Chapter Text
Story 7 - Camp (Part 1)
Words: ~ 4,200
A Change of Plans
All right. I had all the kids in the cabin. Point one for me, because seriously they're scatter-brained wanderers and one of them, Josh, might be a sociopath. Just kidding. Behavioral issues happen and I think his family's a little off the deep end.
Anyway, I've got all five of them accounted for and inside. Didn't give them any candy tonight either - learned not to do that the hard way a couple nights ago. Don't judge me - I'm new to this whole camp counselor thing. Having Epilepsy and dealing with twelve- and thirteen-year olds (my group's age bracket): I soon came to second-guess my initial conviction that the former was more difficult than the latter. Even when the camp counselor-to-camper ratio is one to five and I've got my junior counselor Gabe on hand.
Sidenote: I don't think Gabe really likes me. He's sixteen years old and keeps looking at me with this smoldering resentment that I don't understand. We're four nights in and I've been trying to be decent to him - make him feel included by engaging in conversation. I'm older than him by six years, I go to Stanford, I'm friendly - doesn't that make me automatically a cool guy to hang out with?
Apparently the answer is no. But on the flip side, there's this kid in my group named Sam who's seriously become my little honorary junior counselor. He's helped me a lot so far and, while I'd never admit it to him, he's better at keeping track of my campers than I am.
He must know though. I consistently search him out whenever I want to find one of my campers. He's never hard to find, either. He's usually around his big brother, Dean. Dean is Tim's junior counselor, which is hilarious because Tim literally embodies the stereotype of socially-awkward, tightly-wound first-year med student. Whenever Dean comes up with an... unconventional... activity for the kids, Carrie (a fellow counselor) and I find each other and just watch Tim's eyes widen with repressed alarm. Cracks us up.
Anyway, back to the cabin: it is actually Dean that's the reason why my kids (campers, whatever) are currently pulling the shitty foam mattresses off their bunk beds and starting to surf into the walls with them. Gabe is sullenly leaning against the wall of the cabin while I'm trying to coordinate the whole thing. The trick is to move the bunk beds into a line against the walls so you have the full length of the cabin free to get a running start. I figured this out when I wandered into Tim's cabin yesterday morning and saw all the bunk beds had been rearranged.
"Hey Tim," I smirked, "what, the place wasn't uh... feng shui enough for you?"
Tim blinked at me, his coffee in hand.
"Huh? No, Dean did it," Tim replied, a hint of annoyance in his tone as he looked down at his bunk. I snorted with laughter.
"Wha- Why?" I asked lazily, smiling. Dean's antics were pretty entertaining. Tim looked back up at me and raised his eyebrows as he shrugged.
"I don't even know. You know how the counselor meeting went past eleven last night?"
"Mmhm."
Counselor meetings started at ten pm and were supposed to last an hour maximum. It was the only time Junior Counselors had full discretion over our campers and, if they were doing their jobs, the kids would be asleep by the time we'd get back to the cabins.
"I got back to the cabin around eleven-thirty, forty-five maybe, and the beds had been moved.
"Kids were asleep?" I asked.
"Yeah - lights were out and everything. Woke up to this, though," Tim said, frowning at his sleeping bag.
"Mm, what?" I murmured, walking over to check out Tim's sleeping bag, covered in glitter.
My amusement was a slow build, but when Tim monotonously murmured, "Kids must've grabbed it from the crafts supplies," as if this was a serious infraction to be investigated, I couldn't not burst into laughter.
Dean's glitter gag was great, but the whole mattress-surfing thing spread farther (I think probably because Dean was betting the glitter would get on Tim as he slept. He didn't take into account the fact that Tim's so rigid that he probably doesn't move when he sleeps). I wouldn't be surprised if all the other counselors were struggling with their seizure-prone campers right now, aspiring to glide into walls without nailing their heads.
You might be reading this and thinking the activity is just begging an injury (that could lead to a seizure). Here's the thing, though: we have two doctors and four nurses on staff and their cabin is only fifty yards off from ours'. These kids don't often get to play fast and loose with their bodies when they're home: overprotective parents is a big reason why but it's also because their surroundings are unpredictable and almost always potentially dangerous.
The general public just doesn't know what to do when you have a seizure. Even the little ones that aren't that big of a deal - it's taxing, man: I remember what it was like (I went into remission a few years ago). There's that awkward silence with your buds... and then you either have to try to explain what just happened (which is rough when you're still coming out of it) or you just stay silent and let the moment pass. Someone will pick up the thread of conversation that had been happening before you'd clocked out. You just have to wait it out and try not to be so disappointed by the indifference (or, worse, judgment that you're brain-damaged when conscious).
This camp, though? This camp is safe. All the kids and all the counselors (and junior counselors) have had direct experience with seizures and know what to do when or if the big ones (and little ones) happen. No one's judging and, best of all, no one's pitying you if anything happens.
I'll give you a highlight, because this was pretty funny. It was seven in the morning: groggy campers and counselors alike were just settling down in the dining hall. Chairs and squeaky sneakers echoing around, the bustling sounds of the kitchen cooks setting out the buffet table. The kids all still had high-pitched voices - the cut-off age for the camp was fourteen, so whenever they were loud - even the boys - they were shrill. I don't know why but they found it endlessly entertaining to see my plainly unhappy expression when they'd call out to someone across the room. Seven am, man. It was seven in the morning and they'd just screeeech...
So anyway, I sat down at an empty table, the standard protocol for counselors: if any of your kids weren't lucking out on finding a clique, the table their counselor sits at is a home base. It'd been about twenty-four hours into the start of the camp (forty-eight for me, as all the counselors and junior counselors had to come a day early to review the camp's first aid and safety policies) - the campers had arrived yesterday morning. Still bleary, I set down my coffee and stretched back in my chair. Rubbing my eyes, I leaned forward to put my elbows on the table and sensed someone plop down in a chair next to me. I opened my eyes to find Dean settling in next to me.
"Yo."
"Hey," I answered casually, yawning, "what's up?"
Dean shrugged, looking out around the dining hall. I liked Dean - we had hit it off during the first aid training day. I found myself bantering with him in whispers during the reviews: it was nothing we didn't already know anyway. At one point Dean made me laugh in the middle of a lecture about photosensitivity. The camp director was saying that fireworks and strobe lights were banned from the camp.
Dean tsked with exaggerated disappointment and swore.
"What?" I asked quietly.
"I've... got my arsenal of fireworks and strobe lights in the car," Dean deadpanned.
"Do you have a strong flashlight?" I riffed back.
"Yeah but I'd have to shine it like at them - I don't know if they'd stay still long enough for it to work."
"I don't know man, some of them go down," I slapped my hands quietly, "after just like a second..."
We sniggered quietly, acknowledging that we were probably going to hell as the lecture continued.
Needless to say, Dean had a great, dark sense of humor that I appreciated. That night I was going over Sam's medical history (part of the portfolio counselors get for all of their campers) and discovered that Sam was actually one of the photosensitive kids that was attending. Oddly enough, that detail made me respect Dean more for having the ability to joke about it so easily. Either that or he was a total ass, but I really didn't get that vibe off him. He came off calm and controlled, a unique quality for a seventeen year old, yet it was unmistakable.
Thinking about that day, I turned to Dean at the breakfast table and asked him wryly if he had any photosensitive kids in his group. He looked up at me, eyebrows raised, then caught on and chuckled.
"No such luck," he replied. I nodded, willing to let the conversation drop. Dean had turned back to absently watch the kids. Soon, the onslaught for seats at my table was under way - mostly boys from Dean and I's camp groups. I could tell that the boys in Dean's group had already taken a liking to him as they peppered him with weird questions only pre-adolescents found funny and/or interesting. I think at one point a kid walked up and asked Dean whether he peed sitting down and I couldn't stop laughing at Dean's double-take and the harassed confusion with which he whispered, "What?" before another camper distracted him back to the table.
A few minutes later, I saw Sam walk into the dining hall and realized that all the seats at my table were taken. Wasn't a hundred percent sure what to do about that (remember, I'm new to this whole counselor thing), but let it go as Sam came over to us.
"Hey," Sam said airily, sidling up next to Dean where he was sitting. Dean leaned back to look up at his brother.
"Hey dude, pull up a chair."
"'kay," Sam murmured, walking away tiredly to grab one of the chairs stacked up against the wall nearby. It dawned on me that Dean was probably a great temperature gauge for how Sam was doing. Sam looked and sounded sleepy - like he hadn't gotten enough sleep (which can be bad - lowers the seizure threshold for some people), but Dean didn't look concerned. Probably just the way Sam normally woke up.
Sam started to drag the chair over, accidentally making a loud noise that reverberated around the entire hall as the metal grated and screeched against the floor. The hall rang out with kids' reactions - groans and jeers at the piercing sound and Sam immediately stopped moving, a slow blush coming over him as he groggily put his hands up in defense, overwhelmed, and looked around apologetically.
I heard Dean snort with laughter as he got up from his seat and walked over. Sam looked openly to Dean and mouthed, 'sorry,' as his brother approached. I saw Dean wave off Sam's apology just before picking the chair up to bring it over.
The hall's volume died back down to the dull roar that it had been and the two of them walked in sync together. Sam visibly got over his discomfort, arriving at the table with a relaxed (but still fatigued) chortle at something Dean had just said.
Dean set the chair down next to his and Sam moved to sit just as Alicia, the camp director, announced it was our table's turn to go up to the buffet. The sound of the boys' ear-splittingly loud chairs was testament to their enthusiasm for food as they rushed up to the buffet.
About twenty minutes later, Sam was chowing down, fully awake and animated. He was listening intently, a glint of pure amusement on his face as Dean laid down challenges to the boys for the days' scheduled activities.
"Okay okay no. Three bull's eyes. You do three bull's eyes, Jake, and I'll give you a reward."
"-What's the reward?"
"I'll take that bet! I can do it!"
"Are you kidding?! I can't do three on the first day - I have to practice!" Jake complained, his expression slightly hurt.
"Okay," Dean replied to Jake calmly, "but," he looked around the table, "who just said they'd take the bet?" he asked seriously, pointing at the boys around the table.
"Me!" A kid named Cole claimed, raising his hand confidently. Dean pointed at Cole and widened his eyes with mock gravitas.
"You serious?"
"Yeah but wait what's the reward?" Cole asked.
"Um, I don't know. Five dollars!" Dean said, obviously coming up with that misguided idea off the top of his head. The kids whooped with excitement as I raised an eyebrow, rolled my eyes and clapped Dean against the shoulder. He looked back at me innocently and I gave a slight shake of my head as I mouthed, 'candy.'
In an effort to be a cool counselor, I'd brought a stash of sweets with me in my car and I had no problem sharing.
"Candy!" Dean took it and ran with it. The table groaned.
"No, let's do the five dollars-!"
"Yeah let's bet money!"
"No, no we're not betting with money anymore - it's gonna be candy," Dean corrected quickly, stifling the complaints. He shot me a crooked grin, tacitly apologizing for having almost started up a gambling ring in this wholesome Epilepsy camp. I chuckled and waved it off: no big deal.
"You know, we're not eight, Dean," Sam murmured under his breath, smiling up at his brother as he reached for the paper dixie cup that held his meds. The nurses had come around mid-meal to drop off everyone's prescriptions. Dean looked over to Sam and gave him a small shove.
"Shut up," he whispered comically, then looked up at the table, "I like candy. Everybody likes candy, who doesn't like candy? It's a good reward," Dean concluded jovially.
"What kind of candy? I have diabetes!" A random kid called out. Dean immediately leaned over to me just as I took a bite of my scrambled eggs.
"Max has diabetes - do you have-?" he asked in an undertone. I nodded, trying to finish my bite.
"Yeah I've got sugar free gum," I coughed. Dean nodded and turned back.
"S'cool, Max, we got you covered, trooper."
"Okay," Max replied, satisfied.
"Okay but so... Cole," Dean said, fixing his gaze on the boy.
"Yeah," Cole replied, no nonsense as he took another bite of his hash browns.
"Three bull's eyes today. I want to see them," Dean ordered playfully. Cole laughed.
"Okay."
"I have another wager though," Dean added, rubbing his hands together, ramping up suspense.
"What?!"
Dean grinned and leaned towards Sam, putting his arm around the back of his chair. Sam raised his eyebrows at his brother's close proximity.
"You're doing archery today, right?" He asked casually. Sam nodded and reached out for his plastic cup of water.
"Okay," Dean turned back to the table, "I bet that I can get more bull's eyes than Sam today."
Sam snorted into the cup and looked at Dean, his expression the definition of skepticism. Everybody saw it, too. Like Sam knew he'd be able to beat Dean. Dean raised his eyebrows, jerking his head back with indignation.
"Don't look at me like that," Dean shot at his brother playfully. Sam gave a wry smile and shook his head.
"What- Shh, guys - guys! - What're the stakes, Dean?" I prompted, trying to be heard by the throng of boys asking questions and throwing out their opinions about whether Dean or Sam were better at archery (a thing about kids this age: speculation is as good as fact sometimes).
"All right. The stakes. If I beat Sam," Dean paused for dramatic effect, "then for the rest of camp, you guys have to be my waiter and take my order during meal times."
The boys laughed. Good one. It was a light-hearted chore that'd likely fail to happen even if Dean did win. After a second, the boys prompted about what would happen if Sam won. Dean turned to Sam, who grinned evilly.
"If I win, then Dean's gotta wear Joe's hat for a whole day," Sam said, his laughter mixing in with the eruption that came from the table. Joe, a fellow counselor and father to one of the younger campers, had brought a rainbow-patterned baseball cap with a plastic spinning fan sprouting from the top. Massive, neon pink sunglasses had been glued onto it as well, making it impossible to wear without the added accessory.
This hat had been the most celebrated prop of the day yesterday, with several kids swapping it onto their heads every five minutes. Multiple times over the kids had tried to get it onto Dean who'd successfully managed to dodge their attempts. He was a mature seventeen year old, sure, but he was still seventeen: that hat was just not cool.
At Sam's announcement, Dean slumped down with disappointment, probably staring daggers at Sam (I couldn't see his expression - his back was facing me). Silent communication passed between them - I could only see Sam's face he was obviously enjoying this.
"You suck," Dean said simply, sounding defeated already. Sam laughed and put his palms up.
"You suck," he pointed at Dean, "- you started it," he retorted cheerfully. I smiled at Sam's dimples deepening as he looked at Dean.
The rest of the boys had pulled out of Sam and Dean's conversation a little bit, one of them having announced that even if Sam didn't hit enough bull's eyes today, one way or another they'd make sure Dean would have to wear that hat at some point.
The table was controlled chaos, the boys laughing and shouting - playing with their food (a camp thing: only parents give a shit about manners) and talking. I was pleased: everyone was getting along. I got up to check everyone had taken their meds while Dean continued to distract them. I'd just sat down when Cole called out from across the table.
"Sam!"
Sam glanced over.
"Yeah?"
"Are you like really good at archery?"
The kids all looked to Sam.
Sam smiled and pointed with panache at Dean with the same hand that held his plastic cup of water. My eyes squinted with concern as I saw Sam's hand tremble. I noticed Dean pull his chair up closer to Sam.
"Better 'n 'imm..." Sam hummed, then stopped like it took effort, blinking. The kids at the table picked up on it.
"Jay, Sam's-"
"I know, Cole, it's cool," I said, "Ask him again later," I suggested, watching Dean's phenomenal reflexes as he leaned over his brother smoothly. Totally relaxed, Dean pulled the cup from Sam's hand just before it started doing the tango. "Shi-," I heard Sam whisper as he watched his own hand working itself out. Without taking his eyes off Sam, Dean set the cup down on the table.
"You good?" Dean murmured, his voice calm and steady. The kids at the table had resumed conversation, taking Sam's seizure at the table in stride.
"Yeah.., just..." Sam murmured, his seizing muscles starting to travel. Dean coolly wrapped an arm around Sam's back just as the seizure reached his shoulder and forced him to crook his neck to the side, curling his body.
Sam would've fallen out of his chair if Dean hadn't been holding him. The camper that'd been sitting next to him (Oliver, I know now) had been pretty quiet at the table, but at Sam's muffled attempt at a swear I watched him look up and lose his page to spot Sam.
It was just a second more and Sam's side relaxed.
"Ah," Sam breathed with irritation, starting to flex his neck and arm. Dean rubbed Sam's back for a second before pulling back. Oliver spoke up softly.
"You okay, Sam?"
"Yeah s'just...so...annoying..." he murmured, flashing an embarrassed smile. "Thanks," he added genuinely.
"Sam, you cool?" Cole piped up from across the table. It wasn't obnoxious, though: it was the caring tone of voice he'd inherited from his parents after he'd have seizures. I was struck by how adult Cole sounded: he was older than most of the campers, but he was still only just fourteen - an age when dripping sarcasm and mockery was more the norm. It took me another twenty-four hours to figure out that literally every kid here had a switch from fun-loving idiot-child to serious and aware caretaker. The realization made me even more dedicated to making sure they could be fun-loving idiots which, I discovered, meant that Dean and I were destined to be buds.
Sam flinched up at Cole's check and nodded.
"Yeah totally."
"Are you really good at archery?" Cole repeated his question as if nothing had happened. Sam smiled, about to answer, when Dean answered for him.
"Sam is so good I'm gonna be praying for more simple partials today," Dean joked, referring to the type of seizure Sam had just had.
My jaw fell in shock at Dean's openly callous remark as the table collapsed into laughter. Sam directed a well-aimed punch into his brother's side and Dean caught his wrists as he cracked up.
"Dude you're such a jerk," Sam said, laughing as he tried to tug his arms away from Dean's hold. Dean was smiling, entertained at Sam's ineffective efforts to pull away, but soon let go as he muttered.
"Bitch."
It was the most counter-intuitive moment to think was, 'cute,' but allow me to drop my manly stoicism for a second: somehow it just was.
And then the kids just started knocking on the table together in rhythm, which confused the shit out of me. I found out later it was a tradition to, 'knock on wood,' when someone mentioned seizures using clinical terms. Every camp has its things, I guess.
Sam had started talking to Oliver about the book he was reading and Dean leaned back in his chair, stretching. He glanced over to me.
"Hey," he said, slapping my knee.
"Yeah, what?" I said, still baffled at what had just happened with the table-banging thing.
"We need to torch that hat before Sam gets out on the field."
I snorted a laugh.
"No way, dude. Ya gotta wear it," I replied, then cocked my head to the side, "with the cheesy leather jacket," I said, smirking. Dean rolled his eyes and started laughing silently, shaking his head, no doubt lamenting what he'd gotten himself into.
"S'not cheesy," he griped comically.
Right now, though, like I said, we're four nights into camp and, if you're wondering, the answer is yes. Dean did end up wearing the hat the following day. He was dedicated too, even going so far as to wear it during pool time. I think I have some great photos of him attempting to play water volleyball. Definitely some legit shots of him throwing Sam into the deep end. The kids loved it. Especially, I think, Sam.
I've had my moments, too. Like right now, I'm definitely taking after Dean in letting the kids try out their 'skillz' with mattress surfing. And earlier this evening Dean and I cross-dressed for dinner after I'd made the inexcusable mistake of going in with Dean on another ill-fated bet. To be fair though, I knew Dean was throwing them. After he'd made a fool of himself with Joe's hat, it was pretty much downhill from there: Dean was willing to model a clown so the kids could be the fun-loving idiots. It was working.
So when I looked around, appraising the situation in the cabin and taking count, I was surprised to find that I was down a camper.
"Hey Gabe who're we missing?"
"Huh?" Gabe asked, oblivious.
"Where's Sam?"
Gabe looked around wearing a surprised expression, as if just realizing that the other four campers were even in the cabin. Bizarre guy, Gabe.
"I don't know-"
"-All right," I overlapped his words impatiently, annoyed. Grabbing my flashlight, I walked out of the cabin to look around. Sam didn't wander - he must've gone to the bathroom. We use the buddy system at night though: we're in the woods.
I walked to the bathrooms and called Sam's name.
No answer.
I listened intently for any sound around the stalls, but there was no sound of movement. Stumped, I turned around to look out over the campus - the cabins were snugged into various small clearings, all connected by well-maintained sidewalk paths that led downhill towards the dining hall.
"Sam!" I called out again, my voice echoing back to me.