Beckendorf — Fun

Beckendorf (11) - Travis (9) - Connor (8)

Summer 2002


It started from the very first day.

The very first hour.

The very first minute.

Two boys, running past him as he goes up the hill and them coming down. One's laughing and the other's looking behind them with apprehension.

"Hey! Welcome to Camp," the shorter boy with bedhead hair and bright blue eyes says, his smile big and mischievous, "Wanna do something fun with me and Chris?"

"Fun?" Beckendorf replies, an eyebrow raised.

"Yeah! Fun! I'm gonna scare Lee with his trumpet. He'll love it! You have to come along since I told you. You're down, right? Right?"

No, he thinks. But the kid tugs at his wrist and asks one more time and now he's following after them with his luggage in tow through prickly bushes.


It's not like Beckendorf doesn't trust Luke and the people here in his new home. He's sure the people are nice… even if this cabin is literally the God of Thieves. It's just that he likes his privacy. And with about 50 people living in this cabin, it'll be nice to know he'll have a space only for himself no matter how small.

"Oh."

Luke stares at Beckendorf's chest box and the new lock he just installed. He doesn't like the way Luke frowns, a hand going to rest on his hip and the other raising to cup his chin in what is obviously a look of discontentment.

"What? It's not allowed?"

Luke shakes his head. "No, no. It's fine. It's yours after all. It's just that, uh, two of your cabinmates, Connor and Travis? The two that look like twins? Brown hair? Blue eyes? Several inches shorter than you? "

Beckendorf blinks, tries to recall who from the five dozen or so new faces he was introduced to today, but he's coming up blank. There are at least 10 others in the cabin that match Luke's description. Unless it was those two boys he met earlier today who never introduced themselves but they're not twins.

"No. Not really."

"Okay, well, Travis and Connor, they get bored really easily and they might try to pick your lock. They won't take anything — at least I don't think they do. I hope they aren't. But, you know, just a heads up."

"Is that all? I'm not too worried. It's unpickable," Beckendorf states and goes back to wrapping his sleeping bag up to tuck it with the other bags in the closet.

Luke chortles. "Unpickable? Don't let them hear you say that. Then they really will try to pick it."

Beckendorf shrugs and doesn't think any more of it.


Coming back from the middle of a disastrous wall climb, Beckendorf goes to his drawer to change his clothes. His hands reach for the lock combination only to find it undone. From afar it still looks locked, whoever picked it open was kind enough to leave the lock tucked into place, but it's clearly open. The inside is as he left it. Like Luke told him, nothing is taken.

Beckendorf isn't happy though.

Twins but not really twins. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Shorter than him. He has all the descriptors he needs but he still has trouble trying to find the duo in the massive cabin.

He thought they were purposefully avoiding him until he found them tucked in a little corner on the other end of the table and it was that very first boy he met on Half Blood Hill but now with a doppelgänger by his side.

Beckendorf doesn't know what he was expecting but he wasn't expecting two blank stares and a minute of thinking and then twin blossoming smiles as one says, "no, we don't wanna," to his very polite, "please stop breaking into my stuff."

He complains to Luke but all he gets is a tired, exasperated sigh.

"I can ask them to stop, but they never listen," Luke tells him. "If you ignore them, then eventually someone else will catch their interest and become their next victi — ah, I mean, friend —uh, target? No, that doesn't sound appropriate either. Either way, I can tell, you're not a child of Hermes or a minor god. Give it a week or two. You won't be here for long."

Beckendorf frowns. He tosses the old lock into the trash and spends all his freetime making a new lock in the forgery. He doesn't have that great of knowledge about locks and their mechanism but he knows the basic structure and how they function. Maybe it's a good thing then. His lock would be unorthodox and hopefully deter the pickers.

It did not.

The very next day after he installed the new lock, it's open again and this time there's a folded flashcard laid on top of his belongings, written in red sharpie bc choppy and awful, "This one was easier."

Beckendorf crumples the paper in his hands. The audacity. The nonchalance. How dare they. They want a challenge? Fine. They'll get a challenge.

He makes a new lock from some book a girl named Annabeth in Athena's Cabin lent him. It lasted a day. Do better , the notecard says.

"Here. I brought a MasterLock for you. Supposedly pick proof. Tell me how it goes because I am about to pull another prank and I need to see if my instruments will be safe," Lee from Apollo's Cabin says with an airy smile. It didn't even last an hour. Are you even trying?

"Maybe try asking Rose from Hephaestus Cabin to make you something? She's pretty crafty," Chris from Hermes Cabin tells him, hesitating before adding, "But I think that would be adding fuel to the fire. They're only trying so hard because you're giving them something to do. If you stop, then they'll stop too."

Rose's lock lasted two days before it was broken into.

I like this one! More? :D, the note says, complete with a smiley face.

Beckendorf stares at the note for a long time, conflicted, but ultimately pockets the note and keeps looking for solutions.

A couple more attempts later, he realizes it's just really one brother breaking into his locks with such persistence. Connor Stoll, the little brother. Travis just bounces bed to bed doing somersaults while Connor does the deed. But Beckendorf still faults them both.

"Can't say I'm too surprised. Connor's always bored," Pollux says to him during free time in the arts & crafts center, drawing a soda bottle.

Beckendorf twirls the pencil in between his fingers, biting at the eraser nub and glaring at his sketch. "This is war."

"Connor is eight." Castor retorts, rolling his eyes and adding cross-hatches and dots to his twin's drawing. "Take it easy. Just ignore him and he'll leave you alone. Or really, really stress to Travis that Connor is getting on your nerves and they'll calm down. I say this from experience."

"This is war," Beckendorf says again, tearing the paper up and reaching for a new one.


The plan was simple.

Catch the brothers in the act. Bring the other cabinmates in. Embarrass them. ? Profit.

The plan was so simple on paper. In hindsight, maybe he shouldn't have assumed they weren't going through his belongings. And maybe he shouldn't have left his battle plans with all his plans in said chest.

And maybe he shouldn't have titled it, REVENGE .

Beckendorf breathes in deeply and closes his eyes, not wanting to look at his counselor trapped in his invisible, golden net, thrashing in the middle of the room hanging from the ceiling with everyone pointing and laughing. Too bad his ears work just fine.

"What the fuck is this? Travis, Connor, did you guys do this? You're snickering, oh my gods. You two are in so much trouble. Get me down or so help me, I will personally—"

"You really screwed up," brother #1 popping up right beside him says with a cheeky grin.

"Yeah, this is awful," says brother #2, also with a cheeky grin.

A moment's pause.

His hand twitches.

Then Beckendorf springs forward, intending to snatch two brothers in both arms but grabbing nothing but air. They're fast, bouncing around the room like two little gremlins they are. He chases them but they weave between their cabinmates with ease and fluidity. One second, they're in front of Beckendorf and the next they're on the other side of the cabin. He chases after them again and they bolt away.

"Why are you doing this?" he demands, coming to a halt and panting.

"Because it's fun and you make pretty cool stuff? Like the coolest stuff," one of them says, eyes lighting up, even twinkling with excitement. Connor probably.

Beckendorf forces himself to scowl. His face isn't heating up at the praise. It's not. It's absolutely not. He refuses to believe the soft, blooming warmth is anything but white-hot, burning rage, if not rage, then irritation. Annoyance. Mild irritation. Anything but glee.

"Do you want us to stop?" Travis asks, head tilting slightly to the side. A gut feeling is screaming warning bells at him. Don't answer that.

"Yeah. Stop it," he answers anyway, voice fraying at the end. Weak and unmeaning.

He gets twin laughs in response and a synchronized "no" before they are gone and out of sight.


"I can't believe them," he fumes, scribbling in his notebook but now with a lock. Though thinking more about it, it's not going to do much. "They're unbelievable. They're unimaginable. They're— They're— They're unbelievable."

All three of his companions stare at him for a moment. Chris, with a knowing smile. Castor, snickering behind a hand. And Pollux, silent and pondering. He's the first to speak, lowering his paintbrush with an apprehensive look to his eye.

"You know what I think? I think you actually like them messing with you."

"What? No, I don't," he denies, "They're annoying."

"You like the challenge Connor gives you," Castor says, adding miniature details to Pollux's painting. "And the danger Travis brings."

"It's the way you treat them. Like they're your little brothers," Chris adds, spraying the paint palette with water, "I think it's sweet. They really like you."

"I don't like them."

Castor snorts. "You're lying to yourself."

"I don't like them," Beckendorf repeats to himself.


He doesn't like them.

He can't like them.

He can't like any of them.

Shunned by classmates. Disregarded by teachers. Disowned by his mom. Beckendorf was ready to die cold and hungry in the streets with nothing but the clothes on his back and suitcase. The fact is that there is nobody in the world here for him. It will forever just be he, himself.

The satyr that found him, cared for him, guided him had been a surprise and a blessing but just like everything in his life, the camp will one way or another leave him. It's better to have nothing than to lose it at all. Better to not know than to suffer. Better to not have than to grief.

Still.

Still…

Just a taste. Just a week or two. Just so he can remember what it's like to have friends again. That can't hurt, right?


Author's Notes: Has it really been over a year since I last updated this? It only felt like a few months to me… That's crazy. Anyway I'm back with the next chapter! 😊

Thanks for reading!