Title: By the Book

Author: Lauren

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Set in an alternate season 3. "You have no idea what you're doing, do you?" "Not a clue."

Author's notes: Shawn being physically abused by his father is an overused cliche. I wrote that cliche in 2 fics nearly 10 years ago, but we're going to pretend they don't exist. This is a oneshot exploring that once again.

For this fic, pretend that Chet never went after virna. Shawn never went to Turner's apartment in Career Day, and obviously HOme never took place. If anything about the timeline is confusing, let me know in reviews and I'll try to make it more clear. Turner's voice was also really hard to do, so constructive criticism would be great on that as well.

Things aren't that bad, really.

Shawn sits down at an empty lunch table. He can't stomach Cory and Topanga today, and this meal will probably be the only one his stomach does get. So he needs to enjoy it. As much as you can enjoy school food, anyway.

But things are good. Really. So d'ads been a little more stressed than usual since mom left. So what? Shawn can take it. He's sure it's a responsibility that comes with growing up, or something. God, now he sounds like Feeny. Except, feeny would probably tell Shawn some crap about egypt and denial.

He rubs irritably at his forearm - it's kinda sore from where dad grabbed it so hard last night. shawn knows if he pulls back his sleeve he'll see the finger shaped bruises.

So he's just not going to do that.

Because things are fine, really.

Just like they're fine with Cory. Shawn doesn't care that his best friend is treating his first relationship with a girl like he's married, or that Cory probably won't care that Shawn's not sitting with him right now. Why should he? just because Cory has less time to goof off with Shawn? No big deal.

He thinks this in time with the chomping of his carrots. Things are fine. Fine fine fine.

Still. The food tastes heavy and bitter in his mouth, and Shawn really wants to be anywhere but here right now.

"Hunter, where's your better half?"

"What are you saying?" Shawn is caught off guard. He's wandered down the english hallway. It's supposed to be empty during lunch because Shawn needs this time to breathe.

But mr Turner is here, looking at him with his "no bull shit" face. shawn hates that face. It usually means his paper thin excuses about homework don't stand a chance.

Except mr Turner isn't watching his face, he's watching the way Shawn is still rubbing his arm. Damn.

"You wanna come in here?" Mr Turner says, nodding over his shoulder at their empty classroom. Shawn knows that tone, too. Pity. People disguise it as concern, wrap it up with gentler words like "best interest" or "special case." But Shawn sees through all of that.

"Nah," he says, biting back bubbling resentment. "I don't like to during class, do I?" The stupid little boy part of him had thought mr Turner was different, was cooler. shawn should know better.

Not that it matters. Because there's nothing to be upset about.

He leaves feeling worse than when he came, anyway. Stupid little boy emotions.

"Don't get over involved," George says. "Remember your place," he says.

John is pretty sure he's already in over his head.

It's not like he wants to care. He doesn't mean to watch Hunter more closely than some of his other students. It's just that the kid is having a hard time, and Matthews isn't around as much to notice or offer help.

And John knows Hunter needs help. Knows it in the way he averts his eyes from everyone, sees it in the too bright smiles he gives to placate Matthews.

Damn it, John isn't as easy to convince, as much as he might want to be.

Because things are getting worse, and no one is doing anything.

He can't - won't let Hunter down. He'd be letting himself down if he did that.

Jonathan turner is too familiar with baring the weight of regret. He won't do it again.

"He's just one student among many," George says.

John is aware of that. That's why he calls family services. He won't allow Hunter to be over looked. Not this time.

Philadelphia is cold in October. Shawn only has summer clothes and too thin long sleeved shirts from good will. They'd thought mom would be back by now.

Shawn wishes she were as he wanders down the street. He can't make it very far like this. Even if he could, he doesn't want to risk the chance of a cop seeing him. They mean trouble.

He has enough of that right now, and Cory's place seems farther than he remembered. His face aches, and he can feel blood and something else crusting over on his cheek. He needs to get somewhere to clean this up. It's going to look bad at school.

School. That's where all this started in the first place. Someone must have called.

Shawn realizes where he is and who that person must have been at roughly the same second. Damn it, he thought he could trust Turner. He's probably stupid to think he can trust anyone, though.

Anger gives him renewed energy and he goes inside Turner's apartment building before he can give himself time to think about how stupid this probably is. He hopes the bastard will be pleased with himself.

Shawn stumbles up the stairs, his knee protesting at baring so much weight. He breathes in, trying to renew his anger with each inhale.

By the time he reaches Turner's apartment, he's out of breath and kind of finding it hard to stay upright. This makes him more pissed off, and he thumps the door with clumsy fingers.

Some part of him - probably the part that feels like he wants to puke - acknowledges that it's a little creepy to know where a teacher lives. Shawn knows where Feeny lives too, but that's different. Shawn has always known that. Turner was just like every other teacher Shawn had met, someone to disappoint or annoy.

Except somewhere along the line, he'd changed. At some point last year, Shawn had started to like him. Kind of in the way he likes Feeny, when the guy's not assigning homework. But in a different way even from that. Because Turner had looked at him in a way no one but Cory had.

Like no matter what Shawn did, no matter how much he pissed him off, he mattered. And Shawn really needs someone to say he matters.

But he doesn't need turner. the only reason he's here now is to tell the jackass a piece of his mind. If he'll ever open the goddamned door.

"I'm comin', take it easy -" the door opens, and Turner stands there, wearing nothing but sweats. Shawn wonders vaguely if he's interrupted sex. It would serve him right.

"Hunter?" Turner says. "What the hell are you -" Shawn doesn't know why he stops talking. The hall behind him is dark, and he hasn't stepped forward into the light of Turner's apartment. Maybe it's the way he's standing, or the weird sensation Shawn's suddenly experiencing where he can't make his mouth work. He just glares at Turner, with his best "fuck you" face.

"Come in here," Turner says. HIs voice is sharp now, anger emphasizing each syllable. Shawn knows anger, and he knows he can't fight back in this shape. Turner is bigger than him, anyway.

He's screwed. Just like always.

John really wants to swear. Or kick his front door. Security in this building is terrible anyway, he could probably make an excuse and still get his security deposit back. But he doesn't do either, because Shawn Hunter is standing there just staring blankly at him.

The way he'd been banging on the door, turner had been expecting Ely. Whatever fight that had brought him here has seemed to bleed out of him, and he hasn't spoken or moved since John's request that he come inside.

"Hunter," he says. He tries to smooth the anger out of his words, but by the way Shawn flinches, John doesn't think he's succeeded. "Look, you obviously had a reason for coming over here at ten at night. Come in here."

He steps back to give the kid some room. Shawn slowly moves forward, stepping into the doorway. At first, John thinks he's somehow still reluctant, but then he sees the blood.

"Jesus, Hunter." He puts out a hand, and Shawn shies away as though he might inflict more damage.

"don't," he says, his voice strangled and harsh. His eyes are wide, and John thinks if he were in better shape the kid would have bolted.

John doesn't say anything. They stand still looking at each other for a few seconds. Shawn's breathing is ragged, but John keeps his gaze steady. He tries to convey something with his eyes. Maybe trust.

"go sit down," he finally says. "I'll see if I have a first aid kit…" Shawn absently closes the door and obeys, probably on autopilot.

All John has in the way of medical supplies is a wash cloth and warm water. He brings it to Shawn and holds it out like a peace offering. shawn takes it with shaking fingers and puts it against his face. He sighs, long and rasping.

"You hurt anywhere else?" John resists the impulse to kneel in front of him. He perches at the other end of the couch instead.

"My knee might be twisted or something," Shawn answers after a pause. The blood has been stripped away from his cheek to reveal a long cut. His lower lip is split. John notes that Shawn is still favoring his left arm.

"Your arm still bruised?" No use in beating around the bush now. John tries to think if he has ice, or the ability to make it.

"You called," Shawn says. John thinks he wants it to come off more angry than it does. He doesn't reply, and the kid just looks resigned. "Don't you know that just made it worse?"

"I should have had you taken out of there," John says, more to himself. He hadn't known the protocol. He should have gone to George with his concerns. George would have backed him up, for all the warnings he'd given him.

Shawn scoffs, but it comes out more like a sob. "And where would I have gone? Nobody wants a teenager. Anyway, he would have fed them a sob story about my mother. Social workers like sob stories."

"This has happened before?" Stupid question. Shawn just shrugs.

"Coupl'o times. This time was easy for him to smooth over, cause we're staying in the hotel."

"what?"

"My mom still isn't back," Hunter says. His eyes dip down to the carpet, like the fact his mother is an uncaring bitch is his fault. John forces himself to stay seated, because he doesn't want to startle the kid all over again.

"So you and your dad are staying in a hotel." Shawn nods, his head still down.

"The one pretty close by." Shawn adds after a minute, the admission slow and hesitant. "Not that I should be telling you anything."

John winces. "That place is shi- that place shouldn't be in business."

Shawn raises his head slightly, and John really should have known that nearly saying shitty would have been the thing to make him relax. He knows that's definitely against protocol, but he's pretty sure he'd shattered all pretenses of propriety the second he'd opened the door.

"Has it ever been this bad before?" He doesn't try to meet the kid's eyes. This is hard for him to ask, and will possibly be something Shawn can't answer.

"Na," shawn says slowly. His words pick up steam the more he talks, and he twists the used washcloth between his hands. "I think he's scared or something, cause usually he just yells. Tonight was bad because he was sober."

Shawn's eyes flick around the room, but John doesn't have to see to acknowledge the wetness in the corners. He shifts closer on the couch. Not next to Shawn, but only half a cushion separates them now.

"He was yelling that I need to be more careful or I'll lose him too," Shawn murmurs. He laughs, the sound like a slap. "I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to be careful now. Feeny'll freak. You already freaked."

God, John doesn't know what to say. "Should we call Matthews?" He asks, finally. Shawn would probably feel more comfortable telling this to someone he trusts.

Shawn laughs, a little less desperately this time. "You really don't know what you're doing, do you?"

John considers spouting off some speech about Shawn being important and how he did the right thing by coming here, but he's really just too tired. "Not a clue," he tells Shawn instead. "I had to call, though.

"You made it worse."

"It would have gotten worse with or without me doing something. Now you're outta there."

"For tonight."

"For good," he says fiercely. This time, he meets Shawn's gaze, trying to convey the right things through that instead of talking. "I'm just sorry it wasn't sooner."

"I don't have anywhere…" Shawn's voice is wavering now. His eyes are bright against his too pale skin, a combination of desperation and fresh tears.

"We'll work something out."

"We?"

"I called, didn't I? Did you think I'd pretend that didn't happen?"

The pause is more answer than John needs.

"We should probably take you to urgent care to get you checked out," he says after a minute, when he really wants to clasp Shawn's shoulder and make promises he can't keep.

turner's couch kind of sucks.

Shawn turns on to his other side, gritting his teeth against the protest from his knee. Turner had offered him a bag of some sort of frozen vegetable, but Shawn really hadn't wanted to try to sleep with it. He couldn't wait to tell Cory how awesome it was to see a teacher at such a loss.

This has been one hell of a night, and Shawn thinks it's a little crazy that it's ending with him feeling amused about anything. He is grateful for this reprieve, even if it's on a lumpy couch that might be older than Shawn himself.

He's grateful for a lot of things, really, but he won't acknowledge them until they're more certain.

Not much in Shawn's life has ever been certain, and tonight just proved that. But Shawn is allowing the smallest piece of hope to worm it's way into his thoughts.

Because Turner had on his "don't make me give you detention face" when he told Shawn he'd be away from his dad for good. That is one thing Shawn can trust. He knows how to read teacher's negative expressions.

Except, this one hadn't really been directed at him. Shawn feels like other things were meant for him, things neither he or mr Turner could or really wanted to say. Shawn doesn't do gratitude, especially not to adults.

But he does toast. Shawn makes pretty awesome peanut butter toast, and he's pretty confident he could find all the things he'd need for that in Turner's cluttered mess of a kitchen. Shawn decides to have that ready for Turner when he wakes up in the morning.

Shawn thinks he might attempt coffee as well, as he falls asleep without a knot in his stomach for the first time in months.

Author's notes: This fic was inspired by Turner and Feeny's conversations in the last 2 episodes of season 2. I really wish the show had shown more of them discussing Shawn. Once again, please give me your honest opinion when reviewing.