Military Jesus

Snow falls silently over Hatchetfield. It almost seems to glow in the moonlight. The flakes build up, leaving piles of powdery white everywhere. Including the shoulders of the solitary figure sitting on the swings at Oakley Park.

Trent shivers, his skin flushing pink at the cold. The thin sleeves of his t-shirt do nothing to protect him from the onslaught of snow. He almost wishes he had grabbed a jacket before he had slipped out his bedroom window. Or at least one of those stupid cat sweaters Charlotte insists on knitting him. One of those would be nice and cozy right now.

It doesn’t matter anymore. They won’t notice he’s gone until morning. The tears on his cheeks sting from the icy wind. By then, it’ll be too late. He’ll be nothing more than an icicle, frozen solid-

He squints as headlights pull into the parking lot, shining straight at his face. He looks away, staring down at the ground.

The sound of the car doors opening makes him shrink a little. Hurried footsteps crunch through the snow, stopping in front of him. He forces himself to look up to see Charlotte and Sam staring down at him, both of their faces carrying some emotion he doesn’t recognize.

He braces himself for them to yell.

Charlotte steps forward, pulling him out of the swing and into a tight, warm hug. “Thank god you’re okay,” she mutters, squeezing him extra tight.

Trent tries his best not to cry, but he feels the weight of a jacket being set on his shoulders before Sam pats him comfortingly on the back. 

They usher him back to the car. There’s a blanket waiting for him, along with one of the sweaters. He shrugs off the jacket so he can tug on the sweater. It’s one of the ones Charlotte knitted for him, bearing a sleeping cat on it. He gulps down a sob as he slides the jacket on again. 

He was right, it is warm and cozy.

Sam doesn’t drive them back to the Sweetly residence. Instead, they end up at Miss Retro’s diner. Inside the diner feels warm and smells like pie. As they slide into the booth, Trent wipes at his eyes with his sleeves.

“Heya, guys,” Miss Holloway says as she comes over with a pad and a pen, “What can I getcha to drink?”

“I’ll take a coffee,” Charlotte says, her voice warbling slightly.

Trent glances covertly at her and winces when he notices her eyes are pink and teary.

“Same for me,” Sam responds with a nod.

Swallowing, Trent forces himself to look at Miss Holloway. “A hot chocolate, please.”

“You got it.”

As she walks away, Trent finally looks across the table. “How did you know I was gone?” he asks, his own voice rough from crying.

“Went to check on you,” Sam answers. He’s not wearing his aviators, but they’re hanging from the front pocket of his coat.

“You… checked on me?” Trent says, like he can’t believe it’s true. 

Charlotte nods. “We know our talk earlier didn’t go well. Communication isn’t, well, it isn’t any of our strong suits.” She gives him a weak smile. “We all needed time to cool off.”

“Yeah and we didn’t want to leave it with you feeling… how you said you were feeling,” Sam continues, his own voice catching slightly. “And when you weren’t in your room… it scared us.”

Trent’s eyes widen as he manages to place the emotions on their faces when they found him: Worry and relief.

“I’m-I’m sorry,” Trent whispers, “I…  I thought after I got in trouble at school… and then I made you mad when you tried talking to me about it-”

The conversation stalls as Miss Holloway returns with their drinks. She doesn’t ask for food orders, just drifts away to give them their space.

Trent sips at his hot chocolate, relaxing as the extra warmth spreads through his body. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.

Exchanging a glance with Sam, Charlotte replies, “You didn’t make us mad, sweetie. We were frustrated. Sometimes it feels like you don’t believe we care about you and that hurts us.”

“We’re not Linda and Gerald,” Sam adds, “We love you, kiddo. Just wish it wasn’t so hard for you to believe.”

Choking up slightly at that, Trent takes another long sip of hot chocolate to try to dislodge the lump in his throat. He nods, not trusting himself to speak.

Charlotte reaches across the table to give his wrist a comforting squeeze. “Do you think therapy would help you?”

“Can… can we do it as a… as a family?” Trent manages to get out.

Smiling, Charlotte looks over at Sam, who nods in agreement. “Yeah, we can do that,” she tells him gently, a few stray tears sliding down her own face.

Sam’s hand crosses the table to comfortingly pat Trent’s other arm. “We got you bud.”