Chapter Text
“Just take yer suitcase and get out!” Karl threw a duffle bag onto the Latchkey lawn, sending Doughy hopelessly running out of the house for it. Before he even picked it up, he heard the front door lock with a click. “Finally, he’s gone!” He heard Kim giggle, Karl joining in. Doughy clutched his bag to his chest for comfort, flopping on the grass, near tears. Oh no, I’m gonna get tears on my Pious Scout uniform! What will Scoutmaster think?! His eyes welled more. What’ll God think?!
“Hiya, Doughy!” Orel came to his rescue, waving eagerly as he exited a car onto the lawn. “Gosh, are you okay, Doughy?” He offered a hand to help him up. His kindness allowed Doughy to successfully swallow his tears and smile. “Y-yeah. Just a little nervous for the trip.” He grabbed Orel’s hand and got on his feet, visibly grateful. “Thanks, Orel.”
“Sure! And don’t worry about this trip; I know white water rafting can be scary, and it’s our first time! But I try and remember we’re all beginners, so-” His enthusiastic ramblings were cut off by the car horn. “C’mon, boys!” Called Clay. “Bar opens in 25 minutes, and I haven’t had a drink yet. Oh and you don’t wanna be late for your camping trip er whatever.” He drummed his fingers from the booze withdrawal. “Gee, he’s right! C’mon, Doughy, I’ll help you with your bag!”
“Okay!” Orel’s simple act of friendship turned Doughy’s abysmal morning around. He continued to smile as the walked to the car, bag in hand.
“Golly, thanks again for driving us to our camping ground, Mr. Puppington!” Clay chuckled. “Of course, Doughy! Budget cuts did make it impossible for you kids to have a bus pick you up for camp!”
“Really?”
“Yes. In fact, the Moralton Environmental Society then questioned the choice to cut funding for buses, with some ‘cut down on cars’ liberal hooey!”
“Gee,” Commented Orel. “‘Gee’ is right, son! So you can imagine the town was given no choice but to then terminate the Environmental Society to silence those dirty hippies. Buh-bye, dirt club!” He laughed with hostility. “But Dad, don't the workers their need jobs?”
“Oh, Orel. This will teach them to get real jobs, like the normal, depressed folks of Moralton. You know, teachers, doctors, oil drillers, that sort of thing!”
“But don't they-”
“Orel! Don't question me in front of other people. Do you think Jesus questioned God when he created Hindus?”
“No. Sorry, Pop.” Doughy decided to keep the vibe from getting dark, seeing Orel's disappointment. “Hey Mr. Puppington, are we picking up anyone else, like Tommy, Billy or anybody?”
“No, Doughy. They're out of the way. Plus, you're the least grating- I mean, most pious of Orel's pals!”
“Wow, you mean that?!”
“Yeah, sure, kid. Don't puke from excitement,” He muttered, lighting a cigarette. They pulled up to Nature-esque Forest, Clay running over a few Watch for possible Wildlife signs. “Bye, boys! Happy camping! Stay safe or it’ll make Daddy look like a bad outdoorsman and parent!”
“Wait, Dad!” Orel acted quickly before Clay peeled off. “What?! I mean, yeah, son?”
“I’m a little nervous about white water rafting-”
“Orel, what did your mother andI mostly I, tell you a dozen times about this rafting anxiety business?”
“‘The Lord will protect me.’ I know, but Dad, can I have a hug just to be safe?” Doughy prayed he’d say ‘yes,’ wanting some hugs for himself. “Son. Other cars are pulling up.”
“Yeah, so?”
“You see any other dad hugging their kids?” Orel hung his head and admitted with defeat, “No.”
“Precisely. We want you to be tough, that’s all! Like men! I mean, hugs, Orel, in public? You boys are nine!”
“Actually-” Orel covered Doughy’s mouth, knowing correction would be deemed disrespectful to his father. “Joseph didn’t hug Jesus before he went on his first quest to prove other religions false and inadequate, did he?”
“Well-”
“Exactly. Look, clock’s a-tickin’, so’s my need for a morning scotch. Bye, kids! See ya in three days!”
“Four,” Corrected Orel. “Yeah, whatever. Bye.” He closed the car door and peeled off again, narrowly missing a stop sign to knock down. Orel couldn’t help but feel dejected. He knew, of course, his father was right. Christian adults always were, especially the men. Was he stupid for craving a hug? Little did he know, Doughy felt the same. They stood awkwardly in silence for a few moments, the other kids heading to the campsite. “Y’know, Orel, my parents didn’t even say goodbye to me… so I understand if you’re sad, and you wanted your dad to give you a hug."
“My mom hardly looked up when I left this morning…” Orel’s voice cracked. “Are we… immature?”
“Maybe. Can we sit down for a few seconds? I’m too sad to talk to everyone just yet.”
“Yeah, me too.” As they both sat down, one more car pulled up. Out of it came Joe, in a camping uniform. “Joe’s a Pious Scout?!” Doughy whispered. “Well… I guess ‘e is now!” Orel shrugged. “I don’t wanna!” Joe fought, getting out of the car but immediately flopping on the ground. “Joe, don’t soil your uniform.” When he refused Ms. Secondopinionson’s help, she sighed and leveled with him. “Your therapist said you need to socialize more. This’ll be great! Outdoors, with your frie- kids you know, getting as dirty as you want.” He looked less resistant to the idea, and she smiled, seeing her talk was working. “I’m gonna miss you so much, Joe. But think about how much fun we’ll have when you get back! We can watch movies all day, get ice cream, I’ll even make mud pies with you!” He smiled. “You mean that?” Doughy and Orel watched in awe, never once seeing Joe like this. He stood up and hugged Ms. Secondopinionson, which made Orel and Doughy audibly gasp. “Hey, is that Orel Puppington? And Doughy Latchkey?” They froze. Ms. Secondopinionson grinned. “Great! Kids, this is Joe’s first trip. Would you mind showing him the ropes? You two are said to be fantastic scouts!”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Joe rolled his eyes. “Sure, Miss Secondopinionson, we’d love to!” Orel patted Joe’s shoulder. “Oh, hoo-freakin’-ray." Joe rolled his eyes.
As they walked down the trail (avoiding actual nature of course) Orel did most of the talking. “...And then we make s’mores! Scoutmaster says they're called s’mores, ‘cuz we always make an extra one for Jesus in case he rises in Moralton when we're camping and wants a snack! Some more for our Lord !” He started panting, wearing himself out. “Then we listen to a real spooky story,” Added Doughy. “Like The Villainous Vegan, Attack of the Atheists, and even Catherine becomes a Catholic!” Orel shuddered. “I almost forgot that one, I didn't sleep for weeks!” They shared a laugh, and Joe rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I bet. Let's race to the campsite the rest of the way!” Joe bolted, leaving Doughy and Orel totally alone. Out of impulse, Doughy hugged his best friend. “What was that for?” Orel was confused but happy. “I think we both needed it. Now we can be adults together tomorrow! I just really needed niceness, Orel. I feel God's love, but sometimes I want human touch.”
“I know what you mean.” He side-hugged him back. “That was nice. You're a great friend, Doughy. Now, to the campsite because no adults are supervising us right now!”
“Let’s try getting even closer to Jesus!” They high-fived and ran eagerly like the spirited scouts they were. Doughy wasn't quite as fast as Orel, lagging behind him just a tiny bit. He felt different. Happy in a new way. He didn't want either hug to end, and he didn't want to leave Orel's side at all. The way his best friend laughed, as a matter of fact, made his face flush, and seeing his smile on the sunlit path made his heart flutter. A new level of feeling Christianity maybe? He hoped so. It certainly felt good enough. He brushed it off and they giggled all the way to the campsite, a third of a mile from the parking lot. Very responsible and child-friendly of the Scout Council.
“Okay, boys!” Mr. Carvedson gathered them all in a circle for lunch. Joe sat far away from everyone, arms crossed. “Pizza’s up, scouts!” Everyone including Joe jumped up for the table. “No, there’s enough for every- Joseph, no biting! Tommy, why do you look skeptical? Is it a mental illness thing?” Tommy rolled his eyes, adjusted to the ableism of almost everyone Moralton at this point. “I just- what does pizza hafta do with the outdoors? Why do you have a portable microwave? It seems a little… unauthentic.”
“Darn it, Tommy,” Said the redhead boy. “We like pizza, why are you always questioning stuff?”
“He’s right, son,” Agreed Mr. Carvedson. “Didn’t you learn anything at church?"
“Well- to be honest-”
“Look, Tommy, learn to hunt, fish, farm, be productive on your own time. You like pizza, don’t you?”
“I guess, but-”
“Of course you do! Everyone does, especially Billy being Italian and all!” Billy shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m actually lactose into-”
“See? He loves it! No stop hurting your friends with your selfish questioning and making a spectacle!” Everyone was staring at Mr. Carvedson, on the brink of a meltdown, and Tommy, who was cool and collected, if not a bit confused. He shrugged and took a paper plate. Orel went over to console Tommy. Doughy, stressed from the meltdown, was more confused than ever. He still felt elated from before. He couldn’t stop staring at Orel. He was fixated but happy.
That night, they all sat around the pseudo fire. “Alright, you boys ready for s’mores?!” That was a resounding yes. “Now, who’s gonna get the privilege of making the extra for Jesus?” All hands other than Joe and Tommy’s (who was reading Richard Dawkins in secret) shot up. “Mm. Eager, huh?” He looked around. “Hmm. Can’t be Tommy Littler.” He said in a condescending voice, “He’s punished.” Tommy didn’t even flinch, discreetly turning a page. It’s like my pals in class say; if I ignore the stupidity, it can’t justify hurting me. Mr. Carvedson beamed. “Ah! How about our newcomer, Joseph Secondopinionson?” Joe shot back at him with a look of pure disbelief and boredom. “Heh, you’re as stupid as camping itself! Why would I wanna-” He cut himself off as an evil thought dawned on him. “Sure, Scoutmaster, I’d love to!” Only an average Moralton adult could miss the malice his tone was laced with as he walked over to the s’more makings. “No fair!” Whined Billy. “He’s just gonna eat it!” The other boys seemed to agree, and Mr. Carvedson hushed them. “Okay, I'll have someone supervise him! I can't do it ‘cuz I hafta keep the fire going.”
“Good alibi for just being a bad supervisor,” Muttered Tommy. “Orel! You're trustworthy! Care to come up and help Joe and I make a s'more for the lord?”
“You bet, Mr. Carvedson!” He hopped up, Joe grumbling because his plan was foiled. “Stupid Orel making a s’more that oughta be mine, stupid Jesus snack,” He whispered, kicking a rock. Doughy couldn't pay attention. Something about Orel glowing in the fake fire was dazzling to him. He felt something he'd genuinely never felt and couldn't stop a smile from creeping up his face. Unfortunately, another crisis occured. “Mr. Carvedson, a cricket! I hear a cricket!” Yelled one of the campers. “Oh, boy! I hear it too!” Mr. Carvedson panicked. “Someone pass me the insecticide! It’s Nozone brand! Darn it, I knew summer would be a bad time to go camping, there's a high chance of real wildlife!” Everyone other than Tommy scrambled.