Chapter Text
Dylan takes the job because he wants to spend his summer doing literally anything other than stressing about college. He’s already been accepted, sure, but he’s grappling with the knowledge that he’s not even sure he wants to go to college, not to mention the question of how the hell he’s supposed to afford it. He doesn’t want to think about slaving away at the local coffee stand all summer, getting ogled by weird Mr. Bradley the old English teacher. He really doesn’t want to think about the books he needs to read before the first semester starts. Plain and simple, he doesn’t want to think.
The pay at Hackett’s Quarry Summer Camp is garbage, but he convinces his dad to let him do it because… fresh air, or something. Dylan’s never been the most athletically inclined and yet his dad still seems to think it’ll just happen one of these days. Like a jock has been hiding inside Dylan’s skinny frame and nerdy brain all along. As if Dylan is secretly Mr. Hyde and Dr. Jock-yll.
Dylan snorts to himself and ignores the way his dad gives him a heavy side-eye. He turns away from his dad’s stern brow and sharp chin—neither traits that Dylan himself inherited—and watches the scenery race by outside. It’s all… pretty dry, honestly. Not lush, like he expected. It’s humid out, too, and Dylan’s shirt is already clinging to him. He’s glad his mom talked him into packing shorts.
Living in the Pacific Northwest has left him woefully unprepared for actual heat, even with global warming rearing her ugly head every summer. Sure, his city has had some record breaking temps in recent years, but he still has to spend most nights in sweats, a hoodie, and multiple blankets. He thinks the nights at camp will get a little chillier, at least. He’s not even sure if the lodge has central heating or anything. He’s kind of looking forward to the familiarity of being slightly too cold.
“We’re here,” his dad says gruffly as the car starts to slow down. The gravel rattles under the car and the lodge comes into view. Beyond it, Dylan knows from scouring the map he was provided upon acceptance as a counselor, are the cabins and the camp store and Lake Septimus. There’s only one other car in the car park—a beat up old van—and Dylan bites his lip nervously.
Technically, he’s right on time. Chris, the owner, told him to show up today with a vague request that it happen before lunchtime. Then, Dylan and his dad got a late start and hit the road a few hours behind. It’s nearly lunchtime now, and Dylan’s neck burns with embarrassment knowing everyone else has probably already arrived and settled.
His dad throws the car into park but hits the automatic locks when Dylan reaches for his handle. “Dylan.”
Dylan doesn’t sigh, but it’s a close call. He turns to his dad only somewhat apprehensively. It’s not that he doesn’t like his dad. He does. It’s just that his dad has never really understood him. Between Dylan’s freakish aptitude for STEM and his coping mechanism of comedy, his grizzled father has never really been on the same wavelength as him. They make it work, find small things to bond over like Beastie Boys and old school radio plays, but it’s hard. It makes for many awkward conversations.
Like this one.
Granted, it’s not much of a conversation since Dylan hasn’t said anything and his dad seems to be struggling with saying anything besides his name. Dylan waits him out, even when the door to the cabin opens and a few people come drifting out to the porch curiously.
“Just… be good, alright?” His dad claps him on the shoulder this side of too hard, but he means well. “I know how it can be, hanging out with a bunch of kids your age, not a lot of adult supervision.”
“Dad!” Dylan groans. He goes for the door handle again and jiggles it aggressively. Curse his dad and the damn rental Buick with no unlock button on the passenger side. A cruel trap. “I’m not—it’s just summer camp!”
“I’ve seen the American Pie movies, Dylan,” but he unlocks the door and Dylan goes flying out of the passenger seat and onto dry, hard dirt.
He hits the ground with an oomph and then he’s staring at roughed-up hiking boots. He follows the sight up along hairy legs, hideous khaki shorts, and a slightly pudgy belly. An old but handsome face greets him, along with a callused hand to help him to his feet.
“You must be Dylan,” Chris Hackett says with a quiet smile.
Dylan nods. “Chris, right?” He asks if even though there’s a nametag on Chris’ matching khaki shirt. “Sorry I’m late.”
“You’re right on time,” Chris assures him.
Dylan can’t help but glance at the other counselors. None of them are watching, exactly, but they’re all hovering in one way or another. A few are still up on the porch, roughhousing. One girl is leaning against the car, chewing gum. Two other girls are huddled off under the shade of a nearby tree, chattering. The one that really catches Dylan’s attention is the one under the porch, near what looks like some cellar doors. He’s the only one actually watching Chris and Dylan.
“They showed up, ah, earlier today.” Chris glances at his counselors with a nervous grin. It’s gone as quick as it came. “They’ve all been working with me for a few years, so they like to get a head start.” Chris claps him on the shoulder and then steps around to the still-open door. “Hello sir,” he says to Dylan’s father. “I appreciate you driving Dylan all this way. He’s going to have a great time, I’m sure.”
Dylan busies himself with grabbing his backpack and dufflebag out of the backseat rather than watch his dad and Chris interact. He doesn’t go far, wanting to bid his father goodbye, but while the two older men chat his mind wanders. His gaze, too. Wanders all the way back to the guy in the shadows—who’s still watching Dylan.
Dylan, before he can stop himself, raises a hand in a small wave. The guy doesn’t react and Dylan tries not to drop his hand too fast. Before he can get too caught up in the embarrassment, Chris is standing and slapping the hood of the Buick and shutting the passenger side door. Dylan darts forward and sticks his face up against the cracked window.
He’s treated to one of his dad’s rare, fond grins. “Be good,” he reminds Dylan.
“Get home safe,” Dylan tells him. It’s a long drive back to the nearest town, and then there’s the flight home. Dylan’s heart flutters, a little panicked, just because this is his dad, and he’s never really been away from his parents before.
His dad only nods and the Buick roars to life again. In a flurry of dust that leaves Dylan’s throat raw, his dad is gone, and he’s surrounded entirely by strangers. It’s not like he wishes his dad would linger—they’re all adults here, for fuck’s sake. He doesn’t need someone to hold his hand.
But also… Dylan really hasn’t ever been away from home. His only experience with summer camps were the ones in fifth and sixth grade, which don’t really count because he barely remembers them anyway. Every vacation he’s been on has been with family. He heaves his dufflebag over his shoulder and looks to Chris, only to find the older man already staring back.
“Let me introduce you to everyone,” he says, placing a hand between Dylan’s shoulder blades and steering him to the nearest counselor. She’s in leggings and a cropped tank top, with her hair in a choppy almost-bob. She’s already grinning sharply. “This is Kaitlyn, she’s our sharpshooter.”
At Dylan’s confused look, Kaitlyn takes pity on him. “I’m trained in archery and can legally handle a couple different kinds of guns. Not that we let any of the kids use real rifles or anything, but I’m pretty sick with a NERF gun too.”
Dylan finds himself laughing and accepting her handshake. “Nice. My dad took me to a range one time, I bruised my shoulder so bad.”
Kaitlyn rolls her eyes. “Maybe I can teach you some proper handling this summer.”
He nods, dazed by the offer but not totally displeased. He’s always been more in the ‘make love not war’ camp, but hey, when in Rome, right?
“Kaitlyn handles a lot of our athletics, along with Jacob.” Chris speaks a little louder and waves a hand in the air. The two guys still on the porch come trampling down the stairs, shoving at each other and laughing. “This is Jacob,” he gestures to the broader of the two, “and Nick,” the lankier.
“Hey man,” Jacob greets, palm up for a high-five that Dylan gladly returns. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah,” Nick says, and the Australian accent startles Dylan. It must show in his face, because the other four laugh at him softly. “I know, throws everyone off at first.”
“Uh huh.” Dylan is fast feeling overwhelmed, but in an almost good way. Very little attention is actually on him—no one asking about him, why he’s here, what he wants to do with his life—which is a relief. “What do you guys do?”
“Jacob does a lot of heavy lifting,” Kaitlyn butts in, “and he keeps trying to beat my Shooting Stars score.”
Jacob sticks his tongue out at her. “I also teach swimming and lead the hikes, thanks very much, Kaitlyn.”
“They’ve known each other since they were kids,” Chris whispers conspiratorially. Dylan nods in understanding.
“I help with some of the basic education classes, and Chris and I usually tackle the meals.” He grins wide, locking eyes with Chris for a beat too long. “S’good to meet you.”
“You too,” Dylan says. He realizes two of the other counselors, the girls under the tree, have crept forward too. He nods at them as Jacob shuffles aside to let them into the pseudo-circle they’ve created.
“Emma,” Chris says, pointing to the blonde one. Her teeth glint almost preternaturally white and Dylan can’t deny a chill runs down his spine. If he didn’t know better, he’d think her smile almost gets wider. “And this is Abi.” Chris ruffles the red-head’s hair and she gives him an annoyed eyeroll.
“I teach art,” Abi says softly, “and usually take the kids on nature walks.” She’s quiet, timid, but seems sweet.
“She’s super talented,” Nick adds before going pink in the cheeks.
Dylan shares a grin with Kaitlyn, mostly because she’s who locks eyes with him first. She pretends to gag, and Dylan barely smothers a snort.
“What about you, Emma?” he asks instead of letting Nick’s comment hang out any longer. “What do you do?”
“I’m in charge of scheduling,” she says, voice prim and sharp. “And I help Abi with arts and crafts.”
“She’s a great seamstress,” Abi says, before also going pink in the cheeks. Dylan blinks, his gaze darting from Abi to Emma to Nick, but there’s no sense of awkwardness. He just barely stops himself from making a comment about polyamory—it’s great, in his opinion—but only just.
“Laura and Max are around here somewhere too,” Emma says. She sounds annoyed. Or maybe fond? It’s hard to tell. “They’re our nursing crew.”
“I think they went to bug Travis again,” Kaitlyn says with a grin.
“Who’s Travis?” Dylan asks, though no one answers. Instead, there’s a round of more eyerolling before Chris speaks again.
“Then there’s Ryan,” Chris says, and Dylan immediately seeks out the man who was under the porch earlier. Except he’s gone. Beside him, Chris sighs. “He’s… he’s shy.”
Kaitlyn barks out a laugh that she quells quickly after a stern look from Chris.
“He’s quiet,” Chris says too. “He does a bit of everything, but mostly helps me run this place. He’s been coming here since he was a kid, so if you’ve got a question about the camp and I’m not around, Ryan’s your best bet.”
“Or if you need a good ghost story,” Jacob says, smirking. “Dude is obsessed with that shit.”
Chris only arches an eyebrow before Jacob gives him a soft apology.
Dylan allows himself a moment to take it all in. It’s a lot of new information, a lot of names and faces. It’s not that he’s lonely’; he had friends back home, but not many. A few close-knit people he’s known since childhood. This is all big and busy and new. Eventually, he manages to croak, “So what am I here for?”
That nets him titters of laughter and he feels a bit better. Chris hooks his arm around Dylan’s shoulders and starts to steer him toward the stairs. The rest of the counselors scatter, save for Kaitlyn who follows close at Chris’ heels.
“Well you said in your application that you like old radio shows, right?” Chris asks as the wooden stairs creak under their combined weight.
“Uh, yeah. My dad and I used to listen to radio plays, kinda into podcasts, stuff like that.”
Chris nods. “Perfect. We’ve got an old radio shack toward the back of the camp, and I was thinking it’d be nice if the camp had a morning radio show to start us off. What do you think?”
Dylan blinks, taken aback. “You—you’d want me to do that?”
“I think you’ll do great,” Chris says, and that’s that.
Kaitlyn ends up being the one to help him get settled. There’s a room on the second floor of the lodge that is for all the counselors, and Dylan throws his bags into the last bunk available. It’s furthest from the door which he doesn’t love, but the view out the window beside him isn’t half bad. He unpacks a few things while Kaitlyn hovers, but before long he’s run out of things to do.
“So,” Kaitlyn drawls once he starts fidgeting, “why’re you here?”
“What d’you mean?”
She waves a hand around, a vague gesture. “We don’t get a lot of newcomers around here, as far as counselors go. It’s not exactly a luxurious camp and it’s kind of in bumfuck nowhere, you know.”
Dylan does know; that’d been a bit of the appeal. “Uh, I just found the listing for the job, and it sounded cool. I’ve never done anything like this before, and I’m supposed to start college in the fall, so…” He shrugs as his words die off.
“Fair enough,” Kaitlyn tells him. She nods, too, and Dylan feels like he passed a test he didn’t know he was taking. “What’re you?” she asks next, voice smooth and easy.
Dylan infuses as much confusion into his silence as he can. Kaitlyn waits him out. “Uh, bisexual?” he says eventually, because he’s not sure what else she could be asking. He’s very clearly as white as they come, and last he checked he wasn’t an alien or something. “And, I mean, cis, if that matters.”
Kaitlyn… she doesn’t look offended, at least. But she sure does look confused, which puts Dylan on edge. He chews the inside of his cheek. He didn’t think he’d be around, like, bigots or anything at summer camp. The website for Hackett’s Quarry—as old school and clipart-heavy as it was—hadn’t seemed uninviting. Maybe he was just way off base.
But then Kaitlyn’s gaze brightens, her confusion slipping away like a snuffed-out candle. “I’m bi too!” she crows cheerfully. She grabs him by the arm and pulls him back toward the hallway. “Sorry, I was just surprised.”
“By what?” he asks as he follows her down the stairs.
“By you,” she says, as though that’s a normal answer. Dylan decides to let it go, and instead allows her to wrap him up in a conversation about Lee Pace and Charlize Theron.
Kaitlyn gives him a tour of the grounds and doesn’t even tease him when he makes notes on his map. She assures him that after a week or two he’ll know this place like the back of his hand. That prompts him to tell her the fateful story of ending up lost in his own hometown for six hours, and that maybe he needs a buddy.
She just laughs (a lot) and shakes her head. “Nah, we’ll always be able to find you, no matter how far out you go.”
“So you guys have all been doing this for like, a while?” he asks as they get back to the lodge. Jacob’s hanging around on the porch again, watching them as they take the stairs.
“Yep,” Kaitlyn says. “Ryan’s been doing this since he was little, Jacob and I have been here second-longest. The rest have been here for a couple years at least. Nick’s the newest but he still joined in, what,” she looks to Jacob, “two years ago?”
“Three,” he corrects. “And yet he still can’t—” whatever Jacob was about to say gets lost in an abrupt, not entirely convincing cough. Dylan glances at Kaitlyn just in time to watch her deadly serious expression drop into an easy grin.
“Can’t what?” Dylan asks, because he’s nothing if not nosey.
“Can’t fucking roast a s’more to save his life,” Jacob gasps out, still coughing a bit. “Dude always burns them.”
Dylan snorts. “They’re better that way.”
“Ugh,” Kaitlyn groans, “I’m unadopting you.”
“When did you adopt me?”
“The moment you got here, obviously. I adopted you as my little mentee.”
“Chris specifically told you to let Ryan handle that, actually,” Nick says, except Dylan can’t see him anywhere. “Ryan always handles the newbies.”
“Well Ryan fucked off to who knows where.” Despite the sharp words, Kaitlyn’s tone is cheery. She’s also looking upward, so Dylan follows her line of sight to see Nick just hanging out on the lip of the roof. “So here I am.”
“It’s been great,” Dylan says, as though he needs to reassure Jacob and Nick that Kaitlyn’s been doing a good job or whatever. “This place is beautiful.”
All three of them nod at him, not an ounce of teasing in their expressions.
“It’s amazing,” Nick says wistfully. He tilts his head back toward the sun, and Dylan feels like he’s intruding on something intimate.
“I need to go find Chris,” Kaitlyn says after a moment, “are you good?”
Dylan nods. “I can find my way around. Might go grab a snack.”
She pats him on the back and her fingers brush his neck as she walks away, slipping around the side of the lodge and heading toward the front again. Dylan stays in his spot for a moment, looking at Jacob who’s looking at Nick who’s looking at the sun, still. Dylan feels like he should say something, maybe, but he’s never been great at socializing. Especially not with jocks. Or foreign exchange students.
“There’s some dope barbecue leftover in the fridge,” Jacob tells him, jerking his head toward the doors a few feet away. They’ll lead into the main area of the lodge, and from there it’s just a quick walk across creaky floors to the kitchen. “Help yourself, man.”
Dylan nods again and as he passes, Jacob does the same thing Kaitlyn did: pats him on the back, thick and calloused fingers lingering on his neck. It should be weird, maybe, but it only calms Dylan down. He slips into the lodge and hurries toward the kitchen.
He’s shoveling pulled pork into his mouth with his hands when someone he doesn’t know appears in the doorway. She’s covered in dirt and her hair is pulled back in a ponytail tight enough to kill. She’s glaring at him, and it doesn’t take Dylan long to clock the flare gun on her hip. It’s not like it’s an actual weapon, but also he’s seen Breakfast Club and the Sorority Row remake. Flare guns are nothing to fuck with.
“Who’re you?”
Dylan hurriedly swallows his food, wishing he could savor it a bit more. “M’Dylan,” he says as best he can with barbecue sauce so sweet and thick it feels like it’s gluing his teeth together. “Mew counseslur,” he adds.
She squints at him, nostrils flaring, before nodding. “I’m Laura,” she says.
Dylan finally manages to speak like a normal person. “You and Max do, uh, nursing, right?”
She nods again. “I’m actually planning on going to vet school, but stitches are stitches.”
Dylan blinks. “I suppose that’s true.”
She looks him up and down blatantly and Dylan does his best not to flinch under the scrutiny. She tells him, “There’s a couple sodas in the fridge too, near the back,” before she’s gone between one blink and the next.
Dylan doesn’t move right way, unsure of what just happened. When it’s clear Laura isn’t coming back and no other people are planning to ambush him with weird looks, he decides to hunt down that soda.
Despite the whirlwind of new faces, Dylan manages to only freak out a little. It passes quickly, soothed by how friendly (almost) everyone is. By the time night is setting over the camp, he’s gotten a pretty good chance to talk with everyone, including Max. Max, who is like sunshine personified. Dylan never understood that whole golden retriever boyfriend thing—and really, Max might be more of like, a cute terrier boyfriend than a golden retriever—but he gets it now.
Everyone welcomes him, more or less. Laura is a little stony. When he finally meets up with Kaitlyn again she looks a bit guilty for reasons Dylan can’t figure out. Plus, Ryan is still making himself scarce for whatever reason. But it’s nice. Dylan hasn’t thought of college most of the day, and his dad made it back to the city safe with promises to text after his flight lands tomorrow.
“Dylan?” a voice calls for him. Dylan rolls out of his bottom bunk and peers around to the door, where Chris stands in the doorway. “We’re heading down to the lake to make a small fire, roast a couple dogs and marshmallows. You in?”
On cue, Dylan’s stomach rumbles. He went a little overboard on the pulled pork, but it had been delicious. Besides, his mom always jokes he’s got a second and third stomach hidden somewhere. He nods eagerly and meets Chris by the door. They fall in step together as Chris leads them out the backdoor of the lodge and down the stairs he took earlier with Kaitlyn.
Quietly, Dylan is grateful for the escort. Not only does he appreciate being included, but he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t actually be able to navigate around at night quite yet. Especially as Chris leads them into the wood. While the paths are clearly laid out on the ground, what isn’t clear is where the bonfire will be—Dylan is sure he would’ve gotten lost if he tried to do this himself.
Everyone is already waiting and the fire is already roaring away, contained but bright. Everything is painted in ambers at the heart of the fire with the shadows growing long around the edges. It’s a little spooky, sure, but it also sends a thrill through Dylan.
“Newbie!” Kaitlyn hollers as if she doesn’t know his name. “I was going to come find you, but I got distracted.” She waves around a three-pronged poker, a hot dog skewered onto each point of the trident.
“No harm no foul,” he says as he comes up and pulls one off its post. She gapes at him as he bites into it (yes, it’s hot as fuck, but not so bad he can’t manage) before bursting into laughter. “I heard there’s marshmallows, too.”
He stumbles slightly when something soft hits him upside the head. He turns, expecting Nick or Jacob, and is surprised to find Abi giggling, a half-melted marshmallow making her fingers sticky.
He narrows his eyes at her playfully. “Watch your back, Abs.” There’s no heat in the threat, though, and he falls onto the log beside Kaitlyn. He’s so distracted by the hot dog in one hand and the bag of marshmallows in the other that it takes him a few minutes to realize that Ryan is actually here, too. He’s silent and off to the side, sure, but at least he’s here.
Dylan glances around; everyone else is suitably wrapped up in their food or conversations—or in the case of Jacob, both—so he slides off the log and tucks the marshmallows under his arm. Ryan watches him the whole time he approaches, which is weird and a little intimidating, but Dylan doesn’t let it deter him.
“Hi,” he says once they’re close enough. “Ryan, right?”
Ryan nods, a minute gesture that Dylan almost doesn’t see for the darkness.
“Nice to meet you.” After a beat, Dylan holds out the bag. “Marshmallow?”
Ryan reaches out and digs one out between two fingers, then nods again. A thanks, or something like it.
“Uh, Chris said you’re the man to see if I’ve got questions.”
Ryan is quiet, then, “Do you have a question?”
About a million, Dylan thinks. Namely, what the fuck is up with this guy? But that’s not actually something he can ask, so he shrugs. “Not really.”
“Okay.”
Dylan doesn’t know what it is, but he doesn’t want to walk away. Even though it’s clear Ryan would like him to walk away, Dylan just feels… this pull. But there’s nowhere to sit near Ryan that isn’t on the ground, and that just seems weird. Instead, he holds out the bag again.
“One for the road?”
Ryan takes another marshmallow, and Dylan returns to his seat beside Kaitlyn.
“He likes you,” she says, and she sounds weirdly proud.
“Okay,” Dylan says, because what else do you say to that?
The kids show up a few days later after the final finishing touches are ready for camp, and after that it’s pure insanity. Dylan spends those precious few days before camp begins cleaning up the radio shack. It’s full of cobwebs and outdated equipment and an alarming number of power tools. He spends two full days getting everything set up, and even then, he doesn’t start doing morning announcements until he’s been at camp for a full week.
He’s not even sure anyone actually cares besides himself or Chris, but he likes doing it. He reports on the weather, lists out what the meals and schedules are for the day, throws in a couple puns here and there. He shares any birthdays, or fun national holidays, or other things to fill the airtime. It’s only an hour or so in the mornings, but it’s not a half-bad way to start his day.
He definitely prefers it over the hikes, or Kaitlyn’s sharpshooter classes. He bruises his shoulder again even though they’re just shooting arrows at targets a few yards away. It doesn’t hurt like that time at the shooting range, but he’s annoyed by it anyway. He’s even more annoyed by nearly twisting his ankle on a hike; he’s only saved by Jacob’s quick reflexes.
It’d be fine, if those quick reflexes didn’t involve literally scooping Dylan into the air and putting him in a fireman’s carry for the remainder of the walk. Dylan spends most of it making silly faces at the kids, since they’re from the younger cabins and like goofy shit. Jacob doesn’t put him back down until they’re back at the cabins. On top of that, he insists on checking Dylan’s ankle.
“Dude, I’m fine. If you want, I’ll go see Laura or Max.”
Jacob shakes his head. “Just wanted to see for myself,” he says sternly. “I’ve dealt with a lotta sprains before, you’re good. Better safe than sorry.”
“Maybe no more hikes for me.”
“Nah, how else can you get used to them?” Jacob drops to a crouch before Dylan and removes the sock and shoe without preamble. It should be odd, maybe, to be manhandled like this by someone who’s basically a stranger. Dylan finds he doesn’t mind, especially as the pain starts to fade. “Little bruised but nothing serious.”
“My hero,” is Dylan’s dry reply.
Jacob grins up at him and leaves him to get his own sock and shoe back on, because he’s both super nice and a total asshat. While Dylan struggles to get his sock on his sweaty, clammy foot, Jacob waves and takes off because he’s got swimming lessons in a half hour.
Dylan’s second week rolls around and he’s feeling more confident by the day. He definitely knows he made the right choice in coming here, rather than wasting his summer away back home. He’s got exactly zero time to stress about college or jobs or adulthood, because being a counselor takes up every waking moment. It’s a race every morning to use the showers before all the hot water is gone (Emma always wins, and Jacob is somehow always dead last), then grabbing a quick breakfast before doing the radio announcements.
After announcements, his days are packed to the brim with activities. Sometimes he helps with the kids, other times he helps with cooking or organizing or cleaning. He’s led an arts and crafts session with Abi and helped Emma draw up the chore whiteboard for the cabins.
Nick often claims him for help in the kitchens but has categorically banned him from the basic ed classes. Jacob drags him on hikes every few days despite his protests. Chris pulls him in to help with a couple budget things here and there.
He helps Max out at the camp store sometimes, although he’s not sure why. Max could manage the place blindfolded and with his hands tied behind his back. Dude is a beast at stocking shelves and dissuading kids from spending all their camp tokens on nothing but candy. He even manages to get some kids to buy mouthwash with their tokens. If that’s not witchcraft, he doesn’t know what is.
Dylan doesn’t work with Laura often, but that’s a blessing more than anything. Dylan’s not good with blood, or germs, or anything that would necessitate him being in the nurse's office for extended periods of time.
The only other person Dylan seldom sees is Ryan. They pass each other from time to time; they eat lunch and dinner at the same time albeit on opposite ends of the room. Dylan watches Ryan at night, sometimes. He knows the other man kept his phone when Chris made the rest of them turn theirs in, and he knows Ryan is perpetually listening to something in his headphones.
All in all, it’s great. Weird sometimes, sure, but mostly great. He wakes up early and falls asleep easily, bone-tired from the labor and sunshine and surprisingly good food. He misses his parents a bit, but in an abstract way. He feels free here, despite the confines of the schedule and the never-ending slew of shit to do. He feels lighter than he has in years and can’t help but wonder if Chris would have him back again next year.
The first time Ryan sits beside Dylan at one of the weekly bonfires, he nearly drops his s’more directly into the fire. He saves it, barely, and burns his fingers slightly in the process. He hisses and tucks his tender fingertips against his water bottle, while shoving the s’more into his mouth hastily.
Ryan does not look impressed.
“Hey man,” Dylan says eventually, mouth sticky with chocolate and marshmallow. “How you been?”
“Fine.” At first, that seems to be it, but then, “You shouldn’t be here.”
Dylan stops trying to wiggle the stubborn piece of graham cracker from between his teeth and stares at Ryan. “What?”
“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeats, as if that’s not weird as fuck to say.
“Dude,” Dylan says, “what the fuck?”
“Problem here?” Chris says suddenly, towering over them. He looks about eight feet tall with the fire casting his shadows around like crazy.
“No,” Dylan says on reflex, but Ryan only glares up at Chris.
“You know what I’m talking about,” Ryan tells Chris, far too cryptic for Dylan’s liking.
“We talked about this.”
Dylan really feels like he shouldn’t be watching this play out, but he can’t exactly walk away without drawing attention to himself. He tries to look around, see if he can get any of the other counselors to give him an out, but they’re all busy.
Nick and Jacob are spinning the smaller kids around and then sending them to stumble over to the grass, cackling wildly. Emma has a small horde of teens ensnared as she talks about beauty standards and vlogging. Abi is in the corner, her sketchbook balanced in her lap; he hasn’t been here long, but Dylan already knows not to interrupt Abi and her sketching. Laura and Max aren’t around, but they seldom are for bonfires. That only leaves Kaitlyn, but she’s watching a couple of the kids work on their knot tying lessons from earlier today.
For lack of anything else to do, Dylan turns back to the conversation. Ryan is standing, Chris is frowning, and clearly Dylan missed something. Before Dylan can make sense of it, Ryan is gone, stomping off into the dark. Chris takes his seat.
“Did I do something wrong?” He hates how small his voice comes out and clears his throat hurriedly. “I just, I get the sense Ryan doesn’t like me.” Which is ridiculous since they don’t even know each other.
“It’s not that.” Chris looks more tired than Dylan has seen him since he started. “He just has trouble adjusting sometimes.”
Dylan nods. He doesn’t pry, but Chris doesn’t seem to need it.
“He lost his parents young, been coming here ever since. He got bumped up to counselor when he was about thirteen, because he was ordering the kids around most of the time anyway.”
Dylan’s mouth is dry. He brings his water bottle to his mouth and sucks down about half in one go.
“This place has been his home for a long time,” Chris says, “sometimes it’s just hard for him to accept change.”
“Okay,” Dylan says slowly. “Is… is there anything I can do to help?”
Chris shakes his head. “He’ll come around, I promise. You’re fitting in great here, Dylan. Don’t let Ryan get you down.”
Then he’s gone, following the same path Ryan took. Dylan sucks down the rest of his water and decides making another s’more is easier than trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.
Two days after his third week at camp begins, Ryan sits next to Dylan at lunch. Dylan does his best not to startle, but he definitely spills a bit of applesauce on his shirt instead of making it to his mouth. Which is a shame, because the applesauce is homemade—Chris’ family recipe, apparently—and Dylan is kind of obsessed with it.
“Here,” Ryan’s rough voice breaks him out of his momentary depression. Another cup of applesauce sits in front of Dylan. “Sorry.”
Dylan looks at the cup of applesauce like it’s something precious. “Thanks, man.”
Ryan nods. “I like what you’ve done with the shack.”
“Oh, really?” His brow furrows. “I never see you in there.”
“I mostly go at night, when I need…somewhere quiet, I guess.”
“Oh.”
“The beanbags are a good touch.”
“Right? I know they were fun in the loft, but they just fit the shack so much better!”
Ryan gives him the briefest of smiles and nods. “I agree.”
Dylan’s heart is doing weird fluttery things. Ryan’s gaze drops right to his chest, and for a moment Dylan thinks oh god, can he hear that? But then he remembers the applesauce on his shirt, and sighs. He reaches for napkins, but Ryan’s already got one slightly damp and is placing it on Dylan's shirt.
“It’ll stain,” Ryan murmurs as he wipes away the appley mush. “Get it in the wash rotation quick and it should turn out okay.”
“Or I can just donate it to tie-dye week,” Dylan says.
“Or that,” Ryan concedes. He leans back as though he didn’t just touch Dylan despite avoiding him for nearly a month. “See you.”
Then he’s gone. Dylan blinks at the spot Ryan used to occupy. Before long, the seat is claimed by Kaitlyn instead.
“Are you gonna eat that?” She’s already reaching for the applesauce Ryan gifted him, and Dylan smacks her hand without hesitation. She bares her teeth at him but doesn’t put up a fight.
“What’s Ryan’s deal?” he asks as he digs his spoon into the cinnamon dusted top.
“The broody loner thing?”
“I meant more like, why does he mostly hate me?”
“He mostly hates everyone,” Kaitlyn says, “he actually likes you best, I think.” She doesn’t seem weirded out by this in the slightest.
“He’s said maybe twenty words to me, half of which were practically him telling me to leave.”
Kaitlyn nods. “That’s basically his love language.”
Dylan frowns. She pats his shoulder and dips her finger in the applesauce. He just sighs and splits the cup with her.
The next morning after the announcements are over, Dylan opens the door to find Ryan sitting on the steps just outside the shack. He turns and looks at Dylan over his shoulder, nodding silently.
“Morning,” Dylan says. Some of the campers are still hurrying toward the main lodge for breakfast. He grabbed some toast this morning before announcements, but he’s still a little hungry. “Wanna grab some food?”
Ryan shifts and procures a doggy bag from out of nowhere. “Brought some bacon.”
That’s weird, but Dylan is never one to say no to food. He sits on the bottom step with Ryan. The steps are narrow, so it’s not the easiest fit, but the bacon and sunshine make up for it. Plus, Dylan kind of likes the feeling of Ryan pressed all along his side.
Dylan eats all the bacon before realizing, “Oh, god, did you want some?”
Ryan just shakes his head. “I brought it for you.”
Dylan licks his lips, the last of the meaty saltiness going with it. He thinks Ryan might trace the movement with his eyes, except that’s just crazy. Wishful thinking, is all. “Thanks,” he says belatedly, voice hoarse.
“No problem.”
Dylan doesn’t move, even though the food is gone, and he needs to prep for the nature walk with Abi later. He wants to say something, but much like that first night here, he’s got nothing to say. He doesn’t know Ryan, not really, and has no idea how to open that conversation. Most of his bonding with the other counselors has been accidental, or just due to proximity, or fostered by Kaitlyn who is far more outgoing than one might think.
“Sorry, for what I said the other day.”
Dylan blinks. “Oh,” he says. He feels like he says that a lot around Ryan. “It’s okay.”
“It’s just,” Ryan starts, almost as though he didn’t hear Dylan, “it’s hard, sometimes.”
“Uh, yeah, Chris kinda explained. Change is weird, I get it. Probably feels like someone’s intruding on your home, huh?”
Ryan nods, more serious than Dylan expects. “I’m not great at dealing with it. I don’t know why Chris keeps trying to stick me with newbies.”
Dylan isn’t hurt by the words, exactly, but they do sting a bit. Before he can say something—not that he knows what to say—Ryan turns to him.
“Not you, it’s not, not personal.” He’s frantic, Dylan realizes; Ryan is nervous. “I’m just not a people person.”
“No, really? I never would’ve guessed.”
Ryan settles a bit at the teasing and gives Dylan an eyeroll. “Don’t you have a nature walk to get to?”
“Sure do.” Even so, Dylan doesn’t move. “What about you?”
“Chris and I are going to do some perimeter checks today, make sure the trails are clear and stuff like that.”
“Thrilling.”
“We know the woods better than anyone, it won’t take long.” Ryan says it almost like he’s trying to reassure Dylan. Which is nice, if unnecessary and mostly confusing.
“Bring me back something neat,” Dylan says, willing himself not to blush. “Like, a cool looking rock or something.”
Ryan raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you know that old adage?”
“Take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints, yeah, yeah. But Max brought Laura back that weird nest thing and I think Jacob caught a squirrel for Emma, for some reason, so.” She’d let it go, while also sighing dreamily. Extra weird.
Ryan shakes his head, fond and exasperated. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay, I’ll bring you something neat.” He stands and holds out a hand, hauling Dylan to his feet too. “Stay close to Abi, okay?’
“Yeah, of course.” Normally the weird hot and cold energy, especially coupled with some overprotectiveness, would grate at him. Mostly, he’s just glad that Ryan doesn’t totally seem to hate him. He wonders if they could even be friends… or maybe even something more.
“I’m serious.”
“I know,” Dylan says, voice hushed. “Abi’s in charge.”
Ryan nods. He starts to reach out but stops, his hand just a few inches away from Dylan’s shoulder. Dylan doesn’t let the moment linger and moves first instead. He grips Ryan’s shoulder and does what everyone has done to him since he arrived: he lets his fingers brush Ryan’s neck, just slightly, then takes a step back.
He’s not expecting Ryan’s awed look or the flush on his cheeks.
“I, uh,” Dylan stammers, “I gotta go.”
Ryan only nods.
Life carries on like that. Dylan still spends most of his time with everyone but Ryan or Laura, aside from those secluded moments when Ryan practically corners him. Not that Dylan minds it. It’s confusing, sure, gives him a bit of whiplash. But it’s always nice to be in Ryan’s orbit even momentarily. Slowly but surely, he learns more about the guy: avid podcast lover, horror fanatic, has a sister and grandparents at home that he’s not very inclined to talk about.
Dylan talks a lot, mostly about inconsequential things. He tells Ryan about his family and his interests, although he leaves out some of the nerdier things. He pointedly doesn’t talk about college, which is fine because Ryan never brings it up either. Sometimes they don’t actually talk much at all, and just sit in silence. Especially in the mornings, when Ryan always brings him bacon and sometimes coffee from Chris’ secret stash. The secret stash is tastier.
It’s good. Weird, but good. It’s nice to only feel like one coworker hates you, instead of two.
“Laura doesn’t hate you,” Max interrupts his thoughts.
“Did I say that out loud?”
“No, you just get this look on your face.” Max gestures to Dylan like that explains everything. “It’s pinchy.”
“Pinchy?”
Max shrugs. Dylan likes Max. He’s a cool dude, not the brightest knife in the toolshed or whatever, but he and Dylan get along well. In a word, Dylan would call Max a hippie, except he doesn’t dress like one. He’s just all sunshine and rainbows, it seems, which makes it extra funny knowing he and Laura are getting engaged after this summer.
“I dunno man,” Dylan says, sighing. He presses his face against the cool wooden top of the counter at the camp store. “She just never talks to me.”
“That’s Laura for you. She’s pretty busy. Between the kids getting scraped up or helping Travis with local animals, she doesn’t get as much downtime as the rest of us.”
“Aren’t you part of the nurse squad too?”
Max shrugs. “I can give a kid some cough medicine and know how to slap a bandaid on things, but that’s about it. Laura actually knows, like, sutures and shit. Travis takes her on the backroads sometimes and they’ll look for wounded animals like deer or foxes.”
“Oh.” Dylan glances toward the window, in the proverbial direction of such a thing. No one has told him who Travis is, still, and Dylan stopped asking sometime around the second week. “That’s really cool.”
“It’s awesome. Once she has her degree, Laura wants to maybe open up a wilderness animal clinic. We get a lot of strays through here sometimes too, so it’s not like she’d be hurting for patients.”
“Huh.”
Dylan wakes in the middle of the night and immediately he notices that two of the counselor bunks are empty. His first thought is one of the couples snuck off—not that he’d blame them—until he realizes it’s Laura and Ryan that are missing. Max is half falling off his bed, deep in sleep. Ryan’s not dating anyone, as far as he knows. Dylan blearily glances around but manages a headcount just to make sure those are the only two missing.
That’s when he hears the thud from downstairs, and he’s on his feet in an instant. None of the other counselors so much as flinch. Abi lets out a surprisingly powerful snore. Dylan creeps toward the door and hesitates at the threshold, straining his ears.
It takes a moment to calm the pounding of his heart and get his thoughts in order, but then he hears it: the low murmur of voices. He follows them until they get louder and louder, leading him straight to Chris’ office.
“It’s not safe!” Laura’s voice is a harsh whisper, loud and not at the same time.
“It’s fine,” is Chris’s reply, firm. “It’s been fine so far.”
“We haven’t had a full moon yet,” she retorts. “You don’t know what this is going to do to them.”
“They deal with kids every year during full moons just fine. That’s what the cages at the old house are for.”
“And what if Dylan wakes up, notices us all gone?”
“Kaitlyn can make something up. An old prank, or some kind of tradition. He sleeps like the dead most of the time anyway.”
“He’s not stupid.” Ryan’s voice is a steady rumble. “He’ll figure it out.”
“Maybe so,” Chris says, “but I think we can trust him.”
Dylan swallows uneasily. He’s definitely not meant to hear this conversation. He takes a few careful steps back, narrowly avoiding the creakiest parts of the floorboards. He takes the stairs as fast as he can without arousing suspicion and all but flings himself back into his bed. His heart is racing and his mind is even worse. He hears a door open downstairs and slams his eyes shut, wills his breathing to even out.
There are footsteps at the edge of the room—Laura and Ryan returning, probably. They both hesitate, then move toward their bunks without a word. Dylan swallows a sigh and does his best to fall asleep.
He tells himself, when he wakes up the next morning, that he’s going to talk to Ryan about it during their usual coffee and bacon after morning announcements. He hypes himself up all morning, through his shower and brushing his teeth and stumbling over what’s for lunch today. But when he’s greeted with Ryan’s soft smile, a bag of bacon, and a steaming travel mug of coffee, Dylan just can’t. It feels wrong.
So they sit on the bottom step together and take in the morning.
“Dylan,” Ryan starts. He doesn’t comment on how Dylan jumps, coffee splashing onto his hand slightly. His nostrils flare a bit as Dylan licks the precious bean liquid off his skin, though, but that happens a lot. Lot of nostril flaring happening at Hackett’s Quarry. “Tonight…”
Dylan swallows. “Yeah?”
“Don’t go outside, okay?”
“When do I ever?”
“I know you don’t, you sleep like a fucking log.”
Dylan smiles, even though it’s an eerie echo of Chris’ words last night.
“Just—I know sometimes the rest of us sneak out, but not tonight, okay? Promise me.”
Dylan’s mouth goes dry. “I dunno man,” he teases even though his heart feels like it’s about to pound out of his chest. “What’s in it for me?”
Ryan looks annoyed for a split second, but it melts away to fondness pretty quick. Dylan’s pretty sure Ryan is secretly a huge softie, and he’s determined to get to that sweet squishy center under that crunchy outer shell. “More coffee and bacon?”
“Please, like you’d stop now.”
Ryan’s lips twist, wry and amused. “Stay in tonight,” he says, voice low and sending a shiver up Dylan’s spine, “and I’ll show you my favorite spot at camp.”
Dylan swallows. “Okay,” he says. “Deal.”
Ryan stands and, as always, helps Dylan to his feet. “I’m serious, Dylan.”
“I know,” Dylan says, all levity gone for the moment. “I know you are.”
Ryan stares at him intensely as ever then nods. “See you later.”
“Bye,” Dylan says to Ryan’s retreating back.
Dylan’s still awake when all the other counselors get out of their bunks. He doesn’t move, barely dares to breathe; instead, he listens. Jacob, Nick, and Kaitlyn are the first out the door. Abi and Emma follow. Max goes, but hesitates, waiting for Laura. She and Ryan are lingering.
“It’ll be fine,” Ryan says.
Laura scoffs. “It’s not just your ass on the line, you know? It’s not just about keeping him safe, it's about keeping us safe too.”
“I know that.” Ryan’s reply is sharp and thick, spoken through gritted teeth.
There’s a pause, then it’s just Ryan and Dylan left in the room. Dylan focuses on keeping his breathing even. For a moment, he thinks Ryan is going to call him out; he’s so tense he feels like he could snap in half.
But then Ryan is gone too, and it takes every ounce of Dylan’s willpower not to follow. He’s curious like burning, but the most he does is sit up and pull his knees to his chest. He can hear everyone filing out of the lodge until eventually they’re too far for him to hear. The lodge is painfully still in their absence, and Dylan digs out his hoodie from his backpack beside his bed. It’s not cold enough to wear it, but it makes him feel more secure, all alone in here.
He leans toward the window but all he can see is a flashlight disappearing into the trees. He debates following them, just for a moment. But even if Ryan hadn’t made him promise, Dylan’s still not the best at navigating the camp. He wasn’t lying when he said he’s shit at directions.
Eventually he sinks back into his bed and puts his back to the door, and stares at the full moon between the slats in the blinds.