Chapter Text
Sam was practically vibrating with excitement as Dean turned the Impala down the dirt road, following the wooden sign nailed to the tree by the turn that read: THIS WAY TO CHECK-IN. He was trying not to let it show, but Dean seemed to pick up on it anyway, and his older brother smirked. “Excited?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess,” Sam muttered, staring out the window the whole time, watching tight-packed trees pass them by and trying to glimpse the cabins or the lake through the gaps between them.
“Yeah, okay Sammy. You're cool as a cucumber. I get it,” he patted Sam on the arm, “Sure you're not gonna miss me?”
Sam scoffed, “Of course not, jerk!”
“Aww, c'mon, admit it! You're totally gonna miss your big brother!”
“I'm not a baby, you know. I'm fifteen. I don't get homesick.”
Dean rolled his eyes, returning his hands to the wheel as he turned the corner and followed the directions of a peppy-looking counselor in a bright green shirt that proclaimed, “Camp Amber Lake” to pull into a gravel parking lot. Sam was out of the car before Dean had even put it in park, stretching his long legs and taking a deep breath of fresh woods-scented air.
“Yeah, you're not excited,” Dean chuckled as he leaned against the roof of the car, tapping it with his palm. “C'mon, get your bags. I'm not carrying those things all the way to your cabin.”
It was a pleasantly cool day for June, but Sam was still sweating by the time he made it to his cabin. They were all named after birds, and his was Eagle, right between Bluebird and Hawk. “At least you didn't get stuck with Hummingbird,” Dean said as he plopped Sam's duffel bags onto his mattress, and he slapped a palm against his arm with a grimace. “Geez, I swear to God I'm like a mosquito magnet. How are you gonna stand them for three weeks?”
“I have protection,” Sam said, pulling out a bottle of the most heavy-duty bug spray he'd been able to find. He tossed it to Dean, who gave it right back.
“Nah, you keep it. You're the one who's gonna be trekking through the forests and all. I just have to make it back to the car.” They slipped into silence, and Dean leaned against the wooden ladder that led up to the top bunk above his head. “Remember to wear sunscreen, okay? I don't want you coming home looking like a damn tomato.”
“I will, Dean.”
“And brush your teeth, alright? You get stank breath when you don't.”
Sam chuckled, “Okay.”
“And I swear I'll make you pay if you don't write me-”
“Aww...,” Sam crooned, “You're gonna miss me, aren't you?”
“Miss having my pain-in-the-ass little brother running around the house for almost a month?” Dean rolled his eyes, “Please.” Sam ignored him and wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders, pulling him close for a tight hug. He felt Dean laugh, his chest rattling with it. “Alright, alright...am I gonna have to move you to one of the girl's cabins or something?”
“Shut up,” Sam said, and whacked him on the chest. Dean mussed up his long hair, solely because he knew Sam hated it.
“Come home taller than me and I'm gonna kick your skinny little ass.”
“Like you could.” Dean punched him in the arm. “Ow! Jerk!”
“Bitch,” Dean said affectionately, “You alright to unpack on your own?”
Sam looked over at his duffels and backpack, shrugging, “I think I can manage. Not too hard to move my underwear from a bag to a drawer, you know.”
“Yeah, and I don't want to go anywhere near your gross underwear,” Dean headed for the door, a little reluctantly, “Alright...I guess I'll...just go, okay?”
Trying to convince himself that he wasn't going to miss his big brother was starting to get a little exhausting, so Sam nodded and busied himself with the zipper of one of his bags as Dean slipped out the door. “Send postcards, Sammy,” he called, smiling.
And just like that, he was sitting alone in the room, staring up at the bottom of the upper bunk and trying to figure out what he was going to do with himself for the next three weeks. The beginnings of a vague sort of homesickness gnawed at his guts, but he tamped it down; it would fade when he actually had something to do other than unpacking and someone to talk to besides the fly staring at him from the opposite wall.
Sighing, he stood, scuffing the soles of his sneakers against the rough wood floor. The room was small, one of five on the hallway and directly across from the bathroom. On the other side of the common area in the center of the cabin was another hall with five more rooms and another door leading into the bathroom from the opposite side. Sam ducked into the bathroom and looked it over; the five showers for the twenty cabin residents – two to every room – and a line of six toilet stalls were all that he found, plus four sinks that looked old and stained in places, but clean. A long mirror stretched across the length of the bathroom, and he gave his reflection a good once-over, straightening his hair a bit and pulling the sweaty strands away from his forehead.
His hand brushed against his pocket and he froze, his heart giving a terrified lurch against his ribs. Shoving his hand inside only confirmed what he'd feared: it was empty. He knew he'd had it there on the ride up...it must have fallen out in the car or, God forbid, somewhere in the grass on the way up to the cabin. Sweating even more now, but no longer because of the heat, Sam bolted outside and down the stairs, sprinting toward the parking lot.
He was vaguely aware of ramming into somebody who was several inches shorter than he was, feeling them stagger backwards with an angry cry, but he didn't pay it any mind for the moment. Apologies could wait. He was down by the parked cars again in no time, eyes scanning desperately for any sign of the Impala or Dean.
His brother was leaning up against his car, a thin string of metal dangling from between his fingers and glinting in the sunlight as he grinned knowingly. “Forgot something,” Dean said. Sam took it, feeling it safe in his palm again and letting his heart beat finally slow. “You gotta be more careful, Sammy.”
“Where was it?” Sam breathed raggedly.
“Right by Baby's tire,” Dean answered, kicking the hard rubber with his heel, “Almost didn't see it, but I figured you'd be back for it...You sure you don't want me to keep it safe for you while you're here?”
“No, I want to keep it with me.” Sam looked down at the coiled silver chain in his hand, a single sapphire gleaming in a teardrop-shaped setting beside the base of his thumb. “I'll keep it in my cabin, in the bottom of my bag. It'll be fine. I want to keep it...”
Dean's hand found its way to Sam's shoulder, fingers squeezing until Sam looked up at him. “Just...you make sure to keep that thing safe, alright?” Sam nodded, and it was Dean's turn to sigh again. “Sure you're gonna be okay?”
Sam managed a smile, “You don't need to worry about me.”
“I'm your big brother,” Dean reminded him with a shrug, “Course I gotta worry about you.”
Sam slipped the necklace into his pocket again, the pads of his fingers lingering against it a few moments before letting go. “Send care packages, okay?”
“Sunflower seeds and Twizzlers. I remember, Sammy.”
“You better,” Sam said. Dean chuckled and rolled his eyes as he got into the car.
Sam watched him go, the sleek black body of the Impala disappearing down the gravel road again, and he turned back toward the path leading up to the cabins, only to be stopped by a boy with sandy blond hair and a sour expression etched onto his face. “Gonna learn to watch where you're going, sasquatch?” he demanded, brow furrowing in frustration. Sam thought he seemed familiar...it took him a moment or two to recognize him as the guy he'd plowed into in his haste to get back to the car.
“Sorry...it was an emergency,” he offered, but the boy didn't seem appeased.
“Emergency...whatever. You forget your lucky pair of undies or something?” He held up a hand before Sam even got a chance to come up with any sort of answer. “You know what? Forget it. I don't care. Just don't knock me on my ass again, got it? I bruise easy.” He turned, huffing, and Sam could only blink as he made his way up the path, turning at the fork and walking in the opposite direction from Eagle Cabin. Maybe it was for the best that they wouldn't be sharing any close quarters.
By the time he got back to his cabin and headed down the left hall, he could hear noises from inside his room. The door was cracked a bit, and when he pushed it open, the figure that was hunched over the bottom mattress abruptly straightened up and knocked his head against the upper bed frame. Clutching the back of his head in his hands, he turned; he was a wisp of a boy, short in stature and skinny, with black-framed glasses perched on the bridge of his somewhat large nose. “Sorry,” Sam said, fighting back a chuckle even as he spoke, “Didn't mean to scare you.”
“S'fine,” the boy said, and he pulled his hands away from his short-cropped dark hair to hold one out, “I'm Barry. Barry Cook.” Sam smiled as he shook his hand.
“I'm Sam. I guess you're my roommate?”
Barry smiled nervously, “Yeah...do you mind taking the top bunk? I don't really like heights...”
Sam glanced up at the top bunk and shrugged. “I guess,” he said. It would be a pain, going up and down that ladder every night, but at least he'd have a good view of the small room.
Sam and Barry went to dinner together at around six o'clock. At least it felt like six. Sam had neglected to pack his watch, and the only clock in the cabin ran on batteries that seemed to be dead. He didn't much care, really; it was nice to live by his body's internal clock and the movement of the sun for a bit, but he was eager to eat.
Dinner was spaghetti and meatballs, and Sam knew within seconds of taking his first bite after sitting down that he'd be going back for seconds as soon as he was allowed. According to the camp rules – which were posted conveniently by the entrance to the building – he'd have to wait until everyone had gone through the food line. People had been arriving all day, and the cafeteria was growing more crowded by the second.
The sandy-haired guy from earlier that day caught Sam's eye when he paused in his eating and looked across the tables; he was sitting by the window, alone, from what Sam could tell, chugging a glass of chocolate milk. “Hey Barry,” Sam said, nudging him. “Do you know that guy?”
Barry adjusted his glasses and squinted. “The one who's putting away that chocolate milk like he hasn't drunk in days?” Sam nodded, and Barry shook his head. “Never seen him before. Why?”
“Dunno,” Sam said with a shrug. He supposed it had been a long shot anyway. “Just...I ran into him earlier. Never got his name.”
Barry seemed like he was about to speak again when he was abruptly cut off, a hand appearing from seemingly out of nowhere and yanking his garlic bread from his plate. A heavyset boy with messy brown hair squinted at them, the piece of bread between his thick fingers. “Hey, give that back!” Sam barked, starting to stand.
“Who's gonna make me?” the kid asked. “You?” He started to walk away, but Sam stood up, swinging his leg over the bench and stalking toward you.
“I said give it back, jerk!”
“What?” He pointed to the bread. “You want this?”
“It's not for me,” Sam said, nodding toward Barry. “It's his. Give it back to him.”
“It's okay...” Barry squeaked, but Sam didn't sit down again; Barry's hunched posture and downcast eyes said more than enough about how much of this he'd experienced in the past, and Sam was having none of it.
“No it's not!” he insisted. People were turning to look at them, but Sam ignored them. It was only out of the corner of his eye that he saw the sandy-haired guy from earlier walking toward them.
“Is this really how you get your kicks?” he asked, and both Sam and the bully looked over at him. “Taking food from innocent kids? What's next, stealing candy from babies? Kicking puppies? What's your name, anyway?”
“Dirk,” the boy said, “What's it to you?”
The sandy-haired boy rocked back on his heels, arching his eyebrows cooly. “Well, Dirk...You heard the sasquatch there.” He nodded toward Sam. “Gonna give it back or not?”
Dirk just grinned, scoffing and holding up the bread for all of them to see before promptly spitting on it. “Still want it?” he taunted, and Sam rolled his eyes. He sat back down with a huff, not saying a word. “Thought so,” Dirk cackled, and he sauntered away, leaving Sam seething and Barry staring down at his plate. The sandy-haired boy barely seemed fazed, but he merely sighed.
“They never change...” he breathed, arms crossed over his chest. “Can't blame a guy for trying.”
“Thanks,” Sam mumbled, not looking up at him. “For trying...”
A pair of hands slapped down on his shoulders. “Aww, don't look so glum, Tarzan. Dirk the jerk ain't gonna bother you anymore.”
Barry arched an eyebrow at him, asking hesitantly, “How do you know?” Sandy-hair just shrugged, as if trying to look innocent.
“I just know. They don't call me Trickster around here for nothing.”
He was gone before Sam could work out what he meant, and after a moment, he grabbed his bread off of his own plate and plopped it onto Barry's. “You can have mine.”
“It's alri-”
“No, seriously. Take it. I'm gonna get seconds as soon as I can anyway. I'll get more.”
Barry smiled, shyly. “Thanks, Sam.” He bit into the bread.
It was late, and Sam was sound asleep when a terrified, high-pitched scream ripped through the night air. He scrambled awake, and Barry was sleepily putting on his glasses when he finally managed to climb down from the top bunk and peer out the screen-covered window. It was dark out, and he couldn't see a thing, so he tugged on Barry's sleeve, saying, “Come on!”
They joined a small crowd that had formed on the steps of Eagle Cabin, peering groggily down the path that led to the other cabins. Out of Vulture Cabin came a figure, running like crazy down the path, limbs flailing. It took only a moment to realize it was Dirk, in nothing but his underwear, quivering on the gravel. “Snake!” he cried, his voice cracking, “There's a- there's a snake in my bed! In my bed!”
The counselors were trying to herd everyone back inside the cabins, but Sam slipped away, down the steps and around toward the back of Eagle Cabin when his eye caught another, smaller figure disappearing out the back exit from Vulture Cabin. He followed through the shadows, going unnoticed in the dark, until he came upon the sandy-haired boy from earlier – Trickster, he'd said he was called – hunched by a tree behind the cabins, something draped over his palms as he snickered to himself. It took just a moment to realize that it was a snake.
“Don't worry,” Trickster said when he noticed Sam. “She's harmless. Just a little black snake. Nothing to be scared of.” He giggled. “But Dirk sure didn't know that, did he?”
“That was you,” Sam said, “You put a snake in his bed? Why the hell would you-”
“It's only fair.” Trickster knelt down, placing the snake gently at the base of one of the trees. “He fucks with innocent campers, I make him piss his undies. Don't act like you're not impressed.”
Sam watched as the black snake disappeared between the roots of the tree. “You're insane,” he breathed, but Trickster smirked at him.
“And you're smiling.” It took Sam a moment or two to realize that he was right. “Don't worry. I won't tell anyone you share my sick sense of humor.”
“I almost feel sort of bad for Dirk,” Sam said after a moment, looking back as a counselor draped a towel over Dirk's shoulders and led him back inside.
Trickster quirked an eyebrow, “Really?”
“I said almost.” Sam grinned, and Trickster laughed, covering his mouth quickly to muffle it. A moment later, he was holding a hand out toward him, and Sam blinked at it.
“You're supposed to shake it,” Trickster told him. “Or were you actually raised by apes, Tarzan?” Slowly, Sam took the hand, shaking it.
“My name is Sam,” he corrected. “Raised by humans, for as long as I can remember anyway.” He let go, and furrowed his brow curiously. “What's your name?”
“Trickster.”
Sam chuckled. “Your actual name.”
“That is my name. It might not be what's on my birth certificate, but it's what people call me. And it's what you better call me too if you don't want your pillowcase filled with spiders.”
Sam's eyes widened his voice tighter than he would have liked it to be as he asked, “Would you really...?”
Trickster – Sam supposed he wasn't going to be able to call him anything else – raised a finger. “Don't test me, sasquatch.”
“Sam.”
He shrugged. “Still look like a sasquatch to me.” He turned, heading back toward the other cabins.
“Where are you living, anyway?” Sam asked, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know, so I can stay clear in case you decide to get back at me for knocking you over earlier.”
“Even I can manage a little forgiveness sometimes,” Trickster informed him. “I'm stuck in Duck Cabin for the next three weeks. All the way down at the end of the row, so you shouldn't have any trouble giving it a wide berth.” He turned to leave, but paused a moment later. “Oh! And tell anyone you saw me here, and I'll make sure you regret it. Capiche?” He arched one eyebrow.
“Yeah. I...capiche.”
Trickster smirked enthusiastically, turning and disappearing into the dark, as if he'd vanished right before Sam's eyes. It was just the tiniest bit disconcerting, if he had to be honest. He went back to his cabin, quietly sneaking back to his room.
He carefully looked inside both pillow cases before lying down, just to be safe.
Monday morning saw Sam in his swim trunks, leaning on the chain link fence that surrounded the pool as he watched the other campers before him swim up the lanes and back again. The names went by quickly: Collins, Harris, Olsson, Sheppard...all the way down to Winchester.
Sam made his way forward, sitting down on the edge of the pool and dipping his legs in. After a breath, he slipped into the water, hissing when the chill of it surrounded him up to the waist. He dunked himself under, lingering there a few moments until he felt himself starting to acclimate, and then he was off, following the line at the bottom of the pool to the opposite edge.
He'd always loved swimming, and even though it was just a swim test, he found himself enjoying the feeling of his body cutting through the water, the welcoming coolness enveloping his arms again and again with every stroke. He turned at the opposite edge of the pool, twisting his body around effortlessly and making it back to the start faster than he'd thought he would.
“Nice time, Winchester,” the brown-haired counselor leaning over the edge said as he tapped the concrete rim. “Maybe the fastest today.” She marked his name on her clip board after ushering him toward the ladder.
He grabbed a towel from the bench near the gate, drying off his hair. The world was still obscured by scratchy fabric when a voice chimed in behind him, “You're a regular fish, aren't you?” He pulled the towel off, letting it brush the tops of his feet as he turned. Trickster was leaning against the gate, eyes traveling up and down his bare chest before meeting his eyes. A lollipop was tucked against the inside of his cheek, the stick poking from between his lips.
Sam gave him a once-over too, noticing quickly that Trickster was dressed in a normal T-shirt and cargo shorts, and his hair was still dry. “Aren't you taking the test?” Sam asked.
Trickster shook his head. “I don't do water. Been coming here for three years now, and I've never set foot in that pool. And I don't mind keeping it that way one bit.”
“You can't swim?” It seemed the wrong thing to ask, and he regretted it when he saw that Trickster seemed uncomfortable, shifting his weight between his feet. He shrugged it off a moment later.
“I just don't,” he said, and Sam looked back down at his towel, wiping off his arms and chest. “Doesn't mean I don't have fun, though. I bet I could kick your ass at archery. Actually, let me rephrase that...I know I could kick your ass at archery.”
Sam found himself grinning at that. “I'm not going to believe that until you prove it, you know,” Sam told him, and Trickster arched one lazy eyebrow, grabbing the lollipop stick between two fingers and twirling it against his cheek as he turned and sauntered away with merely a hum. Sam thought it might be a promise, or perhaps a challenge.
“Archery?” Barry asked across his sandwich at lunch. “I didn't think you'd be into archery.”
Sam shrugged and pushed his macaroni and cheese around the bowl. “I've never done it, really. But it could be fun. You should try it with me.”
“S'okay. There's a Dungeons and Dragons group meeting today after lunch. I thought I might go check them out,” Barry looked sheepish, but Sam grinned at him.
“D and D? Really?”
“I know it's kind of lame...”
“No, it's awesome! My brother loves it. Don't tell him I told you, though. He'd tar and feather me or something equally as brutal.” Barry smiled at that, widely. Sam took a thoughtful bite of his food and chewed a little wistfully. “I don't know...it's my first time at a real summer camp, you know? I just want to make the most of it.” Since he wasn't sure if he'd ever get the chance to feel this normal again, he thought, but he kept the addendum to himself.
He looked around, not seeing Trickster at any of the tables, though they'd gotten to the cafeteria later, after the largest crowds had already gone, so it was completely possible that he had already left before they'd even sat down. There was something about him that fascinated Sam, though he couldn't even begin to place what it was. Maybe it was the snark, or the easy way he moved, or maybe it was simply because he couldn't deny that the look on Dirk's face after his encounter with the snake had been more satisfyingly entertaining that he cared to admit.
Three years Trickster had said he'd been coming to Camp Amber Lake. Sam wondered just how many of his tricks he'd missed.
The archery range was near the edge of the woods, with the sparkling water of the lake visible just through the tree line opposite the targets. Sam could make out a few canoes out on the water, and though the idea of paddling a small boat out across the waves didn't appeal to him much, he resolved to try it at least once before his three weeks at camp was up. It seemed that archery was one of the more popular activities of the day as there was already a small crowd when he got there. The targets were riddled with arrow holes, though the net behind them seemed to have caught more of the arrows than the targets had themselves. Even as he watched, three more lodged themselves in the mesh.
He absently chewed on the roll he'd managed to snatch from the cafeteria on his way out, only pausing when he heard footsteps approaching behind him. “Amateurs,” a voice said, and Sam already knew who it belonged to before he turned to look. Trickster smirked at him, hands on his hips, one eyebrow lazily raised as he glanced back over at the campers wielding the bows.
“I don't think anyone expects to find the next Hawkeye at a summer camp,” Sam said around a mouthful of bread with a slight chuckle.
“You're still eating,” Trickster said with a grin. “I knew you could put away spaghetti like a pro, but geez! As skinny as you are, you must have the metabolism of a gerbil.”
Sam swallowed a fought back a slight blush. “I can't help it, alright? I'm in the middle of a growth spurt.”
“Looks like you've already hit one or five,” Trickster's eyes scanned up and down Sam's thin, lanky frame, “How tall are you anyway?”
“Five eleven,” Sam answered, “My big brother's six one and I'm determined to catch up.”
“Doesn't look like that'll be hard.” Trickster stretched absently, his stomach poking out from under his T-shirt a bit as he did, before he tugged it back down. “Sweet victory!” it proclaimed in red and white candy-striped lettering. “Didja come to see my archery skills?”
“Actually, I came to test out mine,” Sam said, smirking, and Trickster chuckled, pointing at him.
“I like you,” he said, and he went to pick up a bow.
Sam watched as Trickster gingerly attached his arm guard, turning away from the counselor who offered him help. “I know how to do it,” he heard him say, and it seemed he was right. He had no trouble putting it on and getting it into position. Right hand clutched tightly around the bow, he smoothly nocked the arrow and held the bow up, aiming straight for the target.
He drew the string back, and Sam saw him pause, taking a breath: in...out...in...he let the arrow fly.
It buried itself with a dull thunk in the target, just to the right of the center, and Trickster growled. “I'm rusty,” he sighed, rolling his shoulders and reaching for another arrow.
He grinned as Sam stepped up beside him. The counselor on duty – a bubbly blonde girl who was probably no older than eighteen – helped him attach his arm guard. It felt strange and unyielding against his arm, trapping sweat against his skin, and he scratched at it. “You ever even fired a bow before?” Trickster asked him, grinning knowingly as he nocked another arrow and drew his arm back once more.
“Course I have,” Sam mumbled, and he copied Trickster's actions, bow held in his left hand instead of his right. His movements were more clumsy, and it took him three tries to get the arrow to settle into the groove at the front of the bow. Trickster giggled at him. He ignored it.
He could feel those amber eyes on him as he held up his bow, aiming for the target and hoping that his arrow would stay straight as he pulled the bowstring back slowly. Taking a breath, he let it fly, and despite not being too surprised, he was more than a little disappointed when it flew past the target and got caught in the net in front of the trees.
Trickster laughed, and Sam glared at him. “Hey, I'm not judging! I was a newbie once too, you know.” As he spoke, he raised another arrow, let it go. This one hit the center of the target, and he let out a victory cry.
Sam just grabbed another arrow. “Okay, so maybe I haven't fired an arrow in...ever.”
“I kinda figured,” Trickster said, and he shrugged. “I bet you could hold your breath longer, though.” Sam laughed at that, as he carefully got his second arrow into position. “Hold your elbow up more.”
“What?”
Suddenly, Trickster was by his side, his hand on Sam's arm, pushing it up. “Don't let it dip. All your shots will be shit if you do-”
“Trickster,” the blonde counselor chastised, sending him a warning glance as she looked over from helping one of the younger campers fix her stance. “How many times do I have to tell you not to use that kind of language around here?”
Trickster rolled his eyes, but grinned sweetly. “Sorry, Becky,” he said, and he put on his best innocent face. “Won't happen again. Cross my heart.”
Sam chuckled as Trickster went back to his spot and grabbed his fourth arrow. He settled his own into the groove again and fiddled with it. “So even the counselors call you that, huh?”
Trickster shrugged. “I guess they don't like the thought of a pillowcase full of spiders either,” he said. He brought his bow up and pulled the string back in one fluid motion, shooting it a moment later. It nestled its dull point near the edge of the target. “S'just what people call me. I bet nobody calls you Samuel or anything like that, do they?”
“Well no, but...” Sam stopped when Trickster held up a hand.
“Elbow,” he said. “Up.”
Sam obeyed, took a breath, aimed, and let the arrow fly. It hit the target, about halfway between the edge and the center, and he whooped with glee. “See?” Trickster said. “I give good advice, don't I?”
“When it comes to archery at least, I guess.” Trickster grinned at him, aimed for his target again, and shot a perfect bullseye before putting the bow down and sauntering off.
“Keep those arms up,” he said, patting the back of his hand against Sam's shoulder as he went, and Sam straightened immediately. “That's the ticket, sasquatch. You'll be shooting bulls in the eye before you know it.” After Sam loosed the arrow and turned to look over his shoulder again, Trickster was gone.
Barry was in an exceedingly good mood that night as they walked together toward their cabin, each with a popsicle in hand. Sam's own lips were stained red while Barry's were sticky with grape syrup. “We played for hours!” Barry was saying excitedly. “I didn't want to leave. We're meeting up at lunch again tomorrow. Do you wanna come?”
Sam smiled around his frozen cherry treat and licked his lips as he pulled it away, “No thanks...D and D was never my thing. It's okay, though. I think I'm gonna try the hike to the lake overlook tomorrow. I hear it's gorgeous.”
Barry made a face, “I'd go too...except I'd come back covered in mosquito bites, and probably ticks too.” He shivered, but Sam just chuckled.
“I've got industrial-grade bug spray. I think I'll live.” He bit off the last of his popsicle and licked the final drops of syrup off of the stick. “I just want to see the view once, and then I'll probably stick to swimming and canoeing.”
“What about the giant swing?”
Sam cocked an eyebrow. “Giant swing?” he asked, and Barry nodded.
“It's around on the other side of the lake. This big pair of poles with a huge thick wire between them. They hoist you up and then drop you, and you swing from a harness.” He sucked on the last bit of his popsicle. “It would be kind of cool if it weren't so terrifying.”
Now Sam shivered, “I think I'll pass.”
Barry smiled. “Yeah, me too. I'm not that brave.”
As they headed down the path that passed by the pool, a flash of movement in the corner of Sam's eye made him pause making him squint down the hill. “What is it?” Barry asked, trying to follow his line of sight.
“There's someone down there,” Sam told him. And he knew who it was, too.
“Who?”
Sam didn't answer, but started down the path toward the pool. “I'll meet you back at the cabin, okay?” he called over his shoulder. Barry looked confused, calling after him, but he shrugged with a sigh and headed toward the cabin when Sam didn't turn around to answer him.
Trickster was sitting on the edge of the pool, his shoes sitting next to him. He'd dipped his feet in the water and was staring down at them, seeming lost in thought. The gate was locked, but when Sam pulled on it, the padlock fell open. Trickster looked up the moment he heard Sam enter, and he arched an eyebrow at him.
“Campers aren't allowed in the pool after five, you know,” he said, and Sam managed a small laugh as he lingered near the fence.
“What are you then?” he asked. “Not a camper, I guess.”
Trickster smirked. “Just one who knows a thing or two about how stuff works around here,” he nodded toward the gate, “That lock has been busted since last year, but nobody's noticed yet. Guessing they will before too long, but till then...” He just shrugged and looked down at his feet in the water again, his reflection distorted by the ripples.
Sam tentatively stepped forward. “What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked. “I mean if you can't-” He stopped, re-choosing his words. “...don't swim.”
Trickster let out a tiny huff of a laugh. “What? A guy can't enjoy a nice foot soak in peace?” He kicked his feet, splashing water over the edge. The sun was just starting to set; Sam and Barry had spent longer in the cafeteria than he'd realized at first. No wonder it had been so quiet when they'd left, almost empty save for a few groups of campers and counselors playing cards and board games.
“There's gonna be a campfire tonight,” Sam found himself saying. “Are you gonna come?”
Trickster smiled at him slyly. “How sweet of you,” he drawled, “Inviting little ole' me to snuggle 'round the fire.”
Sam blushed, thought he would have liked to pretend he wasn't. He hoped that he could pass it off as the pink light of the setting sun reflecting on his cheeks. “I was just wondering,” he said.
“Aww, relax,” Trickster said as he stood, legs dripping on the concrete edge of the pool. He patted Sam on the chest. “As much as I'd love to see how much I could fluster you, I think I can afford to save that for another day.” He bent down and grabbed his shoes, continuing, “You really think I'd miss s'mores? C'mon, sasquatch. You don't have to know me all that well to know there's no chance of that happening.”
Neither of them heard the steps approaching from behind until the gate slammed open, and they both whirled around in surprise, Trickster teetering on the edge of the pool for a moment before regaining his balance and stumbling away from it. “I know it was you that put that snake in my bed,” Dirk huffed, glaring at him, “I don't know how you did it, but I know you did.”
Trickster rolled his eyes, “Oh, cool it, jerkface. She was harmless. She wouldn't have hurt a hair on your disproportionately big head. You're the one who ran outside like a scared little baby who wanted his mama.”
Dirk's face turned red in the fading light. “I should throw you into the lake. I bet you'd flop around like a hurt fish.”
“I'd like to see you try,” Trickster said, one eyebrow arched. Dirk fumed, and glared at Sam.
“What are you looking at?” he growled, and Sam held up his hands.
“I'm not-”
“Oh, don't bring the sasquatch into this,” Trickster sighed, “This is between you and me, pal. And whatever it is, I'd like it to be over.” He walked toward the gate, but Dirk moved, blocking his path. Trickster just rolled his eyes, “Really? This is what we're resorting to now?”
“You think you're so big and strong,” Dirk challenged, mockingly.
“I'm really not. But at least I have more than a medium-rare steak between my ears.” Dirk pushed him, square in the chest, and Trickster stumbled back a few steps, making Dirk chuckle. “Touch me again and I promise you'll regret it,” Trickster said, and his tone of voice was downright menacing, sending a shiver down Sam's spine. He had no doubt that the elder camper would make good on that promise if Dirk pushed him to it.
“What are you gonna do about it?” Dirk asked.
“You really want to know?”
“Quit it!” Sam shouted, finally finding his voice.
“Oh relax, sasquatch. He's not gonna do anything.”
“You wanna bet?” asked Dirk. Sam turned to face him.
“Just cut it out, alright? Forget it! Quit being such a jerk!”
“I'll show you a jerk!” Dirk lunged, shoving Sam to the side and slamming Trickster in the stomach. Trickster reeled backwards again, this time tipping over the edge, his eyes wide in surprise as he toppled into the water with a huge splash.
Dirk laughed to himself, but Sam felt horror settle cold in his gut when he’d regained his balance and it only doubled when the other boy broke the surface, gasping for air, arms flailing. He went under again a moment later, feet unable to find the bottom in the eight feet of water that made up the pool's deep end. Slowly, Dirk's smile started to fade.
“What's he doing?” he asked, and Sam's heart pounded in his chest, his legs feeling frozen under him. Trickster let out a guttural cry, spitting out water as he broke the surface again.
“Get someone!” Sam yelled. Dirk had gone pale. “God, get someone!”
“I...I...” Dirk said stiffly, seeming like he was having trouble breathing.
Sam's legs were moving before he'd given them the command, and suddenly he was in the water. His sneakers filled and his clothes dragged him down, and the chlorine burned his eyes when he tried to open them, but his hands seemed to know where to go even without the guidance of sight. After a few moments of aimless flailing, his fingers met something warm and solid, and he grabbed on with everything he had and kicked, kicked, kicked. Finally, he was able to grab the edge of the pool, and he hauled Trickster over to it.
Trickster latched onto the edge, pushing himself up and hanging there, half in the water, until Sam pushed him the rest of the way. He stayed on his hands and knees, coughing up water and trying to catch his breath.
Sam pulled himself out of the pool, panting. Dirk was still there, staring, shaking. “Oh my god,” he said. “Oh my god...”
Sam reached for trickster with one unsteady hand. “Are you-” But Trickster was already pushing himself up onto his feet and staggering toward the gate, sopping wet, moisture streaking down his face that wasn't from the pool.
“Get away from me!” he breathed raggedly. “Just get...get away...”
He left his shoes and walked barefoot across the grass.
He didn't expect to see Trickster at the campfire, but it didn't help the disappointment that settled snugly behind his sternum when he saw that he wasn't there. He halfheartedly roasted a marshmallow until it caught fire and fell into the logs, bursting open when it hit and melting across the scorched wood. “You okay?” Barry asked him, fanning away the smoke that had blown in their direction with the change in wind. “You still haven't told me what happened...why you were soaked when you came back to the cabin...”
“It's nothing,” Sam said, his tone a little harsher than he'd intended it to be. He sighed and softened it. “It's really nothing...I'm fine, I promise. Just...I don't really want to talk about it.”
Barry stared at him a moment before reaching to grab another marshmallow. He handed it to Sam. “Okay,” he said. He squished his own marshmallow between a pair of graham crackers and bit into it.
Dirk came to the fire late, and by that time, the chocolate had run out and the flames had burned down to smoldering embers. Sam glared at him as he slunk around to sit on a log on the other side of the fire pit, keeping to himself and wringing his hands. There was no point that Sam could see in saying a single word to him, so he kept them all to himself.
He and Barry headed back to the cabin around the time the clean-up crew started to put out the last of the fire and pick up the errant cracker wrappers that had fallen between the logs. It was late, and the cicadas were singing so loudly that Sam could barely hear himself think. His wet clothes were no longer dripping, but they were still damp where he'd hung them in the bathroom by the showers, so he left them there to keep drying overnight.
He slept restlessly, lying awake in the dark and listening to Barry's even breathing on the bunk below him. He tossed and turned for what felt like hours before finally reaching into the bag he'd hung from the corner of the bunk and wrapping his fingers around the familiar length of thin chain, his thumb trailing over the teardrop-shaped charm hanging from it.
He worried that if he fell asleep, he'd dream of being up on that giant monstrosity on the other side of the lake, with nothing but a wire between him and the ground. When he finally did drift off, however, he dreamed of water instead.