Work Text:
It starts, as most things do around here, at a camp counselors meeting.
There’s really nothing special about this meeting—at least nothing that Joyce can think of. Nope, it’s just another one of their weekly meetings, scheduled bright and early on Sunday morning, before the newest set of campers arrive that afternoon and before their long-term campers are up for breakfast. Most of the counselors are still dressed in their pajamas, wrapped up in blankets and hoodies and clutching their morning coffee as if it’s the only thing keeping them sane. There’s even a few that have fallen asleep, snoring quietly and somehow managing to go unnoticed by Hop (for now).
Hop, at this current moment, is giving some instructions and reminders—something about making sure to set a good example for the kids (which the counselors already do, in Joyce’s opinion at least), keeping spirits high and energy up for the incoming campers (again, really not a problem here), and staying out of trouble (said with a side eye at their son, daughter, and every other member of that friend group). Even though the counselors still look dead tired, the mention of the newest set of campers does get them excited, causing the entire room to erupt with bright cheers and laughter.
“Joyce,” Hop says, once the noise in the room has died down, “you got anything to add?”
All eyes in the room turn to Joyce, including the half-lidded, sleepy ones of the counselors who’d just been woken up by all the cheering. Joyce just smiles at the counselors—at her kids, because that’s what all of them are, even if some of them are new to this little camp family of theirs—and takes a moment to consider her husband’s question.
They’ve already been over all the major things in training a couple weeks ago: what poison ivy and poison oak look like, basic first aid, how to talk a kid down from a crisis, and other things like that. This early on into camp, there’s not really that much to go over, except—
“ACHOO!”
Joyce flinches as every person in the room turns their attention now to Mike Wheeler, the culprit of the obnoxiously loud sneeze. Unsurprisingly, there’s a sheepish look on Mike’s face, and he waves awkwardly at Joyce. “Sorry,” he says, and uh oh.
Warning bells go off inside Joyce’s mind, because Mike most definitely sounds like he has a stuffy nose. And really, truly, Joyce loves Mike Wheeler with her whole heart—he’s been one of her kids since he was thirteen, after all—but if this is going where Joyce thinks this is going, then she may have to reconsider letting Mike anywhere near this camp again.
(She’s joking. Mostly. It depends on just how bad The Outbreak is going to be this year.)
Out of the corner of her eye, Joyce notices Will rolling his eyes, and she makes a mental note to maybe say something about that to him later. Their little friendly rivalry’s been going on for years now, but this summer’s just been a little bit worse between the two of them. It may or may not be time for Joyce to sit down and talk with one (or both) of them, but… that’s probably for another time.
“Bless you,” Joyce chuckles, and Mike just offers her another sheepish smile. “And thank you, Mike, for that reminder – everyone, please make sure to wash your hands and keep your cabins clean. With all the new campers coming in, we’ll probably see a few sick kids, but we’re trying to avoid an all camp outbreak here, okay?”
At the mention of The Outbreak, the long-time counselors shudder. There’s a particularly traumatized look on El’s face—which makes sense, since Joyce’s poor daughter was Patient One of a camp outbreak a few years ago. Nobody wants to have a repeat of The Outbreak, so if Joyce can avoid it, then by God, she’s going to do everything in her power to nip this sickness in the bud before it gets any worse.
“We’ve done really good for the last couple years,” Joyce adds, though she chooses not to mention the fact that they’ve only really done good because of the extra precautions taken for the pandemic. “So, let’s keep up the good work, okay?”
She gets a chorus of groggy and less than enthusiastic okay’s in response, and Joyce smiles again, nodding at her husband as a go ahead to close out the meeting. After a couple more announcements, including an update on where the counselors’ scoreboard is sitting at after this past week’s activities, Hop dismisses everyone to go and get ready for breakfast.
Most of the counselors shuffle out of the room, leaving in the little friend groups that they’ve already begun to build over the past couple weeks. Will and El’s friend group sticks around a little bit longer, and judging by the sound of their laughter and Mike’s ever-reddening face, it looks like they’re giving him grief again.
Unsurprisingly, it’s Joyce’s own son who leads the way with the teasing, his arms crossed over his chest and a teasing smirk on his face. And though he’s still bright red and glaring back at Will, Mike must say something equally teasing, because Will’s own face turns a rosy shade of pink as he’s pulled back into their back-and-forth bantering once more.
Joyce can’t help but shake her head as she gathers up her things and heads back to the infirmary. Maybe it’s mother’s intuition or maybe she just has eyes, but that feeling she’s had for the last few summers is only growing with each day that passes by this year.
There’s something about Will and Mike, and there’s something about this summer. What that is – or rather what it’ll become – is probably too soon to say, but Joyce has a feeling.
And when it comes to her kids, she’s almost never wrong.
Sure enough, despite Joyce's best efforts to avoid it, it seems like The Outbreak might just happen this summer anyways.
It starts, unsurprisingly, when kids from Mike’s cabin all begin to shuffle in with sore throats and stuffy noses, coughing onto just about every single surface in the infirmary. It’s one kid after another for a solid three days straight, and Joyce is so glad they bought so much cold medicine this year, because it certainly seems like they’re going to need it.
She’s definitely got her work cut out for her this year, but fortunately, The Outbreak is limited to Mike’s cabin for right now. This stupid little bug hasn’t quite spread to the rest of the camp, and damn it, if Joyce can help it, things are going to stay that way.
So, when Mike Wheeler himself shuffles into the infirmary with a bright red nose and watery eyes, wearing a hoodie even though it’s the hottest week of summer thus far, Joyce knows exactly what she has to do and say.
It may or may not embarrass the hell out of Mike and Will, but hey, a camp nurse has to do what a camp nurse has to do. And if mother’s intuition turns out to be wrong and there really is nothing happening between those two, then she’ll apologize later.
But if there is… then, Joyce would kick herself for not saying something sooner.
“Hi, Joyce,” Mike says—though it comes out sounding more like, “Hi, Boyce,” since his nose is so stuffy and his voice is so hoarse. Without any hesitation, Mike shuffles over to the little infirmary cot, and he all but collapses onto it, letting out a pitiful little moan. “I’m so sick.”
Joyce can’t help but laugh, and she grabs a couple of latex gloves from the box on the counter, as well as a flu test and a COVID test from inside of the cabinet. “I was wondering when I’d see you in here” she chuckles, walking over to the cot and pressing her hand against Mike’s forehead. “How long have you been feeling sick?”
Again, all Mike can do is groan, looking up at her with watery eyes hidden behind the glasses he doesn’t often wear in the summer. “Since this morning,” he grumbles. “Made it all week without coming here, but now I feel like shit.”
“Language,” Joyce scolds, mostly just out of habit. Honestly, she’s never cared much about any of the counselors cursing, and Hop doesn’t really care either, even if he likes to give the counselors (specifically Mike) grief about it. But hey, the last thing they need is another pain in the ass parent calling and complaining because their child heard one counselor tell another to fuck off.
(Yeah. That wasn’t a fun conversation to have with Jonathan a few summers ago, but in his defense, Steve probably did deserve it. It’s definitely something all of them look back on now at family dinners and laugh about.)
“Sorry,” comes Mike’s mumbled response, and he closes his eyes, curling up on the little cot. “Can I hide out in here? Nobody… will ever find me…”
Joyce chuckles. “Your campers will find you eventually,” she reminds. “They’re only in arts and crafts for so long.”
“Will can keep them,” Mike decides, his voice groggy and still so very stuffed up. “They’re his problem now.”
“Mike.” Joyce rolls her eyes fondly; then, she pats his shoulder gently. “Come on, sit up. Gotta take a couple tests, kiddo.”
“Ugh,” Mike groans, but he sits up and makes a face at her again. “Was kinda hoping you’d just let me get away with stealing some medicine, but noooo, you want to shove a cotton swab up my nose. Why does everyone in your family hate me?”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Joyce chuckles, grabbing a flu test from on the counter. Luckily, all of their cases so far have been the flu, so she’s willing to bet that’s what Mike has too. If they can avoid any COVID cases at camp this summer, then she’ll be a very happy woman. “You know El and Will don’t hate you. And Hop doesn’t either.”
Mike snorts, a disbelieving look on his face. “Debatable.”
Again, Joyce rolls her eyes and shakes her head in amusement. She chooses not to mention all the things that would prove Mike wrong—the gentle reminder that he’s almost always at her house on birthdays and other special occasions celebrated by her kids, or the fact that both she and Hop proudly wrote glowing letters of recommendation for Mike’s applications to Brown, or the way that Joyce practically sees him as her son at this point, thanks to several summers of getting to watch him grow up with her own kids.
Instead, Joyce just opens up the flu test, holding up the little cotton swab. “You wanna do this?”
“Yes, please,” Mike says quickly, grabbing the cotton swab and carefully putting it in his own nostril. “I swear some of the people who used to do those COVID tests were trying to dig out my brains or something. Fucking traumatizing.”
At this, Joyce can’t help but laugh, because well – that’s Mike for you. Always a little bit overdramatic. Some days, just like it’s hard to see Will as a nineteen year-old soon to be sophomore in college, it’s just as hard to see Mike and Lucas and Dustin as adults as well. After all, it feels like just yesterday that the four of them were no older than some of their campers, running around and causing trouble all throughout camp.
“Here,” Mike says, and he hands Joyce the cotton swab, scrunching his nose at it. “Please tell me that’s it.”
“Mm, nope,” Joyce chuckles. “Trade ya?”
The side-eye she gets from Mike is also a quintessential Mike Wheeler move, and Joyce just shakes her head, handing him another cotton swab and then prepping the flu test sample. “I hate being sick,” Mike declares. “Why do kids spread so many germs?”
“They like to touch everything,” Joyce reminds gently, glancing over her shoulder, “and they don’t cover their mouths, wash their hands, or stay away from their friends. Then one thing leads to another, and their friends get sick and spread it to their own cabins, and suddenly, half the camp is sick.”
“Kind of like that one summer I got El sick,” Mike says, his voice glum, and Joyce can’t help but shudder. That particular summer had been a pain in the ass, with The Outbreak lasting literally from the third week of camp to the end of the summer. It had not been fun to deal with.
“ Exactly like that,” Joyce agrees; then, she turns back around to Mike, taking the cotton swab from him. “So, you know what that means?”
“I’m on bedrest,” Mike decides as he falls backwards onto the cot in the most dramatic way possible. “No getting anybody sick.”
Joyce hums as she swirls the little cotton swab in the plastic tube. “No getting anybody sick,” she repeats. “Stay away from whatever healthy campers you have left, get some rest, don’t interact with any of the other cabins—campers or counselors.”
She pauses here, and well… Joyce can’t help herself. It helps that Mike’s been one of their long-term campers for years now and that he and Will have been part of the same friend group for just as long. As far as Joyce is concerned, all of Will and El’s friends are her kids too.
And hey.
Joyce is a good mom.
She knows her kids.
“We don’t want a repeat of the year you were Patient Zero, Mike,” Joyce adds, just for good measure. “So, no kissing and getting another counselor sick, okay?”
A beat passes.
Then, Mike lets out an indignant little squawking noise, and he sits up, his eyes wide and his face becoming increasingly more and more red. “Joyce!” he exclaims, his voice about an octave higher than usual. “I’m not – I mean… I haven’t—”
(The sheer panic in his voice all but confirms to Joyce that her suspicions are more than likely true, but that’s another problem for another time.)
So, Joyce just raises her hands innocently. “Honey, you know I wouldn’t judge you if you were,” she reminds. “I’m just saying though. If any of the other counselors has caught your eye… maybe avoid them for a little while? If not for their sake, then for mine? Trying to avoid an all camp outbreak here.”
For a few moments, Mike is quiet, though judging by the look on his face, Joyce thinks he might be questioning every single decision that has brought him to this moment. That, or he’s so sick he’s probably about to pass out.
“I’m not dating another counselor,” Mike finally decides to say, in a voice that’s careful but still a bit stuffed up. “No repeats of that summer.”
“Okay, good,” Joyce says with a smile, and she glances down at the tests sitting on the counter, “because chances are you either have the flu or COVID. Maybe both.”
Mike just groans, and he falls back down onto the cot in a pitiful little heap. “If I have the flu and COVID, I’m going to ask Lucas to drown me in the lake,” he decides. “Probably will be a faster death. Easier too.”
“Lucas knows better than to drown you in the lake, hon,” Joyce reminds. “You know he’d never do that.”
“Fair,” Mike muses, before he pauses again, a thoughtful but tired look on his face. “Okay… Max then. Max would drown me in a lake without hesitation.”
Joyce just laughs again, and she shakes her head. “Max would,” she agrees. “She really, really would.”
The minute Joyce’s son walks into the infirmary, barely two days later, with a red nose and watery eyes and wearing a hoodie that Joyce… doesn’t remember ever seeing her boy wear before, she knows.
The Outbreak has officially begun.
(She knows some other things though, thanks to mother’s intuition and all that. But yeah… that’s another story for another time.)
“Hi, Mom,” Will groans, and he shuffles into the infirmary, immediately leaning his head on Joyce’s shoulder. “Help me, please. I can’t breathe through my nose.”
Much like Mike did earlier this week, Will sounds incredibly stuffed up, with all of his words coming out a bit slurred and a little difficult to understand. Luckily, Joyce has been around enough sick kids in her life to know exactly what they’re trying to say, even if it sounds like gibberish to everyone else.
“Oh, honey.” Joyce rubs her son’s back sympathetically, and Will lets out a small whine, wrapping his arm around her in a hug. “Will, honey, I love you, but you can’t hug me when you’re sick with the flu.”
“‘s not the flu,” Will protests. “Just a cold!”
“Uh huh,” Joyce says, carefully nudging her son away and turning to grab some of her supplies. “Come on. Get up onto the cot so I can check you for a fever and get you a flu test.”
To no surprise, Will makes a face in return, but he does follow her instructions and all but collapses onto the cot, curling up into a little ball. “I never get sick,” he grumbles pitifully. “Not even during the camp outbreaks. Why now?”
Joyce can’t help but raise an eyebrow, and look… look, it’s probably a good thing that Will can’t see her face right now. Because Joyce has a feeling she knows exactly why this summer is so different and why Will’s gotten sick, after somehow managing to avoid The Outbreak for the past several years.
(She could say something, but she’s not going to.
…
Not yet at least.)
“Happens to the best of us,” Joyce decides to say instead, and she turns around, walking back over to the cot. “Alright, let’s check your temp, baby. Sit up for me.”
Will silently obliges, and Joyce holds up the thermometer to his forehead, waiting for a few moments for it to read his temperature. Sure enough, the number 100.3 flashes across the screen, and Joyce winces.
“You’ve definitely got a fever,” she says with a sigh. “We’ll have you take a flu and COVID test just in case, but my guess is you caught whatever Mike and his cabin have. Are any of your kids sick?”
A beat passes.
Then, another.
And another.
(The silence speaks volumes.)
Finally, a hesitant look forms on Will’s face, and he pauses for a moment, before shaking his head. “No,” he says, quiet and raspy. “None of them are sick. Or… at least none of them have told me they are.”
(See? Mother’s intuition. It never, ever fails her.)
“Well, hopefully, you haven’t spread anything to them yet,” Joyce says, noticing the almost guilty tone of voice Will uses. No sense in making him feel bad about any of this, especially since it’s already done and most definitely something Joyce has come to expect. “But who knows. Maybe some of them are just avoiding the infirmary so they don’t miss out on all the fun camp activities!”
“Yeah, Will agrees, and he manages another small but tired smile. “Hopefully none of them are sick though. I don’t know… Maybe I should lock myself in isolation or something again. That way I’m not spreading anything to anyone else.”
Joyce chuckles, reaching over and ruffling her son’s hair lightly. “That might be a little overdramatic,” she muses, “but I suppose if you really wanted to, there’s nothing stopping you. It might help stop this year’s outbreak. Maybe we caught it early enough this summer.”
The smile on Will’s face turns a bit wry. “You think we’ll get that lucky this year?”
“Mm, I’m not betting on it,” Joyce admits with a small laugh. “Honey, I’ve been doing this for years now, and one way or another, half of camp gets sick. It was only a matter of time before it spread out of Mike’s cabin. It’s a shame it came to yours though!”
“Ugh.” At the mention of Mike, Will makes a face, and he leans his head against Joyce’s shoulder again. “I swear to God, it’s always Mike.”
His voice is full of exasperation and thinly veiled fondness, and Joyce can’t help but smile, pulling her boy close “It does feel like it always starts with Mike,” she chuckles, rubbing his back soothingly.
Joyce pauses here, and – well, she loves her son more than anything else in the world, but if he’s going to be the Patient One to Mike’s Patient Zero, then she has to at least give him a hard time about it. It’s only fair.
“You know, it’s funny,” Joyce muses, feigning innocence, “Mike was just in here a couple days ago, and we started talking about that one summer he got El sick, and then El got everyone in her cabin sick… You remember that year?”
Judging by how quickly Will tenses and how he squeaks, “Oh – oh yeah!” Will definitely remembers that summer. And truthfully, Joyce has to physically refrain herself from bursting into laughter, because while this whole situation most definitely means that The Outbreak has already begun, it is rather funny and not at all surprising.
Anyone with eyes could’ve seen this—WillandMike, that is—coming from a mile away. And maybe neither of them are willing to talk about whatever all of this is—whether it’s a summer fling or something more serious than that—Joyce would bet money they’ll have it figured out by the end of the summer.
“It’s funny,” Joyce adds, pulling away and offering Will a teasing, knowing smile. “I told him to stay away from campers and other counselors. Seems like he didn’t really listen, huh?”
Will’s face turns a bright shade of red, and it’s not because of the fever. He sort of looks like he wants to dig his own grave or just succumb to this summer’s plague, so Joyce decides to give him a bit of a reprieve. More teasing can come later, once her boys are over this summer bug and are actually ready to talk about… whatever the hell may or may not be going on between them.
“Alright, let’s see if we can get you tested, so you can get out of here and get some rest, okay baby?” Joyce says softly, before pulling away and grabbing a couple of the tests. “Just promise me you won’t be getting anyone else sick, okay?”
Much to Joyce’s relief, a wry smile forms on Will’s face, and he holds his hand out, taking the first cotton swab from Joyce’s own hand. “Trust me, Mom,” he says in that sad, stuffed up voice of his, “I’m not gonna get anyone else sick.”
And well, the sad thing is: Joyce does actually believe him—but only because the one person who Will would get sick here at camp is already sick.
So when the rest of camp somehow manages to avoid a full-on outbreak of this summer’s flu strand, Joyce’s suspicions are even more confirmed than ever before.
But hey, she’s not going to ask about it right now. Relationships can be tricky when you’re young, and if Joyce has learned anything working at a summer camp, it’s that sometimes, it’s best to just let things play out their natural course—no matter what chaos happens in the middle.
That’s summer love for you, after all.
And Joyce wouldn’t change a single thing about it.