Title: Summer Camp

Author: Sibyl Moon

Fandom: Teen Wolf & 911

Relationship: Stiles Stilinski & Evan Buckley Friendship

Warnings/Rating: 

Word Count: 4003

Summary: Stiles and Evan meet at summer camp when they were seven and nine. 

Chapter One

July 2001

Ages 8 & 10

Evan clutched his backpack as he walked down the aisle of the bus. Quickly finding a seat, he slid close to the window to press his face to the glass. He was in California. Northern California and not anywhere near the beaches, but still—California. 

Evan could hardly believe his plan had worked. He’d ordered the brochure for the summer camp, and when the materials had arrived, he’d spent days wishing for this outcome as hard as he knew how. Now here he was.

Maddie had protested, of course. She was the only one that was going to miss him, though. Evan was only nine, but he wasn’t stupid, and he knew his parents didn’t want him around any more than he had to be. He tried to be what they wanted, but he wasn’t very good at being quiet and a proper young gentleman.

“Hi, can I sit with you? You look nice,” One of the younger kids stood beside the bench seat, bouncing from foot to foot, looking at Evan with wide brown eyes. “Mama said I have to ask before entering someone’s personal bubble,” The boy said the words in a way that indicated he was repeating back something he’d heard often.

“I guess, sure,” Evan moved his backpack over to make room for the younger boy and watched as he scrambled onto the seat. “Is that Lord of the Rings?” He pointed at the backpack, a little jealous.

“Yeah! Mama said I can’t see the movie until I’m older, but we read The Hobbit together last month, and it was so cool,” He paused, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and chewing on it. “Well, until the end, I cried lots when everyone died. So much of the company died, and Bilbo was left all alone! But Mama said that sometimes good stories hurt a lot.” He frowned, sounding like he wanted to disagree with her, but didn’t dare. 

Evan got that; he felt the same about Maddie all the time. “That sucks. I don’t like sad things.”

“She let me write a new ending, though; we typed it up on Dad’s computer and printed it out and stuck it in the back of the book so we can read it instead next time,” He said, opening his backpack and pulling out two granola bars. He glanced around. “You’re not ‘llergic, are you?”

“To what?” Evan deciphered, allergic after a moment, finding himself both charmed and overwhelmed by the skinny kid who didn’t stop moving or talking.

“Anything, Mama said I have to ask if anyone was—” He paused and chewed on his lip again. “A-llergic to these before I offered them.” He held up two slightly crushed chocolate chip granola bars. “These aren’t the peanut butter chocolate ones—which are the best—because of being allergic.” He smiled, obviously proud of getting the word correct. 

“I’m not. Allergic to anything, that is,” Evan said, smiling at him. He took the granola bar and unwrapped it. 

He watched the kid dig out two juice pouches and a gallon storage bag. Evan took the juice pouch when it was offered and passed over the wrapper to be stuffed into the bag.

“Good, Dad said I wasn’t ‘llowed to kill the other kids,” He said, frowning. “Mama laughed, but I’m pretty sure Dad wasn’t joking. I didn’t mean to almost kill my class during our field trip. I think Mrs. Miller ‘xaggerated anyway. The wolves looked sad in their cage at the zoo. They deserved to get out. They deserved their freedom!” He raised his fist in the air, forgetting the granola bar. It broke apart, falling into his lap and the seat. “Oops.”

Evan chuckled, helping pick up the pieces before they could fall on the floor.

“Did you really let the wolves out? Weren’t they locked up—like a lot?” He handed over the pieces of granola he’d gathered and leaned back against the window, sucking on his juice.

“I did!” The kid insisted before shoving the remaining granola bits in his mouth and washing it down with his drink. He swallowed quickly, and Evan was a little surprised he didn’t choke. “Nobody really believes that I can be quiet and focus—it’s hard, but I did it. Then I wished super hard for the lock to be easy to pick. And it was!” He nodded enthusiastically before leaning forward warily. “You can’t tell anyone about that.”

“That you picked a lock? I won’t; how do you know how to do that anyway?” Evan frowned at him, wondering if he was being told a big lie. It didn’t feel like one, and Evan was pretty good about knowing when he was being lied to, even if he didn’t know what the lie was.

“My dad is a deputy,” He said, puffing his chest out. “Sometimes I get to go to work with him. The other deputies sometimes show me cool stuff when I get bored,” He grinned at Evan. “But that wasn’t what I mean—but please don’t tell anyone that either—I mean about the wishing. Nobody but Mama believes me about it, but she says I’m not suppose to tell anyone.”

“Wishing?” Evan frowned; sitting up, he finished his juice and put it in the bag.

“Sometimes—” He looked around, the bus was filling up, but nobody was paying attention to them. Other kids were calling out to old friends or finding their own seats. The kid leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Sometimes, when I wish for something super hard and believe really really strong that it will happen—it comes true.” He nodded rapidly, eyes wide. “Mama said its a big secret, but you’re going to be my best friend—I can tell—so you should know.”

“Oh,” Evan swallowed. He felt something warm take root just under his ribs. He’d had friends—of a sort—in school, and of course, there was Maddie, but he’d never had a best friend before. Even if this kid was younger than him and a little odd. Evan liked him—he liked him a lot. “I’m Evan Buckley.”

“I’m Mischief Stilinski, that’s what Dad says because Mama says ‘Mitch’ is silly name,” Mischief declared.

“Your parents named you Mischief?” Evan couldn’t stop himself from sounding doubtful. He had a classmate named Dot back home, but Mischief seemed a bit out there.

“Well—no, but no one can say my real name except Mama, so we picked one that was just as good for now. Plus, Mama said she’ll die before I use the other name Dad suggested—grandpa’s nickname,” Mischief said, grinning. “Mama said it just like that too. Your father is a piece of shit, and no son of mine will be carrying any part of him around so long as I draw breath, you hear me, John.” Mischief repeated his mom’s words in a hushed voice, glancing around after he used the swear to make sure they weren’t overheard.

“What’s your real name?” Evan said before he could stop himself, his curiosity sparking as it always did.

“Mieczysław,” Mischief said, his little face screwed up in concentration. 

“Wow!” Evan stared at him. “That’s a cool name. You gotta teach me to say it.”

“Really?” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at Evan as if judging his sincerity.

“Totally,” Evan said, nodding his head vigorously. “Please.”

“Okay, but it took me a long time and Mama had to help me,” Mischief said doubtfully.

“Okay Campers, listen-up!” The sing-song shout echoed through the bus. They glanced toward the front of the bus, where two adults stood in jeans and t-shirts with the camp logo printed on them.

Mischief shoved his empty juice pouch into the storage bag. Evan helped him close it, and they shoved it into Mischief’s backpack. Mischief smiled at him in thanks and zipped his bag closed before they turned their attention to the front of the bus.

“For those of you new to Questing Pines, my name is Candace and this here is my partner and co-counsilor Patrick,” Candace said, her smile bright on a freckled face. Her bright red hair was pulled up into a ponytail that swung as she looked around the bus.

“Hey-oh Campers! I see some familiar faces and lots of new people as well,” Patrick grinned, his teeth a brilliant flash of white as he waved his hands at them. “We’re excited to have you all with us this year. We’ll be on our way in just a few minutes and it will take us about an hour to reach the camp.” He towered over Candace by about a foot and hunched so he didn’t hit his head on the roof of the bus.

“Do you think we’ll be in the same cabin?” Mischief turned to Evan, leaning closer to be heard and grinning widely. “I read all the stuff Mama got about the camp—I can’t wait to try the zipline.”

“Did they sign the permission slip?” Evan tilted his head, staring at Mischief. Evan hadn’t thought he was old enough for that activity. “How old are you?”

“I’m eight,” Mischief said, sticking his chin up like he was waiting for Evan to argue with him.

“I’m ten. My birthday was a couple of weeks ago. I bet we can be in the same group if we ask,” Evan said, smiling. He tried to remember what the brochures said about the age groupings. “We can zipline together. I want to canoe, but I’ve never been in a boat before.”

“Me neither, we can learn it together,” Mischief giggled. “I want to go ‘xploring in the woods. We have some back home, but Dad won’t let me go alone and Mama won’t let me go off the trails until the wolves say its okay.”

“There aren’t any wolves in California,” Evan said, frowning. At least he was pretty sure there weren’t. He’d looked up all sorts of facts about the state when his parents had agreed to let him come to camp.

The bus began to rumble, startling them both since they’d stopped paying attention to the camp counselors. When they glanced up, they saw that Candace and Patrick were in the front seats facing toward the back of the bus.

“Let’s start our trip with an old favorite; what do you say, Pat?” Candace said. She leaned towards him, putting her head on his shoulder and grinning at him.

“I think that’s a great idea, Candy,” Patrick grinned a little tighter than before. He moved away from her as he began to clap his hands in time and started chanting the camp song’s first line.

“Uh-oh,” Evan muttered, his gaze bouncing back and forth between the two councilors.

“What?” Mischief tugged on his arm and tried to look where he was looking. “I don’t see anything.”

“Candace and Patrick,” Evan said, grimacing. “I don’t think they like each other very much.”

“Really?” Mischief frowned and studied the teens. “Candace keeps making giggly eyes at Patrick and he looks—”

“Annoyed. I hope there will be other councilors as soon as we get to camp,” Evan said. He smiled tightly when Candace frowned in their direction and clapped his hands. He’d learned how to keep up appearances years ago; a teenage counselor at summer camp had nothing on his mother.

“There should be, that’s when we get our cabin groups.” Mischief closed his eyes. “There are junior and senior councilors for ever cabin. Plus the grown-ups in charge of the camp. Dad did a background check on them all, so you don’t have to worry about them be criminals.”

“I wasn’t until just now,” Evan said, looking at Mischief. 

“Well, don’t—Dad is the best deputy ever,” Mischief said. 

“Hey, Mysk—uh—Mr. Stilinski,” Patrick said, kneeling in the aisle next to them. “Your Mom told us you’d had your medication before you got on the bus, but we wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

“You can just call me Mischief, no one can say my name,” Mischief sighed, his face flushing pink. “And I’m fine.”

“Well, it’s time for everyone to be singing and doing togetherness activities while we head into camp, so try and focus on us up front, okay?” Patrick smiled overly brightly at the boys, his dark brown eyes wide as he gestured widely at the front and nodded at them

“I have ADHD,” Mischief said, straightening up and glaring at the teen. “I’m not stupid.”

“Of course not. Nobody said you were.” Patrick replied, still nodding as he kept grinning, although the corners of his mouth seemed to be pulling in, and Evan recognized annoyance flitting across his expression. “Just focus like everyone else is, please.”

Evan glanced around and was about to tell Patrick that he should be talking to the girls a couple of seats over who were painting their nails if he was going to get so picky about focusing.

“Everything okay back here Patrick?” 

An older woman appeared behind him. She wasn’t much taller than the top of the seats and looked as old and wrinkled as a raisin. Evan stared at her in amazement; he’d never seen anyone as old as her before.

“Everything is great, Mrs. Berry; just having a talk with Mr. Stilinski about focusing on our togetherness singalong.” Patrick laughed; he reached over to ruffled Mischief’s hair, only for him to duck away.

“Personal bubble, dude,” Mischief said, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Patrick, even as the bus turned a corner and everyone slid along their seats.

Evan wrapped a hand around Mischief’s arm to keep him from falling off the seat and watched Patrick grip the seat to keep from falling. The singing around them continued with only a few hitches of laughter as kids slid around their seats. 

Mrs. Berry leaned on what looked like a gnarled old walking stick and didn’t budge an inch. She nodded at Evan when he gave her a tentative smile.

“I believe that young Mischief here is making a new friend and isn’t that what Questing Pines is about? New friends and new adventures? Surely you haven’t forgotten that Patrick, now that you’re about to leave us and head off to the great beyond.”

“I haven’t forgotten and I’ll be back,” Patrick said, his smile dimming. “I’m just going to college—for teaching kids like Mr. Stilinski, if you remember. So I have some understanding and knowledge about these issues when it comes to kids like Mr. Stilinski—”

“Oh, Patrick,” Mrs. Berry said, shaking her head. “Mischief is a child like any other that comes to our camp, and he’ll not be treated differently—or however you intend to treat him. If this is how you intend to continue your summer, perhaps we should discuss a few things when we get to camp.”

“Mrs. Berry?” Patrick’s dark eyes went wide with shock.

“Let’s get you back up front. I think Candy could use some help with the next round of singing,” Mrs. Berry said, smiling gently at him. She tapped him on the leg and sent him off to the front of the bus. 

“Is he going to call me Mr. Stilinski all summer?” Mischief frowned after Patrick before sharing a glance with Evan.

“No, I’ll make sure that Patrick knows that you’re to be called Mischief,” She smiled at the two of them. “I was thrilled to see the two of you on the list this year.”

“Really?” Evan raised his brow, wondering how she even knew about him.

“It’s been years since we’ve had a MacGill come down our path. Usually your family keeps to the other coast,” She smiled softly at him. “I believe it’s been a couple of decades at least since we’ve hosted your family and more since we’ve hosted any with talent. Your parents were wise to send you to me,” She murmured, glancing at the laughing and singing around them. “Both of your families were wise. We’ll talk more when we get to camp. I’ll make sure your cabin leaders know to send you to my office right away.”

Evan shared a glance with Mischief before nodding at the old lady. When she turned away, they leaned over to watch her walk up the aisle. She paused at a few seats and talked with a couple of kids, but they couldn’t hear what she said over the noise of the bus and other campers.

“I think I like her,” Mischief said when they sat back in the seat, both of them still ignoring the singalong—a round of row your boat at the moment. “She made that guy go away anyway. I don’t like him. Mama said that camp was supposed to be different than school.” Mischief frowned down at his hands.

“Are you okay?”

“I have ADHD, that’s what Mama says and she says I shouldn’t be ‘shamed of it,” He started chewing on his lip again as he heaved a shaky breath. “Kids at school think I’m too weird—they call me other names though. Scott says its not my fault that I’m sick and that if I take my medicine I might be able to get closer to normal and then we can make friends with the others next year. I guess he would know about being sick since he’s got asthma,” he spoke the word slowly, his mouth twisting a little, “I don’t think it works like that and Mama says I’m already perfect like I am.”

“Scott is your friend?” Evan frowned. He thought Scott sounded like a jerk. Sure, Mischief was kind of talkative, but he was friendly and shared his snack with Evan after checking for allergies. “He doesn’t sound very nice. I’d listen to your Mom.”

“Yeah, Scott isn’t great, but he’s all I got and Dad said I should try harder to be a good friend,” Mischief tugged at the seam of his shorts. “Mama said Dad doesn’t always get it, but if I think Scott’s worth it then I should stick it out.”

“If he makes you feel bad then you shouldn’t be his friend,” Evan said firmly. “Because he isn’t yours.” 

“We’ve been friends since first grade,” Mischief said, shrugging. “Kind of. I sat with him when he had to sit out on the playground, and the kids made fun of him. I pushed Steven down and got in trouble, but Scott became my friend. Only, he said he wasn’t going to be my friend this summer. I didn’t tell Mama that part. Scott said we might be able to be friends again in school next year, though.”

Evan frowned but turned to the front of the bus, where Candy and Pat led everyone in another song. He looked around and noticed that they hadn’t been the only ones that had chosen to talk instead of sing.

“Well, you don’t have to be his friend next year if you don’t want to,” He finally said. “I’ll be friends during the summer and during school—even if I’m not in the same school or class as you.”

“Scott’s not in my class,” Mischief said, hugging his backpack. “He’s only going to be in second grade. I’ll be in third, but we’ll share a hallway and all our breaks again like we did when we first became friends.”

Evan decided he didn’t like Scott at all. Someone who decided he wouldn’t be a friend for the summer because Mischief didn’t act like Scott thought he should was a douche, as Maddie would say. Evan didn’t know what that meant, but he figured it applied. Evan had dealt with that enough from his parents. He didn’t want that from a friend.

“Evan, look!” Mischief leaned into Evan’s space, pointing wildly. 

Evan turned his head and leaned back to avoid being hit. He looked out the window and saw a large metal gate with letters spelling out the camp’s name in an arch over the top of it.

“We’re here,” He said, looking around at the rest of the bus as cheers erupted. He wondered who would be in his cabin and if he’d make any other friends besides Mischief over the summer. 

Evan looked out the window, scooting back in the seat to let Mischief have a better look. He noticed there were a lot of trees around and only a little else. He’d kind of known that from the brochures, but—He chewed on his thumbnail—it was a lot different seeing it in person. Evan didn’t think he’d ever been this far away from a city before.

“Listen up, Campers,” Patrick called out as they pulled through the opened gates, and the bus rolled to a stop. “We have arrived. In a few moments, the doors will open, and you will be sent to your cabins to put your belongings away.”

“He sure likes to sound important,” Mischief said, grinning at Evan.

“Well, he is a senior councilor,” Evan said, but he grinned back at his friend.

“He’s a senior dork,” Mischief said, a dark expression flashing over his face. “Thinks he knows more about me than I do.”

Evan didn’t know what to say to that—Mischief wasn’t exactly wrong. He shrugged and bumped the other boy with his shoulder, grinning at him again.

“Let’s stand with each other and try that wishing thing okay,” Evan said, trying to distract him. “So we can be in the same cabin. I think you are old enough to be with the Squires.”

“Mama said that I wasn’t going to be a Page,” Mischief nodded, and he chewed on his lip. “The little kids are coming on another bus, I guess. Some of them are being dropped off at the camp by their parents. However, Dad couldn’t take time off work, and Mama had an important appointment.”

“Yeah,” Evan shrugged. “My parents couldn’t come from Hershey, so I got to fly by myself.”

Mischief opened his mouth when they both noticed that the other kids were getting up and heading down the aisle.

“You gotta tell me about flying,” Mischief said, tugging at Evan’s arm before he grabbed his bag and eeled his way into the aisle, holding the others back so Evan could get out in front of him.

“Sure. It wasn’t that big a deal, though.” Evan shrugged like he hadn’t been practically buzzing with excitement the whole time.

“Sure it wasn’t,” Mischief rolled his eyes and pushed him forward as the kids behind him started complaining. “Let’s go before Patrick decides I need a special cabin or something.”

“We’re supposed to see Mrs. Berry too,” Evan reminded him. “We can just tell her if he does.”

“No, I’m not a tattler,” Mischief said; he tripped, running into Evan’s back. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine; we’re almost to the stairs, though,” He warned. “Let’s go see where we’ll be. Remember to wish hard.” He whispered the last part as his feet touched the ground and stepped to the side to make room for Mischief.

“I am; you better be too,” He said, tugging at Evan’s arm until they joined a group of kids off to the side of the bus.

“I don’t know if it’ll work for me,” Evan said, even as he thought back to events over his life where it had worked like that for him.

“Sure it will,” Mischief said. “You have the same spark, I can feel it right here.” He made a fist and jabbed at the middle of his chest, just under his heart.

“I do?” Evan tilted his head. “Cool.”

“Now that everyone is off the bus, let’s get you separated into your cabin groups.” Candy stood with half a dozen other teens and adults. She held a clipboard waving it over her head. “These are your councilors. Your seniors, your juniors and the lead councilors. They are each going to stand holding the sign with your cabin mascot. When I call your name, you’ll go and stand with the matching councilor.”

“We can do it,” Mischief said, squeezing Evan’s arm tight enough to hurt.