Chapter Text
Shawn did not feel better in the morning. Jon was finally cleaning the kitchen when he groaned and rolled over on the couch.
“Mornin’ sunshine.” Turner leaned against the counter. “Ya feeling any better?”
Shawn rubbed his eyes, wincing. “My face feels full of wet concrete.” He slowly sat up and ran his hands through his hair. Jon didn’t even need to feel his face; he could tell by his flushed cheeks and tired eyes he was still feverish. “Oh my god, I feel gross…Maybe I’ll take a shower.”
Jon watched him stand up, then immediately fall back into the couch. “Woah! You okay?” He ran into the living room. Shawn swayed.
Shawn held his head in his hands. “I got super dizzy,” he panted. “My ears…shit my ears are so full.” He sat up. “I’m okay. There’s just…ugh…my…my ears really hurt and my throat hurts.” Another coughing fit shook his whole body, then he straightened up. “I’m fine.”
Turner held him by the arm. “Stop. Sit still a minute.”
“I just stood up too fast,” he said. “I’m okay. I’m gonna at least put a different shirt on. I feel disgusting.” He stood up more slowly this time.
While Shawn was in the shower, Jon tried to get his heart back in his chest. He’d gone out earlier that morning for some medicine, but Shawn really needed antibiotics. He needed to go to the doctor. He didn’t even have a doctor for himself. Jon weighed his options. In an emergency they could go to the ER, where they’d treat first and ask questions later. But this wasn’t really an emergency. Was it? They hadn’t heard from Chet in nearly a month. Would the Matthews be able to help? Feeny? No, that was stupid. What would Feeny do? Shawn’s relentless coughs rumbled through the bathroom door.
Jon couldn’t sit still. He returned to his sink full of dishes. He stacked his plates and slammed the cabinet door. There was no roadmap for this. No plan. God, he should’ve planned for something like this. He ground his teeth while sorting silverware into the drawer. He felt helpless and immature, but mostly so damn angry at Chet and Virna. This wasn’t fair to Shawn. It wasn’t fair to any of them.
Shawn wandered into the kitchen with damp hair and clean pajamas.
“Feelin’ better?” Jon tried to sound casual.
“A little,” Shawn said. He sounded a little less congested. “Man, I haven’t had an ear infection like this since elementary school. Sucks.” He opened the fridge. “You got groceries. Thanks.” He poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat down at the counter.
That alone somehow made Jon feel better. He’d gotten groceries. He wasn’t totally useless.
Shawn picked at his cereal, then sank into the couch, staring stupidly at the TV. The phone rang just as he had dozed off again and Jon, suffering through grading a rambling, C-minus essay, hopped up to answer it. “Hello?”
“Hey, teach!” Chet said jovially. “How’s it going?”
“Chet! We haven't heard from you in almost a month. Where are you?”
“Uhh…somewhere between Saint Louis and Dallas.”
Neither of those were anywhere close to Philly. “Dallas!”
“Just callin’ to check up on my boy. He staying out of trouble?”
“He’s been pretty sick the last couple days, Chet.”
“Sick? What’s wrong?”
Jon crossed his arms and fidgeted with the phone cord. “Fever, sore throat, real nasty cough. Now he thinks his ears are infected.”
Chet sighed. “Those damn ears always did give him trouble when he was littler…”
Jon shook his head. “He could really use his dad right now.”
Chet didn’t say anything. Chattering and trucks roared in the background. “I gotta find my Virna,” he said. Another moment of tense quiet. “Did ya go to the doctor?”
“We can’t ,” Jon snapped. “No one can treat him without permission from a parent.”
“Oh,” Chet said. “I guess…I, uh, guess I didn’t plan for that, did I?” There was shuffling over the line.
“Who is his doctor?”
Chet hesitated. “Ah, damn…what is that fella’s name? Let me think. He ain’t been in a year or two.”
Jon slammed his hand on the counter. “This is so fucking irresponsible! What if we got into a car accident? What if he was real sick? Huh? I can’t give parental rights for anything, but you’re off--”
“I get it! Jesus! I’m a lousy father!”
Jon pulled the phone away from his ear. He took a shuddering breath, and looked at Shawn curled up on the couch. He had to keep his head. Yelling wouldn’t do Shawn any good. He pressed his mouth into a firm, straight line. Focus. “Listen, if we decide to go to urgent care tonight or tomorrow, how can I get in touch with you? Can you stay in one place for the weekend so I have a decent phone number?”
“Yeah…yeah, I can do that. And I’ll, uh, see if I can find me a fax machine and you have that doc send whatever papers I need to sign.”
“Thank you,” Jon said curtly. He wrote down the phone number of Chet’s motel.
“And I’ll…send ya some money to get him some medicine.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Another awkward silence.
“Well, can I talk to my boy?”
“I think he’s asleep--”
Shawn’s head popped over the back of the couch. “No, I’m not.”
Jon’s stomach sank. Of course he’d heard the whole thing. Shawn pulled himself to his feet, shuffled into the kitchen, and sat down at the counter. His hair stuck up in all directions. Jon handed him the phone.
“Hi, Dad,” he said hoarsely. Jon busied himself with making tea, pretending not to listen.
“Hey there, boy. Sorry you’re not feelin’ good.”
“It’s alright,” Shawn said. He propped his head up on his hand. “I’ll be fine.”
“Ya know, Shawny, when you’d get sick like this when you was little, I’d think about inventing some kinda vacuum or something to just-- slurp!-- suck the infection right outta ya ears.”
Shawn shuddered. “Ugh! No! Please don’t talk about anything going near my ears right now.” He pulled the phone away and coughed into his fist.
“Sorry, kid. Hey! You know what Grandma Gertie always said’s good for a cold?”
“Yeah,” Shawn smiled the tiniest smile. “I asked for a shot of whiskey. Turner said no.”
“Bummer,” Chet said. “It’d heal your voice right up. You sound like a frog. Ribbit.”
Chet laughed. Shawn didn’t. He coughed again. “Any sign of Mom?”
“Uh, not yet, kiddo. But I’ve picked me up one of them disposable cameras. I’ll have some great pictures to show ya when I get back.”
Shawn frowned. “Okay.”
“Alright, well, uh, you get to feelin’ better, Shawny. Sounds like Turner’s taking good care of ya.”
“Yeah,” Shawn said. “He’s trying. I’ll talk to you later, Dad.”
He slammed the phone down and slumped onto the table with his head in his arms.
Jon turned around. “You okay?”
“Let’s see,” Shawn mumbled. “I feel like shit. You admitted you don’t know what the hell to do. My mom abandoned me, and my dad doesn’t care that I’m sick.” He lifted his face and glared. “So…I’m doing real well, Jon.”
“Your dad cares, Shawn. He’s not the best at showing it, but he does care.”
Shawn shook his head, sniffling. “All my life we’ve had his jokes and his crazy stories and his get rich quick schemes and…and I don’t need that right now.”
Jon reached across the counter and put his hand on Shawn’s arm. “I know, kid. And…no, I don’t know what I’m doing. I ain’t trying to be your dad. But I’m here. And we’re gonna get you feeling better, okay?”
“How?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Jon admitted. He put a steaming mug down in front of him. “I got some tea and some DayQuil. Let’s start there. You hungry?”
Shawn shook his head.
“Want some medicine?” He was already reaching for the bag of supplies he’d picked up early that morning.
Shawn scowled. “I wanna jump off a bridge.”
“Good thing you can swim.” Jon wrestled a couple pills out of their packaging and handed them across the table. “That’ll take the edge off until we can get ya the good drugs.”
Shawn swallowed the pills, picked up his drink, and slunk back to the couch. Jon dialed the Matthews’ number. “Eric? Hey man, is your mom around?”
After a moment of shuffling and whispering, Amy was on the line. “Jonathan? Cory said Shawn’s not feeling well. Is everything okay?”
“Amy, you’ve been in this parenting gig a long time. How do you know when to take a sick kid to the doctor?”
She sighed. “What’s going on?”
Jonathan relayed Shawn’s newest symptoms. “He basically hasn’t left the couch since he got home from school yesterday.”
“Poor thing. That sounds like more than a cold, Jon.”
“I know," he said. "Chet…Chet called a little bit ago.”
“He did? Where is he?”
Jon rolled his eyes. “He doesn't even know. What a clown.” That was the kindest description he could muster with Shawn listening. “But he’s…he’s willing to let me take him to the doctor. I’ll get whatever permission I need to.”
“Was Shawn happy to hear from him?”
He looked at Shawn sulking in front of the TV. “That’s not the word I’d use.”
Amy was quiet for a minute. “Can I bring you two dinner tonight?”
“What?”
“I can tell you’re overwhelmed. Shawn’s sick. I’m making chili for my kids. Let me bring you some.”
“Aw, you don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to,” Amy said. “I want to. And let me make a couple phone calls, too.”
Jon sighed. “Thank you. Really.”
Shawn moped around for the rest of the day, sleeping on and off, complaining occasionally. Jon waded through fourteen more essays. Outside, the air was cold and heavy with clouds. Their apartment felt too small.
As promised, Amy and Cory arrived in the early evening with their hands full of goodies. Cory waved from the doorway. “Hey, Shawny.”
“Hey.” Shawn waved back. “Sorry I bailed on you last night.”
“You had a good excuse.” Cory leaned against the arm of the couch. “I rented you Blowing Up His Head Part 9.”
“ Cool !” Shawn smiled for the first time all day.
Amy set her bags on the counter. “Great, that sounds nice and relaxing.”
“Thanks again for dinner, Amy,” Jonathan said. He began unloading the bags: more cold medicine, a big container of chili, homemade cookies, a stack of movies.
As soon as Shawn started coughing, Amy marched over to him and pushed his sweaty hair off his face. “You poor thing,” she cooed. “Eric got horrible ear infections when he was little. I know you’re just miserable.”
Cory rolled his eyes. “She’s babying you more than she babies her own kids!”
Amy said, “You don’t let me.”
“I deserve it,” Shawn said.
Amy’s hand remained on Shawn’s shoulder. “Listen, sweetie, I made some phone calls and I got you a doctor’s appointment for first thing tomorrow morning. We worked it out with your dad and everything.”
Shawn looked up at Cory. “I like her.”
Cory chuckled. “Yeah, she’s pretty great at the whole mother hen thing.”
Amy smoothed Shawn’s hair again and gave him a quick kiss on the top of his head. “Feel better, kiddo. We’re gonna get out of here.”
Jon followed them to the hall. “Amy!" She turned around. “I can’t thank you enough. I…I feel like I’m messing this kid up and…Chet just about put me over the edge. I didn’t know what to do.”
“I’m almost old enough to be your mother,” she said with a little smile. “I’ve known Chet and Virna for a long time. They love Shawn, but they have a lot of their own shit to work out. They’re doing the best they can with what they know. But sometimes that’s just not good enough for a kid.”
Jon nodded. He’d been a teacher long enough to know that. “Maybe I’m not enough either.”
“No,” Amy said. “You are. You’re trying. You’re here. Kids don’t come with instruction manuals. Certainly Shawn Hunter didn't. But you’re the most stability he’s had in a long time. You’re gonna be just fine. And so is he.”
“Thank you,” Jon repeated. He was grateful for her help, embarrassed to need it.
She waved him off. “Takes a village,” she said. She looked over her shoulder at Cory waiting for the elevator. “Call us if you need anything, okay?”
Jon closed the door behind her. Shawn had already helped himself to the chili and started one of the movies Cory had brought him. “I can’t really taste anything,” he said. “but I bet this would be really good if I could.”
Jon smiled. “Well, that's high praise.” He got himself a bowl and sat down at the other end of the couch. “Now what the hell are we watching?”
“Blowing Up His Head Part 9 .”
“Riveting.” Jon took a bite of his chili.
They sat for a while watching the explosions and fake blood and teenage screams.
“Hey, Jon?”
“Yeah?”
Shawn looked down into his bowl. “Thanks for taking care of me even though I’m not your kid. I suck at showing it, but…thanks.”
Jon smiled. “Course you’re my kid,” he said. “Save your voice. Eat your dinner.”