Chapter Text
John liked to think of himself as a productive person. He had a long list of plans for the weekend. None of which involved cramming himself in a van with his schoolmates like a pack of sardines to go camping of all things.
The car lurched, and so did John’s gut, threatening mutiny as the driver recklessly swerved over narrow twists and turns. He gripped the headrest in front of him with white-knuckled hands, trying to keep himself, or, better yet, the contents of his stomach grounded.
He breathed heavily, too weak to complain. Four hours of this. Sure, John could handle long car rides — but bumpy, winding, unpaved dirt roads were a vast cry from the flat, cemented highways he was used to.
His face angled out the open window, ready to sacrifice his breakfast to any unfortunate rabbit nearby.
One would think that the presence of trees and ambiance would help ease his nausea, but the waves of sticky, wet heat and relentless sunlight made one thing clear: God was not on John’s side today.
His clothes clung like saran wrap, a suffocating film plotting to smother the lining of his trachea with each inhale. The sweltering heat combined with motion sickness left him feeling like pasta boiling in a pot — a sweaty, pallid confection.
He should’ve known. This wasn’t his first rodeo, John thought bitterly. Because of his dad’s job, they’d moved around a lot, it was always constant travel. So, John should have picked up the usual tricks; bring anti-nausea medication, bring headphones, stay distracted...
The list could go on, chips, gum, a portable charger, even a neck pillow — but John had packed none of it.
It was on a whim, really.
His best friend, his closest ever, had promised that the ride would be smooth. He’d felt uneasy from the start. That was the first sign, He should have listened to his gut.
He really could’ve used that portable charger. Hindsight’s a bitch, John thought, staring at the dead battery on his phone. Burned through by hours of offline games, his only distraction had come at a price: a drained battery, and, seemingly motion sickness, judging by how the car bounced like it was on a trampoline.
“Sorry!” Blyke hollered from the front.
John shot a stink eye at him through the side mirror, hoping that if he glared hard enough, sheer willpower might eviscerate the entire situation, or at least, rupture a tire.
Those two idiots up front were a major part of his misery. Since Isen’s aunt had been kind enough to lend them this clunky van, Isen had declared himself the rightful owner of the aux cord.
A horrible mistake.
Two hours in, and John would’ve traded his soul for the headphones he left sitting on the kitchen table.
It’s not like John hated the music Isen put on. Just regular pop songs: Nicki Minaj, Ariana Grande, Taylor Swift? He could deal with that. Stuff you’d hear at every grocery store, every party, every dance. He’d heard them a million times — even knew most of the lyrics. He could deal with that. Hell, he even liked a few.
No, that wasn’t the mistake.
It was the accompaniment .
Blyke and Isen, those two idiots up front, apparently chose this as the time to throw a concert. Singing like their lives depended on it, they threw out all the special effects — off-key, off-beat, and painfully enthusiastic.
It was unbearable, grating John’s ears with their harmonizations, akin to nails on a chalkboard or chair legs sliding across smooth tile.
They thought they were killing it with their ad-libs. At one point, Blyke even yelled, “Bridge!” and they both started beatboxing.
John turned to the window, forehead pressed on the glass with deep longing. He stared at the road and wondered if he could tuck and roll without dying.
That was when Sera, bless her, finally snapped and told them to shut the hell up.
The van fell into an immediate, heavy silence.
Blyke and Isen exchanged nervous glances, instantly sobered by the sharp edge in her voice. John smirked. Sera never lost her edge — served them right.
Silence in the van didn’t last long, hushed conversation overlapped the, thankfully, untouched music on the radio.
He didn’t even want to go on this trip. He’d said no. Twice. Maybe three times. But Sera always had her way. She hit him with the usual line of, “You need fresh air,” Which, by the way, is a crazy statement for a girl with over twelve hours of screentime. She talked about the Safe House, how it would boost morale to have all God-tiers present, how the others would feel more comfortable if he came.
He understood her effort. She even pulled up to his dorm armed with his favourite drink like it was some sort of bribe.
When that didn’t work, she played her final card. The one he couldn’t argue with. “Besides,” she added, tone softening just enough to be suspicious, “I don’t want to go if you’re not there.”
John had blinked at her, confused. “You’re not into this kind of thing, either.”
Sera had shrugged. “No. But I made a promise. And if I have to suffer through tents and campfire songs, I’d rather do it with someone I trust.”
Damn her.
She knew how to aim her words, always sharp, always direct, and somehow managed to guilt-trip him without even raising her voice.
So here he was. Trapped in a shitty van with shitty people, shitty music taste, and a shitty lack of air conditioning, all because Sera asked him to come.
John sighed. Loudly.
A giggle floated up from the middle seats. John blinked. Was that…?
He strained his neck, peeking forward.
Yeah, that was Sera, laughing.
He glanced over just in time to catch her leaning slightly toward Evie, eyes soft, mouth pulled into something dangerously close to a smile.
Ah. There it was.
So this wasn’t about team bonding, ‘god tier’ unity, or whatever half-baked excuse she rattled off on him to agree.
It was about Evie — the girl with pigtails and sunshine smile that somehow turned John’s best friend into mush.
John let out a quiet groan and leaned back against the window.
He should’ve known.
Trust Sera to rope him into a camping trip under the guise of group bonding, when really, all she wanted was to spend time with her not-so-subtle crush.
It’s cute, really. Watching someone as collected as her flounder, making jokes and nodding in rapt attention.
He hoped she was happy.
But then the van jolted into a narrow turn, and his knee collided sharply with the person sitting next to him.
John’s stiffened, eyes flicking to meet the familiar, steady gaze of the former king of Wellston.
That’s when he remembered the grudge he’s been quietly nursing — how Sera essentially ditched him to sit with Evie, leaving him crammed in the back seat with Arlo.
The space in the van suddenly felt way too small.
Of all the people to sit next to, it had to be Arlo. Former king of Wellston, you know — the one that faked their friendship to try and ambush him into a field. Of course, the fake civility they’d settled into was a big step up from a few months ago, but that didn’t mean John was happy about the seating arrangement.
He was still an insufferable asshole. From the way he impatiently tapped his fingers, the smug half-smile whenever he corrected someone, or how he casually acted like he was in charge when no one asked. Just. Not John’s cup of tea.
John tsked, snapping his gaze back outside.
Luckily, Arlo wasn’t being annoying . Just the usual grumbles about the song choices and some help with navigation. John had to admit, grudgingly, that Arlo still carried that leader vibe. Someone had to, especially with Blyke and Isen at the helm.
Come to think of it, there had to be some concern needed for the organization of this trip. He crossed his arms, eyebrow ticking. The other Safehouse students were scattered in other cars following behind them, with the few who had licenses taking turns driving.
John was stuck in the back row, Arlo on one side, a pile of camping junk on the other. Up ahead, Sera was too busy laughing at one of Evie’s dramatic snack tragedies to pay him any mind. Remi was beside them, handing out candy and chatting like they were on a school field trip. Blyke was driving, and Isen sat on shotgun with a mission; barking out directions and skipping songs like it was a full time job.
Four hours officially passed since John entered the van — and from the looks of it, they weren’t getting out anytime soon.
Blyke and Isen never did manage to shut up, but the tone up front shifted. Gone were the obnoxiously loud debates of snack and music preferences, traded in for hushed, nervous static.
They weren’t laughing anymore, voices uncertain and low — it didn’t take a genius to see they were clearly guilty of something.
John didn’t like that. Not one bit.
He blinked, sitting up a little straighter. The car had stopped. No one else seemed to notice, too wrapped up in their own conversations.
John leaned over, subtly tuning in to their discussion.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” Blyke muttered, just loud enough for John to catch.
“Obviously,” Isen whispered back, sounding a little too smug. “They don’t call my ability ‘Hunter’ for nothing.”
A pause.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Blyke hissed. “Have you been holding the damn map upside down this whole time?”
John’s brow twitched at that. He glanced out the window — nothing like the brochure Sera had shoved at him. No trees, no trails; just dirt. A whole lot of dirt.
He’d never seen a field so flat.. and.. brown.
His eyebrow arched significantly higher at the lone tumbleweed rolling out solemnly past the window. It was almost insulting.
“What..” He flinched at the sudden presence over his shoulder. A brush of blonde hair grazed the back of his neck, light, but startling. Arlo had leaned in without warning, posture close enough for John to feel the warmth of him, the controlled steadiness of his breath.
John inhaled a trace of cologne and immediately stiffened. Shoulders locking. His skin prickled, caught between irritation and the instinct to yank away.
Too close. Way too close.
“Is this a desert?” Arlo murmured, expression unreadable.
John didn’t respond, just stared out into the shitty dirt.
Looks like he wasn’t the only one paying attention.
“Isen. Blyke. Did you get us lost?”
No one said anything. The silence stretched out into something thick and uncomfortable as Arlo’s words settled in.
Blyke’s grip on the wheel tightened. Isen stared holes into the map, as though keeping his focus there would hide him from view.
Isen laughed sheepishly, “We’re not lost. Just turned around!”
“Turned around?!” Remi exclaimed, “We have an hour before check-in!”
“Okay, you know what?” Isen insisted, tapping at the map like it cost him a personal offence, “They must’ve updated the trail markers since the last version of the map!” He held it up, “This copy’s vintage!”
“It’s not because it’s old!” Blyke burst out, “It’s because you held the map upside-fucking-down! ”
Isen’s eyes widened in betrayal, “You said you wouldn’t tell!”
“So you’ve been navigating us based on north being south .” Seraphina concluded, opening her compass app. “What the fuck, Isen!”
“How did you not realize we were going the wrong way?!”
Voices rose again, everyone talking over each other — loud, overlapping chaos. It was almost comical how fast the mood had flipped once the full weight of the situation sank in.
John groaned into his hands, the pulse in his head pounding heavier, sharper. His fingers dug into his scalp. He could feel a migraine blooming.
He glanced sideways at Arlo — perfectly calm, arms crossed, silent. Detached, as usual. The one who started this mess in the first place.
They locked eyes. John tilted his head slightly, a silent accusation: Are you proud of yourself?
Arlo’s lips twitched, just barely, before smoothing into a mask of indifference.
He shrugged. The bastard.
It took an egregious amount of bickering and grudging compromises from both sides, but somehow this gaggle of teenagers managed to sort it out.
Remi and Sera took charge, practically dragging Isen and Blyke into confessing their faults to the others before banishing them into the backseat. Leaving them with their tails tucked between their legs like the fumbling dumbasses they were.
Given the absolute wasteland Blyke had somehow managed to steer them into, it was no surprise there wasn’t a single bar of GPS signal anywhere. Luckily, Evie was the only one with enough brains to anticipate this and had the directions saved on her phone the entire time.
John would’ve been annoyed that she didn’t bring this up sooner, but right now? She was the only thing here keeping John from losing his entire goddamn mind.
He was skeptical the moment Isen whipped out his paper map for the sake of authenticity . He was even more skeptical when everyone else let it slide as though it made perfect sense.
He should have spoken up sooner. It would’ve spared him another hour of Sera batting those puppy eyes at the driver, Remi ranting the whole ride like a disappointed mother, and, oh, joy, being stuck in the middle row, baking under the blazing sun and crammed up against Arlo — again .
“When did you get your license, Evie?” He heard Seraphina ask, all casual, like she hadn’t spent twenty minutes blubbering about Evie’s success to John the day she passed.
Evie perked up at that, “Oh, just a few months ago! I forgot to tell you, huh?”
John huffed, “You didn’t.”
Seraphina, his very cool, very suave best friend, continued. “Well, you’re doing great. Very, uhm. Smooth turns. Really graceful.”
Evie giggled, eyes still glued to the road. “Aww, thank youu! My mom made me drive around the mall parking lot for weeks until I could finally park between the lines. I used to end up halfway across the lane—one time I took out a shopping cart. It was dramatic.”
“It paid off. You’re… really good at this.” She leaned back on her chair, all chill. “Like, smoother than I expected.”
Evie blinked, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks, I guess?”
John’s eye twitched. He caught the faint hue of pink colouring the tip of Sera’s ear, smirked, and wisely chose not to comment.
He glanced sideways, past Arlo’s massive head and to the other side of the van, where Remi’s tongue lashed out quiet, but meaningful grievances to the boys in the back row. Arms crossed, voice sharp enough to cut through the hum of the engine and the occasional groan from the back seats.
“Honestly,” she was saying, “If you’re going to mess up this badly, at least admit it faster. It’s not rocket science, people!”
The van bounced along like that, moving a bit smoother, he supposed, through turns — Evie did a much better job navigating through dirt roads and dust clouds that threatened to slip their way into the seams of the windows than Blyke ever did. She wasn’t treating any pothole like a speed bump, which was a major improvement in John’s book.
By the time they arrived, the sun was dipping low, painting the sky in hues of burnt orange and salmon pink. The van finally rolled to a stop, kicking up a final cloud of dust that settled over everything like an unwelcome welcome mat.
The campsite itself, despite the display from the brochure, was definitely that. Just a campsite.
A handful of rickety picnic tables leaned at odd angles, patches of grass that struggled between dirt and weeds, and the kind of bathrooms that you prayed were clean. It made sense that the check-in staff barely glanced up at their tardiness — just a half-hearted nod, filled with resignation and acceptance at the group of rowdy school kids.
“The hiking spots aren’t so bad?” Remi tried, looking out at the winding trails that weaved through dense trees — a serene nature calling out to them. John had to agree.
Isen and Blyke, surprisingly fast to shake off their sulking, jumped right in to help unload the gear. In their eagerness, a competition had escalated to who could set up the most shelters the fastest. John watched from his seat on the bench, recovering from the gruelling drive.
He smirked at how horrible they were doing, looking more like frantic monkeys than people. Blyke, rushing to impress, grabbed an armful of tent poles — only to drop them on his own foot with a loud thud, followed by a sharp howl of pain.
John snickered quietly at Blyke’s mishap just as Sera came bounding over. Her hair was pulled up in a high pony, her manicured nails, short and matte, wrapped around two water bottles, the black contrasted loudly with the light blue of the plastic.
She offered him a drink, brow furrowed, “Hey John, you doing alright?”
Instead of accepting it, John turned away with a dramatic clutch to the chest. “How dare you show up here after stabbing me in the back? Have you no shame? No remorse at all?”
Sera rolled her eyes, flicking her wrist, and tossed the water bottle at his forehead. It landed with a loud, satisfying smack. “Shut up, you baby.”
John jabbed a finger, eyes narrowing at her, “Baby?! You left me to sit with fuckass Arlo while you waltzed off to sit with Evie!” He crossed his arms, glaring, “Thanks for that, seriously.”
“Oh come on, John.” Sera reasoned, exasperated, “You know I only chose to sit with her so she’d be comfortable — I’m the only person she can easily talk to there.”
John sucked his teeth, perceptive eyes ready to call her out on her bullshit. The effect was somewhat dampened as he nursed the goose-egg beginning to form on the top of his head, “Mm, definitely not because you wanted a front row seat to her smooth turns.”
Sera froze for a split second, the faintest blush creeping up on her neck. “What… are you on about,”
“Ooooh, you wanna kiss her so ba-”
He’s cut off when Sera slapped her hand over his mouth, almost smothering him. “Shhh! Shut up, shut up!”
John's muffled complaints went ignored as he wrestled with the wrist of the palm silencing him.
She huffed, breathing rather heavily with cheeks that steadily darkened. “I don’t like her like that.”
Realizing she had no plans to let go, John settled into his best unimpressed stare, eyebrow lifting in judgement.
Sera hesitated.
Her grip faltered, fingers twitching before she finally let go — pulling away like he had burned her. She looked anywhere but at him; first the floor, then the water bottle she’d thrown at his head, then the stupid scuff on her shoe she’d been meaning to clean.
“I just think she’s cool, okay?” Sera muttered, arms crossing tightly. “She’s kind, smart, and has this.. thing about her that makes people smile, and—”
John’s expression softened as he sat through his best friend’s ramblings — there was no helping it. She was whipped. Sera was always direct, presented herself in confident, collected strides — she never stuttered, or blushed, or gushed out poetry about anyone.
But now?
“When she laughs, it’s so genuine,” Sera mumbled, like a secret she hadn’t meant to reveal out loud, “and, when she talks, she really listens to people. It’s like.. like she sees them.”
John didn’t speak, he didn’t have to.
Sera caught herself, scowling. It didn’t hide the pink in her cheeks. “I hate you.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“I know what you were going to say!”
John’s smile broke out before he could stop it, laughter bubbling up and spilling out.
Sera gave him a sharp shove for it.
He barely budged, or maybe he just didn’t care, as he slid across the bench to make room beside him.
“C’mon,” he said, nudging her knee with his. “Sit down before you explode or something.”
Sera grumbled but relented, plopping down beside him with all the grace of a sulking cat. She kept her arms crossed, gaze fixed stubbornly ahead.
John leaned back, letting the moment settle. “Y’know,” he said after a beat, “I think it’s nice.”
“What is?” she asked, not looking at him.
“That you like someone like that,” he shrugged. “You don’t let a lot of people in. But when you do…” He nudged her again, gentler this time. “You’re not half bad at caring.”
She rolled her eyes, but her scowl had softened. “…She’s not like other people.”
“No,” John agreed. “She’s not like you, either.”
Sera’s brow furrowed, but he continued before she could snap.
“That’s probably a good thing.”
She let out a breath. Not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. “You’re annoying.”
“And yet,” he grinned, “you keep me around.”
“Unfortunately.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, the kind of silence only long-time friends could share — heavy with things unsaid, but not uncomfortable. The breeze picked up, stirring the leaves around their feet.
“…Do you think she knows?” Sera asked, voice uncharacteristically small.
John didn’t answer right away.
“Not yet,” he said eventually, “but she will.”
She glanced at him, blue eyes unsure.
“I think you should go for it, Sera,” John nudged, “she’s good for you. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you so cheerful.”
For once, Sera didn’t argue.
‘Don’t even think about ditching any of our boba dates, though.” He added, pushing out a chuckle from her.
She leaned on his shoulder, “Was Arlo really that bad?”
John groaned, “Sera, you know how I am with that asshole.” He turned to the direction where Arlo was, standing next to Remi and Holden. Just the look of his miserable face got John going.
“Yeah,” She agreed, “but the backseat seemed pretty quiet to me.”
John’s expression sharpened, “Quiet? That was a plot, Sera! He sat there with his perfect posture, not leaning on anything , except for when he breathed down my neck. Can you imagine?” He gestured violently, “His stupid breathing — all slow and even, like he’s better than the rest of us. And every time Blyke braked, he didn’t even sway! Not once! Who does that?!”
Sera blinked, fighting a smile. “...That’s what bothered you?”
“I was too busy keeping my breakfast down to fight him,” John muttered, “but don’t think for a second he didn’t know exactly what he was doing.”
Sera smirked, “Well, that’s one way to subdue you, John.”
“Excuse me?”
Before their bickering could start again, Blyke wandered over with a handful of tangled tent poles, eyebrows raised at their squabble. Things were still a little tense between them, but Blyke didn’t flinch. “Hey, if you guys are done, mind giving me a hand?”
John and Sera exchanged a glance, then wordlessly stepped up to help. There was a beat of awkward silence—then John made a face at the poles like they’d personally wronged him, and Sera muttered something under her breath about incompetence.
Blyke snorted.
Cue some elbow shoving, a few snide remarks, and one near-collapse later, the tent finally stood—wobbly, but upright. They stepped back just as the sun dipped behind the trees, casting long shadows over their work.
“Not bad,” Blyke said, dusting off his hands.
John raised an eyebrow. “You’re welcome.”
Sera just rolled her eyes, inspecting their work. Not bad at all.
“Alright, I’m gonna go help with the fire,” Blyke said, giving them a quick wave before heading off. “Remember to join us in time for the ballot draw!”
John blinked. “Ballot draw? What ballot draw?”
But Blyke was already jogging away, leaving John to frown after him.
Sera cleared her throat and suddenly found the sky very interesting.
John squinted, “Sera?”
She didn’t look at him. “What?”
“What ballot draw?” he repeated, slower this time.
Still avoiding his gaze, she folded her arms. “It’s not a big deal.”
“That’s exactly what people say when it is a big deal.”
Sera finally turned to him, casual. “Look, it’s just... a thing they’re doing to decide tentmates. Random draw. For fairness.”
John’s brow twitched, “What.”
She looked at him, searching for a bit too long. Suspicion bloomed.
He pointed an accusing finger, “You rigged it.”
“No.. what..”
“Ballots, really?” John asked, flatly.
Sera groaned, caught. “I couldn’t think of another way to ask her to share a tent with me. It’s not like we’re close! We only ever talk at school. It’d be weird if I asked out of nowhere, right?”
John crossed his arms, unconvinced. “It’s not out of nowhere . You’re not exactly strangers, Sera. You’ve known her longer than you think.”
“Still,” she muttered, fiddling with her fingers, “asking someone to sleep next to you in the middle of nowhere is kind of a big ask.”
He rolled his eyes, “I bet if you didn’t ask her, she would’ve asked you first.”
He tilted his head toward Evie, who was laughing by the van with a few others, completely at ease.
Sera followed his gaze, her ears reddening.
John watched as the girl turned, sensing their gazes on her like some second sense. The skin around her crimson eyes crinkled into a bright, genuine smile when they met Seraphina’s. John turned his head just to catch his best friend sink deeper, expression glazed-over, and waving back awkwardly.
John gaped. Someone in Spectre had swapped out his sharp, confident best friend with a clone, or maybe a zombie. “You have it so bad, holy shit.”
Still smiling, she pinched John’s side, twisting hard . “Shut up .”
“Ow, ow, fuck!” He winced, hiding when Evie beckoned her over. “You know what? Just go!”
Seraphina rose, brushing dirt off her pants. “Gladly!”
She didn’t look back as she walked off, but John could swear she had a slight bounce in her step. Sera wasn’t as subtle as she thought she was.
He flopped down on the grass with a groan, rubbing his side. “Unbelievable, I’m losing her to a girl with smooth turns.”
In the distance, a whistle blew, “Tent assignments! Gather up, people!”
John groaned louder, “God, if I get stuck with Arlo, I’m setting the tent on fire.”
At the site, everyone sat together, huddled by the bonfire. The night painted the sky with a deep blue, stars twinkling above. John twisted his skewered marshmallow over the orange flames, almost catching on fire before pulling it away.
Evie and Sera sat on the log beside him, whispering and giggling quietly as they wrestled with their marshmallows, stacking graham crackers and chocolate with sticky fingers. His expression wrinkled.
On his left, Roland, one of Evie’s friends, groaned. He was busying himself with a handful of sticks, previously stacking them on top of each other like a house of cards — a sudden breeze left it toppling over.
“Unbelievable,” He huffed, “That was supposed to be the Eiffel Tower.”
John smirked, “It’s the Leaning Tower of Pisa now.”
Another giggle from his right, John’s face soured again.
“I know,” Roland nodded solemnly, following John’s gaze. “They're so whipped.”
“Are they always like this?” John asked, not even bothering to whisper — they were too wrapped up in their own flirting to hear.
“It’s worse when they share snacks.” Roland said, watching Evie feed Sera a burnt marshmallow, all gooey eyed.
“Ugh, get a room,” John muttered, grimacing as Sera gently brushed chocolate off Evie’s chin, her thumb lingering a second too long.
Evie blinked at her, then burst out laughing. “Did I seriously miss again?”
“Third time,” Sera said, amused. “You’re terrible at eating s’mores.”
Roland snickered, “They’re cute, at least.”
“Even worse when they start dating.” John mumbled over his marshmallow.
John watched them for a moment, then turned his gaze to the fire, poking it with a stick just for something to do. The flames hissed in protest, sparks dancing up like startled fireflies.
Remi and her goons stood at the front, ominous. They were on their fifth pull, announcing the pairs with too much enthusiasm.
Isen held the hat up, and Remi reached in with a flourish —
“The fates will decide!” she announced, dramatically pulling out the slip.
Blyke patted his knees, encouraging the others to join the impromptu drumroll.
Something squirmed in John’s gut, like a heavy anchor dragging down — the kind of feeling that always showed up before something stupid happened. He didn’t believe in fate, not really. But this camp had a way of testing his patience.
“John…” She read aloud, glancing at the paper, “And..” She paused, eyes widening just slightly — “Arlo.”
The drumroll faded into a stunned silence.
Be fucking for real.