Chapter 24 - Routine

Shawn talked for days about his dad's visit. Weeks, even. He seemed to have completely forgotten it was his dad's first visit in months, and he didn't seem to notice that his dad didn't visit again at all.

"You didn't think he'd come through," he teased Jon a few days later during one of his morning examinations. "But I know my dad. Didn't I say he'd always be here for me?"

"Yeah, you did," Jon said absently, and he held out his hand in time for Shawn to grip onto it as a doctor adjusted something in his leg.

But even the pain didn't put much of a damper on Shawn's mood. As the doctor packed up to go, Shawn looked over at Jon and asked, "Wait. Didn't you say his phone went to voicemail when you tried to call him?"

"Ah . . ." Jon braced for whatever came next. He knew he should never have lied to Shawn.

"Maybe social services got ahold of him, finally? Unless . . ." His jaw dropped.

"Uh, about that, Shawn—"

"You just wanted to surprise me!"

Jon's breath caught. "Ahh... you know me."

Shawn grinned. "Thanks, man. It means a lot. Oh, and thanks for the camera! That was a great Christmas."

Jon paused a moment, then he nodded slowly. "Sure thing, Hunter," he said.

If Shawn had been carrying his pain pretty well ever since the shock wore off, it was nothing to now. For the most part, it seemed that any fear he'd felt had melted away. He greeted every doctor with a smile; he flirted with nurses even when they were there to give him shots; he was entirely himself with Cory. He showed minimal fear before and after surgeries and major procedures.

Whether it was just his natural personality or an intentional ploy for attention, it worked out well for Shawn. He was on first-name basis with most of the hospital staff, and they were constantly doing favors for him—bringing him extra pillows and blankets, extra cups of Jell-O, letting him use the phone and TV during off hours, helping him wash and style his hair. Jon got used to staff members gushing to him about how adorable his son was. The first couple of times, Jon corrected them; the next couple, he didn't bother, but it stung a bit; after that, he just thanked them, enjoying the charade.

A couple of days before winter break ended, late in the evening, Jon came into the hospital room to find a slim blond girl around Shawn's age sitting by his bedside, giggling. He waved her out, frowning, and she limped out on her walker.

"That's Nicole Preobrazhensky," Shawn said.

"Gesundheit."

"She's a horseback rider. Well, she was."

"It's bed time."

"I'm always in bed."

"Go to sleep, Hunter."

"Yeah," Shawn said, grinning toward the door. "Sweet dreams."

Jon glanced toward the door. There was no one there. "Who're you talking to?"

"Me," Shawn said dreamily, and Jon rolled his eyes before helping Shawn to lie down.

Shortly before first semester grades were due, Jon went to speak to all of Shawn's teachers, thanking them for exempting him from the final and bringing by his review work, in case it was worth anything. Shawn ended up keeping his C's in history and math, as well as his B in English and A in French, but Eli was impressed enough by his media arts project to bump his B to an A, and his science teacher spent a moment looking over the thick packet of review problems before she agreed to bump his D to a C. She said that he'd done more prep work than any of her other students that year.

Two A's, one B, and three C's. Jon brought the report card to Shawn and sat with him while he opened it.

Shawn stared at it for a long moment, his eyes unbelieving. "I could get into college with these grades," he said. "Not, like, a great college, but . . ."

"You earned them, Hunter," Jon said. "Just wish I didn't have to be bringing them to you in a hospital bed."

"It's okay," Shawn said, and he carefully placed the envelope on the stand by his bed, next to a big stack of other cards he'd received. "I'll get out of here."

"Yeah, you will," Jon said. "You know, last year, I told you if you got your grades up, I'd take you to Europe over the summer."

Shawn's eyes grew wide, but then he shook his head. "That's okay, I'll be back home before summer."

"Maybe your old man can reward you somehow."

"Nah, he's not obsessed with grades like you are. No offense."

"None taken," Jon said quietly.

School had started back up, and Jon couldn't afford to be completely out of a job. Rather than deplete his emergency sick time all at once, he was able to work with Feeny on setting up a reduced work schedule. Jon also talked with Shawn's other teachers about setting up independent study; a couple of them were even willing to come out to tutor him once a week.

The next couple of months fell into a routine. Finally, Shawn was up and walking, albeit only a few steps at a time; he was able to use the bathroom and shower without too much help, which Jon knew was a huge relief to him, even if he hadn't seemed too agitated before. He slept long hours at night, endured examinations and other specialist visits in the early mornings, napped through the late morning, visited with Cory and other friends after school hours, and did schoolwork in the evenings, sometimes with tutors. Jon's reduced workload gave him time to be with Shawn for his morning appointments before taking off to the school while Shawn slept.

The more difficult part was that he had physical therapy several times a week, for rehabilitating from different injuries. That was finally enough to break through his good mood a little—he was clearly in more pain throughout the day than he had been, and no longer able to take it with a smile on his face. He talked back to Jon more than he had, argued about certain assignments and sometimes seemed to be talking back just for the sake of picking a fight. He didn't talk about it, but Jon suspected he'd also finally figured out that his dad wasn't coming back to visit him.

As he had begun the habit of doing, Jon sought Ashley's advice with regards to the behavioral changes, but she just gave him a sympathetic look. "It's normal," she told him. "Teenagers are already in a developmental stage of craving more freedom than they can have, and Shawn's in a lot of pain on top of that. He's tired, and he's cooped up."

"That's not my fault. Why's he taking it out on me?"

She smiled. "Because he feels safe with you. He knows you're not gonna walk out."

Jon had no idea what to make of that. "So there's nothing I can do."

"Ride it out?" she offered. "I'll give him some pain meds and offer some extra TV time. I wish I could do more."

"Thanks, Ashley." He meant it, too; she was the one person on hospital staff who hadn't treated Shawn any differently through his worse days. Jon didn't think the doctors and nurses were upset with Shawn for his bad attitude, but they certainly were no longer enamored with him, and they didn't give him special treatment anymore.

It was mid-February when it became a fight to get Shawn to do anything. He argued about getting out of bed to go to physical therapy; he avoided doing his schoolwork; he even refused to eat sometimes, which Jon had never seen him do. Every day, he'd claim that he was fine, and he was ready to go home. Then he'd complain about all of the pain and discomfort from all of his injuries and the procedures they were still doing.

On a day when Shawn had procrastinated so long on getting out to the rehab center that his therapy had to be rescheduled, Jon lost his temper with the kid for the first time since they'd been in the hospital.

"I've had it," he told Shawn, standing to pace as soon as the receptionist who'd brought the message about the reschedule left the room. "You say you're fine, but you won't get out of bed. You wanna get out of here, but you won't put in the work to make it happen. What are you expecting to happen here, Shawn?"

"I don't know, man." He squirmed. "I'm sick of feeling like crap."

"And refusing to do what the doctors say is gonna help with that?"

"I'm sorry! I really am!"

"Don't give me that, Shawn, five minutes ago you were pitching a hissy fit."

"Okay, fine, you're right. I'm not sorry. I haven't been out of this building in two months, Jon, it's driving me crazy, and...you know what?" He reached over to grab his notebook from his nightstand, opened to a page, and used his bandaged left arm to hold down the notebook as he tore out a page. "Here. Read it. I don't even care."

Jon frowned, looking down at the page. The last time Shawn had done this, the entry had been a gut punch. Jon glanced up at Shawn, who was looking away, glaring, and Jon braced himself and read the entry.

Maybe I should have been thankful. For safety. For good food and a soft bed.

I wasn't.

Maybe I should be thankful now. I am alive. Friends visit me and Jon stays with me.

I'm not.

When I get out of here, maybe I'll be thankful for arms and legs that work. Maybe I'll be thankful to get to go to school.

I don't know.

Everyone feels sorry for me. I can see it in there eyes. They feel sorry that I'm hungry, cold, in pain, and lonely. They feel sorry because the walls are closing in.

I'm USED to being hungry and cold!

I'm USED to pain!

I'm USED to being alone!

I'm USED to the walls closing in!

I'M NOT USED TO BEING THIS BORED

BORED

BORED

BORED

BORED

BORED

Jon blinked a few times. Shawn had worn a hole through the paper on the last letter. It wasn't exactly what Jon had been expecting to see. He lowered the entry and looked up at the kid. "I know it's hard. You've been taking all this really well, you know."

"Doesn't feel like it," Shawn muttered.

Jon sighed, slowly sitting down on the side of Shawn's bed and thinking carefully about his next words. Shawn hadn't cried since those first couple of weeks in the hospital when the shock and adrenaline were wearing off, but Jon didn't want to risk him starting back up. "Hey. I'd be scared out of my mind if I were going through what you've gone through in the past two months."

"I was scared. Now I'm just..." He looked down at the page.

Jon smirked. "You know, the Shawn Hunter I know? That word wasn't in his vocabulary. He could find the fun in anything, anywhere."

Shawn lowered his head a little, hints of an impish smile playing with his eyes. "You don't want that Shawn Hunter."

Jon knew he was going to regret this, but he said it anyway. "I do want that Shawn Hunter. You have my permission to be you. In fact, I encourage it."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. Just, ah . . . do me a favor and don't break the law, okay? Or put yourself or anyone else in danger?"

"Sure," Shawn said, and his grin widened.