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The first thing he registers when he wakes from his restless slumber is the inability to move. He tries to move his arms and legs but instead finds that they’re too heavy for him to lift. His face feels hot and his pajamas stick to him with sweat. Something is wrong, something had been wrong for a few days now.
His suspension ended last Friday. He was meant to return today, Monday, but he checks his clock to see it’s already 12 in the afternoon. It’s too late for him to make it to school on time. Feeny would probably suspend him for another two weeks then.
His limbs finally decide to work, but his head aches with every tiny movement he makes and he can’t seem to swallow without wincing. Maybe taking some Advil or Tylenol isn’t the best option at the moment. So, deciding he can’t do anything to help himself, he lies back down and promptly falls back asleep.
He doesn’t know what day it is now. The clock reads 8 AM. Shawn supposes it’s the next day, but as far as he knew it was the next year. He slept like a rock for what felt like the first time in his life. He had no dreams, his head is pounding out of it’s skull, and he’s tired, but at least he slept.
There’s not a single sound coming from inside the trailer. Since the AC stopped working, it’s been deathly hot and quiet inside. He’s thankful that the AC and heating went out during the summer instead of the winter, though he would’ve preferred neither.
Shawn is cold. He’s cold, but he’s sweating all over and he’s sure his head is burning up with a fever. His throat, if anything, has worsened. He doesn’t think he’d be able to speak to anyone if he even dared to try.
He thinks about Cory now. Is he worried? Has he visited? Does he care? Did he even notice? If Cory was here, Shawn thinks, he’d be worried out of his mind. He’d try to take care of Shawn all by himself or practically carry Shawn to the doctor. Either way, Shawn wishes Cory was here right now. Maybe he should call the Matthews for help…
He falls asleep again before he gets the chance to.
It’s 4 AM when Shawn awakens next.
He woke up briefly at 1:30 PM to go to the bathroom but, surprisingly, fell back asleep once again. His headache is duller now but his throat feels like fire. His stomach growls loudly as it craves food after not being fed for two (three? Four? Shawn lost count.) days. He considers getting water as well. That might help with his throat.
He doesn’t like how much effort it takes to get himself to stand. He walks on wobbly legs toward the kitchen. He checks the cupboards first, then the fridge. He pulls out a water bottle from the latter but nearly sobs when he sees the lack of food in the trailer. He realizes he had forgotten to go to the store and get food before he got sick. All that’s left is a sleeve of Ritz crackers. He curses his past self and drags himself back to the couch he’d been on for far too long. It’s becoming too familiar.
The water helps for a second before the burning sensation comes back. Shawn decides only to take slow, small, and few sips as to save the water just in case he can’t stand to get a new one again. He sets the bottle down next to the couch and lies down again, eating the sleeve of crackers. He doesn’t know how long it takes for him to finish the entire sleeve.
He doesn’t want to sleep. He’d much rather be awake and, for some reason, actually go to school. He misses seeing Cory and Topanga. Hell, he even misses Eric and Jason at this point. The isolation seems to be getting to him. He hugs his pillow tight against his chest, pretending it’s a person, and falls asleep.
Shawn wakes up on the couch, but it isn’t his couch. This is someone else’s couch in someone else’s living room. This is an entirely different place. Opening his eyes, he recognizes this as Cory’s house. He hears muffled voices in the kitchen. Curiosity wants to lead him towards the voices, but his body refuses and forces him to stay still.
“Cory?” Shawn tries to shout. His voice fails him and comes out broken and sad. His attempt at speaking sends him into a coughing fit. He curls in on himself, holding his aching stomach as it growls.
They must’ve heard his coughing because in comes Amy Matthews, followed closely by her husband and two sons. Mr. Feeny as well as Mr. Turner come through the door behind the couch and exchange glances.
“Shawn!” Cory looks like he’s about to leap on top of his friend but refrains from doing so when remembering that Shawn is ill. Eric puts a hand on Cory’s shoulder and pulls him back slightly. Shawn coughs again, this time much weaker than the last.
“Eric, why don’t you take your brother upstairs?” says Alan in a strained sweet voice. Cory looks ready to object, but shuts his mouth when glancing at Shawn again. Eric leads Cory upstairs silently. Feeny wears his usual frown, though this one is more sympathetic than the last time Shawn saw it. Jonathan has a distant look in his eyes that he gets when he’s thinking too hard. Shawn subconsciously curls further into himself.
“Hey, Shawn.” Amy kneels down next to the couch. “How are you feeling?”
“Bad.” Shawn’s voice is hoarse. He sounds like his vocal chords have been mummified then stuffed back into his throat.
“I’ll bet.” Alan moves next to Amy but decides to stand instead of kneel. “You looked nearly dead when we found you. How long have you been sick?”
Shawn shrugs and tries to come up with a number. “4 days.” He decides that’s a reasonable number. Then he frowns. “What day is it?” The adults in the room share a look.
“It’s Sunday the 25th, Mr. Hunter,” Feeny says. Shawn furrows his eyebrows. That can’t be right. Ignoring the dull pounding in his head, he tries to piece together the fuzzy memories of being awake.
Shawn Hunter has not been sick for eight days. Nope.
Amy notices the confusion and slight panic creeping up on Shawn. She takes his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.
“Where are your parents?” Jonathan finally asks. Shawn hesitates.
“They’re out getting food, or at least that’s what they said.” He lies with ease as his voice begins to come back. “I should head back to the trailer, I mean-”
“Cut the crap, Hunter, where are they really?” asks Jon instead with a surprisingly gentle voice. Amy shoots him a warning look. Shawn’s gaze drops to the floor.
“I don’t know. They just left a note and some money until they get back.” Shawn would’ve laughed at the face Jonathan made if his stomach didn’t hurt. It growls again, drawing attention from the adults. Amy stands again.
“I’ll go get some food, okay? Alan, will you schedule a doctor’s appointment?” The adults slowly file out of the room (Jonathan is the only one who looks back at Shawn as he leaves) and Shawn can no longer find a reason to keep his eyes open.