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Harrison didn’t usually crave home. He actually quite liked the camp, where he was free of the fearful looks from his parents, free from the whispered deals with all manner of doctors that promised to ‘fix him’, free from the stifling haze that always seemed the surround his parents, fear of him and sadness at the disappearance of his brother. Here, he was Harrison the lameass magician who always fought with Nerris and got picked on by Nurf sometimes.
Sometimes, though, it was hard not to long for home. Not for his home as it was now, because that wasn’t home, but for his home back when his parents didn’t always watch him out of the corner of their eyes, as if waiting for him to jump up and make them disappear. Back when his brother was still alive and his parents still doted on the two of them, easy hugs and kisses and I love yous.
Back when his parents still loved him.
He ignored it, most of the time, by concentrating on his magic and on the camp. If he stopped to think, he would think about how much he wanted to go back home, how much he craved something that was just . . . gone. So he didn’t stop. He threw himself into learning new tricks, into arguing with Nerris about who the real magician was, into being in equal parts amused and annoyed by Max, Nikki, and Neil’s escapades, into being at camp and not with his parents.
He couldn’t run forever, though.
It usually crept up on him at night. Once Preston had fallen asleep, there was nothing for Harrison to do but stare at the ceiling, unable to practice for fear of waking Preston up. And as much as he tried not to think about it, that would just coax him into thinking about him, which would only make him try not to think about it, and around and around it went in a deadly circle until Harrison was too exhausted to keep his eyes open anymore.
It was getting worse and worse lately, though, and Harrison would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t know why. He was nearing the day he had made his brother disappear, a day that was on his mind more and more as he came closer and closer to the date. He was content to - had to, didn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t - ignore it, though, until the day of, when he really couldn’t anymore.
Harrison hadn’t thought that the anniversary would be such a big deal - the nightmares would probably never stop, but he could deal with that, had to deal with that - and yet here he was, tears streaming down his cheeks as he woke from his second nightmare in the same night, trying to muffle his sobs with his pillow, hoping Preston hadn’t woken up because he really, really didn’t want Preston to see him like this or explain what was wrong.
He shuddered and sniffled in his bed quietly for a couple minutes, staring at the moon through the small gap in the tent’s opening (that Preston left open on purpose, but Harrison had never mentioned, partially because there was something so comforting about being able to see the stars) as he tried to dispel the image of his father’s face, mingled fear and anger, and the echoing sound of his mother’s screaming, still ringing in his ears.
He was never going to get to sleep at this rate.
He shot one more nervous look at Preston - still dead to the world - and slowly sat up, arranging his bed so it looked like he was still there, bunching his blanket up and pushing his pillow in, before tip-toeing outside the tent and considering where to go next. Staying outside was out of the question. It was dark and he was in clear sight of every animal in the forest that happened to look his way. He wasn’t sure how much of a danger it was, but he hated the feeling of being watched by something in the dark.
That left either going back into his tent, or heading to the Mess Hall. He sent one more glance at his tent, the still-cracked tent entrance flapping lazily, and thought of tossing and turning and sleeping and waking throughout the night, and made his mind up for the Mess Hall. The process of sleeping, having a nightmare, then waking up and winding down from the nightmare silently was almost as awful as having to relive that day.
He snuck past all the tents, taking extra care to sneak past Max and Neil’s tent - putting them together had been an awful idea, both of their sleeplessness influenced the others’, leading to many days where Harrison had woken up to screaming, or had been the one to wake up screaming, because of something the pair, sometimes trio, had done. Tonight, though, even they slept like the dead, and Harrison wondered how everyone seemed to be able to sleep like a rock except him. Why was today so awful for him, and just him?
He opened the door to the Mess Hall as little as possible to avoid any loud groaning of the door and slipped in, taking care to close it as silently as possible before turning to face the room, eyes landing on the back kitchen as he decided to see if there was something to eat. There were always bits and bobs of something there.
“Harrison?” a voice called, and Harrison jumped violently, swishing his head in the direction of the voice to see-
“Oh, David! I was just here to uh, uh,” Harrison said, scrambling for any excuse at all the be there and coming up blank. What reason did he have for sneaking around the Mess Hall at the middle of the night? “. . . I was looking for the cards I dropped.”
David tilted his head. Harrison swallowed nervously. David was sitting at one of the benches, circles under his eyes and pineapple hair droopy, looking every bit as tired as Harrison felt. He was gripping a large thermos in one hand and had been rubbing circles into his temple with the other before he had turned to look up at Harrison.
Despite this, he still managed an intense stare at Harrison. He had never thought of David as a particularly perceptive man - quite the opposite, actually, he always seemed extremely naive and ignored anything he didn’t want to think of - but right now it felt as if David was looking straight through him. He wasn’t a very good liar, but it didn’t take a stare this intense to tell that he was lying. It felt as if David was looking through much more than that.
“Nightmare?” he finally said.
Harrison nodded. “Uh, yeah, but that’s okay, I’ll go back to my tent now, I was just-” David was a firm believer in children having 10 hours of sleep and probably wouldn’t take too kindly to Harrison being awake at this hour.
“Hot chocolate?” David instead interrupted, out of the blue.
Harrison paused. He had already been heading to the door, but . . . David was asking him to stay, technically. And, well, hot chocolate did sound good . . .
“Uh, okay,” he finally decided, if only to avoid going back to bed and facing the dark and all the bad memories that came with it. He sat down carefully on the bench across from David, who was already standing up and heading to the back room with a gentle smile at Harrison that made him feel surprisingly warm.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” David said from where he was, following the shifting and clinking of bottles and jars. He still managed to sound gentle, even while speaking from another room.
“Not- not really,” he said, laying his head in his hands. What could he say, really, to explain the sadness and anger and horror that came with the memories and the nightmares? Unbidden, his eyes filled with tears again as he thought of the real problem, aside from all the hurt, and before he knew it he was saying in a shaky voice, “I just miss home.”
And now that he had said it, now that he had finally told someone how he was feeling, he felt the rush of need to have someone to just understand what he meant by homesickness, that, “I love the camp, I do! I just- I don’t even want to go home, usually, because, it’s, it’s different. But I want my parents back, my real parents, not the scared ones I have now, I just, I want to go back home.” The tears gathering in his eyes began to fall, one by one, until there was a steady stream pouring down his cheeks. His vision blurred and he didn’t notice David until he sat on his haunches right in front of him.
“Harrison, I-” David blew out a deep breath, pushing the strands of hair that had fallen into his face forward. “I can’t lie and say it’s all going to be okay. And I’m sorry, because no kid should have to deal with that. But, I hope someday, you’ll be able to think of the camp as your home away from home. And until then, well,” he reached an arm forward and placed the mug of hot chocolate on the table in front of Harrison. “Until then, we have hot chocolate. And a hug, if you want it.”
Harrison practically lept forward, burying his face into David’s shoulder as sobs wracked his body. He was vaguely aware of David making small shushing noises as he stroked his back, rocking him slowly. It was a while before Harrison finally calmed down, and David was still on the floor, kneeling without complaint, hand shifting to run through his hair instead of rubbing circles into his back.
“Um, uh, tha- thanks, David,” Harrison said, wiping the snot from his nose as he stepped back, taking a glance at David’s shoulder and winced at seeing it covered in tears and snot. “Oh, sorry about- that . . .”
“It’s not a problem, Harrison,” David said, smiling softly at him, and Harrison, finally, smiled back.
They sat together in silence until the sun came up. Harrison was calmer than he had been in a long time. He gave David one last hug before running off to his tent, and could practically feel the warmth of David’s smile on his back.