didn't think you'd be here. Thought you'd gone all uppity on your family, thinking you're better than the rest of us, just 'cos you get to hang out with the rich folks." He let go of Shawn and glanced back at Chet. "I may not be here much in the evenings anyway, night is when I keep my business hours."
He looked back at Shawn. "But when I am here, that bed is mine. And if that means you sleep on the couch, you deal with that. Or run back to your posh friend. Be the pity case, be the scrounging little runt you are."
"Hey that's not fair!" Shawn blurted the words without thinking. "That's MY room. That's MY bed. You don't get to just..."
He didn't see the fist. There was just a sudden enormous pain on the side of his head that made him reel backwards.
Eddie lifted Shawn with ease and threw him onto the couch. He leaned into the now frightened face. "Oh I do. I do. And if you forget to behave, to keep your mouth shut, or anything, this is what you get." He punched Shawn hard, once, in the stomach, making the smaller boy groan and curl over on his side. "You gonna cry runt? You're weak. You're nothing. You can't even take a hit like a man. Hunters. Do. Not. Rat. Hunters. Do. Not. Cry."
As he said the last eight words he punched Shawn in the back. Lesson over he straightened up and looked down at the shivering body scrunched into the corner of the couch. "Pathetic. I 'm going out now, which will give you time to stop sniveling and clean up in here."
As the door slammed shut Shawn opened his eyes and very slowly uncurled, wincing at the ache in his back with each movement. He stood up, looking for his father. Why would he go, leave Eddie to do that, without trying to stop him, without saying a word? Shawn answered his own question. Because I am useless.
Chet came out of his room, avoiding looking at Shawn. "Um...Shawnie... I'm going out for a while. Try and... try and be a good kid and, y'know, tidy up a bit. Maybe I let you get away with too much lately."
As his father walked past he still refused to look at Shawn. Shawn could his eyes hot with unshed tears. "Dad..." his voice wobbled in a way he hated. Weak...pathetic.
Chet left the trailer without a word. Shawn knew he'd no doubt stagger in later, drunk. And be able to convince himself that everything was fine.
Shawn's legs gave away and he sat down hard on the couch behind him. Everything had changed. How had everything changed so fast? He hadn't believed in monsters under the bed as a child. He never had to. His monsters had been and one would be now sleeping in his bed. Alone, and feeling more alone than ever, Shawn pressed his face into the nearest frayed old cushion, not noticing the stale smell of cigarette smoke than clung to the fabric, and sobbed. He couldn't tell anyone about this. He just couldn't.
