A/N: So the intended plan for this fic was for a rather silly concept of a Camp Counselor AU. It was pretty fun to write and let me channel a lot of my old camp vibes into one fic. Basically everything about the camp itself is a throwback to my childhood, so enjoy this unprecedented, veiled look into Dragon's life!
Obscure roles in faction life came as a complete surprise to me when I took on the stripes of being Leader. I had been mentally and physically prepared to be a squadron leader, organizer of a fire brigade, and council to the Abnegation staff who needed to understand the effect of laws on Dauntless life. All these tasks were logical and seemed natural for someone in Leadership to have to figure out.
It was not in the job description to act as camp counselor to a pack of screaming, excited dependents. The whistle around my neck did nothing to curtail their cries, nor did it ever succeed in gathering them up after whatever arbitrary time period had passed. I rued the afternoon "free period" and how it was anything but relaxing for myself and the other adults in charge. I had given Eric a piece of my mind the night at the bar when he dropped the news on me a mere week beforehand. He just laughed and bought my drinks for the rest of the night.
The only saving grace was my partner, Richards, who I strong-armed into the position after I realized I was going to strangle someone if I had to run the craft table by myself. Richards was indifferent both to the task and the dependents were enamored by his stories about the regions beyond the wall he'd driven to on supply runs. I suspected that the Lakemen didn't actually have stone-and-plank stables with massive horse heads erected on their roofs, but it got me out of explaining how to tie knots in plastic cords.
How I hated the knot tying.
Still, it wasn't all bad. The camp was only two weeks long and the kids went back to their guardians at night. We were midway through the first week and I had successfully avoided swearing in front of the five-to-tenners.
This afternoon was nearly over, and the scent of dinner cooking was drifting from the retrofitted fairground skee-ball hall that served as the kitchen slash dining room slash activity center when it rained. I struggled to maintain my cheerful demeanor as one of my young charges pile drived into my lap.
"Can you finish my keychain? Its for my aunty and I'm not doing a very good job," the girl warbled. I recognized her shaking voice and wide eyes for what they were.
Shifting her onto my knees so that I could actually breathe, I counted to five in my head. "Marsha, if I make your keychain for you then I'd have to make one for everyone else," I explained patiently.
She sniffed and shook the offending plastic threads in front of my face. "But look at it Ms. Tris," Marsha whined. "It's like halfway done. I just need'ja to finish it with the loop."
I clasped my hands around hers and gently brought them down to her knees, away from the danger zone of my eyes. "Well ask me again when it's more than half finished and we can talk about it," I conceded. Standing strong and firm was difficult when your lower half was being crushed by a fussing kid.
Sending Richards a quick glance, I began the process of removing Marsha from my lap. Kids could be like barnacles. Once firmly attached, they required a knife to pry them off. Richards meandered over from his side of the table, his hands covered in dried glue and bits of foam. This morning's craft had been a collage of pre-cut seaside shapes. The original plan had been a bus trip to the lakeshore in Amity until the threat of thunderstorms cancelled the whole excursion.
I was grateful that it hadn't ended up raining, but now we were down a day of craft ideas. Originally Richards and I had planned on bringing cheap tempera paint and letting the kids paint any interesting rocks they found on the beach.
Yes, this was what his logistics background and my honed Leadership training was being used on - craft projects.
"Marsha, I know that Calvin is really good at gimp. Why don't you ask him to show you how he goes so fast? I'm sure he has a lot of tips," Richards suggested. He extended a hand to help her scamper off of my lap. I sighed blissfully when, moments later, the bell down by the dining hall began to ring.
This - and just before lunch - was the only time when the kids would actually hurry to gather up their things and beg to be let go. I checked that no one was running off with the glue container or a project that wasn't theirs and then threw them into the wild. Whooping as only a pack of children can, the dependants shot off towards dinner. Richards and I finished cleaning up unused foam pieces and cardstock, working in quiet unison.
I placed the glue back in the makeshift cabinets fastened to the outside of an old fried dough stand. Richards paused before handing me the padlock, asking "Do you actually hate doing this?"
My hand fell and I sighed, leaning against the splinter-ridden wood. It was peppered with painted handprints and children's initials. And paintball spatter from the yearly capture the flag game down here by the old boardwalk. "I don't hate it," I admitted gruffly. "I know I've been pretty grouchy."
Richards scoffed, rolling his eyes and handing me the lock now that he had his answer. "Grouchy, yeah that's the kid-safe word for how pissy you've been," he said. He was being blunt and it hurt my pride.
I bristled and slammed the cabinet door closed. Cinching the lock, I pinched the web of skin between my thumb and fingers by accident. "Mother of god," I swore, waving my injured hand in the air. Glaring back at Richards, I addressed his comments. "What would you have me doing, hm? I'm doing my job manning a station. No one's gotten hurt. I help with headcount every goddamn hour."
Richards interrupted my rambling excuses. "And you're freaking miserable while doing it. Do you know what my literal least favorite thing is? Paper cuts," he explained in a deadpan voice. "Do you know what I smile at and suck up? Getting paper cuts. Because these kids are here for two weeks to have fun with all their dependent buddies before we send them back to going back and forth between school and the literal underground tunnels that we live in."
Thoroughly cowed, I grimaced and struggled to remain composed. "You're lucky I take criticism well," I grumbled. My pride continued to sting even as we started to head towards the dining hall.
He barked a laugh and punched me in the shoulder. "Nah, you're just lucky you didn't get the riot act from Kyle instead of me. He has a grudge against Dauntless who can't get over their tough-guy persona to spend time with the dependents," Richards said.
"Let me guess, he didn't have a fun time at camp," I remarked.
"Worse, his last year he was sick with the flu and didn't get to go and his final memories are - please note I'm quoting him directly here - some prat officer who purposely kicked their football into an out of bounds area. The officer refused to get it for them and he's never been the same since," Richards explained.
I raised an eyebrow. "That explains so much about him somehow," I admitted. "I swear I won't drop kick any sporting equipment into a river or whatever."
Richards stuck out his hand and we shook on my promise. Then I plastered my happiest expression onto my face and joined the rest of the counselors inside to find my table marker. It wasn't that painful after all. Richards was right. I could be a good sport for the dependents.
It was also a bit easier to keep that grin on when I saw who my counterpart at my dinner table was.
Thursday was somehow easier to tolerate. Friday, too. I knew it had to do with my attitude shift and the fact that I was no longer secretly plotting ways to get Richards to deal with the campers' questions about painting terra-cotta pots. I wasn't enjoying myself strictly - the task of monitoring a rotating cycle of danger-prone Dauntless dependents was still frustrating - but I was at least tolerating the upset stomachs and homesickness.
Now was the true challenge: the weekend. All week the camp staff had been on a rotating schedule helping to set up canvas tents on platforms down by the old boardwalk. The old, dried up lake shore was clear of old foundations and debris, making it an ideal place for the campsite. Nothing needed to be done other than routine maintenance of the open plain. I found myself thanking the ancient war for that one, sole gift. Our final task this Friday was to finish cleaning out the fire pit in the center of the tent platforms.
Wiping sweat from my forehead, I paused from moving a heavy flagstone. It was supposed to be smooth with the rest of the sides of the pit but frost heaves had disrupted the sturdy setup. Marlene nodded to me once I was ready, and I pulled the stone up and out of its position. She moved in with her small trowel and frantically dug away at the earth.
My forearms strained from holding the heavy stone up and I counted the beads of sweat that returned to my nose from the effort. "Set!" Marlene chirped, throwing herself back onto her ass to get her hands out of the way. Dropping the stone with a grunt, it took only a few thwacks with the heel of my boot to settle in properly.
"Beautifully done," an all too familiar voice sounded from above the pit. I wiped off my nose with the my thumb before looking up at Eric. His eyes were hidden by silver sunglasses - not standard issue based on the way they reflected my face back to me.
I stuck my hand up to use him as leverage to get out of the pit. "I'm going to be so sad when we don't use this for another damn year, aren't I?" I said, only half joking.
Eric shrugged one shoulder, his free hand coming up to rub the bridge of my nose. I complained and he laughed. "Yeah you're going to hate it. And stop squirming, you've got dirt on your face," he replied.
Marlene scampered up out of the pit and made a comment under her breath. "What was that?" I asked. I let go of Eric's hand and suddenly felt self-conscious for having been holding it in the first place. She didn't answer me, mock saluting the pair of us and disappearing into her assigned tent.
Turning back to Eric, I raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing over here anyway?"
He jerked his head in the direction of one of the tents. "Needed to bring my stuff in for the weekend. It's a good thing, actually. I also have to tell you about one of the changes," Eric answered. His tone shifted from casual to his familiar no-nonsense style.
"We're losing a chunk of the counselors to actual weekend shift duties. I don't know how the oversight went on for so long before we noticed but it is what it is. What that means is basically your assigned rounds are gonna be twice as long to cover for the people we're losing," he explained gruffly.
I nodded, taking it all in stride. "I take it the decision was made so that we're not losing out on having multiple people awake for rounds?" I asked. Eric grunted in assent. It wasn't that big of a deal. Losing four hours of sleep instead of two was a tiny thing. We'd still have backup if one or the other started getting tired during rounds.
I shifted slightly, trying to tell if anyone was paying attention to the pair of us by the fire pit. No one was around from what I could tell, save for Marlene if she was still in her tent. "Are we still on shift together?" I murmured, suddenly fascinated by the fire pit once more.
He barked out a laugh, returning to his casual demeanor. "Asking the important questions, as always," Eric crowed a little too loudly for my taste. "We are on Sunday night, not tonight or tomorrow though."
I swallowed to try and dislodge the knot of disappointment in my gut. "That's good," I bluffed. "I can only imagine how miserable you'll be to deal with when sleep deprived. Glad I just have one night to put up with you."
Eric pressed a palm to his chest and I could imagine the feigned hurt expression behind his mirrored shades. "Your words cut sharper than any blade, Tris," he said.
It was my turn to shrug, and I did so with a brilliantly cheerful smile.