Chapter 3 - Stuck

Jon was able to get through the weekend and the parenting training without hearing anything back from social services. The training had enough in common with his teaching classes from college that it actually had him feeling a little more confident. That first year with Shawn hadn't gone terribly, for the most part. Maybe he could get through this.

One thing that came as a pleasant surprise was that being Shawn's legal foster parent came with certain advantages. A social worker would be checking in periodically, which he chose to see as a positive, even though he knew he probably wouldn't always feel that way. The bigger pro was that they would support him financially for as long as Shawn was staying with him, providing a monthly amount for food and supplies and a bit extra once a year for clothes. Jon hadn't exactly struggled to get by before, but this would let him lease a modest car, which would make it easier to transport the kid.

He used a little of his savings to pay for the first month in advance, so that he would have the car ready. He also made sure to stock the bathroom with the soap and shampoo Shawn preferred and clear out the extra bedroom of the items he'd been storing there. He double checked that the bed had clean sheets and the closet had extra pillows and blankets, and he even picked up some of Shawn's favorite snacks for the pantry. He might as well at least try to make the kid feel welcome.

At the training, they warned him that it was very likely he would be responsible for taking the kid to court-ordered, supervised visits with his parents. He figured that was also a positive. It had been hard to watch Shawn pining after his dad the year he had abandoned him; this way, they would at least get to see each other once a week. It was an extra time commitment, but one that would bring a lot more peace to the household.

Jon got a call at the school on Monday—technically, Feeny got the call and passed the message on to Jon. Shawn had been found. Jon would need to pick him up as soon as he could. They said Jon could come after school hours.

Perhaps predictably, he was at the police station. He had been picked up for stealing.

Thanks to the arrangement with social services, Jon didn't have to pay anything to bail him out. The police officer walked him out from the cell, holding him roughly by the arm.

Jon had never seen him such a mess. His clothes were wrinkled and filthy, his hair matted like he had just gotten up but also greasy like he hadn't showered in days, and he reeked of dirt and sweat. It took effort not to turn his face away from the stench. But it was worse than that. The other times Shawn had been picked up by police, he had worn some combination of innocent nonchalance and true repentance in his facial expression. Today, there was only bitterness.

"Thanks, officer," Jon said, and he took Shawn by the arm. His jacket even felt filthy.

The officer let go, and Jon walked the kid out of the station. Shawn didn't say anything until they were a few steps away from the building.

"Thanks for getting me out of there," Shawn said, and he pulled at his arm.

Jon tightened his grip. "You're coming with me."

"Seriously, man? Look, I appreciate the bailout, but—"

"I'm your foster parent now. Didn't they tell you that?"

Shawn frowned. "Maybe. You know, when adults talk—"

"You hear a buzzing noise. Yeah, I got that." Jon ushered Shawn toward the car. "Let's get you back to my place, you can shower and change."

Shawn stopped short. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Shawn, where else are you gonna go?"

"I'm not gonna tell you where I'm going. You'll just call the police and rat on me." His voice crackled a little.

Jon raised his eyebrows. "You have no idea where to go, do you?"

"Yeah, and who's fault is that?"

Jon couldn't help feeling a little stab of guilt in his chest. He knew he shouldn't, but the kid looked so hurt. Jon looked Shawn right in the eyes and asked, "What did you steal?"

"What?"

"It's a simple question."

Shawn looked away.

"Did you steal food?"

"No," he said, in a voice Jon knew couldn't be anything but a lie.

"When's the last time you ate?"

Shawn didn't say anything, and he didn't look at Jon.

"Make you a deal. Come back to my place, get yourself cleaned up. I'll lend you something to change into, and I'll cook something hot. Take a rest, and we can figure out what to do next in the morning." Jon didn't know if Shawn would be any more willing to listen then, but he couldn't imagine the kid being able to focus on an empty stomach, who knew how many sleepless nights, and skin caked with days' worth of sweat.

Finally, Shawn looked up at him. "Yeah, OK," he said. He got into the car without another word.

Jon sighed and drove them both home.

All things considered, the evening could have been worse. Jon handed the kid a towel and a change of clothes, then he started working on a stir fry. Shawn took a long time in the shower, but Jon wouldn't have expected anything different. He came back out around the time dinner was ready, and at first, he ate fast as he had that first night he had come to Jon from that motel. But after a minute, he slowed down, and he finally seemed to be tasting what he was eating. He didn't speak, and Jon forced himself to keep quiet as well until the kid was down to picking at the second half of his third bowl.

"Any better?"

Shawn just shrugged.

Jon let his breath out. "Why don't you get on up to bed?"

"It's not even dark."

"Lay down for a half an hour. If you're not tired after that, you can watch TV."

"Really?"

"Sure." It pained him to say it. The kid was weeks behind on schoolwork. But the weekend's training had been pretty clear about the effects of trauma on a child's ability to learn. Jon would make sure Shawn got started catching up in the next few days, but it could be months before homework did the kid any good.

"OK." Shawn smirked. "See you in a half an hour."

Jon smiled back, but when the kid had disappeared up the stairs, he muttered under his breath, "I seriously doubt that."

Jon took a little time to wash the dishes and put away the leftovers, though there wasn't much left. He cleared the table and graded a couple of essays, and after a little while he checked the time. It had been 35 minutes.

Jon headed up the stairs and peaked into Shawn's room. The kid was dead asleep.

As quietly as he could, Jon closed the door of the bedroom. He went down to finish his grading, then back up to grab his own blanket and pillows. He got himself set up on the couch, and he left a few empty cans by the front door. He hoped he was wrong about what he suspected would happen later tonight, but it didn't hurt to be prepared.

He wasn't wrong.

He awoke in pitch darkness to the sound of clattering cans and soft swearing. Jon sat up, flipped on the lamp, and caught Shawn looking up at him with one hand on the door knob, deer in the headlights.

Jon swept aside his blankets and patted the couch with one hand. "Come talk to me, Hunter."

"Nothing to talk about."

"Shawn."

"Look, we both know I don't belong here. I'll just get out of your hair."

"Who says you don't belong here?"

"I do."

"Shawn… I'm trying to help you."

"You're the reason I'm in this mess!"

Jon didn't comment on that. "Come sit your butt down. I gotta tell you something."

"What?"

"Sit."

Shawn glared at him for a moment. Then he threw his hands up in surrender and sat as far from Jon on the couch as he could.

Jon looked at him right in the face, even though Shawn didn't reciprocate. "Now, I'm not gonna tell you not to be mad at me. I'd be mad too, if I were you. But you gotta think about where you're going next."

"Another lecture about my future?" He said the word as though he were referring to something mythical.

"Nah, this is about your present. What do you thinks going to happen if you keep running away from your foster homes?"

"Eventually they have to send me back to my parents."

"No. That's not what's gonna happen. Because right now, you're proving CPS was right."

Shawn looked up at Jon for the first time, curiosity in his eyes.

"You're proving your parents didn't raise you right."

"My parents raised me fine."

"Then prove it. Show them."

Shawn stared at him for a moment, but then he looked away again. "Won't prove anything. Just make them think you're better at this than my parents."

Jon couldn't argue with that; there was a chance he was right. "OK, then, let's look at this a different way. Let's say your social worker already thinks your parents are screwups. What does she think about you?"

His expression grew even harder, if that was possible.

"I think right now, she thinks there's still hope for you. She didn't send you to me because she thought I could whip you into shape. She sent you to me because she thought you would be more comfortable here."

"She said that?"

"More or less." Jon couldn't remember the exact words, but he could tell that Shawn's social worker hadn't given up on him yet. "The more you shape up, the more weight your word is going to have in a court of law."

"They never listen to the kids."

"The kid gets a chance to speak." That was another big part of the training, another pleasant surprise. "But there's a better chance they'll trust you if you prove they can."

Shawn's eyebrows drew together.

"OK?"

"Yeah, OK."

Jon was going to save the next part for the morning, but seeing as they were having the conversation now… "Shawn, I get it if you don't wanna be here. We can find you another foster home if it's too hard to be around me."

"Cory's parents?"

"They were willing to take you."

"That doesn't mean they want me."

"Shawn—"

"You don't want me here, either. You're just doing the right thing because you feel bad for me."

Jon thought back to the long nights in the empty apartment, the freedom that hadn't tasted a fraction as sweet as he had hoped. "I want you here, Shawn."

"Jon, you don't have to—"

"I'm not lying to you. If your parents can get some help, take care of you better, I'll be happy for all three of you. But you know what, Shawn?"

Shawn looked up at him.

Jon wanted to tell him. Wanted to admit how much he had missed the kid after he'd left, how much he would miss him again when he went back home. But they weren't the right words to say. They weren't what Shawn needed to hear. Instead, he just said, "I swear I like having you here."

"So you're trying to take me away."

"I never said that."

"You want my parents to fail."

"What do you think is going on here? Cause you can't have it both ways, Hunter. First you say I wish your parents would get it together so I can be rid of you, then you're saying I want them to fail."

"Guess it doesn't matter. One way or another, I'm stuck here."

"Yeah. I guess you are." Jon didn't know how to help, if that was how Shawn was feeling. Things had been so much better between them the year before. "Up to bed? School in the morning."

Shawn shrugged and stood. "Yeah," he said. "Whatever."

Jon let out a long breath. He knew he wouldn't be sleeping, not now. He also doubted Shawn would try to run away again, but just in case, he didn't pick up his blankets to take them back to his room. Instead, he flicked off the light, lay back down on the couch, and resigned himself to lay awake for the rest of the night.