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[paytee.insanejournal.com]

Who: Wes Carpenter and Cricket Quayle
When: BACKDATED to Night 2, Saturday October 15, just before 10 PM
Where: Outdoor Exploration trip campground
What: Tent-hopping and keeping warm

Something wasn’t sitting right.

He was at least used to rain, and he would insist the cold didn’t bother him, even as he still shivered a bit in three layers of clothes including his pajamas. This was a different kind of cold, a strange sort of loneliness. Wes sat up, still bundled in his sleeping bag, and couldn't shake the feeling of being completely alone. He was far away from his family, and he remembered how weak his grandmere had been over the summer. He thought of his sister Ada, and her baby, and how he wasn't there to help her get back on her feet. It would have been around the time that the town would be planning a boucherie, and here he was, alone in Utah, stuck at school with no family and no friends who really understood him. . .

He shook it off, or at least tried to. Wes reached into his hoodie and rubbed at the St. Christopher medal on the chain he never took off, as if reminding himself what was important, what gave him strength through everything. His heart gave a leap every time he heard a rustling outside the tent, the sounds of feet setting him on edge. Something didn't feel right, and maybe he was being a wimp in the cold and rain.

Maybe it was an animal. Maybe if he just scared whatever it was off, everything would feel better. Wes scrambled out of his sleeping bag, wand and charmed lantern in hand, and unzipped the tent, peeking just his head out into the cold rain. Pulling his hood over his messy hair, his eyes searched the dark campsite.

He wasn't sure if he was shaking from the chill, or if that was actually fear causing the hairs at the back of his neck to stand on end.

Cricket knew this feeling; an invisible weight pressing down on her chest and a tightness along the chords of her throat that made breathing a conscious chore. Tears would follow, of that she was certain. Ravi and Anu's voices felt far off, as if they were speaking through swaths of cloth, but she knew in reality that they were all huddled close. She didn't want them to worry over her. There wasn't any reason to cry and they wouldn't understand that sometimes this just happened to her. She was used to feeling overwhelmed, but Ravi and Anu didn't need to know that.

She blinked up at the tent poles above them, clearing her eyes, before sitting up. If she could just have a minute alone to collect herself, everything would be alright. Quickly and quietly, she slid from her sleeping bag and yanked on her boots, not bothering with the laces. Cricket was halfway out of the tent, mumbling excuses about wanting to check on some of the younger kids, before Ravi could stop her.

A simple lumos lit her way and kept her fingertips from freezing. A rush of breath burst from her lips the second she was out of earshot and warm rivulets began to slide down her cheeks. Bleary eyed, she stumbled aimlessly toward the tree line to shelter herself from the rain. Before she knew it, she was surrounded by trees and she couldn’t spot a single tent. How long had she been walking? It hadn’t felt long. Maybe a minute, at most. She spun around and started to walk back the way she came, but one minute, two minutes, three minutes passed and camp still wasn’t in sight. A wave of panic slammed into her. It was oppressively dark and even with her wand illuminated, she couldn’t see more than a few feet through the fog.

The insane thought that no one would ever find her pinged into her brain. Suddenly, she felt certain that she would never see her family again. She hadn’t even said goodbye to Ulysses before heading out for the weekend. Had her high emotions at leaving Maggie been a premonition? And Nate? What was the last thing she had said to him? Something mean, probably. ‘Because you’re mean and nasty, Cricket Quayle,’ an ugly thought popped into her head, ‘And no one is going to miss you.’

She was crying in earnest then. Racking sobs that made her shoulders heave and her lips gape open as she struggled to breath. She had somehow convinced herself that she should just give up her search for the tents and let her friends and family move on without her, when she saw a light through the trees. It was maybe ten feet off, at most. She stumbled back into camp within seconds and lurched to a stop just in front of Wes.

The footsteps came closer to him and his admittedly weak defense of the tent, and Wes’ eyes narrowed. Wand at the ready, his nervous gaze scoured the campsite again, until a familiar figure stepped right in front of him.

“Cricket?” he exclaimed in shocked surprise, though the sudden reveal didn't help his sense of alarm and unease. There could still be a wolf or a bear or something out there, he could just feel it. “What you doin’ out there?!” Wes sat up a little straighter, putting his wand arm down.

What had she been doing out there? The truth seemed too crazy to explain. Her brain felt numb, along with her fingers and toes. She couldn’t think up even a passable lie as to why she was out in the middle of the woods, all alone and soaking wet. “I got lost,” she admitted, though she wasn’t sure if lost was even the right word. Apparently, she had been right on the border of camp all along. “I’m sorry. I didn’t meantuh frighten you,” she sniffled, mopping at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

“Nah, you didn't frighten me none,” he fibbed. “Just thought I heard somethin’ rustlin’ round out there.” Wes sighed and shook his head, still glancing around warily behind her before he got a good look at Cricket. He didn't need to ask if she had been crying, that seemed quite apparent to him, even if the rain could have been the answer to that question - or an excuse.

“It’s rainin’ something fierce out there, honey,” Wes shook his head. “You sure you okay?”

Cricket hesitated, pressing her lips together in a flat line as she looked off toward her own tent. Her gut reaction was to insist that she was fine, because Cricket Quayle was always just fine and never needed help from anyone, especially Wesley Carpenter. She was the one who usually did the coddling, not the other way around. But, just now, she really wasn’t feeling okay at all and that oppressive sense of dread she had felt back in her tent had only magnified. She had left her tent to avoid breaking down in front of Ravi and Anu; returning twice as frazzled sounded just plain awful. Her stomach sank as she considered her options. Maybe Nate had a spot for her in his tent. With Levi? And probably Cecil, too. That would be even worse than going back to her own tent.

Her eyes went back to Wes’ face. He looked genuinely concerned about her. Reluctantly, she shook her head. No, she was not okay.

Part of Wes felt like the better thing to do would have been to give her the old shrug-off to her earlier cold shoulder and just let her go on her way. Maybe his friends would have told him to do that, but they seemed far away, and surely they didn't know better than he did. And no good boy turned his back on an upset girl standing out in the rain, after all. When all was said and done, he usually did the right thing. In this situation? Trying to help out seemed like doing the right thing.

“You wanna’ come on outta’ that rain? It’s dry in here, and I'm real good at warmin’ up charms,” he half-jokingly offered. His weak laugh faded as he unzipped the tent wider, in case she took him up on his offer.

Visible relief washed over her features and her pinched expression softened into a small, grateful smile. The fact that she simply nodded and didn’t even attempt to spin his words around into some cheeky jab should have served as a good indicator that she truly wasn’t okay, at all. “If yer sure you don’t mind,” she answered, wavering for just a moment at the threshold, before ducking down to climb inside.

“I don't mind none. Besides, it feels dangerous out there tonight,” Wes murmured, still watching the rest of the camp carefully as Cricket climbed inside. He zipped up the tent and quickly got his blanket, walking on his knees as he cleared out space on his sleeping bag for her to sit down on. Handing her his quilt from back home, he sat cross-legged in front of her, rummaging in his coat pockets for his gloves. If she was out in the rain she needed them more than he did, after all. “Here, gimme’ your hands, you must be chilled to the bone,” he laughed, feeling just a little bit better now that she was in the tent.

Turning on her heels, Cricket slid into his tent butt first and pulled off her boots. She left them outside the tent flap, beneath the rain fly, and scooched herself off to the side. “You felt it, too?” she asked over her shoulder, clearly surprised to hear Wes admit, even in the vaguest of terms, that he was unsettled. She hadn’t realized how soaked she was until she was inside his warm, dry tent. How long had she been out in the rain?

She felt guilty for getting his things wet and tried hard to stay off the boys’ blankets, as she stripped off her coat and laid it along the edge of the tent. After a moment’s hesitation, she accepted his quilt and gingerly draped it over her shoulders. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she curled herself inwards and made herself small, but obediently offered up her hands to him. “I’m all right. Just a lil rain,” she lied through chattering teeth. “I wouldn’t wanna get you all wet,” she nodded toward the spot he had cleared for her on his sleeping bag.

“Yeah, got some weird spooky feeling. Like when you know there’s somethin’ lurkin’ round out there,” Wes admitted quietly, not too proud of admitting he felt scared of something, but his guard being let down sort of brought that out despite his wishes. He didn't quite feel the need to be strong and fearless at the moment, he had nothing to prove. Then again, there was little need for that when a girl had already seen him scared out of his wits peeking out of his own tent.

“It’ll dry, it’s all good,” he shrugged. “Seems like a lotta’ rain to me, we know rain down in the bayou,” Wes smiled, rubbing his hands together before he wrapped his around Cricket’s to warm them up in the same way. He may not have been able to pass on any of his purported healing powers through to her, but he could at least take the chill off slightly. “Hands usually feel the cold worst of all, that and feet. Maybe I got an extra pair of socks round here if ya’need ‘em,” he laughed, taking her hands and putting his gloves on them carefully. “Once you got your hands and feet all warmed up and cozy, the rest sure to follow. That's what Mama always say.” Wes rubbed his palms against her hands once more, looking back at her. “You be right as rain in no time. . .well maybe not this rain, this rain some nonsense.”

Cricket could tell he felt a touch shy about admitting he’d been frightened, which made her feel a little better about so flagrantly showcasing her own vulnerabilities. She tried hard to keep her emotions in check and maintain a calm, self-assured demeanor and for the most part, she did a fine job of it. There was no hiding her red rimmed, puffy eyes, though. No use bothering to pretend that she wasn’t a little scared, too. “I don’t know if this is gonna make you feel any better,” she shrugged, “But I didn’t see nothin’ lurkin’ out there but me. Nothin’ at all.” A shiver ran up her spine at the memory of just how alone she had felt out in the woods, spurring her to take up his offer to scoot a little closer.

She settled herself on his sleeping bag beside him, unfolding and refolding herself with some effort, so that she was sitting cross-legged in front of him. She watched him manipulate her hands as he spoke to her, leaving her fingers loose in his. Wes had a warmth to him that went past the simple, physical heat of his skin against hers. “Actually, I read…” she paused to laugh at herself, shaking her head, “It’s yer armpits and yer inner thighs that lose the most heat.” Normally, this is where she would give him a knowing glance, just short of a wink, but she wasn’t feeling up to it. Her head remained lowered, even as she felt him looking up at her.

“Yeah, I'd say that helps plenty, you sayin’ so,” Wes offered her another smile, as if his usual gambit of grinning and defusing things with “charm” would hopefully work in this situation. It may not have worked with everyone, but he wasn't thinking of everyone right now. One little thing at a time, he thought. Make Cricket feel better, and then maybe he could feel better. He was supposed to be a great healer someday, a Traiteur, in fact. What good was he if he couldn't try to cheer someone up? “Here I was close to gearin’ on up on spooking off some wolf or critter or somethin’,” he laughed.

His eyebrows quirked up as she hesitated, and stayed up in an amused questioning sort of expression as she clarified his so-called foolproof, solid Cajun folk healing expertise. “You fact-checkin’ me on that, baby?” he drawled, though less from his usual smarmy challenge and more genuine, good-natured joking. Even he wasn't used to that, he realized. But for some reason, it didn't seem the time nor the place. “If your armpits is botherin’ you, you can wear my coat. I'd offer you some jeans or somethin’ but not sure they'd fit you, honey,” Wes joked, letting go of her hands to start to take his jacket off.

His whole charming routine was working just as he intended and Cricket cracked a small, but genuine smile at his laugh. “No big bad wolf, jus’ Little Red,” she shook her head and slid one hand from between his palms to tug on the end of her long, heavy braid. She wasn’t so sure she had been the only thing out there, but she felt a small sense of pride in easing Wes’ nerves and she was reluctant to burst their tentative peace. Besides, she wasn’t sure she would be able to articulate what had happened to her out in the woods, even if she were to be honest.

She looked up at him through her lashes and watched him wrestle with her word choice. His expression teased an honest laugh out of her and she sat up a little straighter, already feeling a bit better. “Nah, nah, nah, this ain’t that kinda call,” she smirked, wagging a finger at him, “I trust yer Mama knows best.” Truly, the cold wasn’t bothering her half so much as the odd feeling of isolation that hung heavy in the fog, but that was slowly lifting the longer she sat with Wes. “Aw, Wes, no,” she laid her hand gingerly on his forearm, to stop him from removing his coat, “Honest, I’m all right. You gotta stay warm too.”

“Least that’s reassuring,” Wes smiled and nodded. “Pretty sure you’d be able to stand up to even the biggest Rougarou out in them woods.” He sighed contentedly, shoulders losing some of the anxious tension he’d had over the past hour as he joked, “Guess I can't call you that then, can I? Petite Rouge, gotta’ nice ring to it maybe. I do like Criquet more though.” Speaking French usually helped make him feel more at home, more at ease with himself, even so far away from Louisiana.

“Mama always right, or least she good at guilting us on into needin’ta think so,” he laughed, feeling at least some of the heaviness level off the more he thought about home, the more he had someone to laugh and talk with like this. Wes was caught off guard by Cricket stopping him, lowering his arms slowly and watching her carefully for a moment, almost expectantly, even though he hardly realized it. “Nah, honey, I'm good, I got like five layers on here,” he shrugged, running his hands down his own arms before placing them carefully on Cricket’s shoulders. “How’s that quilt workin’ out for you?”

Although she didn’t think he was being entirely sincere about her Defense Against the Dark Arts chops, a twinge of pride crept into her smile, nonetheless. It was important to Cricket to be thought of as capable and her physical defenses were one area in which she was severely lacking. All the more pertinent now, with the odd happenings that had been going on back at school. She wanted to think it was just the work of a Halloween prankster with a sick sense of humor, but she wasn’t entirely convinced.

Cricket perked up when he began to pepper his speech with French and her gaze drifted to his mouth as he spoke, unbeknownst to her. She liked the shape his lips made when he formed the word rogue and the soft roll of his tongue when he called her Criquet. “I like Criquet best too,” she agreed, though it didn’t sound half so nice when she said it. “Dress it up a little. Think my mama would like that. She’s always tellin’ me that she jus’ can’t figure why I’d ever wanna be called a nasty lil bug.” She frowned slightly at that, remembering what that nagging voice in her head had told her back in the woods. Mindlessly, she scrubbed one hand over her eyes and when she dropped it back to her lap, her expression was clear and she was smiling as if nothing had happened.

“Jus’ perfect,” she chirped, a little too quickly. She heard the insincerity in her own voice, which she hadn’t intended. It really was a nice quilt and she was already thawing out. It was just that she had been distracted and when she didn’t have time to think, her gut reaction was to be robotically sweet. Placing her hand over his on her shoulder, she asked with genuine curiosity, “Your mama make this?”

“Nahhhhh, crickets ain't nasty. ‘Dey make music and tell ya’ the temperature, don't‘dey?” It was a shift Wes didn't always realize he drifted into, when his natural southern drawl careened sharply into the Cajun tone he grew up speaking, with the tongue clicks and everything becoming dropped and switched letters. It was comfortable speaking that way, not needing to pretty up his speech for his teachers or classmates. It felt like the real him, and it seemed to wash away the worries and cares of anything else. He watched as she swiped at her eyes, his own flickering a little, trying to sum up what she was thinking and feeling. “Cressida ain't too bad neither. Shakespeare, ain't it? But Criquet, they cute little things, I think it suits ya’ just fine.”
Wes shook his head and drawled out a “Nahhhh” as he carefully sat up, keeping his hand under hers as he scooted over to sit next to her. Nudging her shoulder with his, he let out a little laugh. “My mama never learned how to sew good. This here’s from my grandmère. Probably got all sortsa’ healin’ magic or protection stitched on in there. I’ll hafta’ tell her it’s gettin’ plenty of good use up here in them woods,” he smiled, running his hand over the seams just under both of their thumbs. “You can be my testimonial.”

Cricket nodded along, pleased that he seemed to understand why she’d let such a seemingly unflattering nickname stick. She far preferred it to Cressida. Her given name was too stuffy and overwrought, in her opinion. Not to mention all the unfortunate connotations attached to it. Cressida the unfaithful, the false, the two-faced. Her parents might as well have named her Dolores. She nodded and her lips twisted to the side at the mention of her namesake, but quickly dropped back into a bashful smile. Her cheeks felt hot, but that was probably just from coming in from the cold.

She scooted over to make room for him and fanned the quilt out over her lap, so she could inspect the panels as he spoke. It looked to her like it was well-loved, but well-kept too. She wasn’t sure if he was serious about their being magic stitched into the cloth, but she wouldn’t be surprised. Maybe it was just the fact that she was finally warming up, but she felt much safer under Wes’ quilt than she had felt bundled up in her sleeping bag back in her own tent. “Well, here, what kinda guest would I be if I kept all this healin’ to myself,” she unwrapped the quilt and draped one end around his broad shoulders, “I really do feel much better. Remind me to write yer grandma when we get back.”

Wes grinned, a laugh working its way through his chest. He knew silly Cajun superstitions were funny, even if he downright believed them. He wrapped one end of the quilt around his shoulders, pulling on the ricrac-ed edge to bring himself even closer to Cricket. It was warmer this way, and the closeness did help him feel less of that creepy loneliness that brought him to peer out of the tent earlier. “You do?” he asked, more enthusiastically than he supposed he meant to. “Well you know me, honey, I'm always happyta’ help. If I'm allowed to take credit for that, though. Reckon it might just be Grandmère Blanchard’s quilt.” Wes shifted a little closer under the warmth of the blanket, pulling her edge tighter, to close off any gaps from the cold night air. “You can stay here’s long as you like, let all this here quilt healin’ sort err’thing out,” he murmured, letting out another comfortable sigh.

“Hate to undercut the power of Grandma Blanchard’s quilt, but I gotta give you credit where it’s due,” she told him, in all seriousness. He’d taken her in, made her laugh, and warmed her up --- even after she had spent the past two days giving him nothing more than curt replies and rolled eyes. Normally, she would be wary of his intentions, but nothing about this felt unseemly to her. Curling herself against his side, she settled her head into the crook of his shoulder and pulled her knees up to rest folded against his thigh. She got the feeling that maybe he had needed her company, as much as she needed his. “Thank you, Wes,” she said softly, tilting her chin up catch his eye.

“I don't got no problem with sharin’ credit sometimes, honey,” Wes laughed softly, thinking back to them brewing her pumpkin cafe au lait drinks in his cauldron. Sometimes it felt good to not be such a swaggering spotlight hog if it meant other people were happy. He, of course, would never admit such a thing, and such realizations were pushed aside as Cricket snuggled in closer to him. His arm wound its way around her back under the quilt, and he found himself looking down at her on his shoulder, face to face. “You ain't got nothin’ta thank me for, this is what I do, remember?” he drawled, reaching up out of their shared blanket to tuck a stray wisp of rained-on hair back behind her ear. “Long as you feel better, that there’s all the thanks I coulda’ hoped for,” Wes smiled, still curled in close to her, until his nose just barely brushed against hers.

An alarm bell chimed quietly in the back of her mind as her turned his face to hers. She could feel his words warm against her lips as he spoke, slow and soft. She was barely listening to the content of what he was saying, but something in particular jumped out at her. ‘This is what I do, remember?’ Right. This was exactly the sort of thing Wesley Carpenter did.

Cricket startled as their noses touched and she tensed slightly, jerking her shoulders up. She tried to play it off as a shiver, chattering her teeth theatrically. Embarrassed, she dropped her head and turned her face into his shoulder. “Gosh, it really is cold, ain’t it?” she skated right on, in an attempt to change the subject. She didn’t want to think about what Wes did or didn’t do with other girls.

Wes sat back a bit, but smiled and nodded. “Ain't no way we gonna’ survive the winter at this rate,” he joked to defuse the awkwardness he was getting off her, more than happy to change the subject. “Probably why all them people switchin’ tents and huddlin’ on up, too cold to be camping in this here weather,” he sighed, rubbing his hand down his knee. “That’s probably where the rest of ‘em ran off to. They ain't doin’ that in your tent?”

As if realizing for the first time that they were alone, she lifted her head from his shoulder and glanced around the tent. “Oh. Yeah, Ravi came tah bunk with us,” she answered, sounding a little guilty. Anu and Ravi were probably wondering where she was; she should be getting back. But the thought of peeling herself from Wes’ side and climbing back into the rain filled her dread. Slightest twinge of awkwardness aside, being wrapped up with Wes was soothing and she felt safe. She didn’t want to go back.

“Soo… Diego and Will left ya all alone?” she chewed on her bottom lip, before adding hesitantly, “Do ya mind if stay here t’night?”

“Seems like it,” Wes shrugged. “Guess I shoulda’ been careful with what I wished for, huh? This sure ‘nough is some peace and quiet from my dorm,” he laughed, straightening out the opening in his sleeping bag. He didn't mind the awkwardness much, it wasn't like he wasn't used to it. After all, he could shrug it off and take it in stride, or at least he told himself. “Yeah, you can stay here if you want,” he nodded. “Maybe there’s a little somethin’ to all that talk of huddlin’ up. I don't mind if you don't.” Of course, he had to laugh a little to try to lessen the vibe, and gave Cricket an inquisitive look with yet another quirk of his eyebrows. “You do seem like a blankets thief though, should I be worried ‘bout ‘dat?”

“Stealin’ yer magical quilt is tempting,” she teased and matched his inquisitive look with a sly one of her own, “But if yer nice, I’ll share.” Pushing herself up onto her knees, she moved off to the side of the tent, so that he could arrange his bed how he liked. “Did you just wish? Or did you um… do a novena?” she made conversation, as he fussed with his sleeping bag.

“Honey, I’m always nice, and I always share,” Wes laughed softly as he unzipped his sleeping bag, hands patting it down and making enough room. He tried to hide a yawn as he climbed in, kicking his legs out and holding the open side out for her. Blushing a little and letting out a more bashful sort of snicker, he shook his head. “Already done said my prayers for the night ‘fore you got here. Unless you wanna’ hear another one, ain’t no such thing as too much prayers,” he murmured as he fluffed his pillow. The words - his grandmother’s, in fact - were comforting to him. It was as good a prayer as any, really.

While she wasn’t religious, exactly, an extra prayer on a night like this sounded like a good idea. And she had to admit that she was a little curious about the kinds of prayers that Wes felt were so important and powerful. She’d seen him pray before, from time to time, but she’d never been close enough to really listen. Climbing into his sleeping bag after him, she wriggled her way down and zipped it up after them, draping the quilt over them both. She lowered herself onto her side, facing him and propped herself up on one elbow, with her temple resting against the heel of her palm. “Just one, then I’ll let ya get tuh sleep,” she smiled.

“Don’t you need some sleep too?” Wes smirked, though his eyes did start to feel heavy. Bending his arm under his head on his pillow, he squeezed into the side of the sleeping bag, trying to make as much room as his shoulders and long legs could allow. He sighed and looked up from the pillow, taking a deeper breath so he could really focus on the words.

Notre Père, qui es aux cieux,
Que ton nom soit sanctifié,
Que ton règne vienne,
Que ta volonté soit faite sur la terre comme au ciel. . .

It seemed to be the ritual of even speaking the words, in the language he grew up speaking, the repetitive nature of the lines that were second nature to him. His shoulders eased and he yawned deeper just before finishing the familiar prayer with the last phrase. “. . .aux siècles des siècles. . .Amen.”

Once he finished, the same shy, unexpected blush fell over his face again. But at least he didn't feel as lonely, and that was just fine for Wes.

“Amen,” she echoed and opened her eyes. For the first time since the sun had set, Cricket felt at ease. The reassurance of a warm body certainly helped, but it was Wes’ prayer that finally made her feel that she was part of something greater than herself. She pillowed her head in the crook of her arm and watched the light from the lantern cast shadows across his features. It was the set of his mouth, rather than the color of his cheeks that made her snake a hand out from beneath the covers to chuck him softly under the chin. “Aw, Wes, are you blushin’?” she whispered with a breathy little laugh.

The lull of the prayer worked its own kind of magic on him, making him comfortably off guard. He only snapped out of it once her hand touched his chin, and his contented smile soon turned to a grin, though less of that carefully rehearsed charm he had taught himself over the years and more silly, more himself. “Now you see here, honey, I don't usually say no prayers while all snuggled up like this. But I can make an exception I reckon,” he yawned, tucking his arm close to his chest. “And you hush, now’s time for sleep, ain't time for pokin’ no fun at me,” Wes laughed, relaxing in closer to his pillow.

“Sorry, sorry,” she giggled, clearly not sorry, at all. She was charmed by his easy smile, so different than the cheesy grins he usually flashed, and she wanted to tease another one out of him. But, he was right, it was too late for silliness. She’d just have to try again in the morning. Carefully, she rolled and turned her back to him, making herself as small as possible. “Night, Wes,” she lifted her face to murmur over her shoulder, before settling her head against her folded arm and closing her eyes.