Spoilers for all of Ted Lasso seasons 1 & 2. Dialogue straight from S2E12 used at the top of the fic.
Also posted on AO3 under the username r_n_g_are_dead
TWs are at the beginning of necessary chapters.
(TW for this chapter is verbal/physical bullying and use of homophobic slurs.)
"Hey! There he is! I was worried about you," Ted said. "I thought you might've been in a bike accident."
"Actually, I don't know how to ride a bicycle," Trent replied. He was shocked how easily that admittance rolled off his tongue, though his face didn't show it.
"Really?" Ted asked. "That surprises me."
"Why? 'Cuz of the hair and the whole vibe?" Trent gestured to himself.
Ted thought for the briefest of moments. "Yeah, I guess so."
Most kids learn how to ride a bicycle by time they're around eight-years-old. Though called an old soul by his grandparents, Trent didn't get his first bike until the Christmas after his 10th birthday. He begged his dad to leave off the training wheels since none of the other kids his age had them on their bikes.
"I'll teach myself," Trent said. "I can do it."
Getting the bicycle was a big deal. What he didn't realize was that it was his parents' way to try and get him out of the house a bit more. They were concerned that he wasn't fitting in because he kept to himself so much. His grades weren't suffering, though, and he seemed happy. Quiet, certainly, but not down on himself.
Not yet, anyway.
He had always been independent, not really fitting in with his peers at school. His clothes were always noticeably out of date and his thick curly hair was longer than the other boys in his year. Instead of chasing girls around during break time between classes, he would watch and write down observations in a small notebook he carried around in his back pocket. He kept track of who fancied who and wild claims of whose homes had what amenities, following up with whether those kids were telling the truth or exaggerating to gain favor over others.
His classmates invited him to their parties, but only when it was mandatory to ask over everyone in the class. He wasn't asked to sleepover at anyone's home, but his classmates' parents seemed to like him even though their children rarely gave him the time of day. He didn't mind being by himself. His older sister encouraged him to make friends, but he always had an excuse at the ready. He never gave her an honest answer why, though. He couldn't tell her what he had heard the other kids saying about him—how they didn't want to play with a poof.
Trent didn't really understand what the word meant, he just knew it was something bad by the tone of the voices flinging the insults at him. Sometimes it was to his face in the loo between classes. Other times it was whispered behind his back as he walked through the halls of school.
It wasn't something he felt comfortable asking his parents or sisters about, so he kept his questions to himself. He would write down his thoughts about it in his notebook and kept his head down at school as best as he could. It was easy to hide behind his hair while still keeping an ear out for what others were saying.
Once the weather got a little less cold after Christmas, Trent dared to take his bicycle out for its maiden voyage. The bike itself was beautiful—cherry red and shiny. Trent walked it to an abandoned car park a few streets away before attempting to ride it.
He could get up onto the seat all right, but would only make it a few wobbly feet before the bike would start to tip. It was frustrating, sure, but he knew he would get it eventually. Trent never failed at anything he put his mind to.
Just when he was finally making some progress, a group of boys from his year came walking across the car park. Knowing he couldn't ride his way out of confrontation, Trent hopped off the bike and started walking it in the direction of his home. His stride was quick and lengthy, but the others caught up to him easily.
"Looks like the poofter finally got himself a bike," the biggest one/ringleader, James, said while the others laughed. There were several paragraphs in Trent's notebooks dedicated to this daft youth. Not only was he physically the biggest boy in the year, but he was the biggest liar. Always bragging about things Trent knew were made up, but no one questioned James about it. "Oi, Ethan, get in front of him."
One of James's lackeys positioned himself directly in front of the bike's front wheels. Trent stopped just short of running into him, but it was too late to try and turn to get around the stocky boy.
"Leave me alone," Trent said evenly. "Please."
"Please?" James repeated, mocking Trent in a begging tone. "Please?"
"I haven't done anything," Trent said, watching the boys circle him and his bike. His chest felt heavy, knowing he was not going to be able to escape unless they chose to let him walk away. "I need to go home. My mum is expecting me and I can't be late."
That wasn't true at all. Trent's parents were home, but they told him he didn't have to be back for a couple hours if he wanted. They were just glad he had taken the initiative to get outside. The more fresh air, the better.
"You hear that?" James asked. "Poof boy can't be late for his mummy."
Later on, after he came too, Trent couldn't remember the first person who shoved him, only that it was enough to knock him and his bike over. He remembered the laughing and taunting. He remembered the hands grabbing his hair and his coat. He remembered the sound of his bike being scraped across the pavement away from him. He remembered how much it hurt when two of them started kicking him in the leg. He remembered what it felt like when one of them dropped down onto his left leg, knee-first. He never had a broken bone before, but knew that was exactly what had just happened.
The scream out of Trent's mouth sounded far away to his own ears. He sobbed for help, but the other boys all ran off after they saw they had actually hurt him. He wasn't sure how long he was there lying in the car park, several feet away from his dinged up bike, before his sister, Allie, happened upon him.
"Trent?! Oh my god!" Allie knelt by his side and gently pushed his hair out of his face so she could see his eyes and make sure he was still awake. His cheeks were flushed and scratched, the hints of bruises to come already blossoming. When she saw he could focus on her all right, she shouted to the friend she had been walking with. "Go get my dad! Please!"
Trent heard Allie's friend run off, but he couldn't take his eyes off of his sister's panicked face.
"What happened?" Allie asked.
"They shoved me," Trent said quietly through stuttered breaths. "And kicked me. And called me…" He couldn't get the word out. "My leg… I can't… Al… it hurts. Please. It hurts."
He watched her glance down to his leg, but he couldn't see what she saw, only that her eyebrows slid up high and she gasped before forcing herself to compose herself before turning back to face him.
"It's okay," Allie said shakily, but with a kind smile. "You're going to be okay. Okay? Dad'll be here soon. I'm not leaving you, I promise. Just stay with me. Keep your eyes on me, okay? Don't move. Dad'll be here soon." Tears fell out of Allie's eyes onto the front of Trent's torn coat. He gave her a small smile, trying to comfort her even though he was in immense pain, but that just set her off into shedding more tears. "You don't have to be brave for me, Trent. I know it hurts. I'm sorry." She gave him a kiss on his forehead. "I'm so sorry."
When his eyes began to flutter shut from the pain, Allie picked up his hand and squeezed his fingers. "You have to stay awake, Trent. Dad'll be here soon. He'll be here soon. It's going to be okay. I swear."
An ambulance siren sounded in the distance and Trent knew in his gut that it was for him. Everything from there happened so fast. His parents arrived—Dad yelling, Mum crying—with Allie's friend trailing behind them.
When Trent opened his eyes, his mum was kneeling over him, weeping as Allie had been with that same pained smile on her face. "It'll be all right, my sweet boy. Stay awake for me. I love you." He gave a small nod, not wanting to let his mother down.
Nearby Allie was telling their dad everything Trent had told her. Trent was shoved, kicked, called something. It was his leg. Not wanting to move him or touch his injury, she hadn't checked to see the extent of the damage. She knew it was bad, though. She could see it in Trent's eyes.
The ambulance arrived and Trent was carefully loaded onto a stretcher as his mum cried while Allie repeated the facts again. Trent's mum would ride with him to the hospital while Allie and their dad would drive. As Trent's eyes drifted shut again while the door to the ambulance was closed, he was mad that everyone's day was disrupted because of him. All because he wanted to teach himself how to ride a bicycle.
A bicycle that his dad carried home and stuck in the garage under a blanket before piling into the family car with Allie to drive to the hospital.
Trent wasn't properly awake when the doctors were dealing with his leg. He heard his pants being cut open and someone commenting on the bruising. He knew it should hurt, but they had given him something so he just felt warm all over, but especially his leg.
When he woke up a while later, he was in a bed in a room by himself. His family's coats were piled on a chair in the corner, so they must have been around somewhere. Trent lifted the blanket he was under and saw he was in a hospital gown and there was a cast on his left leg from above his kneecap down over the tips of his toes. No more bike riding for him even if his bike hadn't been destroyed in the process. Not that he knew how to ride it anyway.
He was smothered in hugs and kisses from his mom and sister when his family came back into the room and saw he was awake. His dad stood in the corner holding a cup of coffee but never once drinking from it. No one asked Trent any details about what had happened and he didn't offer any up.
Trent had to spend the night at the hospital. While his leg was obviously the most noticeable injury, the doctors were worried about a possible concussion. Trent didn't remember hitting his head, but he very well could have, as it was thumping and he ached all over.
It was decided he would stay home the next week of school while he figured out how to use the crutches he was given to get around. He overheard his parents talking about how his mum wanted the bruising and scratches on his face to heal a bit before he had to subject himself to his classmates. Allie told them the kids who hurt him had called him something, but she wasn't sure what.
At night when Trent had trouble sleeping because of the weighty cast and the pain in his leg, he could hear his parents talking quietly to themselves in their room across the hall. He couldn't make out everything they were saying, but heard his dad say that Trent needed to stop making himself a target. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he heard his mom defend him, saying it was the boys who bullied him who needed to change their ways.
Trent spent the next few days in his room with the door shut, writing away in his notebook as if his life depended on it. He was trying to piece together what he could remember from the attack and figure out why they kept calling him names. It wasn't like he talked to anyone at school. He kept to himself and wrote in his notebook—everything he noticed and/or was scared to say out loud was scrawled across pages and pages of lined paper. His words weren't hurting anyone… so why were people hurting him?
The Sunday before his return to school, while washing his hands before dinner, Trent took a long look at himself in the mirror. He moved his hair out of the way so he could see the purples, crimsons, and faint hint of yellow splattered across his cheeks. His eyes welled up, but he was determined to not let any tears fall.
"Don't. Cry," he said to himself through gritted teeth. "That's what they want." His chest heaved deep breaths in and out under his striped jumper that was too big for his thin frame, causing his hair to fall back into his face. He pushed it out of the way, only for it to curtain his cheeks again.
Trent yanked open the cupboard drawers one by one until he found the shears his mom had to fix Allie's fringe in between salon visits. He held out a hunk of hair and cut it near his scalp, dropping the handful of curls into the sink. He picked up another section and did the same before losing the battle with his tears and gravity. Uneven on his feet because of the cast, Trent toppled over and fell to the floor, knocking into some of the still-open cupboards.
"Are you okay?" Allie asked as she flung open the door to check on her brother. She stopped, hand still on the doorknob, as she took in the sight of her brother on the floor, tears racing down his cheeks. She noticed the scissors gripped tight in one hand and a mass of dark hair in the sink basin. "What are you doing?!"
Allie closed the door behind her and knelt down in the cramped space to assist her brother. She pried the shears from his hand and placed them on the sink ledge before grabbing her brother under the armpits and hoisting him to a standing position. He looked especially small right then, hunched over and practically swimming in his clothes.
"What are you doing, Trent?" Allie asked again, though this time more gently. She reached out and ran her fingers along the ragged short hair near his forehead. He didn't move or say anything.
"They pulled my hair," Trent whispered, not trusting his voice to talk any louder. "I heard dad say I needed to make myself less of a target." He sniffled. "They can't pull my hair again if there's nothing to pull."
"Oh, Trent!" Allie cried out as she leaned in to wrap her arms around her brother. When he didn't hug her back, she let go and took a small step away from him. She frowned as she looked from the sink to the start of what he had done to his head. She had always loved his hair and was envious of how thick and curly it was. This wasn't about her, though. So she sighed and asked, "Do you want me to help?"
He nodded in small jerky motions and bit his lip.
"Why don't you sit sideways on the toilet and I'll see what I can do, okay?" Allie said calmly as she let him maneuver around her to make himself as comfortable as he was able. She noticed he faced so he couldn't see the mirror. Allie shut the open cupboards and grabbed a towel from the drying rack, draping it over Trent's shoulders.
When Allie didn't move to pick up the shears, Trent picked them up and handed them to her. "I don't care how it looks. Just make it even if you can."
Allie nodded as she took a comb from a jar near the faucet. She had no idea what she was doing, but she didn't want to let her brother down. Working in silence for a bit, Allie methodically worked her way up the back of her brother's head, carefully placing each newly cut chunk of hair in the sink as she went.
"I need you to tell me what they called you that day," she said, as she combed out a new section. His whole body shivered, but he didn't say anything. "You can't keep something like that to yourself, or it'll eat you alive."
When Trent realized his sister wasn't going to continue until he spoke up, his shoulders sank. "They keep calling me a poofter."
"Those fucking cretins," Allie muttered under her breath. "Look, those kids are jerks and will grow up to be bigger jerks. They shouldn't be saying that, okay? And the fact that they think they're being funny is more of a reflection on how shitty their parents are, yeah? I'm sorry they said that to you."
"What even is a poofter?" Trent asked quietly.
Allie sighed. "It's not a nice term, that's what."
"But what does it mean?" Trent asked.
"It's a mean way of calling a man girly or gay." Allie went back to combing Trent's hair. "If a man is gay, it means he fancies other men instead of women."
"Oh," Trent said, taking it in.
"Being gay isn't a bad thing, Trent. But making fun of someone by calling them gay as an insult is. Do you get what I'm saying?"
"I think so," he replied. "But if being gay isn't bad, then why would somebody beat up someone else for it?"
Tears welled up in Allie's eyes and she had to carefully wipe them away without calling attention to it. "Because some people are too daft to understand that not all boys like girls. That sometimes boys like boys. Or girls like girls. And who other people like is not their business. You know?"
Trent nodded slowly and Allie went back to work. As she was trying to even up the front, Trent's eyes locked on hers and he said softly, "I don't think I like girls. But I don't know if I like boys."
Allie gave him a nod and a grin. "You're 10. You've got plenty of time to figure things out."
"Have you got things figured out?" Trent asked. Allie was eight years older than him.
"I'll let you in on a secret," Allie said. "No one really ever has everything figured out. Not even grown ups."
Trent smiled. It was small, but it was the first real smile Allie had seen him give since before he got hurt.
"I think we're finished," Allie said as she stood up and grimaced at what she was able to do for her brother. It wasn't great, but it also could have been loads worse. It was weird being able to see his whole face at once, as she was used to him hiding behind his hair. He really was a gawky kid and it pained her heart that anyone would pick on him, let alone break his leg for being himself. "Mum's going to flip."
"I know," Trent grunted as he lifted himself up off the toilet seat and looked in the mirror. He chewed on his bottom lip as he took in his new look. "Thanks for fixing it."
Allie chuckled, "I don't know if I fixed anything. But it'll do, yeah?"
Trent nodded. "Yeah."
"I'll clean up in here." She jerked a thumb toward the door. "You wanna face the music by yourself or wait for me?"
"I can do it alone," Trent said as he limped toward the door and opened it.
Allie could hear Trent slowly descend the stairs one by one, his cast bumping against each step. After hearing her mum scream from shock, Allie wiped all the discarded hair into the small bin they kept under the sink. She put the shears away and threw the towel into the laundry basket in her room.
Dinner that night was awkward. Allie was proud of how Trent tried to keep up conversation like nothing was different even though she knew everything for him from then on out would be. She just hoped that he would be able to find himself and fit in somewhere without having to keep bending to someone else's expectations of him—especially their father's.
That night while lying in bed, Trent kept running his hand over his head. It felt weird, not being able to cover his eyes anymore, and he didn't like it. But his dad had given him a nod like he had done the right thing, and that approval was more important than his own discomfort. He knew the kids at school weren't going to let such a drastic haircut fly under the radar, but he hoped things would die down sooner rather than later. He would do his best to keep himself hidden in plain sight while he figured things out, even though Allie said that no one actually does.
He would, though. He had to.