Chapter Text
Summertime meant mosquitoes and insufferable heat; cold beers and sweaty t-shirts after a day in sweltering temperatures. Dean’s t-shirt clung to his back as he opened the six pack he had bought in town the day before. The moisture in the air felt tangible as Dean sucked in a deep breath. He imagined his lungs dripping with condensation from the humidity.
“You done with the electrical box?” Bobby called out from the kitchen window, safe from the thick heat and the pesky bugs. Lucky bastard had assigned himself to indoor duties today.
“Yup. Easy fix.” Dean replied, leaning back into his camping chair.
“Atta boy.”
“Are we all set for tomorrow?” Dean half-shouted in Bobby’s direction.
It was silent for a moment, and Dean let his eyes close as he took in the sound of the waves from the lake and the songs of the birds echoing throughout the summer camp. Sometimes, he thought that this place must be heaven. Coming up to Bobby’s camp every summer was the highlight of Dean’s year, each and every year. It wasn’t that he hated being with his dad and Sammy, but the constant moving around could leave Dean feeling motion sick. To be in one place for three months, to not have to worry about where he was sleeping and how he was gonna keep his dad sober enough to drive? It was as close to peace as he was ever gonna get.
“Don’t you fall asleep out here. Those bugs’ll eat you up, and I don’t wanna deal with you whining about it.”
Dean opened his eyes, seeing Bobby setting up another camping chair beside him. He grabbed a beer and passed it to Bobby when he got settled.
“‘Bobby it itches! Bobby make it stop! This is why I hate your camp, Bobby!’
I can hear it all now.”
Dean humphed. “That is a terrible impression of me. And I only fell asleep out here once, years ago.”
“Trust me, boy, you complained enough for a lifetime.”
They both sipped from their bottles and looked out at the lake, watching the sun go down inch by inch in a golden haze.
“Is Sam nervous?” Dean asked quietly, not wanting his little brother to somehow hear him. He swore that kid had super hearing sometimes.
“Nervous? No, I think he’s excited. Keeps blabbing about all his friends whose names I can never remember,” Bobby looked over at Dean, seeing the unease in his eyes, “He’ll be fine. Hell, he’s survived living with you for thirteen years, and that’s much harder than summer camp. Plus, he’s been a camper here now for what, six years? Mind you, that’s without the other seven he spent hanging around up here.”
Dean smiled softly, trying to push down his worries. Honestly, Sam was probably more capable than him at most things, summer camp included, but Dean still worried. It was his job as a big brother after all.
“You’re right Bobby. Besides, fresh meat comes in tomorrow,” Dean said, a conspiratorial smirk spreading across his face.
Bobby glared at him. “If you scare the devils out of my counselors again…”
“Don’t pretend like you didn’t laugh.”
“I had a bunch of adults running around screeching about a wendigo in the woods!”
Dean laughed at that, remembering the story he’d told to last year's group of new counselors. Every year he told them stories about the woods surrounding the camp, saying they were haunted. It was harmless fun, for Dean. This year, he was planning on going with either a werewolf or a woman in white story. He had to put all of his folklore knowledge to use somehow.
“Do you remember that one girl, probably two years ago, who fully threw up on a camper's head? Bobby, you can’t beat that.”
“You’re gonna get me fired, ya idjit” Bobby said, his voice lacking any real malice.
Dean took another swig of his beer. “Can’t get fired if you own the place.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t go broke and have to shut the place down.”
“Sure, but that’s not gonna happen.”
Bobby raised his eyebrows at Dean. “You sound real sure of yourself.”
“Bobby, c’mon. You’ve been running this place since before I was born. You wanna know what one of my first memories is? Swimming in that awful inflatable kiddie pool you used to have in your backyard, and then going to the firepit and eating a s’more. This place will never go away.”
The two men were quiet for a moment.
“Jesus kid, are you trying to make an old man cry?”
Dean laughed as Bobby blinked back tears, both of their faces lit with the orange hue that reflected off of the lake from the sunset.
Maybe this wasn’t heaven, Dean thought, but it sure was paradise.
-
Dean awoke with a startled gasp in the back of his throat. He could still hear the remnants of his dream ringing in his ears.
“Don’t walk away from me!”
The sickening crunch of his nose breaking.
The hot flow of blood dripping down his neck and into the cotton of his shirt.
“Dean? Helloooo, earth to Dean” a familiar voice said, pulling Dean from his head.
Sam had grown about eight inches since last summer, but when he was standing in the doorway, with his ridiculous green Star Wars hoodie pulled over his mop of hair, Dean could’ve sworn he was still barely four feet tall, still missing both front teeth.
“Dude, it’s almost ten o’clock. You need to get your ass up.”
Dean groaned, flopping back onto the mattress. He hadn’t meant to sleep past nine. Hell, he had planned to wake up at eight to help Bobby out. The other counselors would be here in less than an hour, and Dean hadn’t prepared one bit for their arrival.
“Language, Sammy.”
“Like you don’t say worse.”
Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed, pushing himself up. “Yeah, well I’m an adult. I’ve earned my swearing rights. Come talk to me when you have chest hair, kid.”
Sam rolled his eyes.
“You’re so embarrassing.”
Dean ruffled his hair. “That’s my job. It’s part of my big brother duties.”
The teenage angst wafting off of Sam clogged Dean’s senses as the brothers walked down the stairs and to the kitchen. If Dean didn’t get food, then the other counselors really wouldn’t like him. He shuddered, getting flashbacks to three summers ago when he had spent his morning jogging (ew) with Sam instead of piling food in his mouth.
Bobby was sitting at the kitchen table sipping on a coffee in a chipped number one uncle mug that Dean and Sam had given him years ago. He let out a gruff humph at the site of Dean rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Took you long enough. There’s still some bacon left.”
“Thanks, Bobby.”
He waved Dean off.
“You won’t be thanking me in a minute when I make y’a clean out the shed.”
Dean paused, mouth stuffed with bacon. The shed was, to put it delicately, a fucking mess. Bobby usually made the new counselors do it, as sort of an initiation ritual. They’d come back all sweaty and covered in dust and cobwebs. Dean never envied them.
He swallowed his bacon. “Why the hell am I cleaning the shed? Can’t you get one of the newbies to do it?”
“I figured it would be better for you and Jo to do it this year. The last batch that cleaned it up made it so goddamn impossible to navigate that Donna and Rufus couldn’t find a first aid kit for a good week.”
“Still, what makes you think I’ll do a better job?”
Bobby raised his eyebrows. Dean raised his right back, still questioning.
“Boy, you are a neat freak.”
Dean snorted. “Have you seen my room upstairs?”
Rising from his seat, Bobby went over to where Dean stood by the kitchen sink. He gently set his mug down.
“When it comes to this camp, you care. Your cabin is routinely the cleanest, every year. Plus, I figured it would take your mind off of being the big bad leader and all that.”
Dean ignored the heat in his cheeks. Sure, he liked to keep the cabin clean; he didn’t want to make more work for Bobby. “Bobby, I’ve been head counselor with Jo for two years now.”
The man just shrugged, “Then you’ll be very prepared for your duties.”
Dean snorted, baffled. “Duties? Who are you, my dad?”
Bobby stilled, ever so slightly. If it hadn’t been Dean in the kitchen with him, he’s pretty sure nobody would’ve noticed. John was still a sore subject that hurt when you prodded at it like a fading, purpled bruise. Dean cleared his throat.
“What time’s Ellen and Jo showing up?”
Bobby relaxed. “Ten minutes. Twenty if your sorry ass is lucky.”
“Ellen still mad about the hunting thing?”
“She ain’t exactly pleased. Now go on, get ready before the hellions get here. Gel your hair or whatever.”
Dean guffawed, choking on his own spit. “Gel my hair? Who am I, Sam?”
Bobby just rolled his eyes before heading out the back door. The stickiness of the summer heat threatened to creep in as the hinges of it screeched to a slow halt, lock clicking in place. Dean rubbed a hand over his eyes. Shed duties messed up his usual head counselor shtick, but he guessed that between Benny and Charlie things wouldn’t go too awry. He hoped.
A quick, cold (thanks Sam) shower later, Dean was feeling just peachy. Ready to get reamed out for a hunting trip with Jo–that she forced Dean to invite her on–and for the incessant nagging of new employees that was sure to come. Sometimes, Dean thought about what his life would be like if he followed in his father’s footsteps. Days spent driving aimlessly in baby, cigarette packs and beer cans piling up in a cheap, mildew-ridden motel room. Would it taste like freedom or the absence of life?
He was better off here, he decided. For three months he had a defined purpose, one that he chose.
“Dean!” He heard Sam call from downstairs, voice tinny the log walls. “Dean, Ellen and Jo are here!”
Dean let out a huff, taking one last cursory glance at himself in the bathroom mirror. He pushed all thoughts of John down until they were lost in murky waters, and tested a smile on his face. Bingo, he thought. Back to his charming self. Head counselor Dean was ready to take on another year at Singer’s Sleepaway, even if those little punks tried to kill him.
–
Ellen was still a little pissed at him, or so she said. Truthfully, Dean thought it was more for show than anything else. She gave him an extra tight hug, which was her way of saying all was forgiven, with the assumption of 'you better not ever do that stupid shit again, especially not with my daughter’ said in silence. Plus, she brought cherry pie, which she knew was his favorite.
“Ellen, this is delicious, you have outdone yourself, truly” He said, words mumbled by the mouthful of pie he had just shoveled in.
Ellen patted his head, a soft smile on her face. “You say that everytime, hun, and unless you want pie on your face when the others get here, you better finish up.”
Dean, still in under the spell of the pie, nodded along, wiping his mouth with a dish towel. Jo scrunched her nose at that, and he stuck his tongue out in retaliation. Ellen sauntered away, amused. They had been acting like this since they were kids, sitting at the bar of the Roadhouse and pretending they were bigger.
Bobby sighed, washing his own plate of pie off in the sink. “This is who's running my camp? Jesus, we’re all screwed.”
Sam ran in from outside, his bangs sticking to his forehead with sweat.
“They’re here! The bus just got in!”
Dean stood, brushing crumbs off of his shirt, and Jo straightened herself up. God, Dean prayed they were lucky and there weren’t too many idiots out there.
Jo linked her arm through his, her confidence dialed to the max. Dean could tell that underneath it all, she was nervous. Hell, he was too. He didn’t want to screw this up for Bobby, and he knew Jo felt the same, even if neither of them would ever admit it outloud. He flicked her nose with his free hand, trying to ease the tension.
“Let’s go get 'em, tiger.”
She smiled, and they walked out of the front door, arm in arm, ready to face the music.