Chapter Text
John spends half of the next morning trying to think of a name for his plans to bring Dirk’s huge throbbing ego crashing to the ground. He’s only been able to put swear words on the end of “Cirque du” which is admittedly pretty funny but not actually relevant to the plan at all. He knows he can do much better.
The plan itself isn’t so much a plan yet as much as just a foggy burning sensation in his mind whenever his mind wanders to the blonde occupying the other bed in the male counselor’s cabin. Really, that’s all he needs. The rest will come to him later. All he needs is patience, which admittedly isn’t something he has a lot of. He has time, though, to make sure everything is perfect.
He’s already back to thinking of a clever title (no, Cirque du Shithead will not cut it, no matter how big of a shithead Dirk is, please stop thinking those words) when he feels a bony arm loop around his shoulders.
Roxy’s voice floats into John’s ear like a barbed wire. “You ready for the evening hike tonight, Johnny-boy?”
After the initial shock at how shrill Roxy’s voice manages to be even at ten in the morning, which should probably be illegal honestly, John sighs. The fucking evening hike. “I forgot all about the stupid evening hike.”
Roxy giggles and John realizes that he is so not up for this, not today. “Dirk refreshed my memory this morning. You gonna get down and bond about muscles and rugged shit like smelly hiking boots and chopping wood?”
John raises his eyebrows and shoots Roxy a sidelong look and chooses not to dignify that with a response. She rolls her eyes, giggles again, and says “You still spooked about your hot bunkmate, Berty?” He can hear the grin in her voice. He bristles.
“I only have one bunkmate, Roxy, and I wouldn’t use the word ‘hot’ if I ever tried to describe him, so you must have me confused with some other counselor.”
“Say, what words would you use then, huh?” Her grin is bigger now. John’s tolerance for Roxy Lalonde is draining at increasing speeds this morning.
“Annoying know-it-all, maybe? Or, ok, how about raging pisstaker. Either of those, really.” Roxy laughs, long and hard, and John gets the feeling she isn’t laughing at him, which drains the Well of Tolerance further. Before he can respond, Roxy’s arm is gone and she’s standing in front of him now, too close to his face for him to be completely comfortable.
“It’s funny how you think you know everyone better than they know themselves,” she says, but she’s not laughing anymore.
“I know that Dirk’s ego is bigger than your shit-eating grin.” John says, no longer as confident. He swallows nervously.
“If my mom has taught me anything, Johnny, it’s defense mechanisms.” Her voice is a whisper, and John is confused by how impressed he finds himself.
“What does that have to do with me?”
“I’m just sayin’ John. Dirk’s not the only annoying pisstaker.” She walks away, and John continues to sit, eyebrows scrunched together in annoyance and thought. Operation Cirque du Pisstake might actually work.
---
The rest of the morning and most of the afternoon is to be spent with Jade. In woodcarving John tells her about how weird Roxy was acting that morning, and her response is simply, “Yeah, she can get pretty crazy!” This isn’t the response John was going for.
“She’s not just crazy, Jade. Her insanity is reaching levels that could endanger the rest of the camp. We should warn everyone! We may even need to evacuate.” Jade rolls her eyes because no one appreciates his jokes, not even his own sister.
“At least Roxy’s brain isn’t actually a pile of dog-shit. You can’t get mad at someone just because they don’t agree with you on something!” Oh no, Jade’s logic isn’t winning this fight. No way.
“I’m pretty sure I can because look at that, I am! And I will continue to be! Checkmate, atheists.” Using memes to win arguments has never failed, John is pretty certain.
“Wow, yeah, you sure got me. I forgot I was speaking to my thick-headed brother and not an actual feeling human being.”
“Don’t make that mistake next time, Jade. I won’t be so quick to forgive you.” This is a victory. John decides to be nice and hold off on gloating until later.
“Aren’t you going on your evening hike with Dirk tonight?” John’s smile fades into a grimace. He doesn’t see a need to think about it until it’s absolutely necessary.
“Do you think there is a way I get out of it? Couldn’t we do the hike together? Look at how much fun we are having!” He gestures to the pile of wood in front of them. It’s a very impressive pile of wood. “It would be a shame to break up what is practically a frigging party because some lame schedule dictates who we have to pair up with.”
“No, John. I am at summer camp to hang out with people who are not you. Summer camp is sort of all about doing things outside of your comfort zone. Somehow you missed that even though you’ve been coming here for most of your dumb life!” Jade crosses her arms across her chest and John understands that to mean the conversation is over. He turns his attention back to the wood pile and pouts.
It is silent up until John says, softly, “I don’t understand why you would want to hike with a fucking maniac anyway.” He doesn’t even flinch when the chips of wood sail through the air, aimed straight at his face. He just brushes off his shirt and resumes pouting until the horn sounds, announcing lunch.
On the menu for lunch is corn-dogs and a bunch of shit John doesn’t actually care about. He piles four corn-dogs on his plate. The extra food is a very solid tally in the pro column on his imaginary “Is Being a Camp Counsellor Completely Bogus” chart. It is the only tally in the pro column.
Once his corn-dogs are smothered in a sufficient amount of mustard, he decides today is the day to break his corn-dog eating record. He has Jade time him, and manages to get all four down in two and a half minutes. Lunch ends with John resting his head on the lunch table, clutching his stomach, and his sister flicking bits of trail mix at him.
----
The backpack hanging on his shoulders is a metaphor, John thinks, about what a fucking burden agreeing to summer camp has become. Who thought it was a good idea to give him responsibilities over other living people? Those people should be locked up. He kicks at the gravel beneath his feet to emphasise just how upset he is with this situation. Leaning against a support to the cabin, waiting for the kids to decide it’s time to get the damn thing over with, he is startled out of his thoughts by a very hard clap on the part of his shoulder not covered by his pack.
“Ahoy, Counsellor John! I assume we are suited up and ready for a night of hearty forest romps.”
John isn’t surprised in the least when he turns around and finds himself staring straight into Jake’s wide grin. “Forest romp isn’t quite what it says on the itinerary, but okay, I am ready when everyone else is.”
Just as soon as the words leave his mouth, the rest of the group file out of the cabin, backpacks in place. He is aware of their eyes burning holes in his face, accusing him of coming up with the dumbshit hike. John thinks he speaks for everyone in his company when he says summer camp BLOWS. He doesn’t say that out loud, though, because it is probably breaking some kind of rule. Instead he forces the grin back to his face and lifts his hand to wave at them. “It is great to see you guys eager to, uh, romp. Through the forest.” He is considerably less good at this when no one tells him what to say beforehand. Improvising was his least favorite part of drama. Those are memories he is not prepared to go back to in front of a bunch of judgmental high school kids.
Jake is quick to back him up though, all smiles and nods. “I am always up for an old fashioned jaunt through the woods!”
There is a moment of silence in which John assumes everyone is doing the same as him, marveling at the confusing wonder that is Jake and his vocabulary. John lets the head-tilting continue for much longer than he probably should, until he finally turns his back on the group and outstretches his arm, pointing. “Let’s get going, guys!”
When they reach the flagpole, they find Dirk and his cabin there, waiting. Dirk quirks an eyebrow as John approaches, arms crossed over his chest, casual as ever. “Decided to take your time, then?” is what he says when John is finally standing across from him.
“What good is an evening hike if the sun isn’t even setting yet? Way to be boring and predictable.” Dirk responds by lowering his eyebrow and turning to the crowd of kids behind him. When he begins speaking, John turns to his own cabin.
“I guess this is where I give you guys a pep-talk, but I don’t know what to say? So just follow the other cabin’s lead and try not to hurt yourselves or anyone else. That probably covers anything I could’ve said.” He gives two thumbs up, which no one actually returns. He wonders briefly if these kids hate him more than they hate the evening hike. He can’t really blame them for that. To them, he is the bringer of evil. The fun eradicator. With a shrug, he turns his attention back to Dirk.
It takes Dirk three more minutes to finish whatever he is telling the group of kids, and they look spectacularly bored, but as soon as he is done he turns around to face John and company. John decides to shoot him a “good job, you are finally done talking” smile, which apparently prompts Dirk to start walking? Okay then! Commencing forest romp!
John zones out most of the walk, only paying attention long enough to count the heads behind him. After he only counts three twice, he decides to investigate. It doesn’t take long to locate the missing hiker -- Jake English, big surprise there -- only a little ways off, talking with Dirk. Or rather, listening, a look on his face not unlike the one he is usually wearing. Rapt, starstruck. John doesn’t know who to feel worse for, so he settles on not feeling bad at all, and he eases his way over to the pair. He overhears some of the conversation taking place and slows down, curious.
“We're not even 100% on how a dude of that size can get so completely tipsy in under half an hour, but there are some really choice things that science can't answer so we didn't bother to question it in the first place.”
“But what’d he end up doing with the towel? ”
“For all I know the guy has an entire wall in his house dedicated to the nacho cheese covered towels he has spirited away from the homes of poor unsuspecting party throwers.”
“I didn’t have Jack Black pinned at the party crashing kind of guy!”
John chooses to interject here. “Jack Black didn’t steal your nacho towel, come on.” Dirk only raises an infuriating eyebrow in response. “And like, if you’re going lie about celebrities crashing parties, why not go with someone who isn’t completely awful?”
The eyebrow is lowered, and Dirk says “Who would you suggest then?”
John actually hadn’t had anyone in mind. He spouts out the first name that comes to mind. “Ross...Geller?”
“...The character from Friends?”
“Yeah. Yes. He is entirely more interesting than Jack Black.”
“He can’t even feasibly crash a party since he doesn’t frigging exist.”
“You don’t know the first thing about Ross Geller or Friends.”
“I know I’d prefer to have Jack Black at my party than that bumbling shithead.”
Before John can reply, Dirk turns around in a full circle. John watches him, squinting his eyes in confusion, until Dirk looks back at him. He thinks Dirk is trying to make eye contact, but John stares hard at his shoulder, waiting for him to say whatever smartass thing he is about to say.
“Where’d Overbite go?”
John feels his face contort with confusion once again, trying to decipher Dirk’s question. And then. Oh. Jake hasn’t spoken up in a few minutes. He hasn’t heard Jake’s nasally voice since he walked up, actually. He glances at the slow-moving crowd behind them, counts their heads twice, and looks back to Dirk.
“Well,” he says. “Fuck.”