Chapter Text
Ian’s POV
Ian holds the brochure in his hands and looks over the tacky Windows, basic clip art of tents and campfire. “You've been selected” and “Community program”. The kicker is “low income housing and community budget friendly clubs”. Ian's the lucky one to be within that bracket since he's part of the ROTC; sarcasm, clearly.
Fiona absent-mindedly admits that she had signed them all up, but only Ian’s name had been pulled. “Ian, it's probably because Carl is a lunatic, and they don't want him burning down the campsite, Liam’s too young, Debbie’s going to summer school and Lip is over the age bracket.” Ian swears she's making all this that up, plus Lip's barely a year older than him; by six months!
He rolls his eyes. “They won't even have any training for ROTC. It's basically going to be the shit stains of the South Side, who don't even know how to put a tent up. I’ll be the one training them!”
Fiona shakes her head and sighs. “Ian, they’re your community. Just deal with it and have fun. I have one less kid to worry about for a month.” She smiles and pats his head on her way out the door.
Ian lets his head fall to the table like dead weight; the pain is making the situation slightly better.
The bus that's taking them to the campground is parked at Ian’s high-school. The whole family had accompanied him, minus Lip because he had to work.
“So you packed everything, right?” Fiona gives him a once-over like a mother hen while holding baby Liam.
Ian rolls his eyes and sighs. “Yes, mother.”
She lifts a hand and gently brushes off an invisible piece of fluff. “I'm just making sure. Just don't get yourself into anything stupid, ok? I don't need a call saying you burnt the place down.”
Ian chuckles. “I think you got me mixed up with Carl.”
Fiona smiles warmly as she adjusts Liam in her arms.
“Ian! Can I have your throwing stars?” Carl jumps in one spot with pleading hands with a mischievous grin.
Ian's about to give an answer when Fiona steps in. “Don’t even think about it! Since when do you have throwing stars?” she turns to Ian in dismay.
Ian rolls on his heels and looks away, as Fiona sighs and passes Liam to Debbie. She grabs Ian and gives him an all-encompassing hug. “Straighten up, you hear me?” she whispers in his ear; sounding almost a threat.
Ian hugs her back and nuzzles into her neck. “Love you, sis.”
He hands over his backpack to the driver to put under the bus and jumps on it. The family wave goodbye but don't have time to watch the bus drive off since Fiona also has head off to Patsy’s for work.
Mickey’s POV
He stares at the flyer in stark disbelief, flipping it over and over in his hands. This can’t possibly be the best Chicago’s finest can come up with.
“Fucking summer camp?” he asks, has to ask because this feels so surreal. This is their great idea to keep him safe?
Somewhere further inside the house, Mandy cackles. He can’t even blame her. If he had been in her shoes, he would have laughed his ass off too.
It’s eye-opening at least. He always knew the police were capable of nothing more than eating donuts, but now he has proof.
His dad is gunning for him from inside prison for something he didn’t even do, and the only thing the idiots in charge of his safety can come up with is sending him to some Kumbaya camp.
This is a fucking joke, and he’s the fucking punch line; clearly.
Still, unfortunately, they’re right. Terry wouldn’t think to check there because Mickey wouldn’t get caught in a place like that willingly.
Which makes it the perfect place for him to camp out until things blow over.
Pun intended.
Ian’s POV
Ian sits back on the bench and imagines he's heading to boot camp, somewhere he would actually rather be going. Suddenly, the sound of a broken muffler can be heard approaching.
He looks out the window and sees an old gray Pontiac that looks like it's on fire, with smoke in its wake drive up. Everyone on the bus watches as a short, stocky black-haired boy stumbles out. He's carrying a ragged old duffle that had seen better days, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He nods to the driver of the car, and it quickly drives off; the muffler grumbling.
The bus driver immediately stops him as he tries to get on. “No smoking on my bus.”
The brunette grunts, takes another puff of his cigarette, blows out the smoke into the driver's face and flicks it away. “Sure thing, Captain.” He then pushes by the driver and walks into the bus.
Everyone falls silent as the ex-con-looking kid makes his way down the aisle, giving everyone the death glare. Ian's not bothered since he’s seen these types in the neighbourhood. The South Side has their run-of-the-mill gangs and kids who often visit the community juvie. This kid is just above being a criminal.
Ian ignores the blatant show of the guy’s Alpha gene and looks out the window. A grunt from beside him makes him turn around. Green eyes meet blue and they stare at each other. In the end, Ian rolls his eyes and sighs as he looks forward. “What?”
“That’s my seat,” the brunette motions with his head.
Ian chuckles as he looks at the seat and then back at the idiot. “Is your name on it?”
The brunette’s brows connect as he scratches the top of his nose. “Listen, Red. If I say it's my seat, it’s my seat.”
Ian’s hands clench into fists, preparing for a fight as he stands his ground. He doesn't move. The brunette leans over, teeth gritted. He opens his mouth to speak but gets cut off by someone at the front of the bus.
“Mikhailo Milkovich! Sit your ass down!” the voice bounces against the bus walls. Ian smirks as he watches Mikhailo pull back. “You will abide by your social worker's orders and remain orderly throughout this transport.” Ian's thrilled that the city hired a retired military officer for this trip, another reason he's experiencing déjà vu of his ROTC days.
He sits up straight to attention as the military man makes his way towards Mikhailo. His arms are crossed behind his back as he walks down the aisle. He isn't wearing a soldier's uniform but rather camo shorts, a God bless the force t-shirt with a whistle around his neck. He's about six feet tall, broad chest and has a tattoo of the American and Canadian flag on his lower arm. His hair is gray, peeking out from under a camo hat. Mikhailo is just standing there, a passive look on his face. “Find a seat and don't move.” the retiree barks.
Mikhailo snorts. “Whatever, grandpa.” He slumps into the next bench, while Ian remains bolt straight in his seat, looking forward. The retired solider turns to look at him.
“At ease, soldier,” he nods, so Ian relaxes and blinks in response.
“Ass-kisser,” Milkovich whispers under his breath as the older gentleman moves on. Ian just tuns his head; sending daggers his way.
Mickey’s POV
The day to leave for summer camp arrives too soon for Mickey’s tastes, but he’s shuttled into Iggy’s piece of shit car and driven to the bus, Mandy in the backseat singing shitty camp songs to ‘get him in the mood’.
It’s a wonder they get to the bus alive.
He’s actually a little happy to get on the bus because at least it means he’s away from those two morons, but that happiness is immediately dampened by the tyrannical bus warden.
And that redhead.
Especially the redhead.
Fuck the redhead.
The bus pulls up to the camp somehow, trudging across a muddy unpaved path to get them there. It pulls to a stop with a squeal of well-worn brakes and a kickback that sends some of the more excited campers that had started to stand to see the view sprawling across the aisle. Mickey is delighted to find it had included the redhead.
He doesn’t form part of the crowd that had started helping the kids up, instead making his way off the bus and onto the muddy ground to take a look at the camp for himself.
The first thing to catch his eye is the huge ass fucking wooden eagle perched on a shield that greets them, marking the entrance to the camp. It’s so patriotic it makes his ass itch.
The late morning sun glints off the water’s surface, making it sparkle and shine. A flock of ducks drift serenely on the water bank, and it makes his trigger finger itch. He remembers Colin bringing home a duck once when they’d been starving, could still smell the scent of it as it roasted on the grill.
But that could also just be the actual smell of the barbecue going on at the stupid looking fire pit. He tries not to scoff too loudly at the group of adults in matching green t-shirts and stupid ass cargo shorts grilling a feast on a Blackstone. His mouth’s watering, but he steers clear when he sees a crowd forming.
Like hell is he going to socialize with that bunch of bed wetters and mouth breathers. Instead, he follows a footpath made up of stupid ass orange footprints that lead him to a corkboard with the rooming assignments on it. He finds his name and cabin number and makes his way to his cabin.
It’s better than his room at home, which admittedly doesn’t take much, but it's definitely a vast improvement. It has big bay windows that let the sun in, two beds on opposite sides of the room with army green blankets on them. And just when he thought this place couldn’t possibly get any gayer, there’s a fucking welcome basket on each bed. He dumps his backpack on his chosen bed, his roommate will just have to fucking deal, and roots through the basket. He immediately unwraps the Snickers bar and bites into it, tossing the basket onto the dresser next to the bed, and plops down on top of the covers. Texting Mandy a middle finger emoji to let her know he got there safely or whatever the fuck, beforehe plugs his earphones I to his phone, closes his eyes and searches up something to jerk off to.
–
He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have because he wakes up to the sound of wheels on the wooden floors. He sits up slowly, thanking whatever he can think of that he had tucked himself back in, and tilts his head when he sees what walks into his room. At first, he thinks there had been some kind of error and that he’d been roomed with some chick; judging from the daisy dukes and the wide brimmed sun hat, like that chick in the Parent Trap movie Mandy kept making him watch. The person lifts their head like something out of a slow motion scene; their face is shiny with that highlighter crap Iggy’s new girlfriend wears, is clearly a dude.
“The fuck are you supposed to be?”
The person smiles. “Cole. Your roommate, cutie.”
And then they wink.
And Mickey…
He needs a cigarette.
He gets up and leaves the room, making a wide berth around Cole; not wanting to engage. The guy seems to be unpacking face masks, for fuck’s sake.
The sun hits his face when he leaves the room, and his stomach growls; reminding him that he’s skipped the welcome breakfast. He makes his way to the mess hall, one hand sliding into his pocket to see if he still has his smokes, the other shielding his eyes from the sun.
The mess hall is designed like something out of the old west; all dark wood siding and saloon doors, at least the joint has AC.
Inside the room, there are rows of long benches with attached tables that take up most of the space in the middle of the room. On one side of the room is a table with plates, cups and cutlery, which is bracketed on either side by fridges with clear doors stacked with sodas, juices and waters. On the other is a kitchen separated from the mess with a buffet table protected from the elements by a sneeze guard.
A chipper counselor smiles at him and directs him to the buffet line, which he promptly ignores, quickly dishing himself some food and digging in.
It’s quiet, which he appreciates, and he taps out a cigarette when he’s done, discarding his scraps in the bin, then making his way to the lake. A few people have already had the same idea, some guys on kayaks trying to shove each other underwater with their oars and that redhead.
Why did he have to be here? Why did he have to be so hot? No one else in this fucking camp had made him do a double take. If he hadn’t been here, it would have been fine.
He would have been fine.
Ian’s POV
Ian resigned himself to leaving his headphones on and listening to music for the drive down to camp. He can feel eyes boring into the side of his head, knowing that Milkovich is probably trying to mentally blow his brains out. Ian tunes him out, even though it’s torture to do so, since he really wants to flip him off.
As the bus turns onto a gravely road, Ian looks out the window and take in the beautiful landscape that you wouldn’t normally see in Chicago. The clean air filtering into the bus through open windows makes him smile. It’s not long before the bus pulls up to the campground and comes to a stop.
Ian waits until the bus empties before getting off. He’s putting his headphones away when he looks up and is faced with blue eyes glaring at him. He rolls his eyes and looks away. Milkovich grunts and stomps off the bus; not before giving the bus driver the finger. Ian finally gets off the bus, but politely nods a thank you to the driver.
Ian smiles and makes small talk with the other campers, avoiding Milkovich who seems to have decided to take on the lone wolf character. He watches as Milkovich a cigarette but is soon told to put it out by one of the counselors. He smirks with amusement when Mickey snarls and flicks the butt away.
All campers are now standing in a semicircle while camp counselors are handing out their designated cabin rules and directing them to the cork board that have the rooms posted. Ian diligently makes his way over and smiles with content when he finds his. These cabins were smaller in comparison to other camps he had seen online, campers would most likely get set up with either two or three people. Bunk mates aren’t mentioned until you greet each other on location. Ian is looking for the “Woodpecker Cabin”; he snorts at the imagery; his perverted mind conjures. On the board it stated that he would be sharing with one other camper named Ricky and to stick to the rules written on the cabin wall and as the counselors mentioned. He memorized the directions that a toddler would be able to follow.
Once he makes it up the small slope to his cabin, he takes in his surroundings. Each cabin is about ten feet away from each other, each of them having a painted door with the animal drawn on it. Ian’s door is green with Woody the woodpecker embossed on it. The cabin itself is a dark color and there are two bay windows.
He walked up the steps to the door and opens it. There isn’t much to the cabin but bunk beds and two small chest of drawers and a small cupboard. Ian chooses the top bunk because he notices the ceiling window. He imagines looking out on starry nights and how relaxing it will be. A welcome basket with small essentials lay on his bed, so he looks through it and sees a Snickers bar and smiles. He takes a bite of the chocolate bar and lays down for a bit before deciding to unpack. The day is getting warmer, so he decides to change into his swim trunks and head to the lake.
When Ian arrives at the lake there are some rowdy kids on kayaks, he decides against interacting with them in order to avoid conflict. He notices that there aren’t any kayaks left, so he takes out a canoe; which has clearly seen better days but at least has no holes. He happily takes an orange life jacket for safety and pushes his way out into the water, rowing his way out and making sure to avoid the rowdy campers who are currently trying to tip one another over. A chuckle escapes his mouth when he sees the counselors frantically wading out to stop the nonsense.