Sixteen-year-old Freed is forced into coming out to their parents and it doesn't go well.

tw for homophobic/transphobic language and physical violence

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Ten Years Ago

"You're...a what?"

Freed kept their gaze trained on the table in front of them, avoiding their mother's disapproving stare. Everything in their body screamed deny it, keep quiet, but they forced themself to take deep breaths and tell the truth.

"N-non-binary." Their voice wobbled as they picked at their cuticles, hands hidden under the table. Freed's stomach twisted, and they were fairly certain they were going to be sick. "I don't feel... like I'm a boy or a girl. Just..."

"Like one of those transvestites." Freed winced at their dad's words, spat angrily from the other end of the table. "You are a girl."

"Dad, I..." Freed swallowed, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. This wasn't how they wanted to do this – they weren't ready. But dad had come into their room half an hour ago with a dangerous glint in in his eyes and the words I'm not stupid, Amanda, I know how to check the browser history on his tongue. Freed had realized with a sinking stomach that they'd forgotten to log out of the LGBT support forum they'd been posting on. "It's not... I'm not a boy."

"Of course you're not!" Freed's mother's voice was high and shrill, and Freed could see her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "I can't believe we thought it was a good idea to let you use the internet. You're... you're grounded. Give me your phone right now."

"Mom..." Freed's heart stuttered, eyes finally flicking up to meet their mother's. Her gaze was steely and unforgiving. "It's... this isn't... I didn't do anything wrong." Tears started to form in the corners of Freed's eyes and they wiped at them angrily.

"Associating with these kinds of people has poisoned your mind," their father announced. He brought his hands down on the table and Freed refused to look at him. "All of this... sin... goes against our family values, and against the values of our church. I expected better of you." Freed winced.

"I th-thought that love was unconditional," Freed whispered. "I'm not... a sinner, or a heretic. I'm still me, I just... I'm not a girl. I'm..."

"I don't want to hear any more of this nonsense," their father growled. "You're not to communicate with these people any longer. We're going to see Father Samuel tomorrow, and you're going to pray for forgiveness for these thoughts."

"They're not thoughts, it's who I am!" Freed shouted, immediately regretting the outburst but unable to stop themself. "You can't tell me to change who I am. I'm not doing-"

"Young lady, that is ENOUGH." Their father's voice was hard and angry, and Freed flinched back into their chair, trembling. "I'm not going to be the laughingstock of the community. You are going to give your phone and laptop to your mother, then remain in your room until we call you. You'll be coming back to school here, where we can keep an eye on you."

"Dad, please, no..." Freed was crying openly now, hands over their mouth. They had spent months convincing their parents to let them transfer to a school in the city instead of on the commune, insisting that the school's bilingual program would be good for them. Being able to go to school with people who weren't steeped in transphobic religious doctrine was the only thing that had been keeping Freed sane over the past few years.

"All of these outside influences are damaging your spiritual well-being," their father insisted, moving closer to Freed and placing his hands on the table. He leaned over them, and they shrunk back, arms crossed over their baggy sweater. "Your brother and sister are both upstanding members of the community, but you've always been... difficult. That ends now."

"Dad, I-"

Freed was interrupted by a hand across their face that left a stinging imprint across their cheek. The surprise and pain made them yelp, leaning back further in the chair away from their father.

"I don't want to hear another word out of your mouth." Their father's face was red with anger. "You will learn to respect my rules and God's rules. In fact, we're taking you out of school and sending you to that camp. It worked for that boy Jaden, he came back a nice, normal kid."

Freed froze, skin crawling. A conversion camp? Was he serious?

"Dad, those places are-"

Another blow across Freed's cheek, this time breaking the skin when their father's ring connected with their cheekbone. They cried out, raising a hand to their stinging cheek and shaking under their father's intense gaze.

"My decision is final. Go to your room and get your laptop and phone. Bring them to your mother." His voice brooked no argument, but Freed couldn't move, just took shaky breaths and tried to keep from breaking down completely. "NOW!"

Not wanting to risk another blow, Freed stumbled backward out of the chair and dashed around the kitchen table, making their way up the stairs to their room. They shut the door quietly behind them, standing against it for a moment and panting as tears ran down their cheeks.

This isn't how this was supposed to happen, they thought desperately, looking around their room. They tried to slow their quick, panicked breaths, inhaling and exhaling slowly until they brought their thoughts under control.

They didn't have much time. Dad would be coming up the stairs any minute wondering what was taking so long. Freed wrestled with indecision as they locked the bedroom door as quietly as possible, then turned to their closet and eyed the duffel bag there uncertainly. Dax – the moderator of the forum they'd been posting in – had recommended having a bag packed for emergencies. At the time, Freed had scoffed at the idea, not believing that they would ever feel unsafe in their home. Their parents were strict, sure, but their father had never hit them before.

Exhaling sharply, Freed grabbed their laptop from the desk, shoving in into their backpack along with a charger and a blanket. Slipping the backpack over their shoulders, they pulled the duffel bag from the closet, ensuring the small envelope of money was tucked into the side pocket. Standing in the center of the room, Freed took a deep breath, making fists to try to keep their hands from shaking.

"Amanda! Hurry up!" Their father's voice came from the bottom of the stairs and Freed brought a hand to their mouth, stifling a sob.

"Be right there!" They shouted, trying to keep their voice steady as they made their way over to the window, popping the latch and pushing it open. They took one last look around the room, then slid out the window, dragging the duffel bag out behind them.

Getting down from the roof was simple – the lattice for their mom's peas rose most of the way up and had solid footholds to scale down. Leaving the yard was the trickier part. They lived on the edge of the commune, and the wooden fence was easy enough to climb over, but Freed had to do it without the neighbors seeing. They slipped into the bushes at the back of the yard, glancing left and right before climbing over the wooden slats and dropping to the ground on the other side.

"Amanda!" Their father's voice came from the still-open bedroom window, and Freed's heart stuttered rapidly. "Don't think you can run away from this! I'm calling the police!"

Shit, Freed thought, pushing through the thick undergrowth that divided the commune from the busy highway. They just needed to get someone to pick them up, take them... anywhere. Anywhere but here.

After the forest was a steep hill, which Freed scrambled up quickly, and then they were on the shoulder of the highway, cars tearing past at high speeds. Freed's hands were shaking so badly they could barely hold out a thumb, praying that someone was kind enough to stop.

Please, they thought, glancing over their shoulder. They expected their father to burst through the underbrush at any moment, cops at his side. Freed shivered, wiping their face desperately with the heel of their palm. Please, please, I can't go back. I can't go to that camp. Jaden came back broken.

Freed was so busy watching behind them that they were startled by a sharp burst of a horn. They turned quickly to see a semi pulling over to the side of the highway. The driver, a large man in his late forties with a thick mustache, gestured for them to get in.

"Th-thank you," Freed whispered, slipping into the passenger seat and buckling up the seatbelt. They glanced out the window again, wishing the driver would hurry up and pull away.

"Where you headed?" The man asked, adjusting his baseball cap. His radio was tuned to a news station, and Freed resisted the urge to reach over and shut it off.

"A-anywhere," they said shakily, tucking their hands under their legs. "It... wherever you're going is fine. It doesn't matter." The driver gave them an understanding look, then flicked on his signal and began to pull back onto the highway.

"Running away?" He asked, looking over at Freed who was looking frantically out the window. "From that nutty die-hard religious place?" Freed turned to him, eyes wide in puzzlement. "Yeah, you ain't the first kid I picked up from there. Sounds like a cult, if you ask me. I mean, I'm a God-fearing Christian myself..." Here he gestured at a rosary dangling from his rearview mirror. "...but that kinda brainwashing ain't right." He paused for a moment, changing lanes. "You hungry?"

"Wh... ah..." Freed felt like they couldn't form sentences, jaw shaking and tongue thick. They were far enough away from the commune now that dad couldn't just run after them, but the panic was still there. What were they going to do? Where were they going to go?

"Granola bars are in the glove compartment," the man said, smiling. "Name's Rick." He looked at Freed expectantly.

"I'm... um... Freed," they whispered, using their chosen name for the first time in person. They'd only ever used it on the internet forums before – never even saying it out loud at school. Taking on that identity had been too overwhelming with people they already knew.

"Well, Freed, if you wanna take a nap you go ahead." Rick reached over and turned the radio to a different station, classic rock now blaring from the speakers. He turned it down a bit and settled himself deeper into his seat. "We got a ways to go 'fore we get to Duluth."

Freed nodded. Duluth was over five hours away – a good start. They had no idea where they were going, only that it needed to be far, far away from their parents. They leaned their head against the window, staring out at the snow drifting down over the farmer's fields.

What the hell were they going to do?

~

Three Weeks Later

"What the – ow, fuck!"

The startled shout jerked Freed from their sleep, and they were immediately aware of a large, unfamiliar hand on their shoulder. They yelped, backing up and hitting their head on a... book shelf? Freed blinked.

"Hey, you okay?" The hand belonged to a tall man with bright blue hair who was staring just to the left of Freed's shoulder with an expression of concern on his face. A strange-looking birthmark stretched across the man's face and under his eyes, which were a pale shade of blue. "You scared the shit out of me! The library's closed, didn't you hear the announcement?"

Library. Right. It was coming back to Freed now. They had run out of money after the last bus ticket and ended up in some unfamiliar city north of the border. The library had seemed like a safe place to hide, so Freed had found a nook in the back corner where they had hoped they wouldn't be found.

"Okay, are you unconscious?" Freed frowned at the unusual question as the man shook their shoulder. "I really don't wanna have to call the police." His face was kind as he crouched down, still not-quite-looking at Freed.

"Um," Freed replied, at the man's face brightened instantly. "I'm... no, I'm fine. Sorry."

"Thank gods," the man breathed, squeezing Freed's shoulder gently and then dropping his hand. "My name's Bix. I work here, I was just closing up. Did you need me to call you a cab or something?" Freed swallowed, glancing at the backpack propped against the wall beside them. It had been snowing when they'd snuck into this corner, and Freed was sure that their hoodie wouldn't keep them very warm overnight.

"No, that's... it's fine," Freed replied quietly, using the bookshelf to push themself into a standing position. Bix tilted his head and then followed suit, reaching out to brush his hand along the wall until he found the handle of a red and white cane. Oh.

"Are you sure?" Bix looked concerned. "It's really snowing out there, and the buses only run every half hour." He turned toward the front of the library and gestured for Freed to follow him.

"I'll... I can just walk." Freed felt their breath sticking in their throat, and they squeezed their eyes shut, willing the tears back. This stranger didn't need to know that they had nowhere to go. It wasn't his problem. "I'll be fine."

"What's going on?" Bix asked gently, leading Freed into a small office. It was impeccably neat, with books stacked in tidy piles and stacks of paper tucked into wire baskets. A phone sat on the desk next to the computer, but Bix didn't reach for it. Instead, he sat down in the computer chair, then gestured for Freed to sit on a stool across from him. "What's your name?"

"F-freed," they stammered, crossing their arms over their stomach. Even after three weeks of using their new name with whoever they hitchhiked with, it was still terrifying to say it out loud.

"Okay, Freed." Bix folded up his cane and set it on the desk, then grabbed a coffee mug from next to the computer and took a sip. "Do you have somewhere to go?"

Freed flinched at the question, curling in on themselves and tugging the sleeves of their hoodie over their hands. This had never been part of the plan – although, to be fair, there hadn't been much of a plan to begin with. Freed was starting to feel desperate, though. Their parents had cut off their phone account, they had no money, and they had been living in the same clothes for weeks, only able to wash them in bathroom sinks.

"Yes?" Freed lied feebly, but the expression on Bix's face made it clear that he didn't believe them. They sighed. "No? But that's... it's not your problem. I can go." They shifted uncomfortably on the stool.

"Are you kidding me?" Bix looked offended. "I would never send someone out in that snow. Don't be ridiculous." He tapped his fingers on the desk absently. "My roommate is coming to get me pretty quick. I have a couch, you can come sleep there until you figure stuff out. Okay?"

Freed blinked at him, at a loss for words. People had been kind to them on their journey, but not like this.

"B-but... you don't even know me," they protested, feeling the tears about to come again. "You can't even..."

"See you?" Bix smiled at them gently. "You're right. But you sound like a good person and I like to think I have good instincts. Are you cold?" Freed though about lying, but instead made a soft sound of assent. Bix shrugged off his cardigan and held it out between them, smiling as Freed too it with a quiet thank you. "Hungry?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Freed whispered, sniffling as a few tears slipped from their eyes and ran down their cheeks. It felt like all they did was cry, lately.

"What can I say, I'm a nice guy," Bix replied, grinning. When Freed didn't respond, Bix's voice became gentle. "You sound like you're in trouble. What can I do to help?"

"I don't... I don't know," Freed whispered wetly through their tears, and then it all came tumbling out. "I ran away... my dad hit me and said he was going to send me to one of those... conversion camps and... I panicked and now it's been three weeks, and I don't know where I am and... and..." A sob burst out of their throat and they buried their face in their hands.

"Hey, take deep breaths," Bix said soothingly. "That sounds really awful and scary. How old are you, anyway?"

"S-sixteen," Freed replied shakily.

"Jesus, and you've been travelling by yourself all this time?" Freed nodded, then realized that Bix couldn't see them.

"Yeah."

Bix sighed, running a hand over his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone, tapping the home button.

"Text Ever."

"What do you want to say?" Siri responded.

"Pick up extra Chinese on your way, I'm bringing a friend." He set the phone down, then turned back to Freed. "Okay, you're gonna come stay with us until you get this figured out. We've got an office, we can set it up with an inflatable mattress. Maybe the Pride Center can help you out. You said your dad hit you 'cause you're gay?" Bix's voice was incredulous.

"Um... not... gay..." Freed said hesitantly.

"Whatever you want to call it, I'm not judging," Bix said quickly, putting his hands in the air. "But I gotta ask the awkward blind person question because your voice isn't giving me much to go on. Are you a guy or a girl? Sorry, I know that's weird, I just can't tell."

"Oh, it's okay," Freed said softly, wrapping Bix's cardigan tighter around themselves. "I'm actually, um, neither." They fiddled with the sleeves. "Non-binary. Somewhere in the middle, I guess?"

"Huh," Bix replied, leaning back in his chair. "I didn't know that was a thing. Cool."

"I like to... I use 'they' and 'them' instead of like, 'she' or 'him'," Freed explained, voice still tentative. They still had a hard time explaining their gender identity to themself, never mind to other people. But Bix seemed to be pretty understanding.

"That's neat. So that's what your folks were upset about?" He still seemed incredulous.

"They're... really religious," Freed explained, feeling themself slowly relaxing. "I grew up... on this commune. My family is really devout, but it never felt like it fit me."

"That's crazy," Bix said, shaking his head. Suddenly his phone pinged.

"Ever sent you a new message," it said. "Yeah I got the food be there in five loser. Would you like to respond?"

"No," Bix said, turning off the phone. "Let's go wait at the entrance. Do you need anything, like a toothbrush, or clothes or anything? We can stop on the way back to my place." He unfolded his cane and navigated to the door, gesturing for Freed to follow him.

"Oh, no, I have... I have a bag, I brought clothes. They're just not very clean." Freed's face flushed red with embarrassment.

"Luckily I have a washing machine," Bix said, smiling widely as he locked up the office behind them and gestured toward the front door. "Also, Ever is kind of... intense, just a heads up. She's actually really nice, just comes off kinda abrasive. Don't take it personally."

"I won't," Freed said softly, clutching their duffel bag to their chest. "Thank you, again. I... you don't know what this means to me."

"Not a problem, my friend," Bix said, leaning against the door. "People have to be good to other people. Otherwise, what's the point?"

I wish my parents believed that, Freed thought unhappily. They raised a hand to their cheek – it had bruised enough to raise questions for several days. Freed could still feel the shock and sting of the blows.

A loud car horn broke through Freed's thoughts, and Bix pushed the door open.

"All right, let's get outta here," he said, stepping out into the snow. "You like Chinese food?"