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Shawn was walking along the edge of everything he hated about himself and the rest of his life. Balancing on the curb of a street that he was trying to will himself to cross. There was plenty of space between the cars driving down the busy street, he could walk across at any moment.
He held onto his duffle bag tightly, slinging it over his shoulder. He took a deep breath, counting down from three.
He crossed the street, counting how many steps it took, how many steps it would take if he had to return, how many he might never take again if he's making the right choice.
Each footstep was a different voice in his head saying what he was worth– a dirty trailer rat, a meaningless fling, an idiot with no future– and he left them in the street, hoping he wouldn't return to pick them back up.
Shawn counted the stairs he climbed, making sure each step knew that wasn't the last they would see of him. And he knocked on the door, begging to return to the time when he wouldn't have to knock before walking in.
He waited, and knocked again, before hearing the locks unlocking in a welcome song to him.
"Hunter? It's almost two in the morning, what are you doing here?" Jonathan Turner asked from the other side of the door. The light in the living room was still off, but the room was illuminated with the soft blue glow of the world outside, the world Shawn just ran away from.
Shawn hesitated at the doormat, looking down at his shoes and deciding to rub the dirt off, leaving his old self at the door. Then he walked in without answering Jon. He took off his shoes, leaving them in the spot by the door he always had, and dropping his duffle on the ground.
"Shawn, are you okay?" Jon asked, easily slipping into the fatherly role he had gotten used to last year. He placed a hand on Shawn's tense shoulder, and Shawn didn't acknowledge it.
Shawn breathed in the warm air of the apartment. "I'm fine, I just… I ran away."
"You ran away? What happened?" Jon reached for the light switch, and Shawn didn't know if he imagined the flinch when Jonathan saw the bruises on Shawn's face.
"You should see the other guy," Shawn said, with a hesitant smile. "It looks worse than it is, I'm sure." If Shawn was being honest, he hadn't even seen the bruises, and he had no desire to look at his face and see the marks left by an unloving hand.
"You get in a fight?"
"I guess you could call it that. A one sided fight where one person is beating the ever loving shit out of a much smaller person who's begging for mercy like a damn coward." Shawn scratched his face absentmindedly. God he was a coward, deep down. "And anyway, I'm here now, so I'm safe."
"Maybe you should go to the Matthews."
"Why? You got a hot date over?" Shawn tried joking, but he couldn't get any humor to stick to his voice. The scared little child that he felt like was the only thing surfacing at that moment. He was not going to be passed around again.
Jon shook his head. "No, but Mr and Mrs Matthews will know what to do-"
Shawn picked at his fingernails. "You know what to do," he said. "Let me stay here. I've got a room and a warm bed and someone to rely on."
"Shawn, I don't think-"
His chest felt tight, he was being strangled by another lost hope. "Don't do this to me, man," Shawn pleaded. "You said I can count on you, Cory said you'd love to have me back. Please, I can't go back there, this is my only other option. I want to get my life back on track. I need you, man."
Jonathan took another long look at Shawn's face. "Who did you get in a fight with?"
Shawn didn't want to say it. Telling an adult would only make it more real. "I… I think you know."
"I need to hear you confirm it. I'm going to report it, and I just need to make sure."
"My dad."
Jon nodded, looking furious. "That son of a bitch."
Shawn glared at the carpet, begging the world to send him a sign that everything would be back to normal. That the world would become right again. That Shawn would have a home.
And by god that's all he wanted his whole life. And he naively believed that his father would give him the home he wanted after years of neglect and running away. He believed that he could express vulnerability without his father trying to beat it out of him. He wanted someone to love him unconditionally.
He wanted a hug.
"Aren't parents supposed to like their kids?" Shawn asked. "Or is that just a myth made up for TV?" He tried to keep his voice from wavering. He looked through the teary haze for a joke to cover up the emotions but he couldn't find one.
Jon reached out, and Shawn hugged him tight, like the man was the only thing keeping him on the ground. "Why doesn't he love me?" Shawn cried. "He's the one person who's supposed to no matter what, why does he hate me?"
"I don't know, Shawn."
Shawn felt as if he couldn't breathe, everything was collapsing around him, and he was willing to be buried under the rubble of an uncaring world. But Jonathan kept him upright.
"It'll be okay."
Shawn sat on the couch. "I just feel so broken. And I'm trying to glue the pieces back together and everytime I do, he comes along and breaks them again. Even when he's not here, he's telling me to break them myself." He tried to hold back a sob. "I don't want to be broken."
"You're not broken."
"I'm damaged."
"You're a kid. A kid who needs someone to take care of you, someone to rely on without fear of them leaving or hurting you."
Shawn wrapped his arms around himself, trying to stop crying. "Do you know what day it is?" he asked. He knew.
"October nineteenth, since it's past midnight," Jon said, looking at the calendar. "Isn't that-"
Shawn leaned back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm tired," he said. "Can I go to bed?"
Jonathan nodded. "Yeah. Your room is still mostly set up."
"Thanks."
Shawn got up, ignoring the ache in the marrow of every one of his bones and trudged sleepily to his old room, knowing he'd either fall asleep as soon as he hit the mattress or stay awake all night.
"Hey, Hunter?"
Shawn stopped and turned around. "Yeah?"
"Happy birthday."
Shawn had used up all his tears already. "Thanks," he said, semi-numb. "Goodnight."
"Night."
Shawn was standing at the edge of himself and the world. He could step off the line and fall, or he could fly.
It was time to fly.