DOWN DROWNING IN MY HELL.

CALLUM MARCHER ( BEN LEVIN ) is an EIGHTEEN year old from TORONTO, CANADA. HE is known around the island as THE GUARD because he is PROTECTIVE and DEDICATED but can also be GRUMPY and CLOSE-MINDED. HE reminds of bandaged knuckles, skates gliding over ice, and hunched shoulders.

.

“Way harsh, bro,” Dash mused, one-part entertained to two-parts revitalized in his goal to actually get Callum to join him. “What’s it got to take?” he asked genuinely. “Like, how ‘bout this: there’s this dude named Gabriel in one of my classes. He’s from like, Bar-tha-lona, and he’s always got an in at these rich kid warehouse parties. No ID, no entry fee — nada.” Dash rubbed a hand over his head. “So I tell him he’s got to make up the whole colonization thing to me and shit. And so he says he’ll put me on a list. Give me a plus one, plus two… whatever I want.” Gabe probably wanted more out of the agreement than to clear his conscious about his ancestors’ wrongdoings but Dash was reticent to tell Callum that. “One night in Bushwick won’t kill you.” And just in case Callum was about to assert it would, Dash continued: “Free booze, plenty of people for you to mock.” Well, free in the sense that Dash would front the money but he didn’t tell Callum that. He was getting good at this filtering thing. “Maybe some straight guy with a lilac-colored mullet for you to start a fight with when he says some wack shit about affordable housing…” he trailed off with a raised brow. Dash smiled. “Or I can get you that sewage you ordered. Hot ‘n fresh.” He shrugged. “Think about it.”

Dash watched as Callum took a hesitant drink, tracking all his micro-expressions as he tasted it. All for a monotone, deep-voiced: it tastes the same. Dash laughed. “Bulllllshit, you love it,” he started but didn’t fight the statement further. He felt he made his opinion on the matter known already. He shook his head. “Listen, I’ve barely got anything in that fridge anyway. What’s it, like—” he stood from his seat to peek into the still-open fridge. Whoops. On his side, there were old boxes of takeout, a couple cans of Red Bull, and a container of soup his Lola froze and overnight shipped to him from Florida. Dash hadn’t touched any of it in a couple days. “C’mon, this is nothing.” He pulled out the takeout and let out a jaunty, little whistle as he tossed it into the garbage to the left of the fridge. Next, he grabbed the soup. “Look: making space. How’s that? Now you can’t toss that thing out behind my back.” He dropped the soup container onto the kitchen counter. It felt kind of fucked up to just throw its contents out too. Dash scratched at his stomach, his skin gone tight for a split second. “Hey, what’s the plan for the day? You one foot out the door?”

-

Callum already didn’t like where this was going. What kind of name was Gabriel? It was a dumb name. Following it with Bar-tha-lona and rich kid warehouse parties didn’t help either. Callum had no interest in what privileged dipshits did with their parents’ money. He rolled his eyes briefly when Dash said he played the colonization card to get an in. The mention of free booze did little to help ease how icy he felt about the whole thing. He avoided drinking because he didn’t want it to affect his gains. If he was being honest, the potential of having plenty of people to mock did more but he wasn’t going to say that. It’d probably give Dash more ammo to work with. Callum let out a grunt when Dash described a person he would absolutely love to punch with no hesitation or remorse. A mullet is bad but lilac-colored too? Society was going down the drain. Callum also hated that Dash knew he would be more willing to forget his restraint if this hypothetical partygoer made an ignorant comment about affordable housing. As hostile as Callum could be toward Dash, he couldn’t deny that his roommate understood him a fair amount, regardless of how little he liked to share. He didn’t know how that made him feel. “I’ll go in for 10 minutes. But if I hate it before time’s up, I’m leaving.” That’s as much as he was willing to give Dash.

x

Dash couldn’t help the fleeting smirk. Getting used to something was a hop, skip, and jump away from maybe even liking it. But for once he stayed tight-lipped on the subject. He didn’t want the guy to take it back or something. Dash reached for the cold brew maker and poured some into the tall glass. With the slight throbbing in his temples, he probably should have opted for something like water first but caffeine intake was on his mental to-do list anyway. Plus, he had a point to make. My day’s full of fun shit. Dash snorted. He was pretty sure he’d never seen Callum ‘have fun’ since he’d known him. The guy was a living, breathing rise and grind meme. “Yeah yeah, drifting in the wind… ready to start again?” Dash finished the Katy Perry lyric with a little whistle of the tune and a shit-eating grin. “But c’mon now, that stuff is fun,” he continued, though obviously it wasn’t all he ever did. He had school, for one, and he joined that animation club last semester. And… okay, maybe most weekends were filled with drinking, dancing, and whatever he could score off this girl in his Knit Structures course. And a handful of weeknights too. The fact that it was a Monday morning didn’t actually escape him, but that was pretty standard for any college kid. Callum was just boring. “You’d know that if you ever, yunno, actually took me up on one of my extremely thoughtful invitations. Like, you should’ve come to this thing last night.” He shook his head slowly. “Shiiit, you would’ve loved it,” he said it like an inside joke Callum wasn’t in on, because he knew full well that Callum would’ve hated the parties he went to with his art school friends. It didn’t stop Dash from asking him if he wanted to tag along now and again though. He pulled the smaller glass in next. “But all right—this one’s for you, champ,” he announced, then filled the juice glass halfway. “‘Cause I’m feeling generous and I wanna help you here with the horizon broadening. One sip and done, I swear to God.”

-

“I–” Callum pressed his lips together when Dash pieced together the rest of the lyric. Even whistling the tune. Little shit, he cursed Dash in his head. He was just thankful the pink-headed fuck left it at that and moved on. “I’d rather consume sewage, thanks.” Was it nice of Dash to always extend an invitation to Callum whenever he had somewhere fun to be? Honestly, yeah. But at some point – and maybe this was a ‘Callum problem’ – it got to be annoying. Invitation after invitation felt less like generosity and more ‘hey, look at me, I’ve got a fun place to go tonight while you’re at home watching Netflix and eating boiled chicken... again.’ Callum started saying ‘no’ out of spite instead of any real reason. Maybe he liked trying to bring about a dejected look on Dash’s face. Sue him. The dude smiled too much. When his roommate revealed that the glass filled half way with cold brew was for him, Callum made a face. He’s had cold coffee before. This wasn’t going to broaden his horizon one bit. “Yeah, if you think me taking a sip of this and somehow liking it is gonna make me chill out about your giant container taking up so much room in the fridge, you’re wrong. Half is half.” Now that he’s made his stance known though, Callum curled his fingers around the glass and picked it up, giving its contents a sniff. He was going to prove to Dash that this ‘cold brew’ of his wasn’t as special as he thought it was. He gave the brew a little whirl in the glass and then brought it up to his lips for a gulp. He was sure it would taste the sa– oh. It was... sweeter and... smoother? Mellow but... rich in its own way. It was... good. Oh no. Callum’s eyes widened and he quickly put the glass down. “It tastes the same,” he lied, fixing a frown on his face. “I hope that dumb container wasn’t expensive because it’s a waste of money. Toss a couple of ice cubes into a coffee and you’d get the same thing.” No, you wouldn’t. But he was not going to give Dash the satisfaction.

x

Dash patted his pockets. “Oh shit, wait. Wait, wait. Lemme get my phone out, and then you can threaten me one more time. I just wanna get it on record, yunno? Help the cops with a lead after they find me with a shard of plastic lodged into my carotid.” He quickly dropped the ruse and, after a beat, made a decision. “Also? Meal prep’s bullshit,” Dash announced as if he had any sort of real Opinion on the matter that went beyond the fact the insult might keep Callum in the kitchen for a minute longer. “That stuff’s gonna be so nasty by Wednesday. Don’t think I haven’t seen you fighting for your damn life choking down some old sweet potatoes, man. It’s mad depressing.“ Dash was mainly on the opposite end of the spectrum: first real meal in the late afternoon, never thinking too hard on when the next one would be. But on the topic of ecstasy and Grey Goose, he became singularly aware of the fact that he had wanted to change his clothes. He lifted the collar of his shirt up to his nose—not too bad, all things considered. Faded deodorant, tequila, dry sweat, and the last vestiges of his cologne. Dash dropped the fabric, glanced at the open fridge, then looked back over at Callum. “Know what you are?” he started again and took a short step toward one of the cabinets. The fridge light halved the kitchen itself; Callum on one side, Dash on the other. He opened the cabinet and grabbed two glasses—one tall, one smaller souvenir juice glass from a cheesy mini golf place called Smuggler’s Cove—and set them down on the sparse counter space. “You are a guy that needs to broaden his horizons.” He closed the cabinet and, with the glasses in hand, turned toward the cold brew left on the table. He dropped himself into one of the kitchen chairs. “Like, what’s your routine, man? Plain rice and chicken, two to three hours spent practicing your scowl in a mirror, then off to some frigid rink. Rinse and repeat. You gotta be a little bored.”

-

Callum made a face at Dash’s words. Meal prep’s bullshit? Like he knew. Don’t think I haven’t seen you fighting for your damn life choking down some old sweet potatoes, man. It’s mad depressing. Okay, maybe Dash knew a little bit. But Callum wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. “Yeah, well, so is living with you but I’m getting used to that so–” He said instead of making an attempt to defend Meal Prep. Callum let out a huff and watched as Dash moved about in the kitchen, taking not one but two glasses from one of the cupboards. It made Callum’s brows pull together. Was Dash about to chase his cold coffee with a shot? He watched with his brows in a slanted positioned as Dash insulted him from the kitchen table. Callum scoffed before letting out a reply. “Not bored. My day’s full of fun shit.” Like going to the gym and then eating food. Going to practice and then eating food. Watching stuff on Netflix while eating food. Class was a little boring but sometimes the vending machine near his lecture hall had really good snacks so who was the real loser here, huh? Probably still you, a voice in his head said. It pissed Callum off beyond belief so he shot back in attempt to bring Dash down. “Like what you’re doing is so fun. Can’t imagine getting shitfaced all of the time feels great. Waking up with a pounding headache, pissing away all of your money on overpriced drinks...” He wasn’t sure if that’s what Dash did but it felt like a solid assumption to Callum. “There’s like no structure to your life, dude. You’re like... a fucking... plastic bag in the wind or something.” Fuck, did he just accidentally quote Katy Perry?

x

It wasn’t the first time Dash had to battle his way through the early morning commuter bustle to get back to his apartment for a change of clothes. He’d woken up in a semi-stranger’s loft downtown, too warm and sticking to a cracked leather sofa. After a few minutes spent staring at the wood-beamed ceiling accounting for every limb, extremity, and each of his five senses, he finally peeled himself up and toward the door. Various other bodies strewn across the room served as the obstacle course toward his Loewe loafers sat alone in disarray by the entryway. Even drunk, old household rules still stuck. The train ride was spent in a daze as he watched men in business suits filter on and pack themselves in like sardines. He fantasized about dropping back into his bed basically the moment he got back, at least for a couple hours. He had like, a shit-ton of work to do. But of course, Callum had other plans.

Dash had barely made it through the door when he heard a sudden whistle, like he was some poorly behaved dog, followed by Callum’s distinctly pissed-off, grating tones. He pivoted his body and turned on his heel, leaning against the doorway between the small sitting area and the kitchen. When he saw his much-beloved Primula Burke perched sad and sweating condensation on the table, his expression fell. “Duuude,” he bemoaned. “C’mon.” His complaints were quickly cut off by Callum shouldering his way by him, turning Dash with the motion so he still faced Callum. “I know you’re like, a total neophyte in this but that’s so offensive, man. My tastebuds’ve fully acclimated to stuff a little classier than your precious Nescafe. I think that junk would give me a stomach ulcer.” He turned and stepped into the kitchen to open the fridge door to actually get a look at the situation himself. Dash snorted a laugh. “Okay, yo, this is bullshit. You don’t need this much couscous in here. My stuff could totally fit if you didn’t pack this thing like some kinda fuckin’ doom prepper. This for your precious gains, bro?”

-

God, Dash was pretentious. Callum huffed grumpily when his roommate took a jab at his ‘precious Nescafe’. Nescafe was fancy, alright? It was a step up from whatever generic brand Callum’s mom used to get him back home at least. Just because Dash was used to drinking shit that came out of a coffee connoisseur's ass didn’t mean Nescafe was bad. “Your shoes give me a stomach ulcer,” he shot back petulantly. Yeah, Callum saw his fucking shoes, alright. Those god-awful loafers. Who did this pink haired fuck think he was? Hugh Hefner? Despite having places to be, he decided to follow Dash into the kitchen. If only to make sure that damn cold brew container was going to stay out and his meal prep stayed in. “Damn straight. Don’t hate on my meal prep just because you’re built like a damn twig. Maybe if you went to the gym once in a while and lived off something other than ecstasy and Grey Goose, you’d appreciate my couscous.” Which again was another attempt at elevating the ingredients that went into his body. Before it was just plain white rice. He was actually trying to be sophisticated now that he lived on his own. Or well, lived without his mom at least. “I’m serious about breaking that pot over your head by the way. Don’t touch my fucking couscous,” Callum warned.

Callum has had enough of this. They had both agreed they each had their own side of the fridge. So why the fuck did Dash’s pretentious ass cold brew maker leave little to no space for him to store his meal prep? Who needed this much coffee? And did it have to be stored in the fridge? Just make coffee and throw some ice in it. It was a simple as that to make a ‘brew’ that was ‘cold’. With a grunt, he reached into the crowded fridge and carried out the large container, setting it on their dining table for Dash to deal with whenever he got home. He didn’t mind that Dash didn’t have the common sense to simply put ice into a coffee to make it cold. But he did mind that Dash didn’t respect the my side of the fridge isn’t your side of the fridge rule. With that out of the way, Callum stocked his side of the fridge with his meal prep and closed fridge door shut. Just as he did, he heard the front door open. Speak of the pink-haired devil, he thought. He waited till he saw Dash walk past the kitchen door before whistling harshly to get his attention. “Hey–” He gestured for Dash to come inside the kitchen area and pointed to the large pot container thing on the kitchen table. “Your shit was on my side.” So now it’s out here went unspoken. “I’m going to the gym. If I see it back in the fridge, I’m breaking it over your head. Get a smaller one or learn to like normal coffee like the rest of us.” He moved past Dash to exit the room, making sure his shoulder knocked against the other boy’s as he did so.

x

So it was just Callum and his mom. “Sick, that’s — Yeah, that’s cool.” Dash almost grimaced. It didn’t sound like something most dudes would say. He paused a second when Callum offhandedly turned the question around on him, then bit the bullet. “Nah, it’s just me and my dad. My mom passed awhile ago.” He sure as hell wasn’t going to let that sit in the air awkwardly, so he quickly kept talking. He was always good at that. “But yunno, my dad gave me a whole lotta of talk about bonding when I got back from this. Fuck if I know what that means. All that guy does is read those thick-ass books about World War II and yell at the TV when the Miami Heat play,” Dash grinned lopsidedly. “And this might totally shock you, but I’m not really into either of those things.” 

The way Callum took a swing at humor was probably one of the better parts of Dash’s day. Like a dog riding on a skateboard, or those videos of elephants painting at zoos, it was a rare enough sight to make Dash wish he had a replay button. He’d probably watch it a handful of times before he fell asleep at night. Don’t let it get to your head. Okay, well, that was like asking the moon to quit it with all that tide nonsense, or for South Tampa to cool it with the taco trucks. But maybe Dash could try and keep it in check. Heavy emphasis on ‘maybe’ because c’mon, the guy actually sorta smiled for once. “Hey, zero worries on that front. When have I ever taken literally anything you’ve said to heart?” Another joke because how else would they have much of this conversation if he hadn’t?

Dash pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek to somehow hinder his surprised expression, then nodded. “Sure. I’m not too proud to accept a little help,” he said. It was all very you scratched my back so I guess I’ll scratch yours, but Dash still felt a bit smug about the offer nevertheless. “Thanks for being so magnanimous.” He wiped his hands on the knees of his pants, brushing any remnants of sand, as he waited for Callum to get to his feet first. It was an instinctive act now, even if they had remained clean throughout the entire process. A lifetime spent on the beach every chance he got prepared him for the reality of sand getting literally everywhere at least. Dash snorted a laugh. “And listen, they’d have to put me under some major duress to get me to squeal. It’s our secret.”

+

Callum frowned, confused by the twist of Dash’s features. Before he could angry about it though, the reason for the reaction made itself known. Dash’s mom wasn’t around anymore. Fuck. Right, okay. Sore subject then. Callum’s turn to grimace now. He kept quiet after the reveal, content to listen to Dash talk and talk for the first time in practically ever. Anything to keep from having to say something. But as much as Dash liked to yammer, that only went for so long. Eventually Callum had to speak. “Really?” He started, taking on a lighter tone – voice laced with sarcasm and jest. “Wouldn’t have guessed. You scream history buff to me.” He pushed out a chuckle, hoping it didn’t sound as forced or as awkward as it felt. Truthfully, Callum wanted to say sorry or something of substance in regards to Dash’s mom having passed. Ultimately though, he figured the kindest thing he could do for the guy was to not say anything, knowing that if he was in Dash’s situation that he’d hate to linger on the topic.

At Dash’s joke, Callum tilted his head and shot the other boy an unamused look. A look that said: Yeah, you’re a real statue. The true image of unaffected and unbothered. He shook his head from side to side, figuring he’d let Dash have that one. When the other boy agreed to the hand up, Callum merely nodded. He was glad they didn’t have to go through a whole... thing about it. He was helped and now he was helping in return. No big deal or whatever. Pushing up off the sand, Callum got on his feet and stood at full height again, brushing at the legs of his pants to rid of whatever sand he could before wiping his palms against his shirt. When he felt as though his hands were clean enough, he extended them both to Dash, hoping the other wouldn’t put too much pressure on the one that was bandaged when he yanked him up.

“Good,” Callum said once the Floridian was back on his feet. It felt weird, almost childish, to have a ‘secret’ with Dash but it also felt... necessary. He didn’t want the guy to go around telling everyone that Mean ol’ Marcher knew how to be nice or anything. It was just a major hassle when people thought you could be decent. They tended to expect things from you, and Callum didn’t want to have to deal with anyone’s expectations. With Dash sufficiently helped now that he was upright, Callum released the other’s hands and took a step back. “I’m, uh, gonna go take a leak but I’ll see you back up there.”

x

Dash was surprised—not necessarily because he fully expected Callum to be some kind of bigot, but because he always got the vibe Callum would punch a dude just for having a weird sneeze. And okay, also because he figured Callum had those closeminded jock tendencies too. The way he kept calling Lukas Dash’s boyfriend, for one, had been a red flag. “Wow, alright, plot twist. Callum Marcher: vigilante crusader for social justice.“ The Captain Canuck moniker suddenly felt even more appropriate. “That’s… actually kinda tight. Yunno, generally.” Florida was a staunch red state, so Dash had met his fair share of intolerant people. Tampa itself was more chill but the moment he drove anywhere else the entire atmosphere shifted. And not for the better. He generally didn’t condone violence, but he sure as fuck would look the other way if any of the assholes he grew up with were on the receiving end of an uppercut.

“You close with your mom?” He asked it impulsively, and definitely without meaning to. But Dash was always curious about people’s relationships with their moms. Dad relationships, for as excruciating as they could be, seemed way more cut and dry. My dad sucked, so now I sleep around. My dad sucked, so now I can’t trust guys. Daddy issues were commonplace. But moms? If you had a bad relationship with your mom, it always seemed like you were way more fucked up. That’s what Dash’s experience had been, at least, when he viewed the people in his life through that lens. “I mean, enough to not want her to be like, peeved with you, I guess.” Realizing he asked Callum a question without answering the one that was posed to him, Dash shook his head and immediately leaned back into a jokey tone. “But yeah, my work here’s done. My best guess is that the tree is a member of that Proud Boys group then, huh? Or like, some knockoff international chapter. It’s all very slowly coming together.”

Dash hummed for show, then his brow shot up at both the admittance and the almost-humorous way that Callum chose to deliver it. See, he wanted to say, it’s okay to unclench and have a little fun every once in awhile. They might be stuck on some shithole island, but the world was ending anyway. Might as well go out laughing, he sometimes thought. Dash grinned. “Only three times? Shit. Okay, that’s an improvement,” he said lightly. “And the fact you’ve never followed through on any of those impulses? Dude, I think your self control’s gotten a real upgrade. This is huge.” Dash’s guidance counselor in school had a poster on his wall, stating in big, bold letters: ‘SLOW PROGRESS IS STILL PROGRESS. IT MEANS YOU’RE MOVING FORWARD.’ He wasn’t so sure he and Callum moved forward much during this conversation, maybe just a few centimeters—some very brittle centimeters—but it was better than nothing. Ten knocked down to three. That wasn’t so bad.

“Yeah, sure. You’re welcome, man.” Dash stopped picking at his thumb, flexed his hands, then dropped them again. His fingers buzzed with want of something to do. "It wasn’t hard or anything, so. It’s no big deal.” Sort of a big deal. Vaguely selfish motives aside, it still took far more benevolence than he thought he came equipped with when it came to handling dickheads. But here he was. There was a moment of awkward quiet and Dash’s gaze turned back to the ocean and the fractured reflection of the moon. He watched it ripple and move when Callum spoke again. Dash blinked then looked over his shoulder, back toward camp. His voice was a little strained by his twisted diaphragm when he replied, “Totally. Uh, you go ahead without me. If you’re quick, maybe there’ll be like… more fish. Bones for you to pick, at least.” He shifted his injured leg, bending it at the knee, and faced Callum. “Don’t hold this against me tomorrow, but I think my brain just needs like, five extra minutes to gear up to stand and move.”

+

“Don’t got patience for a lot of things but especially that kind of bullshit,” was all Callum had to say on the matter. He hated ignorant assholes, end of. When Dash brought up his mom, Callum tensed, wondering why that was even a topic of conversation until he remembered he had mentioned wanting to appease her by keeping himself out of needless fights. So he relaxed and answered Dash in a level voice. “Uh yeah. She’s all I’ve got. And I’m all she’s got. So... you can say we’re pretty tight.” His mom was his everything. He hated how far away from each other they were right now. Callum couldn’t imagine kind of shit she must have been going through, thinking he was dead because their plane went down. He’d do anything to get a message out to her, to tell her he was fine. A simple ‘Ma, I’m good. Don’t worry.’ “You tight with your mom?” He asked for the sake of asking.

“Yeah? Good to hear it,” Callum responded, for once pleased that Dash was the jokey type. Not that he cared to admit it out loud, but... it helped. Dash’s whole clown schtick. At least when his dumbass digs weren’t directed at him or his jokes weren’t getting in the way of Callum trying to accomplish something. It was good when it was good. He’ll say that much. “I’ll take you to the tree some time. So you can, you know, solidify that judgement,” he added. See? He could joke too, sort of. Even if it was kind of stupid. But he supposed that was the point of jokes. Being stupid as a coping mechanism or some dumb shit like that.

Callum’s lips pulled up at a corner and he rolled his eyes. “A real miracle. Don’t let it get to your head.” Though he said it in a light manner, Callum meant it seriously. He didn’t want Dash thinking that the surprisingly low number of 3 was an invitation for the pink-haired Floridian to get chatty with him on a more frequent basis. He couldn’t guarantee it would end up this civil most times. Hearing Dash say he needed 5 before he could head back to camp, Callum stared at him for a moment. He wasn’t sure what it was – if the moon doing weird shit or maybe some fucked tree poison got into his bloodstream when he decked it –  but Callum felt like being generous. “You want a hand up?” He asked, sighing. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

x

“Funny. From where I’m standing, it actually looks a whole lot more like a Callum problem,” Dash said wryly. Meaning that you caused it, buddy. Yeah, he heard Callum when he told Dash he was annoying or at least when he very heavily implied it. But Dash wasn’t going to stop being himself just so one dude’s hackles wouldn’t rise. Maybe Callum should just make a better effort to let it roll off his back. He sighed quietly. Or maybe it was just some real chicken or the egg bullshit. Which came first: Dash’s antics or Callum’s dickishness? “But seriously, I find it hard to believe no one’s given you a hard time for being an asshole. Be honest. Is that when the fists start swinging? So they never bring it up to your face again. They just gotta take it because Tough Guy Marcher’ll give ‘em a shiner again otherwise.”

Dash’s shoulders dropped and he rubbed at his eye. He reminded himself that he didn’t want to turn this into a full-blown fight. He reminded himself that this conversation started on the basis of some bastardized good will, the intent to apologize. And he actually pulled the trigger on that too. It probably wasn’t an olive branch but like, a small, singular metaphorical olive in the wake of a monumentally fucked up thing that had happened. He had to stick to that, even if he felt like a dog chasing its own tail during the entire conversation. “Fuuuck, how’d you figure that out? It had my last mango-flavored pod in it too, so I was totally traumatized by the whole thing. Haven’t been the same guy since,” he pretended to lament.

The only person he talked to on the island about his mom was Lukas, and they didn’t really get into details. Lukas just knew it was just Dash and his dad back in Tampa, and that Dash’s mom passed a little over a year ago. The conversation was short and stilted and quickly redirected. Dash never mastered the art of the Dead Mom Bomb Drop, and not because he was afraid of people’s reactions really. He just hated the way it made him feel when he said it: pitiful, jaded, weary—old. The opposite of how he tried to present. But he’d met people since the funeral who came from similar situations, mom-less or dad-less or whatever, and they were as good at delivering the facts as they were at just stating the weather. Conceivably it got easier with time, or just with practice. “Nah, like…” he trailed off. “Yunno, real life shit. Actual loss. That classic depressing deal we all gotta trudge through at some point.”

You done or what? Dash still hadn’t figured out where in the wrapping he lost track of the other end of the bandage, and he planned to use it to tie the whole thing up. “Uh. Yeah, totally, just about,” he said, stalling. He quickly undid the last few wrappings and turned Callum’s hand over, then breathed out a tiny ha! when the other end finally showed itself again. He tugged it out and half-smiled to himself, fully convinced he was pretty good at this wound-tending thing. And it was kind of ironic, he thought, that Callum was one of the people in their group who was most aggravated that it was Dash’s suitcase that washed up. And now here he was, getting his hand wrapped up in something from it. Dash almost wished he had sacrificed one of his more flamboyantly-patterned shirts for this moment.

He redid the work he backtracked on, then tightened the bandage before he tied the two ends together in a secure, little knot. While Callum’s hand was still hovering palm down, Dash knocked his own upward in a sort of knock-off high five. A little to be a nuisance on purpose this time around, a little in hopes that it was dumb enough to lighten the mood a bit. As soon as he did it though, he figured the latter was impossible to achieve with someone like Callum. Sucks. “Check out that teamwork. See? I held up the deal. There was barely any funny business.” Without anything to do with his hands, he dropped them to his lap again and picked at the hangnail on his thumb. “Like, even you’ve gotta admit that it was kept to a pretty minimum.”

+

This was starting to feel like one of those ‘the only way out is through’ situations. Callum couldn’t think of another way to get Dash off of his back. After grinding his teeth for a moment, he let out a deep exhale before righting Dash’s assumption of him. “Surprisingly, you are the only person who’s ever given me this much shit for being an asshole.” He shot Dash a hard glare then. Though his hopes that it would make an actual difference in how inquisitive Dash would be moving forward was shockingly low. He took the moment to continue before Dash could get in another one of his... isms.

“I don’t say enough in the real world to find myself in a lot of fights,” Callum revealed. At least not since last year. He didn’t want Dash walking around thinking he was some genetically under-gifted cuck that overcompensated by being overly aggressive and starting shit back home. He wasn’t like that. His aggression was a reaction to dumb shit. It wasn’t aggression for the sake of dominance. “But when I do, it’s only because I’ve an encountered an -ist.” A beat and then he realized he should clarify. “Racist, sexist, classist, you know the deal... I find it hard not to get annoyed at people,” no surprise there, “so I just stay away from them. Works for me. Keeps my brawl count low and my mom from getting pissed at me.” Was that enough? It felt like it was. “That finally good enough for the character profile you’re building?”

Dash playing along to his dig as opposed to taking offense earned something of a barely there chuckle from Callum. He could appreciate someone who knew how to take it on the chin. The therapist he avoided seeing often told him that humor was a great way to deescalate heated situations. Callum could never find it in himself to turn to humor when he was pissed, but he supposed that kind of advice would work for someone like Dash. There was something about the way the other boy admitted he’d gone though real shit  – actual loss, in Dash’s words – that had Callum wondering for a moment, curious as to what Dash experienced. Because that didn’t sound like an ‘I lost my favorite vape’ admittance. That sounded like something much more. But Callum wasn’t a nosy person. He wasn’t going to prod. Especially since he knew how much he didn’t like it when people did it to him.

The Canadian watched, as patiently as he could manage, as Dash tried to figure out the whole bandage thing. He wasn’t going to lie though, he got real irritated there for a second when Dash started to undo the bandage. But as the saying went: ‘trust the process’. So he let Mendoza do his thing and eventually the wrap job was done and over with without him having to snap at the other to ‘hurry the fuck up’. Sweet, he thought. Fucking finally. His brows slanted inward when Dash bopped his palm against Callum’s newly bandaged hand in a weird sort of high five. The fuck? But he supposed since Dash did just do something nice for him, without prompt and even after an argument, that the twerp earned that. Callum wouldn’t chew him out for it. 

“Mhm...” Callum forced himself to bite back the list he had of everything Dash did that he counted as ‘funny business’. The two clearly had very different definitions of what qualified for that. But seeing as Callum was Callum and Dash was Dash, that should have been expected. “Yeah, I think I only wanted to punch you out like 3 times. It’s usually closer to 10 whenever we interact.” He meant for that to be funny but it was also.... very true. Passive aggressive was better than aggressive-aggressive, right? It was what Callum was resulting to anyway since he and Dash were seemingly trying to keep it civil for the evening. “But uh, yeah. Thanks.” He lifted his bandaged hand up a bit, as if to say ‘for this’. Then he cradled it in his other palm. There was a moment of loitering, of awkward nothingness, just two dudes sitting on the shore under the moonlight in silence before Callum thought to break it. “We should, uh, head back. Get rest or something. It’s a long day tomorrow.”

x

“Sure. Sounds like something a former revenge biter would say,” Dash noted distractedly. What did it matter to him? Because you make me feel like I’m gonna crawl out of my fuckin’ skin, he wanted to say. The angry huffs, the cutting glares, the disdainful comments—Dash just wasn’t built to withstand that shit. Not for an elongated period of time, at least. He could deal with slight annoyance or brief frustration fine enough, but this was different. And he kind of hated himself for his hierarchy of needs desperately prioritizing his likability over like, eating actual meals most days. It was a fact of his life pre-crash and it set a heavy feeling in his gut that it followed him here, in the midst of all this. He wondered how many days on a deserted island it’d take to beat that out of him, because twelve clearly wasn’t quite yet enough.

“Huh. Why’s it matter to me?” he finally repeated, with the air that he thought the question ought to have an obvious assumed answer. He struggled with the words he wanted to say. On one hand, there was telling the truth. On the other, there was telling just enough of the truth to get his message across without feeling like he was fucking cracking himself open to be openly mocked. “‘Cause I’m one of these sorry assholes who’s stuck here for God knows how long with you. ‘Cause we’ve had a total of maybe like, one and a half kinda normal conversations the whole time we’ve been wasting away.” He scratched at his jawline, procrastinating. “I know you can be a huge dick and everything, but you’re not actually a dumb guy.” He paused, then cracked lightly: “Yunno, in spite of that perma-concussion and all.”

Dash inhaled deeply. Sure, shit happened. He knew that. Life sucked and forced you to grow up and people reacted in a lot of unexpected ways because of it. He guessed that manifested differently for different people, and never had he been more sure that he and Callum were stupid-different themselves. “Honest? That sounds more like a personality disorder to me,” Dash said, talking out of his ass, then shook his head as if to immediately retract the statement. He didn’t want to fucking fight. He was sick of fighting tonight. “Ah fuck, no. Jesus, I didn’t actually mean that.” Or well, he kind of did but he didn’t meant to say it out loud. When Callum thrust his hand between them, Dash blinked. He almost completely forgot what they were doing. After a moment’s hesitation, he started between Callum’s thumb and forefinger and pulled it over to begin to wrap the cotton cloth around his wrist beginning at he base of his palm. The goal was basically to make it look like the boxers he saw on TV.

“But I get it,” he said, glancing back up from his work. “You think I’m a massive idiot. Made that pretty clear—many, many times.” He began to wrap diagonally around Callum’s hand and palm, repeating the motion a few times, then pulled it straight across his knuckles. “Listen, bad shit’s happened to me too, man. Don’t see me acting like I want to spit in everyone’s faces ‘cause of it.” He wrapped it twice around Callum’s knuckles and hesitated, wondering where the other end of the strip went. “So ah… nah. Can’t say I’m totally stoked with that answer. Feels like a major cop out.” But whatever. Blue’s disappearance only served to remind him that these guys were all he had right now. Dash wanted to figure out how they could keep things civil going forward, if only for his own sanity and ego. He thought maybe trying to understand Callum’s warped psyche would help with that. Fat load of good that did him.

+

Callum was turning to deep and long breaths to keep his calm whenever something irritating came out of Dash’s mouth. Which was... often. ‘Funny’ remark this, ‘clever’ joke that. It was like he’d die if he didn’t get out the wittiest comment at a moment’s notice. His growing frustration with Callum’s attitude was getting real annoying too. Yeah, Callum was a grumpy fucker. But guess what? Most people just brushed it off. Or chose not to interact. Or hell, even just accepted that that was the way he was. He didn’t see Dash throwing a fit over Sebastian being a dick on a day to day basis. Why was it that Callum was the only one getting shit for having a sour attitude?

“Listen,” Callum started, almost tiredly because he did not get why Dash was so ruffled up about this, “I’m a dick to everyone. You don’t get special treatment. You are, however, the only person who’s ever bitched at me for how I’m not nice to them.” Because this is basically what this was. Dash was whining about being on Callum’s shit list, not even considering that maybe he was doing some pretty consistently annoying shit on the regular to end up there. “This isn’t a me problem, it’s a you problem.” Meaning: figure your shit out because Callum sure as hell wasn’t going to change things up just because it was getting under Dash’s skin.

Personality disorder? His features pulled together to form a disbelieving look. Jesus Christ, who did this kid think he was? A psychiatrist? And Dash seriously wondered why Callum treated him the way he did. It wasn’t like Mendoza was undeserving. Take right now for example. Fucking personality disorder... It took Callum everything not to tell him to shut the fuck up right then. Thankfully Dash thought to take back his words and start on the wrap job on Callum’s hand. It was the only reason he wasn’t decking the kid straight across the face.

“Oh, bad shit’s happened to you too? Like what, you lost your new vape at the last rave you went to?” Callum wished he could’ve bit his tongue but Dash’s little remarks have been getting to him, and with his hand in the middle of being mummified, he could only snap verbally as opposed to his usual physical. He glanced downward and sighed, disappointed in himself for not having better control. Maybe his inclination to lashing out was just as undeniable as Dash’s proclivity to spout dumb shit. When Mendoza claimed he wasn’t satisfied with Callum’s answer, the Canadian wanted to say: well, tough. But he didn’t. See? Holding back. He was capable of it.

Callum’s answer being labelled a ‘cop out’ didn’t sit right with him though. It wasn’t like he was obligated to give Dash a good explanation or anything. But the more Callum tried to convince himself he was okay with his non-specific answer being called a cop out, the more he wasn’t. Even if he wanted to let Dash in on why he was so angry all of the time – which he would rather die than do – he didn’t have the words for it. He actively avoided trying to deal with the root of his anger because he knew all it would bring was pain, and he couldn’t fucking deal with that. Not before when he was just trying to get by and put it all behind him, and certainly not now when things were so bleak and he felt like shit. “You done or what?” He asked.

x

The tree was in the way. That was certainly one way to logicize split knuckles. Not that he didn’t think a severe reaction wasn’t understandable in response to Blue’s disappearance, but risking a broken hand still felt stupid. And Dash was an expert in stupid. “Okay then, follow-up question: were you the kid in elementary school who bit people when they wouldn’t share their colored pencils or some shit? ‘Cause I’m betting your mom was called into a whooole lotta parent-teacher conferences.” He sort of remembered Callum mentioning wanting to get back to his mom and if Dash could lay claim to any talent, it was that he actually listened to what people told him. When he was sober. So, there: remembered your mom, Marcher, he thought, like it was any kind of proof that he was a person worth anyone’s time. Literally everyone had a mom. Dash shrugged, feigning an apologetic air, and half-grinned. “Sorry. Gathering some evidence here, yunno? Building a character profile.”

Dash dropped Callum’s hand in a sudden motion and reached for the strip of cloth over his shoulder. He rolled his eyes right back at Callum—exaggeratedly, to make sure he got the message that it was a purposeful mimic. “I’m trying to sus out if this pissy version of you is the Marcher Deserted Island Special or just what you’re like on the reg. Now that I’m getting the message that you’re brawling all over the Great White North, guess I’ve got my answer,” he said dryly. Dash had gotten into his fair share of stand-offs at clubs, high and wired and mouthy, but it never came to anything. He never actually wanted it to, and then there was just his dumb luck. His friends intervened, the other person’s friends held them back, or he offered them a bump to make up for it. And then that was that. So he understood escalation at least; he basically escalated every single shitty conversation he ever had. His case in point sat right next to him. But he didn’t think he would ever understand a violent gut reaction. “Is it like, a chronic condition for you—or what? Seriously, honestly asking. No judgement. You’re just the angriest motherfucker I’ve ever met.”

+

Callum pushed out a huffy breath. He took offense to being thought of as the kid who bit when things didn’t go their way but the mention of his mom quickly had his reaction swerving in another direction, irritation taking a sharp decline. It was replaced with... suspicion? He stared at the boy for a long beat, eyes narrowed to slits as he wondered just how much Dash actually paid attention to. Then again, Callum felt as though he talked about his mother a fair amount so maybe he shouldn’t be giving Dash all of this undeserved credit. “I wasn’t the kid who bit other kids,” he settled for saying, tone low and grumpy. He hoped to leave it at that but then again, this was Dash he was talking to so chances of that were pretty slim.

“Why does it matter to you?” He asked with an exasperated sigh. Yes, he was angry. People were angry. It wasn’t this rare occurrence. Things like crash-landing on a deserted island and not having a way to get off really heightened that attribute too. Not having proper food to help sustain you while you were on there didn’t help the situation much either. “It’s not chronic,” Callum clarified, not wanting Dash to picture him red and raging as a little child. Like some demon menace his mother couldn’t placate. He wasn’t always an angry person but he didn’t know how to explain that to Dash without sharing some deeply personal things that he wasn’t sure he wanted anyone on this island to ever know.

“People grow up, shit happens, they get angry. It’s not unheard of.” Vague was his salvation here. Callum figured if he gave Dash some sort of answer –  not too specific but just enough – he’d quit badgering him about his demeanor. “I wouldn’t have to be so angry if people could be less stupid. It’s not a constant state, it’s a reaction to... idiocy.” If things went the way they were supposed to, if people didn’t have stupid opinions and habits, if people had common sense, if people were less the way they were and more the way he preferred, Callum would be a less angry person. That, he was sure of. “Are you happy with that or what?” He pushed his injured hand toward Dash again. Now that he let Dash in (sort of) on why he was so pissed all the time, could he have his hand bandaged up now? He wanted this over with. He didn’t like that Dash was trying to get to know him on a deeper level. It was weird. And unnecessary.

x

“Wow, you’ll bite? I’m flattered,” Dash started, though he was surprised that Callum willingly engaged in anything that required Dash to share something about himself. “Well. I gotta start with first ever job, right? You’re biting, so you gotta get a taste of the journey.” The duh was implicit. “Assisted living center. My aunt hooked it up for me, ‘cause she was a nurse there,” Dash said with an exaggerated eyeroll. He was fourteen and catching unfortunate glimpses of saggy balls and suffering weird remarks about his ethnicity on the reg. It sucked beyond belief. “I had to wipe asses and help people into showers and like, brush dentures. You’d think it would be illegal as hell for me to be there, fresh outta junior high, but nope.”

He scratched at his jaw as he thought back to the couple other jobs he had between then and now. “Then like, I worked at a Publix for a couple years. Bagger and in the stockroom. Busboy at a tapas place for a whopping three months.” He got fired from that one, but he wasn’t going to share that with Callum. “And now I’m at a coffee shop that was definitely like, solely designed to go on your Instagram grid.” He made a face. “They probably cut all my hours by now though, huh?” Which sucked, because the tips were always sick there. “What about you? What are you doing back home, hauling lumber?“ Something equally northern and masculinity-affirming that would help explain Callum’s whole deal.

After Callum wiggled his fingers, Dash wondered what the other questions were that he was supposed to ask. Maybe to make a fist? He didn’t really know, and Callum probably already went through the motions himself. If there was anything Dash actually knew about the sport, it was that hockey players got into fights a fuckton. Callum likely had the is-my-bone-broken checklist down pat. “Nah, bro. Too little, too late on that front. I built up an immunity to the pissy shark eyes at a young age. You came in at the wrong time.” He half-smiled but it crumbled a little at the brief look Callum shot him. Maybe not a total immunity then. He was still human, and having someone look at you the way Callum did at him could get to a guy after awhile. At least his sensei laughed at his jokes sometimes. After class.

Dash cleared his throat and placed the strip of cloth over his shoulder. “Hey hey hey, back up. You gotta make your case to me first. I’m Team Tree, if you remember. I’ve been out and about proclaiming its innocence to the whole camp,” Dash joked, then took hold of Callum’s hand between the two of his. It was weird, but Dash wasn’t going to be weird about it just because they were two dudes. He tried to be better than that kind of stuff. He used his thumb to nudge down Callum’s pointer finger just to watch the skin over his knuckle move. It looked like it hurt, split and bruised, and Dash pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “It looks gnarly. No pain? For real?” He hesitated, then asked, “At the risk of sounding like an entire dumbass, uh. You ever get into fights off the ice?”

+

A simple question could never be a simple answer with Dash. Callum should know by now that asking him a question was a risk that would probably cost him 20 minutes of his life. But he did say he’d bite. And he was curious on what someone like Dash would qualify as work. Callum had to admit: he was quite surprised by Dash’s first ever job. It was serious shit working in an old people’s home. He couldn’t imagine having to wipe old ass or brush teeth that wasn’t in a person’s mouth. Hell, he couldn’t even imagine having to brush teeth that weren’t his own. So okay, Mendoza got points for that. A solid first job. 

As Dash went on to describe every place he’s ever worked at, Callum couldn’t deny that he was surprised. And possibly even a little impressed. The coffee shop thing ruined the impressive streak he had going on though. Especially when he admitted it was one of those places that was specifically designed for Instagram addicts to take pictures at. Yuck. Callum hated social media to be honest. It was why he didn’t have any. Well, with the exception of Facebook. But that was just so he could use Messenger to talk to people. 

Callum rolled his eyes. Of course, Dash would roll with a joke and keep it going. “Alright...” He cleared his throat. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. He could play along. And he could still kind of taste the grilled fish in his mouth. That reminded him to play nice with the guy who was gonna charitably wrap his hand. “I was mad. I needed to get it out. The tree was in the way.” He shrugged, satisfied with that simple and straight to the point explanation. If the tree wasn’t there, Callum wouldn’t have an injury. Done and done. Let him win this hypothetical case now, Judge. Or Jury. Whichever Dash was pretending to be right now.

His brows slanted in annoyance when Dash started to fuck around and prod his finger, watching the other Adam as he stared at the split skin of Callum’s knuckles. What? Has the dude never seen fucked up knuckles before? It’s a thing. He didn’t need to be weird about it. This only furthered Callum’s theory that Dash was a pansy, regardless of whatever asses he’s wiped in his lifetime. “I’ve dealt with worse,” he revealed. “This is barely anything.” And that was the truth. He rolled his eyes at the question and irritation flared within him. “What do you think?” He asked, deadpan, head tilted to the side in ‘seriously?’ manner.  The thing with Sawyer, punching a tree just because he was pissed... Not that he was sure Dash had a brain up there sometimes but it wouldn’t take a genius to put it together. It was how he ended up here: his inability to resist getting physical when he had an issue.

x

Dash rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’m Not Like Other Girls,” he said good-naturedly, a little desperate to keep the peace until he got the job done. “Guess I’m just saying… I like being a part of something. And like, helping out. Being around people. Stuff like that. That’s it, really.” He shrugged, annoyed that literally no olive branch wouldn’t be wacked away. In response to the shots Callum fired at the U.S., Dash actually huffed a laugh. “Okay. Okay. No need to bring up the collective national trauma. You win this time, Captain Canuck. Just know I’m gonna cook up some real good digs for the next round.” He didn’t actually plan to but his brain went to unexpected places when he was bored and tired at the end of the day, so who really knew? 

“Yeesh.” The disdain in Callum’s voice would’ve been difficult to miss. “Ever heard of financial responsibility? I’m out here managing my money with a damn discerning eye. Allows me to splurge on a nice shirt,” Dash explained jokingly. If he were more of an asshole, he might have said something grating or smarmy like my family is comfortable or it’s my dad’s money, not mine. So he bit those words back, and tried to defend himself a little. Why? Fuck if he knew. He’d never been purposefully made to feel weird about his family’s economic status before. “But seriously, hey, my dad made me get a job as soon as I hit fourteen. Like, I’m lucky enough that the only thing I really gotta worry about paying for is shit that I want. So my paychecks go to that.” At this point, what was one more thing for Callum to hate his guts for?

Dash hummed and nodded. “Nice, okay. Cool. So you can move all your fingers?” It was good news, far better than a broken hand that was for sure. He debated how to get Callum to reach his hand out without triggering his weird-ass anger issues, which seemed hyper-focused on Dash on a good day. Callum’s question effectively distracted him though. “Uhhh, not really,” he answered, fully aware that a guy like Marcher would see that as some kind of damning reflection of who he was for no logical reason. Dash really didn’t like violence, but he sort of knew how to defend himself when it came down to it. Though his tactics probably wouldn’t work if someone like Callum decided to take a swing. The handful of classes he took with his dad a couple years ago were more based on de-escalation and making sure the other person didn’t hurt themselves in the process. But he still had a faint scar on his jawline that proved it wasn’t totally foolproof.

“But my mom signed me up for karate when I was like, ten. So I’ve sparred a little.” And he didn’t remember anything from it. He was ten. “Some friend of hers said it’d be a good character building activity or whatever. She probably just figured that if she threatened to tell sensei on me then I’d clean my room faster. Which, fair. It did work most of the time. The guy was fuckin’ intense.” He paused. “Yunno, you kinda remind me of him. He gave me those same pissy shark eyes whenever I goofed off.” Dash smiled to show it was a joke, Callum, please don’t fucking deck me. “But I lasted a year-ish. Maybe two?” He mimed a slow, lazy karate-chop movement, complete with a quiet swooshing noise. “I got to snap one of those boards though, like in the movies. That was sick.” With the pseudo-bandage unraveled, he thought fuck it and simply gestured for Callum to show him his hand. “All right. Bring it here, man. Let’s see what this innocent tree did to ya.”

+

Dash? Financial responsibility? Yeah, Callum couldn’t picture it. That was like trying to imagine an elephant in the shape of giraffe. It was too weird and he couldn’t do it. His brain just didn’t have the imaginative capacity. “Discerning eye? Yeah, I find that hard to believe... no offense.” Dash struck him as the type to splurge without care and be surprised at the week when all he could scrounge up in his pocket was a stick of gum and two cents. 

“You got a job at 14, huh?” So did Callum. He didn’t like that he and Dash shared that. Learning this though, he was more willing to lend Pinky his ear. “Fine, I’ll bite. What do you do?” If Dash had a job that required him to barely lift a finger, Callum’s opinion of him would remain. But if it was something that required a little heavy lifting from Dash, something that took a brain cell or two or called for grit, Callum could be convinced to cut him some slack.

At the question, Callum looked to his hand and flexed his fingers. It stung a little where the skin was split on his knuckles but beyond that, they didn’t hurt to move. “Yeah, I can move ‘em.” He raised his hand a little higher and wiggled his fingers for Dash to see. 

It wasn’t a surprise in the slightest to learn Dash had never punched anything. In fact, that was the answer Callum expected of him. What he didn’t expect however was for Dash to turn a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question to a long anecdote about how he used to take karate classes when he was a kid. But of course, this was Dash. Callum should have known the guy would find a way to twist it into a lengthy, unnecessary tale. “Right... Shame pissy shark eyes don’t work on you anymore,” he said, a look of distaste flashing across his features as he looked at Dash. But hey, see? Callum could take a joke.

The Canadian wasn’t excited about offering his hand up to Dash but he knew it was the best way to go about this without fucking up and frustrating himself more. He extended his arm, bringing his hand over to the pink-haired Adam. “What’s the damage?” He asked after a moment. “Should I sue?” A small attempt at humor. It felt weird but getting help from Dash was weirder so he didn’t mind.

x

“I always thought it was an only child thing,” Dash said, uncomfortable with his own honesty, then finally plucked the loose thread off. How was that for self-awareness, huh? His experience as on only child was marked pretty drastically by the beginnings of a sorta parental role reversal by the time he was twelve, but that probably only exacerbated the feeling. A kid accustomed to around-the-clock attentiveness only wanted it all the more the second it got taken away. “Yunno? Fuckin’ spoiled for attention or something. My dad’s probably grateful for the break.” But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true.

At Callum’s not only questioning but incredibly judgement-laden repetition of Dash’s own words, Dash rolled his eyes imperceptibly. “Yeah, bro,” he confirmed, like it was an obvious thing. He had passed his ninth grade bio class yet couldn’t remember the actual names of what made up DNA, but he was confident enough to say, “It’s still got those core chemical building blocks, but they’re like—Timbits, Molson, shit weed, and an untapped, feral rage.” He counted them off, then tilted his head in a faux concession. “Guess that last one’s just hidden under like, a veil of compulsive diplomacy and yessir’s ‘til the Winter Olympics. You crawl outta the ground like a buncha bloodthirsty cicadas every four years for that thing.”

Now that the back-and-forth apology ride from hell was over, Dash felt himself unclench somewhat. Which probably wasn’t a great thing, letting his guard down around Callum of all people. His stomach still buzzed with anxiety, and he hated having to sit with it. Blue’s absence was a heavier presence than any of the guys still loitering around the beach, trying to figure out how to spend their time before they headed back into the jungle. Dash cracked a knuckle on his right hand—a chronic tic—then cracked the one beside it immediately after, as he waited for Marcher to either accept or reject his help. He was betting on the latter, but Dash could still feel good that he offered.

But Callum said yes. He had to forgive himself for the sports-related idiom but: another curveball.

“Funny business?” Dash started, his mouth taking the shape of a laugh without letting out the sound. The phrase seemed like something that old dude from Up would say, and Dash snorted at the mental image of himself as the little interloping kid. It felt like a pretty valid reflection of their relationship actually. Callum was such a grumpy bastard. He placed a hand over his heart, like he was about to recite the Pledge of Allegiance, then dropped it. “Yo, you have me on my honor as an upstanding American citizen, there will be no funny business. I’ll swear up and down on a bald eagle, dude. Or like, a Big Mac.” He allowed some shots at his own home country after the Canada digs. “I’m that serious.” 

It only occurred to Dash right then that to help he’d actually have to get closer. The threat of a headbutt suddenly felt very, very real. He scratched at the side of his nose, exhaled, then scooched over. The gash in his side ached with the chosen mode of movement (inching across the sand on this ass), but he got the job done. Once within reaching distance, he snagged back the piece of cloth. He held it up for Callum’s inspection. “The brand? Daily Paper. The cost? Just over one hundy bucks,” he said. “Most expensive bandage to date, I bet.” He unfolded the piece of what was once a well-loved shirt. “So how’s the hand feeling now?”

+

“For you, it could be,” Callum answered, in a very maybe for you but I’m built different way. He wasn’t like that though. His desire to help was a coping mechanism. To move, to do something, to feel like he was making a difference no matter how small otherwise he was just sitting with his thoughts, his guilt, his frustration and going crazy. It was healthier than binge eating too, which was also something he tended to do when he felt upset. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a pantry full of crap he could inhale on the island.

Yeah, Callum should have gone the route he went on with ‘lizard brain’ and just not asked. His appreciation quickly turned to irritation as Dash went through the ‘building blocks’ of Canadian DNA. First of all, fuck him for saying Canada ha shit weed. And second of all, he hated that he wasn’t quite as upset with Dash for the rest of the things he listed. He wanted to defend his home country but in his state, he couldn’t quite enumerate things as quickly or creatively as Dash had. Instead, he countered with a grumpy, “fuck you, we’re more than that. Like... free healthcare–” He knew that was a touchy subject with Americans. “And– you know, not running around everywhere with guns.” Boom, suck on that, Sunshine State.

A bald eagle or a Big Mac. At least the kid was self-aware that his country was a festering piece of shit that oozed fry oil and ridiculousness. Callum just scoffed quietly, allowing a roll of his eyes as he nodded his head. He felt the headbutt threat made its point. It was up to Dash to decide if he wanted to heed Callum’s warning or continue to vie for the role of the person whose head Callum plans to ram his own against. The Canadian watched with some discomfort as Dash scooted over to help with the bandage. His brain knew they were supposed to be on ‘good terms’ right now or whatever, but his body still held the same dislike for the boy – tensing as he neared despite Callum reminding himself there was no need.

“So you’re a rich kid,” Callum stated, rather than asking to clarify. “Figures.” He scoffed. “Makes a whole lotta sense with you.” He knew he hated Dash for something. Yes, there was him being generally insanely annoying, the way he was so obnoxious, the goddamn pink fucking hair. Not to mention the way he never knew how to shut the fuck up. But to top it all off: rich? Callum felt extremely valid in his dislike when it came to Dash now. No wonder the fucker was so goddamn unbearable a majority of the time. Not that he was saying Dash was bearable even some of the time. He was still goddamn unbearable, just easier to tolerate at certain points of the day. Like when he was sleeping and Callum could more easily pretend he was dead. 

“Better, I s’pose,” he answered in his usual grumpy mumble. “Hurt like a bitch right after hitting the tree.” As expected. “Don’t really feel it now though.” Callum wondered how many more things he had to punch before he fucked up his hands completely. His knuckles – not to mention the rest of him – went through it just a month ago after he tried taking on those hosers at the bar on his own. But so far that and the tree, and he still seemed to be able to move all of his fingers. So.... until things changed majorly, he wasn’t planning on not turning to his fists if anything went wrong again. “You ever punch anything?” Or anyone, he wanted to ask but left unsaid. If the pink hair was anything to go by, Dash didn’t seem like the violent type. Or if he did get physical, it was probably just to lift his hands in fear before running away like a goddamn Scooby Doo character.

x

I get it, Callum said, and Dash nodded. He believed it. Based on what Dash knew about the guy, he could see that. Mister Team Player, as long as you didn’t step on his toes. Callum was the one who led the charge into the jungle after the wolf. He wanted to get that fire going day one, at ground zero, before Dash had even gotten his bearings yet. Following after the other boy’s purposeful stride, Dash had still thought they had a pretty six hours before some search-and-rescue helicopter lowered a ladder for them to climb up. Showed how much he knew. Day Whatever the Hell and even the shoddy Russian submarine theory of liberation became less and less an entertaining notion and more of a genuine wish. He’d take anything at this point. 

“Yeah…” he trailed off at first. Dash did want to help, but partly for reasons that probably seemed selfish. He always wanted to prove something, or to be a part of it all. It was a deep itch — one that wouldn’t go away even as he fucking squandered away the past year. It only got worse, and somehow led him to this shit. Picking fights to go back into a jungle less than forty-eight hours after a whole ass wild boar meat-tenderized him in broad daylight. Jesus, he thought, the human mind was a sick and twisted thing.

“So you ever feel like your brain’s gonna explode if you don’t get your ass involved in some way too, or is that just a me thing?” He obviously wanted to join the search because it was the right thing to do, and he cared about Blue’s safety, but also because it was a compulsion. He wanted to feel good about himself. He wanted to be liked so bad, all of the time, and he didn’t like when decisions were made for him. He didn’t want to be left out. What worth did he have otherwise? “Or like, it’s gotta somehow come from all the hockey team shit, right? Encoded in your Cana-DNA.” Dash ribbed him lightly: “To think you gave me such a hard time for calling this a brotherhood.”

Marcher looked like he was in physical pain as he tried to get his next words out. Dash averted his eyes, looking back at the dark waves, thinking that maybe it’d make it easier for Callum to finish. No one could say he didn’t make an effort to be amendable. When Callum did eventually complete his thought, Dash’s gut twisted. “Thanks,” he started, and plucked at a loose thread on his pants. “I’m no Boy Scout like Sawyer, or uhhh. The Muscle, like you and Seb over there. But I like to think I bring a little, yunno — je ne sais quoi vibes,” he joked dryly, then glanced back over. His gaze caught on the rumpled up piece of fabric still in Callum’s lap. “Think you can manage that one-handed?” he asked, gesturing toward it and ready to further corroborate that he did have some use. “A not useless guy would give you some help with that, if you can promise not to bite the hand that literally just fed you.”

+

It was strange to be relating to Dash on something but weirder things have happened, like them surviving a plane crash and encountering and escaping a wild boar not once but twice in a 48-hour period. “Nah, not just a you thing.” Callum was the type who needed something to do in a situation with unpredictable circumstances like this. It was the only way to keep him from sitting alone with his thoughts and straight-up bawling because his mom’s been by herself for nearly two weeks now probably thinking he was dead and she had no family left. 

Most times, Callum hated when Dash opened his mouth but for once he was grateful the Dam Doll couldn’t go 5 minutes without saying something totally weird that pulled his mind away from the emo bullshit swirling in his head. “Cana-DNA..?” Was he serious? But even Callum couldn’t deny it: the boys have formed some type of bond – not brotherhood , that was lame – after surviving here for nearly two weeks all alone. It was difficult not to. They were going through fucked up, harrowing experiences together. It was difficult not to say he wouldn’t punch out someone for a few of them. He’d definitely break a chair over someone’s back for Blue. The kid talked a lot, but he was Canadian and a fellow hockey player so that helped Callum overlook some things.

Je ne sais quoi? More like je ne sais annoying. But Dash did have his purpose in the group. In a weird way. He wasn’t helpful like himself, Sawyer or Sebastian. Or a straight-up nerd like JJ who could spit facts like no one’s business and fix broken radios. But every court needed their jester, right? To Callum, Dash played the role of ‘entertainment’. A clown. Entertaining, annoying, but kind of necessary, especially when things had the tendency to get dark. Someone to make people laugh, get them talking about dumb shit to take their mind off of how fucked their entire situation was. A necessary evil. For most, he provided laughter. For people like Sebastian and himself, annoyance. But a distraction was a distraction when this was their reality.

At the offer, Callum weighed his options. He could very well do it himself. Granted, it’d probably be kind of awkward and maybe not the most sanitary since he did just eat a fish with his bare hand and lick the remnants off of his fingers. Lazily wiping his hand on his pants after that probably didn’t do a good job of ridding whatever fish bits got under his nails either. Yeah... maybe it would be a good idea to give Dash an opportunity to be useful. “Fine,” he conceded. The ‘you can help’ went unspoken. “But if you try any funny business, just know I’ve headbutted another person before.” And he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again if the situation called for it.

x

The moment after Dash’s pseudo-apology stretched out long enough that Dash’s skin started to feel itchy again. He scratched absently at his forearm, and resolutely kept his eyes on the sky and then the water and then the sky again. Everything was the same dark blue. He didn’t know if he was supposed to just get up and leave. Briefly, he considered if logrolling back down the beach would be more or less indecorous than if he tried to get to his feet and ate shit in the middle of an awkward silence. When Callum finally spoke up, Dash’s shoulders tensed in preparation and still sat tight and rigid even when he heard the I’m sorry. That definitely wasn’t on his Bingo card. “It’s chill,” he started, then quickly re-evaluated. Callum had basically been the only dude Dash was consistently at odds with, much to his continued frustration. It didn’t quite feel like he’d totally let Callum off the hook for being a jackass if he left it there, but it still felt dishonest. “Okay, it wasn’t chill-chill like in general or whatever, obviously, but uhhh. Thanks, man. I’m basically over it.”

“And yunno, I only said that shit because I was pissed. You sounded like my fuckin’ dad bitching at me. Think it triggered something in my lizard brain,” he continued sardonically, then cleared his throat. It occurred to him suddenly that he hadn’t said the s-word himself yet. “So like, sorry too. For real.” The inside of Dash’s skull felt like straight up goo, and not in a fun I’m-on-drugs way. It was weird how his first mature foray into making amends or whatever made the corners of his vision go a little fuzzy for a moment. Dash had been the receiver of a barrage of assholery from Callum, which meant he’d been open to attack for the past eleven days straight. But this was the first time he felt like he sort of revealed something that could get easily wounded. And to Callum? Bit fucked.

“I won’t knock you down,” he repeated back, low and chummy, then finally looked back at Callum to grin. It lost its edge when he realized the mimicry would probably piss the other guy off, and he swiftly continued before Callum would even have a chance to react: “An honest relief to hear, man.” It was going to be a long, exhausting day, but Dash wanted to be a part of it. “I just… I wanna help out.” And he didn’t want to be excluded. “I was going out of my mind all day, posted up on the beach with nothing to do. And like, I think Blue’d do the same for me even if his shit got rocked by a wild boar.” Dash pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, and wished for the millionth time that he had his phone on him. This would be the moment that he’d look down at the screen and dick around until this newfound wave of honesty sputtered out and came to an end. But he didn’t have that option. “So, uh. You were the last guy with him? That really sucks.”

+

His lizard brain? The fuck was that? Callum nodded nonetheless, not wanting to express his confusion in case Dash felt inclined to go into an explanation of just what exactly his ‘lizard brain’ was. When the other boy dropped his own apology, Callum tensed. It felt strange to receive a ‘sorry’ in return, to be on the receiving end of vulnerability from Dash of all people. He wasn’t fishing for an apology, nor did he want one, so he didn’t particularly know what to do with it. “Uhhh, yeah.” And a single bob of his head. That was as much as Callum could manage as a response in return. If Dash wanted something more, dude was going to be sorely disappointed.

Content to sit in silence after that whole weird ‘moment’, Callum simply listened as the other boy went on about how he just wanted to help and how he was going out of his mind just waiting around because his injury kept him from being involved. The words made something budge in Callum’s chest. He understood Dash was talking about himself but in his mind, it felt like he was putting to words the way Callum once felt long ago, when he was barely a teenager. When he was helpless and stuck, and people were against him for trying to contribute. The profound realization of this came to a screeching halt when Dash reminded Callum he was the last person to have been with Blue though. The Canadian let out a quiet scoff. “Yeah, tell me about it...” He shook his head. Classic Dash. He’s only known the dude 11 days but that awkward segue felt like something so quintessential to who that pink-haired fucker was a person.

It was a silent again for a bit. Callum was lost in thought, contemplating whether or not he should express a bit of empathy for Dash’s situation. He wasn’t especially fond of empathy – it made him uncomfortable – but he figured he sort of owed it to Dash for being the first to reach out and you know, giving him food and then apologizing after and shit. “I get it,” he said, breaking the silence. “How you want to help. I really do.” Wanting to help out, going out of his mind all day, being stuck somewhere with nothing to do... Callum understood Dash’s frustration to a degree he wasn’t quite comfortable revealing but he really fucking understood it, alright. He recalled days upon days of just sitting around at home, waiting for the phone to ring with news about Lily. He remembered staying up past his bed time and pressing his ear against the wall of his father’s office, hoping to overhear something of worth – a lead – that he could go and chase in all of his 12 year old stupidity for a chance at redemption for his fuck-up.

“If the roles were reversed with you and Blue, the guy would definitely be trying to look for you – fucked leg and all. Kid’s good like that.” Blue was the best of them, and that’s why it was so unfair that he was out there all alone right now with no fire to keep him warm and no food in his belly. It made Callum want to bang his head against a rock until his skull cracked open and crumbled into bits. “You deserve the right to come as much as any of us. Just because you’re like... limping and shit doesn’t mean you don’t have use. Because you’re not, you know.” He heard his mother’s voice in his head then: Go on, finish what you were going to say. Callum clenched his teeth momentarily, hating himself for what he was about to say next. “You’re not useless.” It was tough but he managed to get it out.

x

Dash watched with mild fascination as Callum decimated the piece of fish he’d given him. It was done with startling proficiency and the sort of rabid hunger he himself had felt, but never quite learned how to fully give into. Even here. He turned away and stretched his legs out in front of him, sucking a breath in through his teeth as he leaned back on his palms. The moonlight reflected off the crashing waves in a way that was so familiar that he could’ve pretended he was back home, sneaking out of the house at night with a joint in hand and his dad’s voice ringing in his ears. The only difference was the sound of Marcher eating a few feet away.

“Yeah? Nice,” Dash nodded, his eyes flicking back over toward him. “Any like, muscle pain or weakness? Uhhh convulsions? Maybe a burning sensation in your stomach or some shit? Just wanna double-check I didn’t accidentally leave that poison in after I changed my mind about the whole thing.” The corner of his mouth pulled up into a semi-discernable smile, but it sort of trembled and fell in response to Callum’s thanks. His fingers curled against the sand. “Eh. Seemed the decent thing to do,” he said, a little dismissive, but that mostly just brushed the surface of the truth of it. “I know you were jonesing for a real meal, and like… it was kinda my fault you stormed off. Would’ve been fucked if you didn’t get your share ‘cause of that.”

He shrugged uncomfortably. Dash didn’t live in a world where people sat down and said their apologies face-to-face. There was mostly a lot of avoiding each other, then pretending nothing happened when you were finally stuck in a room together again. The words he wanted to say sat in his throat like a small stone. It was the first time in a long while that he wanted to really get them out. “Listen. I meant what I said the first time around, yunno? What went down isn’t really anyone’s fault — not Joe’s or like, Lukas’. Not Sebastian’s, either.” His gaze went upward, easier to say the next bit to the overwhelmingly endless blanket of stars than to Callum’s face. “Definitely not yours.” He snorted an unexpected laugh. “You’re an intense guy. Bet they had to beg you to call off the search for the day.”

+

Callum considered wanting to be angry at Dash for even attempting a joke like that, but the fish did its job and made a bit of a dent in Callum’s hunger levels, so now his immediate reaction wasn’t to punch Dash across the face. “None yet. Just know if anything changes, I think you’re within choking distance if I stretch out far enough.” It was a friendly threat. A playful threat. Reasonable. Only if something were to go wrong. That was fair of him.

When Dash mentioned the comment he made by the camp fire, Callum turned his head away and looked to the sand for a moment. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t even want to say anything actually. If this was some sort of apology, he didn’t know what to do with it, and if Dash wanted one in return for being referred to as ‘useless’ then Callum didn’t know where to begin. So he kept quiet, just barely nodding his head in agreement when Dash mentioned how fucked it was if he didn’t get his share. He wanted to say it was pretty fucked to be called ‘useless’ for someone who just wanted to help as his own sort of way of saying the comment was pretty harsh of him but he couldn’t bring himself to do it

Callum wished right then more than ever before that Dash would just stop talking. Not because he was being annoying, or because Callum was getting irritated by anything he was saying, but because it was getting a little too real for him. He’s spent all of this time alone by the shore beating himself up for losing Blue, of this pattern he seemed to have of not being able to look out for other people well enough, of thinking it was his fault, his fault, his fault. To have someone say it wasn’t felt like reprieve he didn’t deserve. And to come from Dash? Someone who was right to say Callum’s had it out for him since Day 1... That was fucked. He didn’t deserve that kindness for being so consistently callous.