Chapter 6 - Small Steps

For the next few days, Jon lowered his expectations. He wasn't expecting to be able to get through to Shawn, to get him to hear out any of his apologies or offer his own. He didn't expect to be able to get Shawn to do any of his homework. He wasn't even expecting to see the kid home by curfew.

He just wanted Hunter to stay alive. Wanted to know that he was sleeping in Jon's guest room and not out on the streets somewhere. If Shawn had his basic needs met, and Jon basically knew where he was, he would consider this week a success.

It ended up being a high bar. Jon waited up for the kid every night, which meant he himself was never getting enough sleep—not that he could sleep, even after Shawn got home. The kid showed up for class occasionally, though he was all but impossible to get out of bed in the morning, and Jon didn't fight that. According to Feeny, Shawn didn't make it to first period all week. Feeny didn't say it judgmentally, though; he seemed to just be informing Jon of the facts. Jon appreciated his understanding.

Not once did Jon see Shawn at the dinner table. He was starting to wonder how long the kid could keep eating out every night, but that question answered itself pretty quickly. Shawn started coming home a little earlier, inhaling the leftovers from the fridge. Jon wasn't exactly sure how Shawn had ever had money in the first place, but it was clear he didn't have any now.

Meanwhile, they didn't talk. Jon knew it was wrong to avoid a conversation just because of the way he feared it would turn out, but the truth was, he had no clue what to say. And Shawn wasn't exactly starting any conversations himself.

But he was safe. He was accounted for. He was eating, and sleeping, even if not enough. He wasn't happy, and he definitely wasn't doing himself any favors, or giving a modicum of respect to his authorities, but he wasn't homeless or without parents. Jon had to believe there was a big step up there.

He just had no idea how to take another step. Over the course of the week, he had a few more conversations with Feeny, and a couple of long phone calls with Alan Matthews, but neither of them had any idea what to do with a situation like this. Alan was good at spilling advice, but in the end, none of it quite seemed to apply.

Jon hadn't given up, though. He figured if he did give up, he could sleep at night. As it was, his fatigue was starting to leak into his everyday life, affecting his teaching. He snapped at his students, gave Cory detention over almost nothing, and even gotten into an argument with Eli. Shawn alone was safe from his wrath, if only because they didn't talk at all.

On Thursday night, though, Shawn came home long before his curfew. It wasn't even nine at night. He threw open the door and yelled, "Jon! Have I told you lately how much I hate you?"

Jon shot up from the couch, where he had been watching TV. He fumbled to turn it off. "Y-you okay, Hunter?"

"No, Jon. I'm not OK. You ruined my life."

Jon swallowed hard. He wanted to yell, but he couldn't. So he just said, "I'm sorry you feel that way, Shawn."

"It's true. Hey, I got questions for you."

Jon swallowed and took a step closer. "I'm always here to talk."

"What did you tell the police? I know you didn't know about the drugs. I didn't even know about the drugs."

Jon's heart sank into his stomach. He had never openly confessed to that, even though it was obvious. "Just said I was worried about you. That you've been abandoned for long periods of time, and then you came to school with that black eye."

Shawn laughed, and there was something very wrong about the laughter. "What do you think happened? Do you think my dad hit me?"

"I really don't know, Shawn. Do you want to talk about it?"

"My dad doesn't hit me. There was a fight in the trailer park. Not that that was any of your business."

Jon frowned. He couldn't exactly regret his choices, given what the police had found out about Shawn's parents, but Shawn had really acted like he was hiding something when Jon had first seen that bruise. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Cause you woulda thought I wasn't safe. That or you woulda gotten mad at me for fighting."

"Shawn…" Jon took a couple of steps closer, and that answered all of his questions. The smell didn't leave much to the imagination. "You're drunk."

"Yeah. So?"

"So, you're six years shy of being allowed to touch alcohol."

Shawn's face twisted into a scowl. He stepped closer and poked a finger into Jon's chest, speaking in a low, dangerous voice. "You. Are not. My dad."

"I'm not trying to be, kid."

"Yeah you are!" he yelled suddenly, stepping back. "Yeah. You are. You're always tryna tell me what to do, where to go, when to be home, what I can and can't eat and drink. Why don't you just butt out of my life?"

"Because..." The words tumbled out. "Because I love you."

Shawn's fist came out of nowhere, connecting with Jon's cheek.

In the shock of the moment, Jon didn't even feel the pain. "Shawn—"

"Don't ever say that to me!" Shawn's voice cracked. "You're not my dad, and he never even said that. You don't say that!"

"OK, I'm sorry, I won't—"

"I hate you. You took everything away from me, everything I just got back. You ruined my life, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…"

There was nothing Jon could do. Nothing but watch in horror as tears began to pour down Hunter's cheeks.

"Just leave me alone," he choked out.

Jon watched him for another moment, and then he shook his head. "No, Hunter."

Shawn looked up at him through teary eyes. "What?"

"I'm not gonna leave you alone. Not ever."

Shawn stared at him for a long moment. "What about when my parents get me back?"

"I'm going to keep an eye on you from a distance. To make sure you're safe." Jon forced himself to take a step closer, even though he knew it might get him punched again. "But I promise you. I'm never going to abandon you. I'm never gonna let you be alone again."

Shawn's chin trembled, and more tears fell.

Jon took a chance on another step forward, wrapping an arm around Shawn's shoulders and guiding him toward the stairs. "Think it's time you got to bed, kid."

"Not tired," Shawn muttered.

"Yeah, but you need to." They started up the stairs.

"Feel better in the morning?"

"No, I think you'll feel a lot worse."

"Better if I stay up, then."

"Sure. You can stay awake laying in bed."

"OK."

Jon pulled back the covers on the bed, and Shawn crawled inside. He rolled over onto his side, and Jon wrapped the covers around him. "Night, Shawn," he whispered.

"Night, Dad," Shawn mumbled absently.

Jon blinked in surprise, before realizing that there was no way the kid had any idea what he'd said. He let his breath out, turned off the light, and headed downstairs.

Jon didn't sleep more than a few hours that night, although Shawn slept for twelve. He made sure he would be ready when the kid woke up.

The first thing he did that morning was to call the school to ask for a substitute and to call in sick for Shawn. He put juice and water out on the table, along with some Advil and vitamins, and he had some bread ready to go into the toaster. All the things Jon himself usually needed when he had a hangover. On top of that, he closed all of his curtains and dimmed the lights so it wouldn't be overwhelming.

Around 10 in the morning, he started hearing groaning from upstairs.

Jon went up and peaked into Shawn's bedroom. Shawn hid his head under the pillow. He said something, but it was completely unintelligible.

"Can't hear you, Shawn."

Shawn lifted the pillow the tiniest amount. "Don't wanna go to school."

"Well, you got lucky today."

"Not so loud," Shawn whined.

Jon sighed and lowered his voice. "Just this once, I called in sick for you. But if you come home drunk again, you're gonna go to school with the hangover."

Shawn mumbled something under his breath. Jon couldn't hear it, but he doubted he wanted to.

"Come downstairs. Get something to drink, you'll feel better."

"I'm gonna throw up."

"Yeah, but you still need to rehydrate. Come on, up and at 'em."

"Can you bring it to me?"

"What do I look like, a waiter?"

Shawn pulled the pillow aside and looked up. "Please, Jon," he asked, in a soft voice.

Jon didn't want to cater to him when he had caused his own sickness. He didn't want Shawn to eat and drink in bed, and he really thought it would be better for the kid to get up and walk around, get the blood pumping, even if only a little. But he had been hard-pressed to score any points with the kid, and Shawn was speaking to him with more politeness and respect than he had in weeks.

So Jon just nodded. "OK, kid, you just relax, okay?" he said, and he went to grab two glasses from downstairs, one with juice, one with water.

He came back, sat on a chair beside the bed, and offered both glasses to Shawn, who took the water first and sipped at it slowly, pausing periodically to press a hand to his own forehead, wincing. Jon refrained from making any comments for now. They could talk about the dangers of alcohol later. Right now, Shawn was suffering. He would need understanding and compassion to get through this part; if Jon could give him that, he might listen to a lecture later on.

Shawn finished the glass and traded for the juice. He only took a couple of sips before lowering it and looking up at Jon. "I don't remember everything from last night."

"That can happen," Jon said.

"Did I hit you?"

Jon was quiet for a moment. His face was still sore. "I said something you didn't want to hear."

Shawn looked down at his glass. "It's not that I don't wanna hear it. I just… the thing you said, I don't know if I can say it back."

"I wouldn't expect you to."

"I mean, I don't know if I can ever say it back."

"That's OK, too."

Shawn gave a very slight smile.

Jon wanted to continue on this topic, but he could tell Shawn was done with it. So instead, he asked, "How's the headache?"

"Uh. Getting a little better."

"There's some Advil for you downstairs, but you've got to eat something with it."

"I don't want to throw up."

"We can wait on it. There's no rush, we've got all day."

Shawn nodded.

Jon stood and ruffled Shawn's hair. "Get some rest. I'll be right downstairs."

"Jon?"

"Yeah?"

Shawn took a deep breath. "I'm really sorry."

"For what?"

"Everything, I guess."

Jon smiled. "We're good, Hunter."

"I don't... I dunno if we're good yet."

"Well, I forgive you."

"I... don't know if I forgive you yet. I'm sorry for that, too."

"That's okay, Shawn."

Shawn downed the last of the juice and handed over the glass before settling back in bed.

Jon sighed and headed toward the door.

"Wait, Jon?"

Jon turned back to Shawn.

"I don't hate you," he said.

It didn't quite heal everything from the night before. But it was a huge step forward. "Glad to hear it," Jon said, and he very gently closed the door.