blue UP
[they/them]
lost & found
ALTON CHAMBERS & JONATHAN EVERGREEN
T
here were consequences for his actions, and Alton knew that. So, he shouldn’t have been surprised when he woke up with a nasty crick in his neck from trying to read before sleeping. The book had been buried somewhere in the sheets, but he had remained partially upright. How? It was a mystery. Why? Karma, probably. One of the first things he thought about was Morgan. Now that some sleep had cleared his head, he probably needed to apologize to the other guy. Yet, when he glanced around the cabin, which hurt due to the aforementioned neck crick, he didn’t see him. Well, they were here for two weeks, it’s not like he’d miss his chance to get his apology out.The next thing that had occurred to him in the clarity of a deep rest was what to do with the bottle of pills. Duh. Give them to Jonathan. The man was Renee’s father, after all, and he probably would appreciate being given his daughter’s medication. Alt would have to fight the urge to pry, but boy, did he want to. Not that he thought Jonathan would give anything away. He always seemed to put a strong barrier between being a dad and everything else. Fortunately, being interrupted by Libby and Marquis had not given him time to anonymize the bottle. Instead, he just showed up flaunting a knife. So, Alt couldn’t be accused of doing anything suspicious… with the pill bottle. Brandishing a knife was suspicious enough.
Alt stood, stretched, and tended to his morning routine. Washing up, applying moisturizer with some SPF to his face, fixing his hair, sliding on his clothes, and—well—he hesitated over the bug spray. Instead, he pocketed the small bottle in his black hoodie. He didn’t want to smell of citronella and eucalyptus right out of the gate. His blonde hair was not as shockingly pale as usual. Some low lights from his roots were coming in. He fixed it a little bit, purposefully giving it a messy look. Then, for a bit of drama, he applied a small amount of black eyeliner on his bottom eyelids to hopefully abate the questions about looking tired. Alt then grabbed his book, pocketknife, and fished the pill bottle from its hiding place. He slipped on some boots and considered himself done.
Alt did his rounds, put the pep in some of the camper’s steps, and was on the lookout for Morgan. He was making his way down Hallows Trail, when he heard Jonathan’s voice, along with someone else’s. Alton hesitated. The angel and the devil on his shoulder argued for a second before they swore they heard a chipper, flirtatious feminine voice. Immediately, they both agreed that Alt should snoop. Alt got as close as he could without being seen. That is when he saw a girl, possibly a new counselor, alone with Jonathan, looking flustered. That’s when she hugged him–tightly. And Jonathan returned it reflexively and warmly. “Ew,” was all he could get out at that moment. “What the fuck is going on there? He–” Alt silenced the words in his throat before he was caught. He heard a commotion as more people joined in on their group. Alt didn’t move as they talked, not wanting to draw attention to himself. A beat or two passed, and then he realized he was standing stock-still like a weirdo as Jonathan left the group.
“Fuck. The medicine.” Alt barked at himself and then hustled down the way, making sure to avoid–who he was sure was Leon–as he made his way down Hallows Trail.
It only took half a minute before Alt caught him walking. “Jonathan—” he remarked before coming to a stop. He was hot. The hoodie was a mistake. He started clawing it off his body, but then he realized how stupid that looked. “Hey,” was all he said halfway through undressing but the entire way through embarrassment.
Jonathan turns in surprise at Alton’s voice, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trousers. His gaze travels just behind the man, to the group still loitering around the end of the trail but their attention focused elsewhere, and back to Alton. “Alt—” He notes the hoodie halfway off his body, black of all colours. “Black in the middle of summer? You’ll overheat before the day is through.” He remarks with a chuckle, stepping forward to help tug at the sleeves.
The hoodie came off shortly after that, the contents rattling to the ground. Alt smoothed his shirt down. It was just a plain gray tee underneath. “That’s the plan. Just Easy Bake Oven myself until I can just lay in the nurse's office all day. And seeing as I’m one of the nurses, I get all the juice boxes I want.” Alt didn’t know why this was what he was starting with. He had so many questions for the man, but first things first. He squatted down and scooped up his things. The book, pocketknife, and bug spray went back into the pocket of the hoodie, and then the hoodie was draped over his shoulder. “Look, I need to give you something, but first… how are you?”
Jonathan chews on his lip in thought and snorts a laugh at Alton’s comment. Being honest would take some much needed weight off his chest and Alton was bound to find out shortly in any case. “Lisa Xander is missing. So, you can imagine how I might feel at the moment.” His voice is clipped, the tiresome nights catching up to him now as he reveals the harsh truth of what his week has looked like. Standing in the site of his daughter's disappearance, with an added potential kidnapping on top of it.
“I’m sorry? Another person is missing? Jesus Fucking Christ.” Alt said that before realizing how insensitive it sounded. “I’m an idiot–I’m sorry.” The pill bottle felt like a ten-pound weight in his hand, and his fingers clasped over it so tightly it made them paler than usual.
Jonathan shakes his head reassuringly at Alton’s slip-up. There wasn’t a blueprint on what you should and shouldn’t say to grieving parents and he was forced to understand that in the first few weeks following last summer. “Billie Lennon is replacing her. I just walked her into camp, right there.” He nods at the group still at the path, noting Leon and Billie trading the plastic bags back and forth.
“I’m sorry,” Alt repeated as once was far from enough. “Billie?” he half-asked-half-said. So, that was the name of the counselor who had hugged Jonathan earlier. She had a look about her like she was staring at a high school crush when she had given him that hug. Alt felt disgusted, to say the least. “She seems enthusiastic.” He tried not to let a tone bleed into his words.
Don’t be sorry, Jonathan wants to assure but switches gears as Alton’s tone alters slightly when he mentions Billie’s enthusiasm.“What do you have for me?”
“Yeah. I found this.” Alt extended his hand and uncurled his fingers around the pill bottle. “I felt like it was only right to give it to you.”
“She’s a kind girl. Really helped me out by taking the job, I think she’s just excited for the opportunity.” He gives him a pointed look, one that says don’t be like that and takes the bottle from Alton’s hand, fingers skimming over his palm. His eyebrows pinch in recognition. Renee’s prescription drugs.
Despite Jonathan leveling a look at him, Alton was going to be like that. But it would be later and not under the watchful eye of the camp owner. He’d find out precisely what Billie was up to. And maybe she was just an excited “right place, right time” sort of hire. But it all felt very suspicious. Usually, Alt wouldn’t give a shit, but if Lisa’s disappearance interfered with his community service–he’d have to shovel trash in a ditch somewhere. Honestly, the insults to his ego wouldn’t stop.
“Thank you… for returning it.” Had the police not thought to grab this? Disgruntled by the evidence of the department's refusal to be thorough, and who they’re lobbying at him as their person of interest in Lisa’s disappearance, Jonathan’s mood sours completely. Once upon a time, it was Alton they were telling him might be the most likely suspect in his girls’ apparent deaths—before it had even hit twenty four hours missing—and he shot it down at the earliest opportunity, knowing Alton’s temper would never evolve into becoming physical. He didn’t appreciate what he heard, but it was just words.
“How about you? I’m sure not many are happy to see you’ve returned.”
“No. They are not. On the bright side, I think me blowing up at everyone takes precedence over the assumption that I’ve had anything to do with–well–everything. I–” He paused momentarily, his eyes searching Jonathan’s face as his lips searched for the right words. “Want to thank you for letting me do my community service here. I know everything has been rough.” He looked over his shoulder to the commotion further down the way and stepped into Jonathan. “But this does not mean we are even, favor-wise,” Alt spoke under his breath as he said this.
“We’re in public.” Jonathan cautions him with another pointed look, taking a reluctant step backwards. “It has been rough and I appreciate the concern. I’ll be in town to speak more with Officer Jones about Lisa and your community service.” Stealing a quick look around, Jonathan drops his voice, “you can meet me this weekend at the Motel Del.”
Alt, with his back turned to everyone, made a face that was a mix of frustration and teasing. He chewed his lip a little but conceded, sliding one hand into his pocket. He hated this feeling. It was a mixture of knowing what he wanted but not getting it. He was told to wait. Alt always had to wait. Wait to be gay. Wait to be angry. Wait for medical school. But, at least here there was a light at the end of the tunnel. “Of course,” he remarked, looking like the saddest puppy at the pound. “I’ll be there with bells on, as they say.” He sighed, the cadence of his voice returning to normal. He no longer masked it under his husky breath. “Officer Jones, I see. I’ll work on getting my game face on.” He chuckled. “But seriously, I hope he can actually help. You’ve been through enough.” Sure, that last bit was said at average volume, but who would disagree?
“So have you.” Jonathan wasn’t a stranger to accusations. The general public of Easthallow’s assumption rested with him—that he would kill his own daughters, for what? The theories were endless. He empathised with Alton’s situation, all things considered. “I, unfortunately, have an appointment to attend to.” Jonathan took hold of Alton's hand, the one that returned his daughters belongings, and threaded their fingers together. “This weekend.” He promises.
All of that bravado immediately evaporated when Jonathan slipped his fingers between Alt’s. The contrast of his pale skin against Jonathan’s own made him feel more like porcelain. It didn’t help that his gruff demeanor softened, and his cheeks elicited such a bright blush that one might have thought Alt had come down with a fever. Even with the pinkish-red scarring that marred his face, it was apparent that Alt was flustered. It was sad that he so quickly turned into a wobbly fawn of a person, but Alt had one button and it was firmly being pushed.
His thin fingers pressed against the back of Jonathan’s hand, and he brought their palms together. As much as he wanted to do so much more, it was already dangerous that they were this close. And as much as Alt enjoyed bucking against authority, he respected people’s rights to privacy. It would be ironic if he didn’t. “Of course,” he remarked blandly for every emotion that stuttered through his chest. “But I didn’t lose anyone close to me. If anything, I gained someone.” His eyes focused on Jonathan’s lips before he exhaled. “This weekend.” He confirmed. As much as he wanted to do something else to delay the point and keep Jonathan here, he also didn’t want to tax what they had. This wasn’t some insouciant fling, but he knew others would assume so if they saw them together. It was strange; Alt loathed that he wasn’t headed off to medical school, but at this moment, he was pretty content being here. “I don’t want to keep you, but I keep meaning to ask. Why did you reopen camp?”
Reluctantly, Jonathan pulls his hand free. The skin of his palm prickles to seek out that warmth again, so he stubbornly shoves his hands into his back pockets. “Hope, I suppose. My daughters are still here. Someone might have seen what happened, or… remember something, a memory might come back.” A whole lot of maybe and hopes propelled him into the decision of reopening—selling wasn’t an option, closing permanently certainly wasn’t an option, no matter the risk he was putting others through.
Swallowing hard, Jonathan takes a step away, putting himself into a position to leave—he didn’t want to leave him waiting. “Keep your wits about you. It’s not safe.”
It wasn’t safe? What the hell does that mean? Maybe he meant it because of what happened to his daughters. Despite his extreme dislike for Renee, that didn’t mean she needed to be wiped from existence, and Paige felt like an accidental bystander in all of this. Alt would have called him stubborn and fool-hearted if he actually thought that. No, he thought something else–he felt something else… deeply.
Alt curled his fingers into his palms, the warmth leaving his hands almost immediately. He hated that. Honestly, he wasn’t a needy lover–desperate for attention. But it was hard to stand in the middle of the woods and not do more. This felt like a high school dance where they had to put Jesus between them. At that time, Alt noted the lack of noise and turned his head to see that Leon and the gang had moved on. Much like when a child wrapped themselves in a blanket to feel brave, Alt wrapped himself in the forest's silence and decided to be courageous. He closed the gap between him and Jonathan, fully intending to pull him into an embrace that would hopefully take away some of the other man’s weariness and depression. Yet, when he brought his hands up, two figures crept into his vision.
Fucking Miriam. He didn’t recognize the other person. And that… guy. Alt dropped his hands. “Thought I saw a bug,” he said flatly. “My mistake. Anyway, I hope you have a good day, Mr. Evergreen. Thanks for answering my question.” He lifted a hand as if to politely wave goodbye, trying to focus away from the encroaching couple and back at Jonathan. He smiled a soft little smile at the man and mouthed something that only he could see before turning his attention to the intruders, immediately scowling.
Jonathan clears his throat at the misplaced comment of his welcoming committee from Hugo’s very own son. He smiles tightly, pursing his lips and thinking I deserve that for entertaining this as long as I have. “See you, Alton.” Waiting until the two pass by, he mouths to Alton, this weekend and heads down the trail, towards his appointment.
Alt hesitated, letting Jonathan leave, and New Guy and Miriam get far enough away before he cautiously slid his hoodie back on. He pushed the hood away from his hair, idly fixing it with his fingers. He took the bugspray from his pocket and spritzed his skin. He held it gingerly in the hand that Jonathan had touched and scanned the label, almost as if looking for an indication--an answer as to why this was his life. Alt threw the bottle as hard as he could, the joint in his shoulder tugging before feeling like it snapped out of place. He didn't care. He grunted as he tossed it, a visceral and pained noise between his clenched teeth.
Then he pulled back and punched the nearest tree, the bark shredding his knuckles. Blood started to pool around the parts that looked like pale ground meat, but he did it again. The pain snapped him back, and he cradled his hand for a moment before pulling his hoodie sleeve over it. Dejected and angry, he moved towards the dining hall.
