Put That Kid Down

Chapter Nine

A day or so later, David was putting up the tin can system in the late hours of the night when someone small shuffled up behind him. Due to the size, he did not automatically lash out and breathed a sigh of relief when it was just Max. A Max who looked like he had smeared black eyeshadow under his eyes.

"Is that makeup?" David asked, putting up the last cans as Max approached, "You really shouldn't sleep in makeup, Max, it's bad for your skin. Did you all stay up late doing this?" He paused as the thought registered, then continued, "Are all three of you covered in it?"

"It's not makeup," Max muttered, wiping a hand under his eye and showing him his fingers, which came away clean.

Which meant... "Oh."

"Yeah," Max pushed his hands into his pockets.

"You don't have to..." What? David didn't know, and his hands hovered uselessly over Max's shoulders before retreating, "Is this about the... the thing we both know about or something else?" Max wrinkled his nose and David continued, "If you want to talk to Gwen, instead, I can go wake her up if it's not, you know... I mean, unless you've decided you don't feel safe with me anymore, in which case we can still wake her up, but you know, I hope not...?" Max was just staring up at him incredulously now, and David waved a hand to get back on track, "Right, okay, what's wrong?"

"I can't sleep," Max explained with the air of one explaining something to a three year old, "Because this summer is lasting forever and I now know that you daily wage battle for our lives against random violent strangers when you're a complete fucking loser!"

"That's a little hurtful," David pointed out with an air of correction that typically preceded a lecture on kindness or something, but Max was beyond caring.

"How do I know someone won't just sneak into the tents and suffocate me, now? Or set the tents on fire? Or just shoot a rocket at the camp?" His hands were flailing everywhere, more expressive than his tone, and that was saying something, "Or set up some sort of weird contract with the local farmers to poison us indirectly?"

"Okay, wait a second," David held out a hand to stop the rampage, a weak smile over the concern, "Max, they're not usually that smart. They're not exactly lucid when they get here. You don't have to get all worked up over something complicated."

Poking aggressively into David's stomach with one agitated finger, Max demanded, "What about Janette?"

David gingerly pushed away the kid's hand - man, he had sharp little nails - and winced, "Janette was... I don't know what Janette was. She was like Georgio, I think, but I don't know what made them different."

"Well, they were both counselors," Max pointed out, and then his eyes widened, "What if you end up like them?"

"I've been working here six years, and I was here every summer growing up since I was ten. You'd think it would have happened by now," David told him, "Besides, my love for Camp Campbell probably protects me."

"...Right," Max dug his hands back into his pockets, hunched over and David really, really wished he could just give the little tyke a big old hug, but he wasn't going to suddenly grab a kid who knew what he was without permission. "Well, I still don't want to die in my sleep."

David wordlessly gestured at the tin cans and Max rolled his eyes.

"Well, kiddo," he ran a hand through his own hair, "I can sleep outside your tents?"

"That's fucking weird, David."

A smile, and David said in a sing-song, "That wasn't a no."

Scuffing the ground, Max looked down and away, then scoffed, "I'm not a little kid. I don't need you to stick around until I can fall asleep."