Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Campbell Saunders was eight years old, he slipped on the asphalt playing with his brothers.

He ignored his skinned knee for the entire day, simply wiping up the blood with his jacket and telling himself it was just a scratch. 

When they came inside for dinner, his mother scolded him for not coming inside, telling him that it could have been infected, or if it was deeper it may have needed stitches. 

His oldest brother asked him if it hurt, and when Cam said yes, he asked why he didn’t go inside earlier.

Sitting on the kitchen counter while his mother tenderly placed a bandage over the cut, he hesitated for a moment. 

He didn’t have an answer. Why didn’t he go inside?

It bled and burned the whole afternoon, but Cam didn’t think about it. He didn’t want to go and disrupt his mother, make her worry or cause a scene over it.

He didn’t care if it got infected, or if it needed stitches. It was fine. He could always ignore it and get back up. It was easier that way. It’s not like they were cut- it wasn’t anyone else’s cut but his.

When Campbell was 12, he took a puck to the head in between a practice without his face shield on.

The doctors said it resulted in a minor concussion, but he felt fine. Until his brother told him he was bumping into the walls at the doctor’s office. It took about a month for Cam’s brain to stop feeling like mush after that. And even then, he still kept playing, because it wasn’t like he was brain dead yet, and if he didn’t have hockey, what did he have?

Looking back at it, Cam’s entire time at Degrassi felt like a scraped knee or a bad head injury.

He wanted to ignore it if at all possible, but no matter what he did, someone had to swoop in and tell him there was something wrong. Whether it was with him, his actions, his friends, anything .

Embarrassing himself in front of his team, managing to get catfished by some niner, blowing up at his French classmate in the cafeteria in front of everyone, or crying alone in the girls bathroom just to name a handful.

Cam felt suffocated here. Every minute was a gasping reach for the breath that was constantly being knocked out of his lungs.

But over time, Cam was lucky that he had found a handful of people who helped him breathe. People who cared , even if they didn’t know how. 

Caring was hard, though. And Cam knew that you can’t care forever . 

And even though it’s okay now, it wasn’t always going to be. Cam would never be okay. 

He’s not thinking when he does it, all he can see is red, and once his elbow connects with Zig’s face, he doesn’t even remember why he was upset in the first place. 

It’s a blur, seeing Maya so upset, hearing Alli’s reassuring words, even if she doesn’t get it.

No one gets it.

But he follows Alli’s advice anyway, and Maya forgives him, even if he doesn’t think he deserved it. 

When he wakes up on her couch, dawn light barely creeping through, he gets up, records his video message, and kisses her on the forehead before he leaves.

Maya Matlin was like breathing fresh air when he felt like he was sinking further and further. The way she smiled, her voice, her eyes. Without his family or his team, she was all he had. When he was alone, or afraid, Maya was his everything.

But she couldn’t be his everything, at least not alone. And Zig was right. It was unfair to put her through this. It was unfair to everyone. His girlfriend, his friends, his team. 

In ice hockey, skate sharpness is important for multiple reasons. It’s not just about friction, or speed. Dull skates can lead to trips, and nicks in the blade can cut turns too short or extend a slide for too long. 

It’s true when people say the mind is like a knife- or in this case, an ice skate. No matter how pretentious it sounded, if you didn’t stay constantly sharp, you would trip and fall, lose control of your balance, and end up careening into the boards. 

The thing that no one ever tells you, though, is how you’re supposed to stay sharp. Is it rigorous training, in academics or sports? Is it forgetting about consequences and living life in every waking moment? 

Dull. 

Life was Cam’s dull ice-skate, constantly cracking and skipping over the ice, while he lost his balance. 

But when you’re good at something, you should keep doing it, right?

At least, that’s what everyone kept telling Cam. You’re the best, you’re going to be the best. 

But Cam didn’t want to be the best, even if he didn’t know what he wanted, it certainly wasn’t that .

His talent made him untouchable , and he hated it. He hated being the best. Cam didn’t want to be untouchable. Cam didn’t even know what metaphorical touch even felt like. 

Being the best meant that he was alone. Fitting for an ‘Ice Hound’.

He hadn’t even unpacked his first suitcase when he arrived. It sat idly in the corner of his borrowed room, as if maybe he’d get some miracle call, telling him he could go back home. 

Lying across the bed of a stranger, when Cam closes his eyes, he doesn’t sleep. 

He dreams while he’s awake. He dreams of doing something he likes, even if he doesn’t know what it is. 

He dreams of the future. He can’t see it yet, even if everyone else seems to be able to see his. 

But his dreams always become nightmares, and his tired eyes only close to be kept awake.

Cam leaves before meeting Maya that day.

He could pull one of the hundreds of excuses he had to avoid seeing anyone. It would be fine, he would go home and calm down. 

But even in the fleeting moments of calm, Dallas was still right. Zig was still right. He’s selfish . He’s a psycho . 

It wouldn’t be just Maya who would be better off without him.

There was something really wrong with Cam, but he didn’t know what it was. How was he supposed to find a solution if he didn’t know the problem?

He’s so angry . He breaks a mirror, throws his backpack. He’s not paying attention to anyone or anything, and amidst his breakdown, his phone is beeping at him angrily, and there’s a tugging at his heart that tells him to check it, but he knows it won’t matter.

He hid the shards of the mirror he had broken earlier in his bag, not caring about the cuts it gave him, almost relishing in the release of feeling anything.

Looking at his palm, he sees the fading scar, running his thumb over the disfigured skin and pressing, as if he’s expecting it to rip open again, reminding him of all the reasons he’s a disappointment. 

There’s a knock on his door.

“Campbell?”

Sliding his hoodie sleeve over his hand, he sits back down on the bed.

“Come in.”

It’s Mrs. Clarkson, Cam’s billet mom. She walks in, holding a warm cup of tea. “How are you feeling?”

Right, that was his reason. Head cold, stomach flu, whatever it was he told his billet family to get out of being around any other person after his exchange with Zig on the steps.

Cam takes the cup into his hands, letting the steam warm his nose. “Yeah, thanks.”

She’s quiet. She always has been, ever since Cam met her a few months ago. It’s clear she’s worried about Cam, but doesn’t know how to approach him. Then again, no one did. 

That was clearly Cam’s fault. It all was.

He takes a tentative sip while Mrs. Clarkson sits at his side, hands neatly folded in her lap. 

Between the fighting, the suspension and the grades he wasn’t getting, Cam can’t help but feel like all he’s good at lately is messing up.

Her eyes are probably disappointed, but Cam can’t tell, because he’s avoiding her gaze at all costs. 

“Is everything okay?” 

The obvious answer was no , it was not okay. 

Cam just gives a simple smile and nods anyway. “Yeah, thank you.” 

He sees the hesitation on her face. She wants to ask more, try harder. But she doesn’t know how to approach him, treating him like live wires on a ticking time bomb. Cam knows he’s bound to explode at any moment.

Like everyone else, she offers nothing but a sad smile and an empty touch on his shoulder. “Okay. Let us know if you need anything.”

Cam nods back and watches her leave. He misses his own mom. 

He eyes his hockey bag, sitting like a monster in the corner, ready to eat him alive if he gets too close. 

Setting his cup down and getting up, he grabs the bag and unlatches his window.

The greenhouse wasn’t a split decision. He had mentioned a garden to Maya before, and all the plants there were so pretty. Peaceful, even. He wanted to be surrounded by something beautiful, something alive . 

Every day, he’d pass the greenhouse without going in, and he’d see the same senior tending to his tomatoes or carrying soil in and out, and Cam always wanted to ask if he could help, but knew the hockey team would have his head for it.

More skating, more sharpening, more more more .

He doesn’t want more of anything. Cam just wanted to go to sleep. And it’s a long walk from his billet home to Degrassi, but he takes in every single step of the way, hearing nothing but silence and wishing it could be like this forever. 

But the sun was going to come up eventually. And there was no place for him when it did. 

His place was here, amongst the greenery and the leaves, and that’s where he would stay until the sun rises in the morning. 

He sets his hockey bag down, going through it with reckless abandon, before grabbing what he was looking for. 

There are a few tears, but Cam doesn’t actually cry.

He's not thinking about the pain , or the parts of him screaming that this was a mistake. He simply lays there, beside the plants, feeling warm, and not from the sliver of morning dawn peeking through the glass. 

He closes his eyes, hoping to get some sleep.

Chapter Text

In anatomy and physiology, Cam learned what blood types were universal donors, and which ones were universal receivers. He didn’t remember though, only that only some blood worked with other kinds of blood, or the white blood cells would begin to attack the host.

He got a B in that class, which was ironically Cam’s blood type, if the bag beside him was accurate.

Out of earshot, he faintly hears something about stitches. He knew a story about a professional NHL player that needed twelve stitches after taking a skate to the neck. According to the nurse in the hallway, apparently Cam only needed six in each arm. 

He realizes that adds up to twelve.

That’s all Cam could grasp from his thoughts while he layed idle in his hospital bed. Everything felt so far away, and everytime he opened his eyes, he got too dizzy to focus on anything and immediately closed them again. 

He was in no condition to travel back to Kapuskasing, meaning his family had to take the extraneous journey out to Toronto. Just more things Cam felt responsible for. 

His arms felt extra heavy, where they were practically fastened to the hospital bed, wrapped tightly in gauze that felt like a hundred jacket layers on his skin.

He was pretty sure he could make out the shapes of his billet parents from beyond his open hospital room door, or he might have been a liter of blood too short to grasp what he was actually looking at.

The first thing that hits him is ‘I’m alive’.

The second thing is ‘wow, that sucks’.

And the third, is ‘does this mean I get to miss hockey practice?’

A nurse comes up to him and replaces a needle somewhere on his stomach, because he figures they can’t get an IV in his wrist.

Some time later, a fourth thought comes when the nurse returns to replace the wrappings. 

‘Damn, this fucking hurts.’

Of course he’d screw up this too. He thought it was pretty selfish of Zig to tell him to ‘get out’ and not even offer to help out.

No, Cam knew that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t Zig’s fault. He was just desperate to feel less shitty at that moment.

‘I’m not some loser who hurts himself on purpose.’

Now he could add ‘giant fucking liar’ to the list of things Cam felt like, right next to ‘failure’ and ‘disappointment’ .

He’s starting to get irritated with the constant beeping that’s going off from whatever monitor was at his side, lodged in his torso, threaded up his nose or whatever. 

It could have been days that he was laying here, eyes barely open. Cam didn’t know if he had gotten any sleep since he arrived.

Hell, Cam doesn’t even feel conscious at the moment, yet the pain in his arms and head are too real to be a hallucination.

Whatever they had in this IV, it was strong stuff. It was making his arms numb, and Cam wondered if it would last long enough to let him doze off for a moment without being woken up by searing pain.

He doesn’t get a chance though, because the doctor is coming in. 

He looks overbearingly normal , some overworked, morally jaded 50-something probably looking down at Cam and rolling his eyes. 

“Campbell?” He asks underneath a faux-comforting northern drawl. 

He takes a seat in the rolling office chair situated next to Cam’s bed. Cam lops his head to the side, irritated at his inability to brush his unruly bangs out of his eyes, even though he figures he probably looks awful regardless, though.

“How are you feeling?”

Cam stays silent. 

‘What a stupid question.’

The doctor sits and waits, but Cam doesn’t want to answer, so he doesn’t. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk to me.” He rolls around , swinging back to type away at the laptop positioned on the nearby table. The clacking of the keys mixed with the beeping of the nearby monitor makes Cam’s head pound. 

He groans and lays his head back onto the pathetic excuse for a pillow beneath him.

“Are you feeling dizzy or disoriented?” 

Cam gives a nod. The doctor probably types that into the computer. 

“Okay, well, don’t worry. Your parents are on their way, and Mr. and Mrs. Clarkson are in the waiting room if you’d like me to send them in.” 

Cam grimaces. Seeing anyone personally attached to him seemed like a nightmare at the moment. 

He shakes his head weakly. 

Clearly, that wasn’t the answer the doctor wanted, but Cam couldn’t care less. 

This really was a fucking nightmare, and that’s not including the physical pain coursing through his veins right now. Whatever morphine or other-adjacent painkiller they were pumping into him was wearing off.

He hides that discomfort well enough, but the doctor is still pushing for him to talk to someone. 

“There’s a girl waiting with them, too. First person they called right after your parents, I’m guessing.”

A girl? 

Cam looks at his captor, bloodshot eyes unblinking in confusion. 

He wants to ask, but he can’t find the words. He’s probably still anemic, or hypovolemic, or some other term he picked up from watching medical dramas alone to avoid spending time with the other hockey players after school. 

Mr.-Doctor-Professor-Whatever doesn’t look up from the laptop. “Is she your girlfriend?” 

Cam didn’t know if that was an appropriate professional question a healthcare provider should be asking, but it was a question nonetheless, and unfortunately, Cam didn’t have an answer. 

He shrugs instead. The doctor gives him a sympathetic smile. 

“Would you like to talk to her?”

She definitely doesn’t want to talk to me.

Cam waits for a second, letting the words form in his throat, ignoring the sting on his tongue that comes with thinking about looking at Maya right now.

He replies, raspy and low. “No.”

The doctor pity smiles, a look Cam was getting real fucking sick of looking at. 

“Okay. Your parents will be here later. I’ll let everyone waiting know that you’re conscious, though. It’ll be good news.”

‘For who?’ Cam wants to scoff, but it hurts too much. Once the doctor leaves, he throws his head back against the pillow. 

He closes his eyes and has an awfully disruptive nap.

They must’ve put more of something (blood, probably) in him while he was asleep, because when Cam wakes up for a second time, the sensation in his fingertips is slowly returning, and his vision is clearer. 

He wished it wasn’t though, because he sees Mike Dallas in his hospital room, leaning on his hand while he sits in that same ugly armchair all hospital rooms had.

He stays silent, wondering if Dallas even noticed he had woken up. But Dallas’ eyes are closed as well, quietly snoring. 

“Dallas?” 

It’s the first thing he says to anyone that isn’t wearing scrubs, and he’s scared at how much he doesn’t sound like himself. 

Dallas’ eyes open, and suddenly he’s lifting his head, leaning over the other side of the hideous seat.

“How are you feeling?” Dallas asks. 

Cam ignores the question, instead asking his own. “Why are you here?” It comes off bitter, but Cam can’t help it. 

Dallas pauses, and taps the armchair anxiously. 

“It’s harder to play this one off as an accident.” He continues. “So don’t tell me you fell off the catwalk again.” 

‘Like you’d care.’ Actually, Dallas probably did care, since if he was dead, they’d most likely lose the playoffs.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” 

Sighing, Dallas gets up and kneels beside Cam’s bed. “Because you almost died?” 

Cam scoffs at that, and it hurts a little bit in his chest. “ Almost . Figures.” Shaking his head, he turns away. “Can’t do anything right.” Cam mutters under his breath.

“This is serious , Cam.” Dallas says, clearly distraught.

“I didn’t know you were a psychologist.”

“Cam.”

“Just leave me alone.”

Dallas frowns, but gets up and grabs his backpack, before leaving. Cam wants to cry, but doesn’t think he’d be physically able to. 

Of course Dallas would be the first person he’d have to face. Just the opening act in the play of people he’s disappointed. 

And by evening, it’s act two when his parents arrive. 

Of course, they’re crying and holding each other, as if this is the greatest inconvenience to them of all time, and Cam nearly implodes in on himself when they tell him that they haven’t told his siblings why they had to come yet.

Of course not, it’s embarrassing. Cam was an embarrassment .

His mother brushes his hair aside and kisses his forehead, telling him that she loves him. 

But Cam doesn’t feel loved. 

He feels tired, and not just from the blood loss. 

His parents stay every waking moment they can, before retreating to the lobby and eventually their motel nearby. The doctors tell him that it’d be safer if he was admitted to a psychiatric facility in Toronto, as opposed to back home. 

They say it’s for logistics, but Cam knows the truth. They don’t trust him not to jump onto the fucking highway during the 10-hour drive back to Kapuskasing. 

The day before they deem him stable enough to leave, to Cam’s surprise, Dallas comes back, this time with a few of the other Ice Hounds. 

Cam knows that they’re only there to scold him, so he begs his nurse to send them away, but not before Dallas leaves the nurse with a card for him. 

He doesn’t open it, he doesn’t want to. Instead, he throws it in the trash and winces when he jerks his arm too fast. 

The morning they move him into the facility, Tori and Tristan come to see him, with flowers. He thanks them awkwardly, and he can tell they’re avoiding the elephant in the room, but he knows it’s going to come out eventually. 

Maya hasn’t come by since that first morning he woke up after his attempt. He didn’t blame her, though, it’s not like he’d want to see him either, especially after everything he’s messed up. 

Tori pats his shoulder gently. “She wants to come, I promise. It’s just-“

“Complicated.” Tristan finishes. They sit in awkward silence, before Tori notices the envelope in the trash can, with Cam’s name on it. She fishes it out, with Tristan noting that she definitely shouldn’t have done that in a hospital, but she ignores him. 

“What’s this?” She asks. 

Cam sighs. “Some stupid letter Dallas gave me.”

“And you didn’t even open it?” 

“Why would I? It’s probably just another speech on how much of a fuck-up I am.” 

A sad expression falls on Tori’s face, and she simply sets the letter onto the bedside table. “I still think it’s worth opening.” 

Tristan agrees, and they give him their best wishes before leaving. 

Knowing that he won’t be able to take it in once they admit him, Cam tentatively reaches for the letter, ignoring the slight stretch and burn in his arm when he does.

He opens it and unfolds the paper inside.

Rook, 

I know you don’t want anyone talking to you right now. And I don’t blame you for that, especially after the way I treated you. Things are hard, for everyone, but as a captain, I’m supposed to be there for my teammates when they need help, not put the blame on them. 

Coach wants me to say you’re relieved of any duties to the team, but in my words, I’m kicking you off because you need to get better. 

And above all, I’m sorry.

-M. Dallas

Cam’s first instinct is to ball the piece of paper up and throw it in the trash, or rip it to a million shreds. He knows this is an empty apology, as if anyone actually gave a shit about him getting better. 

But instead, he simply sits there and waits, hands slightly shaky with the letter between his fingers. Setting it down, he puts his face in his hands. 

Everything was too much. He didn’t do this for pity, or to get removed from the team. He did it because he was hoping he’d never have to see another look of disappointment on someone he cared about. And now here he was, with everyone looking at him like a problem . He had made everything worse. 

Cam was so tired. 

There’s a light knock on the doorframe, but Cam doesn’t lift his head up, only burying himself deeper into his pit of numbness. 

He hears the person at the door make their way into the room and sit down, with no words to follow. 

Somehow, Cam liked that. He liked the silence even if it came with the presence.

Slowly lifting his head, his pale, sickly-looking gaze meets an equally-despaired looking face staring back at him. 

Cam is stunned, because Maya sat at his side, eyes red and teary from behind her glasses. 

Chapter Text

Cam wishes Maya would yell at him already, because the deafening silence is killing him, even if he already felt dead.

She’s fiddling aimlessly with the rings on her fingers, looking up at Cam every now and then. 

Usually, when Cam looked at Maya, he could feel the way his stomach would do flips, or the way his cheeks would go just a little pinker. He felt like being near her meant everything was okay, even if only for a moment.

Now, looking at Maya made Cam feel sick. Not because of her , but because he did this to her.

He doesn’t want to be the first one to speak, but he knows if someone doesn’t say something soon, Cam might just disintegrate into thin air at any moment.

It had been about a week since the last time Maya was here, and he had already rejected a chance at seeing her once. And now, considering he was essentially chained to his hospital bed, it’s not like he could avoid her.

Even though she’s right in front of him, Cam can’t find the words. He’s not even sure he’d know what words to look for. 

Maybe if he just played it casually, he could avoid any more of that awful, sinking feeling he got when she was around. 

“How was your audition?” 

That was casual enough. Straightforward, but relevant. 

Maya swallowed and nodded. “Good. It was… good.” Her voice is quiet, and for a second it seems like she’s holding it together, before Cam notices the soft sniffling and the subtle shake of her hands in her lap. 

“Katie, she um. She didn’t tell me you were here until the audition was over.” Maya smiles sadly, and looks back at Cam. “The whole time, I was just trying to understand why you text-dumped me.” 

She laughs uncomfortably, and continues. “I guess I have an answer now.”

Cam turns his head. The whole atmosphere of the room is permeated in something between sadness and anger, from both of them. 

Not as if Cam had any reason to be angry or sad. 

“Right. That.” Cam says. “I’m sorry.”

He means it when he says it. He didn’t want to end things the way he did, but after what Zig told him, he knew he couldn’t face her, especially after he decided what he was going to do.

Or, at least try to do, apparently.

Maya grimaces and closes her eyes. She looks tired, almost as tired as Cam. It seemed as if both of them were falling apart, and Cam realized he’s doing exactly what he didn’t want to do. Keep Maya tangled in his mess.

“After the audition… Katie came to pick me up. We sat in the parking lot for almost half an hour. She asked if I wanted to see you… and at first, I obviously said yes. But when I got here…” Her words trail off into nothing.

“I… I could only imagine you laying here, like this. All- hooked and wired and bandaged .” She gestures to the array of medical equipment attached to Cam. 

“And while I was in the waiting room… that image kept getting worse and worse. So I left and didn’t come back.” Letting out a breath, Maya finally looks at Cam again. 

“Until right now, I guess.” 

God, Maya couldn’t even bring herself to look at him.

He wants to say sorry. Sorry for making her come here, sorry for being unstable, attacking her friends and making her his metaphorical goddamn maid, cleaning up every mess he made.

Cam remains silent, though, despite his bursting thoughts. 

“They’re moving you today, right? Into the-“

“The nut house?” Cam interjects. He knows it’s not like that, but he can’t help the resentment forming towards himself. 

“The mental health facility, so you can get better .” Maya almost snaps at him. 

“You’re mad at me, I know. I’m sorry.” Now Cam goes quiet, restlessly picking at the frayed edges of his bandages. 

Maya gets up and sits by the side of the bed. “Yes I’m mad at you! I mean, look at you! You almost died !” 

Her cold expression makes him feel like a child, being scolded by their mother. 

“I didn’t want you to get… hurt.” Cam’s unsure what to say. It’s the truth, but putting the rest of his burdens on her was unfair. 

“I’m already hurt, Cam.” Finally, Maya gives one quiet sob, before wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. “I knew you were in pain… I just didn’t know it was this bad…”

“It’s not your job to make me happy, Maya.” 

“No but it is my job to help you, because that’s what you’re supposed to do for your friends. And I hope you didn’t forget, but you’re more than just my friend .” 

Maya blinks a tear away and gets up. “I wish you would’ve talked to me.” 

Cam bites the inside of his cheek. “I did , remember? I just… I didn’t know what to tell you.”

“You told me you were sad , not that you wanted to die !” She raises her voice slightly, the emotions that had been gathering since she walked in finally rising to the surface.

“It’s not exactly an easy conversation to have, okay?” 

Leaning a little over him, she takes his hand gently, careful of his wrappings. “I wish you would’ve tried, anyway.” 

Cam knows she’s right, but he’s unable to justify all the pain he’s brought her simply by existing . 

“I’m sorry.” It seems like ‘sorry’s are the only thing Can can give to anyone as of late, and even then, he feels like he’s running out of those as well.

Maya lets out a breath and leans in to kiss him on the cheek. 

“I’m just so glad that you’re okay.” 

Cam wishes he felt the same way, but he’s stunned that Maya is even still here. 

Suddenly, the doctor waltzes in, Cam’s bag in his hand. “You ready to go, Campbell?” 

Maya lets go of his hand and moves out of the way. 

Seeing his bag, he remembers something. 

“Um, one second. Can I see my bag real quick?”

The doctor gives a skeptical look. 

“I promise I’ll give it back, I just need to give her something.” Cam continues, looking at Maya. 

The doctor hesitates for a moment, before handing the bag to Cam. Unzipping the front pocket, Cam pulls out Hoot, and offers him to Maya.

“Sorry about keeping Hoot hostage for this long. I didn’t exactly remember I had him when…” 

Maya shakes her head, before pushing Hoot back into his hands. 

“Keep him, take him with you to recovery. assuming you’re allowed to take him.” She gives the doctor a pleading look. 

The doctor shrugs. “Well, it is just a stuffed animal. I don’t see why not.”

Maya smiles and tucks Hoot safely in Cam’s arms. “Think of it as a sleep-away camp.” 

Cam looks down at Hoot’s big, innocent eyes, and for the first time in days, is able to smile, even if only a little. 

Chapter Text

Cam didn’t fully understand why they took your shoelaces when you were admitted to a psychiatric hospital. Granted, he’d never been admitted to a psych hospital before, but it seemed like a strange detail.

His parents bring him a change of clothes, a plain white T-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants, and for a moment, he’s actually relieved he doesn’t have to wear his stupid Ice Hounds varsity jacket for once. 

Maya’s words are still echoing in his head when they give him his room, as he sets Hoot down beside the bed. It’s tough and cold, and it’s exactly like Cam pictured it would be. It was empty, just like how Cam felt. 

He lays back on the white sheets, staring at the tile ceiling. His arms were still aching and sore, and he knew he wouldn’t be given any painkillers until tomorrow morning, but more than his arms, his mind was screaming in agony, thinking about how badly he managed to fuck this up. 

Cam mindlessly picks at the wrappings, and hears footsteps against cold tile enter the room. 

No doors, of course. So no knocking was required, but it would have been a little courteous, at least.

“Hi, Campbell?” A mousy young nurse comes in, holding a chart in her hands. Cam doesn’t budge from his lying position, remaining silent. 

She waits a moment, before continuing. “We have to do a full psych evaluation, if you could follow me.” 

He could, but he doesn’t want to. Despite that, he drags himself to his feet, running a hand through his hair and following her out into the hallway. There’s plenty of other kids here, probably thinking the exact things Cam was thinking. 

At first, he wants to say he doesn’t belong here, but more than anything, he just doesn’t want to be here. Not just in the ward, but in the world .

Maybe it made sense why he was here, after all.

He’s led into an exam room, as cold and calculated as the rest of the building. He waits for what feels like an eternity, aimlessly picking at his bandages until a woman enters. She looks older, graying hair and big round eyes behind thick spectacles. She looks like a witch out of a fantasy novel.

“Hi Campbell. I’m Dr. Goddard.” 

Cam wishes people would stop addressing him by his full name, but he’s too tired to argue it. 

“Hi.” He replies. 

She takes a seat in the office chair across from him, and moves it to face Cam directly. He’s off-put by her intense staring, and taps his leg restlessly. 

“I know this isn’t going to be pleasant.” She says. “But if it’s okay, maybe you could tell me how you’re feeling?” 

He wants to laugh, because it should’ve been obvious. Obviously not good, he wants to say.

She’s just doing her job, Cam knows that. But it doesn’t make it any less patronizing. 

“Um, fine, I guess.” 

She probably hears that a million times a day, and it’s clear she isn’t convinced, but she doesn’t push. 

She simply writes down a few scribbles on the notepad in her lap, lips pursed in focus. 

“And have you been diagnosed with any prior mental health issues?” 

Cam shakes his head. 

She writes some more. 

“Well, you obviously aren’t feeling very well. And we don’t want that.” Her smile is heavy, but laced with that same pity that Cam had been getting from everyone for the past few days, and he hated it.

He feels that angry swell inside him again, angry at himself, angry at the world. 

But looking around at the white walls surrounding him, feeling the dull sting in his arms, bound by stitches, he releases that anger through a tight breath. 

“No, I’m not.” 

Dr. Goddard nods. “Would you tell me how long you’ve been feeling like this?”

Cam looks down, fingers interlocked in his lap. “I don’t know. Forever, I guess?” He swallows. “It got worse when I moved for hockey.” 

He hears the telltale sound of a pen scribbling against paper. 

“You play hockey?” She asks. Cam nods. 

“Do you like it?” 

Cam feels the sting in his tongue, thinking about Dallas, his team, his parents. He opens his mouth, about to lie, but the words catch in his throat, replaced by the painful silence he had been running from since he moved to Toronto. 

Instead, he looks at the doctor. “No.” 

She seems to understand, and writes some more. “What do you like?”

…What did Cam like?

It had been so long since Cam could remember the things he did enjoy, and any memories he could’ve had seemed to be tainted by all the things he kept messing up. 

It scares Cam that he doesn’t have an immediate answer, but the doctor just sits patiently, looking at Cam not with expectation but with a kind of understanding that replaced the look of pity he thought she had earlier.

He liked… being with his friends. And binging drama TV shows. And hanging out with his brothers. And his mom’s spaghetti. And singing bad karaoke. And watching Maya perform.

Maya . He liked Maya. A lot .

“Maya.” Cam blurts out. The doctor tilts her head ever so slightly, silently asking for Cam to elaborate. “She’s… my girlfriend. Or, maybe she’s not anymore. I’m not really sure. We haven’t actually talked about it, since… this .” Cam gestures around him, looking away.

The doctor crosses her legs and sets the notepad on her thigh. “What do you like to do with Maya?” 

Cam fails to see how this is useful medical information, but he doesn’t hesitate to tell her, especially if it meant he didn’t have to necessarily talk about just himself.

“I like to listen to her play the cello. I like watching movies with her, and… she listens to me when I talk about hockey. Even though she hates it- I mean, even I hate it.” Cam says. “But she still listens.”

The doctor smiles. “She sounds like a great girl.” 

She is. And Cam thinks he’s potentially ruined any chance he could’ve had at keeping her. Zig was right, putting Maya through this was unfair. 

His own smile fades as he looks down once more. “It doesn’t matter. I put her through all of this, she’s better off without me.” 

“Did she tell you that?” 

Cam fidgets anxiously. “No, but… it’s true.” 

The doctor doesn’t respond, and simply scribbles away. They talk for a little longer, about Cam’s home life, his sleeping habits, other things that Cam doesn’t really understand why she needs to know, but after all is said and done, she tells him that she thinks he’s depressed, along with having some kind of destructive disorder that he’s never heard of, and she writes him a prescription for some medication he can’t pronounce the name of. 

His initial reaction is to be pissed off. He’s angry that there’s something wrong with him, that he’s reduced to taking drugs to fix it. But back in his room, with nothing more but a plastic curtain separating him and the rest of the residents, who were probably just as pissed as him, for the first time he thinks that maybe this is a good thing. 

The nurse swings by to give him his first dose of whatever they’re peddling into him, and to change his bandages and apply antibiotic gel that is way too cold. Laying back down, he grabs Hoot and tucks him under the blanket next to him. It’s juvenile, but it makes him feel just a little bit better.

They didn’t tell him how long he’d be there, or when (or if) he’d get to go home soon. 

Knowing that he’d be returning home and not back to Toronto, back to Degrassi, gave him a glimmer of hope. He didn’t want to leave his friends, or Maya, but he held his belief that they were better off without him.

It was a long ways away, but he knew saying goodbye wasn’t going to be easy. 

But at least he would be around to do it.

Chapter Text

Day 3, his parents come to visit again. They bring him some of his old favorite books, a mixture of whimsical young adult fiction and classical literature from grade 8 required reading. 

His mom still cries every time she sees him, and it makes a pit form in his stomach every time she does. His dad just pushes up his glasses and rubs her back, while Cam sits in idled silence, wishing he could disappear. 

He’s given a steady mix of individual and group therapy, each day forced to sit in a pod of other distraught teens in different states of disarray, shelling their issues out like Halloween candy. 

Alongside the endless talking about his mental state and the meds that he’s been taking for a few days straight now, Cam doesn’t feel like anything is changing. He feels cold, like he’s numb to the world outside of the locked doors and security personnel. 

On Day 4, he has another visitor, but is baffled when the nurse tells him it’s not his parents, or Maya, or Tristan or Tori. 

No, on Day 4, Cam’s visitor is Zig Novak. 

With the stupid little visitor tag on his jacket, he takes a seat on one of the gaudy-colored chairs in the common room. Cam freezes when he sees him, and considers high-tailing it back to his room. Maybe he’d pretend he was asleep, or feign a fever. 

But seeing Zig sit there, hands folded neatly in his lap, looking down at his shoes, completely still, Cam thinks that he shouldn’t run away this time. After all, he already tried once. 

Sighing, he drags himself into the common room and pulls up a colorful plastic chair, swinging it around and mounting it with little grace, but clear serious intentions. 

Zig’s eyes widen, and he leans forward. He opens his mouth, and Cam knows the feeling he’s struggling with. 

Words that won’t come out, thoughts or feelings that are getting stuck on the barrier between his brain and his lips. 

He saves Zig the embarrassment and speaks first. 

“Did Maya send you here?” He doesn’t look directly at him, opting to keep his gaze on his own hands, fidgeting with his bandages once more- a habit he had developed in his short time there. 

Zig sits in stunned silence, looking back at Cam. 

Cam could only imagine how awful he probably looked. Tired, disheveled, bandaged- as if he needed any more reasons for Zig to call him names. 

He gives a vindictive, painful smile, and begins to stand up, but Zig stops him. At first, he reaches out for his wrist, and immediately pulls away when Cam winces at the pressure. 

“ Sorry - no, no Maya didn’t.” He sits back down, and Cam hesitantly follows. “I asked Tori where you were. She told me you were here, and when I asked why… she said you were sick.” 

While that was technically true, Cam still didn’t want Zig’s pity. He didn’t want anyone’s pity.

“Whatever, man.” He turns away, feeling the heavy pull of his eyelids. He really was tired, in more ways than one. 

“Cam-“

“I am sick. You were right. I’m a psycho, see?” Cam waves to the room around him, and Zig shrinks slightly. Cam just lets out another heavy, pained breath and puts his head in his hands. 

“Look. I’m sorry about… attacking you.” Cam mutters through his hands, before lifting his head to find Zig looking at him, distraught. “Whatever you’re here for, to tell me to stay away from Maya, or your friends, or whatever- fine . I will. Just leave me alone.”

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Zig quietly replies. Cam only laughs bitterly. 

“What? Now that I almost died, you’re sorry ? I’m giving you what you want, aren’t I? I’m leaving.” He wants to add that he tried to leave for good, the way he really wanted, but he holds that last fact in.

“I’m sorry that this happened, Cam. I know you don’t believe me but I am. I didn’t know that-“

“That I’m a psycho ? You made that pretty clear.” 

“I shouldn’t have said that.” Zig says. 

Cam’s bitter smile returns, and he runs a hand through his messy hair. “It’s true, though.”

“It’s not , Cam. You’re sick . That’s not your fault.” 

“Did Maya tell you to say that?” 

They both shut up, with the nurses nearby eyeing them intently as their voices raised ever-so-slightly. 

Zig closes his mouth and stands up. “I am sorry. I didn’t come here because of Maya, or anyone else.” There’s an honest softness to his tone, and Cam almost feels bad. Almost . 

“I’m… glad you aren’t...” Zig says, his words wandering into silence. Cam knows what he’s trying to say, though. He just wished he felt the same way. 

“…Thanks.” He replies. 

Zig nods and makes his way to the door, leaving Cam behind with his thoughts. He knew that if it wasn’t for his little breakdown, Zig would probably still hate him, and that anything he said now was just empty guilt. 

But he still came. He still took the time to find him to talk. And if Cam believed him about Maya not being involved, then maybe Zig did have a conscience after all. 

He’s called over to take his medication, and tries not to think too hard. As of late, being left with his own thoughts only lead to more outbursts like the one he nearly had with Zig. 

Taking the pills in his hand, chasing them with the little paper cup of water he’s handed, Cam turns his brain off again. It wasn’t doing him any good, anyway.

By the end of the week, Cam decided he really hates hospital food. 

He considers lying to get out faster, to say how much he’s learned and changed in such a short time, how he’s ready to get better and begin anew. 

But the doctors weren’t that stupid. They’d seen hundreds of kids just like Cam, empty and tired, desperate to leave the confines of these white walls. He could never pull off that act. 

So instead, he tells the truth in group therapy, after the other miserable children share their thoughts. He says he hates hockey, he hates his team, he hates being away from his family, and he hates being so loved for something he despised . 

He’s forced to write possible solutions to his problems. Obviously, quitting and moving is at the forefront, but quitting would be a lot harder if hockey wasn’t already burned into his identity.

Without it, Cam didn’t know who he was. He didn’t know who he was supposed to be.

Slowly, the panic attacks became less frequent, with the mood stabilizers and antidepressants, his thoughts were quieter. Cam wondered if that was truly for the best. 

If it was better if he felt nothing, as opposed to feeling pain. 

At least by week two, the doctors said he didn’t have to have the bandages on his wrists anymore, and by week three, he could get his stitches out. Of course, they would leave two big, disgusting scars running down the length of his forearms, but there was nothing he could do about that.

He would always have the constant reminder of what a failure he was, etched into his skin like a tattoo. 

His parents' visits become shorter, with them rotating who would stay in Toronto and who would go back home to his siblings. Cam wonders if they told them yet. Part of him thinks they already know. 

No one else comes to visit. He doesn’t blame them. Cam wouldn’t want to see him either. 

It’s halfway through week three when they decide that with regular therapy and steady medication, Cam can go back home to Kapuskasing. His parents hold him in the parking lot, cradling him like a child, and instead of thinking of the pain he’s caused, for a moment, he just relishes in the comfort of his parents’ embrace. 

They take his stitches out the next day, with Cam returning to his billet home to gather his things, and Mrs. Clarkson offers to go to Degrassi to clear out his locker, but Cam says he wants to do it. 

They suggest he waits until classes are over, but Cam doesn’t want to wait. He wants to go in the morning, so he can at least say goodbye to the few friends he’s made in his short time here. 

So at around 7AM, he walks through the halls of Degrassi, and as always, he feels like a stranger. 

The greenhouse had been cleaned and opened once again, with that same senior carrying his boxes of leaves and soil in and out as usual. 

In a dark way, it reminded Cam that life goes on, no matter what happens. Even so, it also fills Cam with a bit of hope, somehow. 

Before he can stop himself, he calls out. 

“Hey.” 

The senior stops in his tracks, blinking at him. “Um, hey.” 

Cam walks towards the greenhouse, taking in the scenery. The beauty of the ferns and the flowers, with the plants in full bloom for the spring. Summer was about to start, meaning that the greenhouse would soon be littered with even more gorgeous flora. 

He feels a sense of calm, thinking about the last time he was here. In a way, it felt like closure. Knowing he was going home, leaving something behind. 

“This is your greenhouse?” Cam asks. The boy sets down his wooden box and dusts the dirt off his hands.

“Kind of. My ex-girlfriend helped. But I mean, it is technically the school’s.” He walks up to stand next to Cam, crossing his arms, scanning the area, looking proud. “You’re um, Maya Matlin’s boyfriend right?” 

Cam recognizes him in that moment. He was around the Matlin household every now and then. He was Katie’s boyfriend. Or maybe her ex-boyfriend, apparently.

“Um… yeah.” He replies. 

The senior nods.

“Well, it’s beautiful. “ Cam adds. 

“Thanks. It uh, wasn’t easy. And now… I’m sure you’ve heard about it by now, but when they found that hockey player here…” Figures that he wouldn’t connect that Cam was in fact that hockey player. The rumor mill tended to be scattered like that, and for that, Cam is thankful.

“That must’ve been scary.” Cam says, throat feeling tight.

The senior nods. “Yeah. But I heard he’s okay, so that’s good.” He picks up his box once more. “Anyway, I gotta run this to my truck. But feel free to stay as long as you’d like.”

He trots away, and Cam doesn’t know why, but there’s a tinge of joy in talking to the boy. Something about the small light of passion about something as mundane as gardening made Cam feel… something. He didn’t even know the kid’s name, and he almost tainted his personal project. 

But he didn’t. And that counted for something. 

Leaving the greenhouse, he plans on heading inside and grabbing his things, maybe popping before French at the last minute to say his goodbyes, so it would hurt less. 

Of course, he’s never that lucky, and spots Maya, Tristan, Tori, and Zig on the steps. He wondered when they all suddenly became friends again. 

Something about a friend having a near-death experience must bring people together.

Cam freezes, not knowing what his next move would be. Luckily, he doesn’t have to know, because Tori looks up and spots him first, eyes going wide as she jumps to her feet. 

“Cam!?” She exclaims, running after him. The others follow behind her, as Tori hugs him excitedly. Tristan and Maya hug him next, and Zig gives an awkward pat on his shoulder, which is still appreciated in a weird kind of way.

He can’t find the words, only smiling back. Seeing their relieved faces, in near tears, makes Cam feel a mixture of pain and happiness. Again, he hates himself for the pain he’s caused, but can’t deny how good it felt just to be near his friends again. 

“What are you doing here?” Tristan asks.

“Just getting my things. Have you um… seen Dallas, or any of the guys?”

“My brother and the other Ice Hounds had early practice this morning, so they’re probably in the weight room right now.” 

Cam nods, knowing he’ll have to have that unfortunate exchange eventually. 

Maya is quiet, and Cam can only imagine why. Being the girlfriend of the guy who tried to kill himself probably wasn’t the kind of reputation anyone wanted. 

Luckily, she wouldn’t have to be for much longer. 

They catch up shortly, before he pulls Maya aside, tentatively holding her hand in his. She looks conflicted, yet solemn, and Cam hates not seeing her smile at his arrival, like Tristan and Tori. 

She probably had her reasons for not wanting to visit him while he was in recovery. At least, that’s what Cam kept telling himself. 

He swings his backpack around and produces Hoot, handing him to her. 

“Thanks… for Hoot. He was a real help.” Cam tries to force a smile, but Maya can see right through it. She always could. 

She takes Hoot into her hands, looking down sadly at the stuffed animal. 

“Does this mean you’re really leaving?” She practically whispers. 

Cam frowns. “Yeah.” 

It wasn’t like Maya to cry, with the last time being in the hospital at his initial admittance. But her eyes were glassy, as she held back tears of some kind. 

She’s quiet for another moment, before breaking the deafening silence. 

“I didn’t come visit… because I knew it would be goodbye.” 

Cam feels his chest grow tight. 

“I… thought that you’d want to. Especially after all of this.” He laughs, but it’s sad and empty. 

“Do you mean that I’d want to leave you? After this?” Maya nearly snaps. “You almost left me, I- I don’t know what I…” She shakes her head and wipes a tear. 

“I told you to be happy. I want you to be happy. But you make me happy. And I don’t know if I’m ready for you to go.” 

Cam didn’t know what to say. All this time, he had truly convinced himself that everything up to this point was nothing but an endless dance of him fucking up, and the people in his life- like Maya, putting up with it. 

But here Maya stood, gripping onto that little stuffed owl, holding back tears at the thought of Cam going away for good. 

It didn’t have to be for good, though. 

“Maya. The time I’ve spent with you here was the happiest I’ve think I’ve been in years.” He brushes a strand of blonde curls behind her ear. “But I can’t put you through this. Especially when I’m thousands of miles away.” 

Maya looks back with her sad eyes, lips drawn in a tight grimace. “So, are we breaking up?” 

Cam knew the answer. And Maya knew it too. They both did, but they couldn’t bring themselves to say it. He doesn’t say anything, and she lets out a tiny chuckle. 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.” Maya puts Hoot in her bag, and contains one last sniffle before taking Cam’s face gently in her hands. “Keep in touch. And… I’ll see you again someday.” 

Cam puts his hands over hers. “Yeah.” 

They kiss for what Cam thinks will probably be the last time, feeling Maya’s tears against his own cheeks. 

Cam had only had one real girlfriend, and they had only broken up once before, for less than two days. This time, if this was what all real breakups felt like, he never wanted to have to do this ever again. 

Cam was in pain, and it wasn’t from the healing wounds on his arms.