Storms and Saints

Kwame laughed. “That’s good to hear!” The two of them had a unique sort of bond, but Kwame liked to think that had they not had to save Jacob from their father’s punishment, they still would get along. If only they didn’t always feel the sudden urge to be more formal around the other demigod. “So tell me about this club.”

Jacob enjoyed when Kwame came around. It was always nice to talk to someone who had been alive since -- well, a long ass time. “When I first started camp there was this girl that used to bully me. I wasn’t the nicest person, but I was a kid and she used to use me as a punching bag. I realized later that it was because she wasn’t the biggest fan of Latinos. I’m from Arizona so the shit is... normal, I guess. I just didn’t expect it here? In a supposed safe haven?”

He pauses for a while as he works past the memory. “I just want a place where people of color can talk and vent and reconnect with their cultures if they feel separated from it, I guess? More than I’d like it to be a safety net so people ain’t gotta deal with shit like racism alone.”

“Okay,” She nodded, following him, “Sounds easy enough.” Nadia glanced at the flyers again, “So, what are your grand plans for this club? Is it like a meet-once-a-week kinda club? Or is it more chill? Do you have a name for it yet?” She was partially teasing about the last question. Regardless, it’d be nice to be out of her cabin a bit more and not feel like a socially awkward human for once.

“It’s a support system really for people of color. We meet up when we can and talk, vent, share a laugh or something like that? It’s laid back sort of environment.” Jacob hadn’t really done anything like this before, never really been the type to try and start a group for other people. It was a new experience and one that had his heart beating every time he thought about the possibility of it not going well. “Colorguard is the working name for it. It sounds tough and makes it seem like we’re doing something important. We might just smoke weed, who knows.”

Kwame was frowning at the book in their hands, so engrossed in the text that they almost didn’t hear Jacob. When they glanced over their shoulder and saw the son of Nike, though, they grinned. “Jacob, how are you?” It was only then they realized he had asked for the flyers so they quickly scooped them up and walked closer. “This looks interesting,” they said as they scanned the top page.

Kwame does this thing where they exist and Jacob knows happiness for as long as they’re around. It’s becoming a problem and he knows it, but who cares about that right now because they are talking to him and he needs to respond. “I’m good, all things considered.” When they spoke up about the information on the flyer, Jacob smiled. “You think so? That is... nice isn’t the word? Encouraging? Refreshing? All of those things at once.”

Nadia blinked, unable to hide the surprised look on her face. “Oh,” Between everything that’d happened with Brent, lately her mind had been a jumbled mess of turmoil. Hearing Jacob’s words and seeing those flyers made her mind cease spinning for a moment, “That’s…actually really cool.” She shrugged, “Do you need help with the flyers?”

Jacob had hoped that Nadia wasn’t about to tell him why he shouldn’t be doing this. He had prepared himself for that, made ready a variety of reasons why this place needed to exist and needed to exist now. Wen she gave an answer different to what they were expecting, Jacob relaxed. “Really cool is usually what I go for, you know? I’d love some help. I’ve got most of camp covered and just need help with a few more places.”

“I don’t think so. I just moved in a few days ago.” Honeyboy shrugged. “Unless you’re from the bay area.” He offers a handshake. “I’m Honeyboy.”

“Gotcha. The bay area? Nope. I’m from Arizona also known as hell.” They extended out their hand, grabbing hold of Honeyboy’s. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jacob. Welcome to camp.”

Would Nadia admit that she was too engrossed with playing Candy Crush on her phone to almost not hear Jacob as she passed by? No. But it almost happened. She looked up at the sound of his voice, noticing him first, the flyers second. Being Brent and Macey’s best friend, Jacob was always around her cabin, and she’d gotten used to his presence. “Oh, yeah, sure,” Grabbing the flyers and walking over to meet halfway, she read the words printed across them, “What are these for?” She asked.

Ah yes. The person that enjoys country music. Jacob held a very personal vendetta against anyone who decided that country was a genuine form of music, but he tried letting it go because Nadia was cool on a good day. She was always there when he visited his favorite white couple so he’d learned to tolerate what he saw as her pivotal shortcoming. He took the papers in hand and made sure there were enough left for his task. “Thank you.” Jacob made sure the papers were accounted for and then focused in on her. “I’m starting a group for campers of color. I think this place is great, but I think like most places in our country it still has... some racist undertones. I’d like people of color to be able to get together and talk about shit, you know?”

Honeyboy was trying his best not to seem totally inept. Meeting new people was much harder, after all, with his face buried in a map. Unfortunately, he hadn’t yet managed to internalize the layout of camp and now found himself looped back around to where he began. Honeyboy turned his attention to the camper calling out. “Yeah, no worries.” He looked down at the ground. Did he mean the big stick? Honeyboy shook his head, picked up the stack of flyers and handed them out toward the other camper. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” He took the flyers in hand and counted through them a couple of times, making sure there was enough for what he had planned. After noting that he did, in fact, have enough for the rest of camp, he glanced up at Honeyboy trying to figure out if they’d met before. Most of his time was actively spent with Brent, Macey, or both when they weren’t doing the whole... love thing, so he wasn’t good at keep track of who’d he met. “Have we met before? Your face looks familiar, but I can’t remember your name.”

Once again Brent sat back and let Jacob say what he needed, this time with a slowly growing smile. He tried to make out as much Spanish as he could, but even with his limited understanding he knew there were very unkind words being thrown at him. And while he knew Jacob was angry, Brent found being cursed out like this weirdly nice, almost like home.

Jacob’s smile was all he needed to return it. “I have no doubt you will but, I’ll try to make sure you won’t have to.”

“I’ll call all your vegan food racist.” Not a threat, but a promise because it has happened before and Jacob doesn’t have a problem making it happen again. Jacob leaned back in his chair and finally felt something close to relaxed since receiving the phone call that sent his whole attitude downhill. “Not that you were gone long, but good to have you back.” A brief pause. “Should you be sleeping or resting? Is that what a doctor would tell you to do? I’m not a doctor, but that feels like the responsible thing to say. Not that I’m responsible either.”

Brent didn’t make promises lightly, but he was pretty sure Jacob already knew that. He gave his friend the space to cry, blinking through some tears himself, and the minutes stretched on until their eyes were both dry once again. Then they sat in a silence that Brent found almost comforting— two people who understood each other. But he was also glad to hear Jacob speak, slowly edging back to his usual self.

“I’m not going on a mission for the gods ever again if I can help it,” he replied quickly, shaking his head. “And, I’m sorry. That was shitty of me to do.”

“Yeah,” he snaps back with the smallest hint of anger in his voice. “I know Macey is like, the future wife or whatever and needs to get the face to face so you two can do whatever is people who believe in love do before one of them goes away, but gahdamn, all I get is a phone call? You really called me on the way to possibly die?” He snorted at the very idea. What if he was about to go die and he just decided to call Brent or Macey? “One minute you’re here and then I’m getting some lame ass phone call!” 

Jacob has no intention of letting up on his rambling and at some point in the conversation, he decides that English isn’t good enough for him to express his feelings about Brent just suddenly ditching. He stops talking for half a second and goes back into the conversation with a renewed vigor speaking only in Spanish. If someone was walking by outside they would probably have stopped and stared for a few minutes because the amount of cuss words coming out of the room. 

He sat down at some point, finally having gotten everything off his chest. “So that is how I felt. We’re good now though, I think.” Jacob waits a beat before letting one more word come out of his lips and then nods. “Yeah, no, we’re good now. I accept your apology and if you ever do it again, I’ll find some way to kick your ass.” Despite the words, there was a smile on his face. 

“Jacob— I didn’t do this alone, and I chose—” He stopped, after that, letting his friend say what he needed without argument. 

He expected the sadness, but it was still hard to watch. Brent wished he could sit up and comfort Jacob, do something more than reach a hand out and hope he noticed it past all his grief. Helplessly, he struggled for words, moving his mouth without any sound.

It was a punch to the gut, hearing Jacob beg him to stay alive. “I’m not going to…” Brent closed his eyes, blinking away tears. He had been trying for days to make this a small deal, because in truth, he agreed with Jacob. He hated that this was what his life had turned into. All the damage that had been done to him over the years, and for what? But he didn’t say that. His voice wavered as he simply repeated himself. “I’m not going to die on you, Jacob. I promise.”

He stays like that for a while and lets everything he has inside of himself out. It’s so hard doing this -- being open like this, even if it is the guy he calls one of his two best friends. When was the last time he’d actually called someone a friend or anything close. The idea of Brent dying had never entered his head before now, he was always supposed to be around, always supposed to be there and now Jacob had to deal with the idea that death was still lingering around, waiting for them all. It was too much, it was all just too much at once and it finally broke him. He finally managed to calm down after minutes. “I’ll kick your ass if you do,” he says with a sniffle and he raises his head to look at Brent. “I swear to God, I’ll kick your ass if you die.”

-- He would, he hated when people broke promises.

Jacob eventually shifted from the and pulled the chair up to the bed. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to get rid of the feeling of puffiness that seemed to surround them. This was the first time his eyes had been red from something that wasn’t weed. “Crying is nice, I guess.” He says after a while to get rid of the silence that has taken over the room. He looks at Brent for a few seconds before aiming a light punch right at his arm. “The next time you decide to leave camp on some mission from the gods or whateverthefuck, I want you to say it to my face. No calling over the phone bullshit.” 

“And I also know you hate being vulnerable and would never admit when you— No, I’m sorry. I’m not going to push you right now.”

“I don’t hate being vulnerable!” It comes out aggressive and he hates because Brent is half right, which is a welcome change from how he is usually just right. Jacob tries to wade through his emotions for something worth sharing, find something worth saying. “You could have died.” A start. “You really could have died and for what? For some bullshit fuck ass gods that we shouldn’t even be talking to anymore. They should choke, all of them, Zeus and everybody else.” He walks up to the bed and his breath is shaky by the time he gets there. It’s all anger, just flashes of red hot rage. “Why did you leave? Why did you go alone? Why did you have to do this by yourself? Why did you even have to help the? Why--” Why didn’t you fucking tell me in person you piece of shit? “Why you?!” He tries to calm down, tries to keep himself, together, but he can’t do it and just crumbles at the side of Brent’s bed a mess of tears.

-- Then the rage is gone and he is just sad. 

He sits there unable to control himself and feeling embarrassed by the whole fucking thing because he doesn’t do this, he doesn’t break. It’s just that he imagined, imagined not being able to talk to him anymore, not being able to complain about how bad and racist vegan food is.  He cried when the news hit and kept it hidden because Macey didn’t need so he faked being strong.  Jacob didn’t feel like being strong anymore and just -- it was so easy around Brent. Always so easy. “Please don’t die,” is all he manages at first through the tears. “Please don’t die.”

Jacob’s reply was expected. Brent sighed. It felt weird doing this when he couldn’t even sit up, but he would make it work. “That’s good. How long did you spend rehearsing that?”

"I don’t spend time practicing things to say. It comes to my head and I say it. You should know that better than anyone. What are you talking about?”

It wasn’t clear if Jacob was trying to do this for his own sake or Brent’s. “They said as soon as I can withstand a ride across the country,” he replied. “Full recovery is gonna take for-fucking-ever, apparently, but at least I can be back home.” He paused, watching Jacob’s face. “How are you holding up?”

“Good, that’s good.” Jacob tossed his bag of chips into the garbage before wiping his mouth. Brent’s question didn’t catch him off guard in the slightest. It was right on time and he’d worked himself up to be able to answer it with an easy lie. “Yeah, I’m fine. The car ride was a little stuffy, but I’m not the one with back pain.”

Brent eyed Jacob’s stance and expression carefully. He hesitated before returning the smile, wondering if he should push Jacob to drop the pleasantries. Ultimately, he decided to feel out his friend’s emotions out first. “I have. The worst of this is that I can’t go for a run, actually.”

“That sucks,” the words come out, but they sound hollow. What would he normally do in a situation like this? A joke? Try doing something that would lighten the mood. “It probably means you can’t have sex for a while.” It’s obscene sure, but it’s on target for his style of comedy. The problem is though is that it doesn’t sound like him. Every inch of the joke is flat and lacks something. “Did they say how long they were keeping you?”

Brent underestimated how bored he would get just laying on his back. He had even taken up watching ridiculous crime dramas just to pass the time, and welcomed any sort of visitor— bearing any sort of news— if just to have a conversation. So when he heard someone walk through the doorway, he turned off the TV and put his attention on them. “Hey.”

Truth be told, Jacob hadn’t planned on coming back to see Brent. When the group departed last night, he disappeared and went to get as high as he could. It was a break, a nice means of getting away from the unfamiliar pain in his chest. Now he was in Brent’s room, standing back against the wall -- almost in the same spot, he was in yesterday. “Hey.” He was smiling, it was fake, obviously fake, but who cared. “You’ve seen better days.”