Chapter Text
He didn’t know what to do anymore. He’d survived a lot in his life but this was different, this time he knew he was completely alone. Shawn Hunter felt alone a lot throughout his childhood, but it all added up to this moment. His dad actually left and was probably never coming back for him. His best friend’s parents were finally sick of him and now he didn’t even have a place to live. So he did what he was best at, he ran, alone.
He was well accustomed to the Matthews’ home and Cory’s window was Shawn’s own personal front door. His stuff was already packed. He was always packed. His dad was supposed to come back for him any day, so he just kept his few items in his duffel, always prepared to go home- when his father came back with his home.
Now there was nowhere to go, so he just ran; past Chubbie’s, past the trailer park that he knew so well, and past the high school. Eventually, without realizing where he was headed, he reached the bus station. He’d pick the bus with the cheapest ticket and the furthest distance; anywhere away from Philly. His options: Pittsburg, New York, or the Jersey Shore. That’s all he could afford. New York sounded alright to him, getting lost in the crowds and having so many opportunities to do whatever he wanted. The bus would leave in 45 minutes, still plenty of time to calm down a bit. His nerves were shot, his mind was racing, and he looked like hell. He went into the bathroom to try and clean up, try to look respectable enough to be sold a ticket. Not that anyone working tonight probably cared. The only people here were probably just like him, running from something and having no one to care.
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He got into the bathroom and sat on the floor. He probably shouldn’t have. The bathroom wasn’t the cleanest place around. It was a single room with an off-white toilet that looked as old as him. The sink attached to the wall had a slow drip at random intervals and the mirror above the sink was intact but dirty. As he sat with his head against the wall he glanced at the random names and numbers scrawled on the wall. Now that he was alone all he could do was think.
He was sick of people. He had no one who wanted him and the strangers in the station annoyed him just by being there. He figured being alone was better for him anyway. No way to screw up anyone else’s life. He was safe alone. No one could hurt him when he’s alone. He wanted to cry. He never wanted that before. He knew he couldn’t cry. Hunters didn’t need to. They simply took what life threw at them and got by, never giving it a second thought. But for some reason he was never like the rest of his family. He could never just let things roll off him. Things always stuck with him. His mom told him he was useless….when he was seven… and he never forgot. His father hit him for breaking the TV… when he was nine. Then beat him the next morning when he found Shawn crying in his room. He quickly learned Hunters never cry.
But sitting on that bathroom floor, he couldn’t help feeling like that small boy. He could feel the blood boiling in his veins, his skin was crawling, and he could only think about how much he wanted to get out of his own body. He took off his jacket and stood up to look at himself in the mirror, he hated what he saw. He saw the useless kid that no one wanted.
He went through his bag, not sure what he was looking for. He figured he’d find his money and see if he could get some food before buying his ticket. But instead of finding his rolled up cash, he stumbled upon his razor which left him with a small, shallow cut. He’d forgotten to cover it last time he used it and the cut on his finger slowly started to bleed. He stared at the blade. He had no idea why he found it so fascinating. He’d used it so many times to shave and never thought it would have another purpose. But here he was feeling slightly better and wasn’t sure why. He held the razor in his hand, just staring. He found himself breaking it apart. He didn’t know what would come of it, but he just felt he needed to break the razors out of the shaving handle. When he had the razor free from its casing, he brought it to his wrist and his mind just started telling him to break his skin. All he could hear were his parents telling him how useless he was, the Matthew’s saying how much a burden he was, and Turner and Feeny telling him how dumb he was. So he pressed down. He dragged the razor across his wrist. His blood started seeping out and he started feeling better. The voices started fading and he kept going. One cut for each of the lives he’d ruined. Mom, dad, Feeny, Turner, Eric, Amy, Alan, Cory- especially Cory. He’d never been a good friend to Cory, always making him lie to his parents, getting him into trouble, distracting him in class- Cory deserved a better friend.
Finally he was calm. His arm was covered in horizontal cuts and his mind was clear. He figured it was finally time to get going. He soaked up the blood with some toilet paper, a whole roll to be exact. But once the bleeding had stopped he got his coat back on and looked at himself in the mirror again. He’d changed. In those 15 minutes, he’d changed. He looked better, more normal, more like a kid who was just catching a bus; little did anyone else know that inside, he was so far gone.
Shawn walked out of the bathroom and confidently walked to the ticket counter. He bought his ticket to New York and sat down to wait for his new life to start. 20 minutes. He sat, just watching the other people. The drifters, the bums- his kind of people. But one person stood out as soon as he walked in. Damn, Jonathan Turner, he couldn’t just leave the kid alone. Shawn unconsciously pulled at his sleeves and started preparing himself for the yelling.
Turner spotted Shawn right away. He was a mess. The kid looked pale and scared. He didn’t know what to say even though he’d thought about it the entire way to the station. He knew where Shawn would be going. Once the Matthew’s discovered that Shawn had locked the door and went out the window, Turner knew there was no other place the kid could possibly go.
“How far ya goin’?” Turner asked while taking the seat next to Shawn’s bag.
“New York... Not like you care.”
Turner sighed. “Look Shawn, I can’t tell you what to do, but I can offer you a place to stay. Running to New York isn’t going to change anything. It’ll make things worse. Here you at least have people that care.”
“Since when? My own PARENTS never wanted me, why do I need to continue to burden everyone else?”
“I get it, and if you want to leave, I won’t stop you. Just come stay with me tonight and get some food. Tomorrow I’ll drive you right back here and get you a ticket anywhere, not just the first place on the board.”
Shawn thought it over. He knew it was a trick. But he was so tired, and hungry. He didn’t have enough money to buy his ticket and food, so what was one more night of being a burden?
“Alright. California might be better anyway.”
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After eating some pizza and watching random shit on TV, Turner finally went to bed. He gave Shawn a pillow and blanket. “You better be here in the morning kid.”
Shawn sighed. He knew Turner meant well and he wasn’t planning on leaving before morning. He was so tired, in more ways than one. He was just so tired of running, worrying, staying strong. There was nothing he wanted to do more than lay on the couch and sleep for years.
He rolled up his sleeve and looked at the damage he’d done just a couple hours before. His entire arm was throbbing but he was calm. The cuts were strangely interesting. He ran his finger over the scabs that were finally forming. They weren’t deep; the razor was months old, it’s not like he could afford a new one when the blade went dull. He’d have to shower sometime soon and wash the rest of the dried blood. He rolled his sleeve back down and lay his head down. He closed his eyes and sleep came easier than it had in weeks.
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The next morning came too soon for John. He was hoping a good night’s sleep would help Shawn calm down and think about things. He walked out to the living room and was relieved to see that the kid didn’t run off in the middle of the night. It was only 9 a.m. on a Saturday and he wished he could have slept in. But there was no way he was going to get any more sleep until Shawn was figured out. He let Shawn sleep and started grading papers, but couldn’t concentrate. He just kept looking over at the vulnerable kid on his couch. He didn’t know what to do. Part of him wanted Shawn to wake up so that they could fix things, but the other half wanted to not have to figure out what to say to the kid. Eventually he started cooking breakfast. He wasn’t really hungry, but Shawn needed to eat and they also needed to get things sorted out sooner rather than later.
All he had was eggs, cereal, and toast. That would have to do. So he started scrambling eggs and making himself some coffee. Shawn woke up 10 minutes later.
The smell of fresh coffee was a pleasant surprise to Shawn. It was almost 10:30 and it took him a minute to realize where he was.
“Hey, Hunter! Morning, want breakfast?”
“Uh, sure. I mean I guess it would be best before we leave.”
John didn’t know what to say to that yet. He placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of Shawn.
“Turner, could I possibly get some coffee?”
John wasn’t too surprised. He filled a cup with fresh coffee and watched as Shawn slowly picked at his eggs and sucked down the black coffee.
“Alright Shawn, here’s the deal, I want you to stay here.”
“For how long? 3 weeks, till you get sick of me…” Shawn needed to stop talking. He was going to cry. He shut up and pressed his hand to his cut-up arm under the table. The urge to cry faded and he went back to sipping his coffee, pretending that he never said anything.
“You’ll stay here until you want to leave, until your folks come back, until you’re 18, I don’t care! Just stick around and it will be worth it.”
Shawn ate some eggs and thought about this. He could stay here for now. He didn’t need to leave immediately.
“Alright. But you’re not my dad, you can’t tell me what to do. If I want to leave, you can’t stop me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it Hunter.”