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Oh, they're here. Something about it changes the atmosphere, and now she's worried about something else.

"They'll let me use the phone, right?"

She's looking at him now, with big eyes and concern, because she's not sure of the rules here and she's not sure what she'd do if this nice tall boy named Barry brought her all the way over here for nothing on top of not being able to check in on her dad.

He turns to her, opens his mouth, and then closes it.

"I...don't know. Maybe we can ask?"

He can't believe that out of all his worrying about being out of contact with his dad, he didn't think to find out before now if they'd be allowed to use the phones to call home. They have to be able to; he's not going to take no for an answer.

"Yeah, okay."

That isn't a terribly encouraging proposal, though. She needs to know her dad is okay, how the appointment went, what she's missing. To hear from him that he's fine and that she doesn't need to worry. Except, as far as authority goes, Caitlin isn't quite bold enough to not take no for an answer.

Her bottom lip is firmly between her teeth when they walk inside and find... No one. Not a counselor or administrator or parent.

"Well," and she looks at Barry as if he jinxed it, "Who do you want to ask?"

The injustice of it all rankles. Not that anyone's around to say no, but what if they do? What if they aren't allowed to use the phones? It's possible. Joe could've forgotten to check. Maybe they believe in that whole kids-and-parents-need-breaks-from-each-other thing. Maybe they'll ban campers from using the phones. They didn't say campers could. But then what's the point of having phones if that's the case? It's unfair and awful and if this rule exists it deserves to be broken. It's the principle of the thing!

"Just use it," Barry says. "I'll keep watch and let you know if anybody comes."

Her stomach has flipped and sunk and gone cold with resignation that she won't be making any calls when Barry suggests that.

"What?" Is this nice boy a sort of delinquent too?

"No, no, I can't," and her eyes are wide and she's shaking her head like it will make her want to break the imaginary possible rules any less, like it will dislodge her from having to choose. "What if they come back? And then I can't call again? I need to be able to make sure everything is okay."

Hidden somewhere underneath his pajamas in his bag, folded up and shoved into a copy of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix is a layout of Iron Heights prison. Barry's old enough now to understand how bad of an idea a breakout would be and how impossible it'd be to try anyway. But he still reads and rereads it and thinks about new routes and strategies anyway, daydreams about if it were possible. What he'd do, what he'd say to his father, where they'd go.

So, yeah, maybe he is sort of a delinquent.

"If that happens, just say it's my fault. I made you break the rules even though you didn't want to. It's fine. Blame me."

"No!"

It is an immediate response, so much that it surprises her a little. How sudden it is that she absolutely, viscerally, does not want to get a call at the expense of another person. Even if she doesn't know him very well, even if he might be a very smart, very tall, very nice delinquent.

"No, I'm not going to get you into trouble for me. Don't you have calls to make, too?"

Barry's actually taken aback by how abrupt and impassioned her response is. He hadn't really, honestly expected it to be a big deal to a girl he's known maybe five minutes whether he gets in trouble or not. Sure, the consequences of rule-breaking might suck. But it doesn't have to be her problem.

"And if we get caught, I'll deal with it. But that's an if, and it's only gonna be more likely the longer we stand around arguing."

This feels impossibly risky. To do something you get caught at, like the wall between common sense and just picking up the stupid phone is insurmountable. But it isn't. The phone is right there on the front desk, a helpful post-it beside it that says 'Dial 9 For Outside Calls.' Caitlin looks at the phone, and then Barry, and then back at the phone.

God this is so stupid.

"Okay," and she sighs at herself as a strange mix of nausea and thrill at the potential of breaking rules washes over her. "Okay, I'll try to be fast."

"You'll be fine. It'll be fine, I promise."

Possibly because he has every intention of throwing himself under the bus if they really do get in trouble. It's clearly important to Caitlin to get to talk to whoever it is, and she deserves to! It is the Right Thing, no matter what the rules might or might not say.

What it is about this boy that makes her believe him?

"Thanks."

And then she's dialing, and waiting for someone to pick up. Unfortunately, it's her mother.

"Hi, Mom. Yes, I got here fine, I just-- No." Her tone had started bright enough, but it's fading fast. "No, I just want to know how Dad is. Can I talk to him? He had the appointment this morning, I wanted-- No, Mom. No. Did they take him off the Baclofen? Because it makes him tired all the time. Yes, I know, but-- Mom-- Can you put Dad on, please?"

There is a long silence, uncomfortable, and more trouble than any imaginary breaking of a rule about phone calls might be. You are not his doctor, Caity. You are not even his nurse. Your father is resting and I suppose if you want me to wake him up just so you can get him worked up about what the doctor said, I can.

"No, that's okay."

Another pause, shorter, followed by a hopeful sounding, "Tell Dad I love him, okay?" and a slightly more resigned, "I love you, too, Mom. Bye."

That is not at all what she'd been hoping to get out of that risky phone call, and she stares at the phone itself after she hangs up. Like maybe it's karma for not asking permission or something.

Barry's not sure what he'd expected, but it wasn't this. A call to a sibling, maybe, or even a boyfriend, or to parents who'd make her smile. Like parents are supposed to. He'd never pretend to be a big authority on families, but he'd expected something that left her feeling how talking to his dad feels like. Not this.

This doesn't seem like his business; he bites his lip, hesitates, then speaks up quietly.

"Everything okay?"

Oh, right. Crap. Barry.

"Um, yeah. It's fine. I was just checking on something."

She doesn't have a boyfriend or a sibling, and he might have seen that if her father had answered the phone instead. He would've joked about her worrying, answered her questions, reassured her. But Barry heard everything, didn't he? There's a small swell of concern that he will use this against her, because in her experience most kids are not kind about ailing parents no matter what the ailment is, but subsides with the need to think and talk about anything but that phone conversation.

"Do you need to call anyone? I can be lookout this time if you do."

"Yeah, okay."

Both in response to her explanation and her question. Because it seems nicer to not ask what that was all about, and it's not like they're good friends or anything. He hadn't come here with any real intention of calling home right this minute, but now that they're here...

He approaches the phone, giving her a nod, and then dials.

"Uh -- hey, Joe. Yeah, it's me." He pauses, then frowns. "No, I'm not in trouble! God, I just wanted to take a minute and call. Look, can I just talk to Iris?"

Iris had promised to keep an eye out for any weird supernatural stuff happening while he was gone and to tell him everything. She'd also promised to keep an eye on his dad, and he'd been so relieved he could've kissed her. Not that, you know, he did. It's not like that between them. Maybe someday, but not now.

Except she's not home right now, which ugh.

"No, I don't want to ask y -- if you knew what it was about, why'd you ask?" He's quiet for a long, stone-faced moment. And when he does speak up, he starts to raise his voice. "I didn't ask you, and you don't get to decide -- no, I'm not letting it go! I'm never gonna let it go until everyone knows the truth!"

Bar, this isn't good for you. It's been five years, and it's about time you faced the truth. I thought when you agreed to go to camp --.

"You thought I'd give up? On my dad? Who isn't you, no matter what you say!"

Don't you talk to me like --

And then he hangs up.

That went well.

Caitlin tries, very valiantly, to keep her eyes focused away from Barry and his phone call. To make sure she spots anyone coming up, but then the volume rises and she can't help but glance over.

You thought I'd give up? On my dad?

By the time he hangs up she is staring openly, wide-eyed and concerned. She was not expecting that much anger from a single phone call, but from what she could get of the subject matter she can't help but feel sympathetic. Her dad is laying in bed somewhere, sick with something that can't be healed, and his dad... She doesn't know what's going on with his dad, but if it involves giving up being an option it can't be good.

She's about to ask if he's okay when a counselor opens the door and loudly proclaims, "Oh, thank god, there you are. What are you doing over here? Everyone is supposed to be headed toward the bonfire."

Barry exhales, angry, and presses his hands to his temples. Things with Joe are better than when he was eleven, but he still has a knack for saying the worst possible thing sometimes. He doesn't mean to, and Barry knows it; but he's still convinced that Barry's dad is guilty and Barry's just in some five year long denial.

He's not in denial. He knows what he saw.

For a second, he's forgotten Caitlin and camp and everything; so he's startled when he turns towards the counselor, eyes all wide with alarm.

He sputters for a second before managing to blurt out, "It was my idea."

Oh, no, there's that sudden surge of impulse, of needing to not get this boy in trouble after such an awful phone call. There's a slight moment of hesitation before Caitlin moves to physically put herself between the counselor and Barry.

"I called first."

The counselor just looks confused, glancing between the two of them. Working the science camp is great, but the level of good behavior these kids are on can be freaky sometimes.

"If you don't want to call from the phones in your dorm hallways, all you have to do is ask one of us, okay? There's an office in the back you can use." This is, after all, a camp of nerds. Separation anxiety is common enough that there are protocols. "Now come on. Losing kids on the first day makes me look bad."

Oh.

Oh.

Caitlin is a little dumbfounded when she looks back over at Barry. Guess there wasn't a rule after all?

There were phones in the dorms...like, phones plural. And an office in the back they can use. Caitlin isn't the only one looking dumbfounded by this turn of events. He hesitates, shrugs at her, and then moves to follow their counselor.

So they're...not going to get in trouble. He'd say something about it to Caitlin, but the counselor's right in earshot. And also it's occurring to him that Caitlin probably heard that whole phone call, and he can't even be mad because he was the one who started yelling. How could she not notice?

Which means it's only a matter of time before she finds out about his background -- and it's not that he's ashamed of his dad, because he's not, but the idea that kids around here might not immediately associate him with the case had been...kind of nice, even if he'd never admit it.

Their counselor is mostly just thankful the Allen kid didn't try to run away. It had been a legitimate fear for the ten minutes she couldn't find him or the other one.

Caitlin hangs back behind the counselor to walk in step with Barry, which is a bit of a challenge considering how long his legs are. She's still swept up in the sense that they're in it together, even when 'it' is nothing but imaginary rules and unfortunate phone calls home.

The walk to the bonfire isn't too long, and the counselor leaves them with a, "Don't run off on me, okay? And go get some s'mores before they're all gone."

Since the counselor at least doesn't say anything about Barry running away or his past history with that, he doesn't frown too much when she tells them not to run off on her. No reason to look too much into that.

But now he's alone with Caitlin again, but things feel really awkward this time. Unfortunate phone calls home and accidental eavesdropping and all. He shrugs, ducks his head briefly, then gestures at the others around them.

"Yeah, so uh..."

"Are you okay?"

She's been wanting to ask that since they were back in the office, since she heard him get louder, since he mentioned his dad. Which, actually, is probably making the moment even more awkward as they stand here on the outskirts of all this first night festivity.

"I mean," oh this is odd, trying to talk about something so personal with someone she hardly knows. "I didn't hear much but it sounded... Loud. Bad loud."

"You mean it sounded like I yelled at my foster dad." Because he, you know, did. "Joe's just...he thinks he's always right. Sorry you had to hear that."

Because that whole thing was just lame and stupid and embarrassing. He shrugs again.

"What about you? I wasn't -- " Then he kind of grimaces because, okay, he was. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but it was kinda hard not to hear."

"No, it's... I'm sorry you had to yell."

Wow, that was a fumble. And now he's asking about her own call, and she has to weigh the pros and cons of explanation or side-stepping the subject. There's that feeling again, though, of being in it together. Less because of imagined trouble and more whatever it is that's going on with their dads.

She takes a deep breath, looks over at the other campers for a second, and then back at Barry.

"My dad has MS. He had an appointment with his specialist today and I missed it by being here."

"Oh."

That's so much worse than he'd imagined. Not that her conversation on the phone had sounded good, but this is still worse.

"Caitlin, I'm so sorry."

No wonder she'd wanted to call home so badly and been so disappointed when she couldn't talk to him.

"You heard the counselor, though. You can call back whenever you want. It's only a matter of time before you get to talk to your dad."

"I know. And he's fine, Mom is just... Mom."

Which is an entirely different story, and one she won't get into. Not when Barry is being so nice and encouraging after his own disappointment. Not when she's trying to not ask him the hundred questions she has about why he's with a foster dad, why someone would suggest giving up on his own dad. There's an odd thought as she remembers his books and wonders if his dad was abducted by aliens or something, but no. That's too absurd.

"Wanna go get some s'mores?"

PICK YOUR POISON
PIC PROMPTS / TFLN / RANDOM SCENARIO
HAN SOLO velocities	BETTY MCRAE bombsheller	RIVER TAM subsulcus	RIVER TAM (AU) comprehender
SIMON TAM vest	BRIA THAREN exulted	NADINE CROSS bridaled	GU JUN-PYO toddler
available on special request: veronica sawyer, benjamin linus, imani, maria deluca, mushu, poseidon, niccolò machiavelli, malik al-sayf, chloe

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