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Disuphere (An AU Fosters family fic) Chapter 57

CHAPTER 57

4:12 PM

When Officer Saunders hung up, Jesus’s heart beat even faster. “Is she coming?”

“Yes, she is. She wants you to stay with me while she comes.”

Jesus squinted. It was like Imaginary Mom from his head was the real thing after all. Imaginary Mom would totally tell Jesus to stay with the girl cop. When Officer Saunders stood up, Jesus did, too. He did not want to be left behind with the dude cops. She said something about waiting for his mom in a different room and Jesus stayed close while they walked.

They got to a way nicer room, and Jesus did feel more comfortable. She asked him to sit at the table and started trying to ask him questions.

“Are you hurt?”

Jesus shook his head.

“Looks like your wrists are sore.”

“That’s old,” he said, but he bit his lip and crossed his ankles so the right one - with the fresh chain mark - was in back.

“Do you know the person who took you?”

Jesus looked at the table. “Him.”

“Okay, so a man took you. Can you tell me what He looks like?”

Jesus’s brain got stuck: “Normal,” he managed.

“Okay. Was He white?”

Jesus shrugged. Until Stef was here, he didn’t want to say anything that might make Him mad. Just in case. Describing Him to police would definitely make Him mad.

“What about a vehicle? Can you tell me what he’d be driving?”

This time, Jesus did nothing.

“We can wait for your mom to come if that would make you feel more comfortable.”

Jesus nodded. Then: “Do I have to go to jail?”

Officer Saunders looked Jesus in the eyes. “We’re waiting for your Mom. You and me. No one’s gonna hurt you. And we’re gonna get what happened at the store taken care of. You won’t go to jail for that.”

“It’s three hours from San Diego,” Jesus observed, almost nodding off at the table. “If I don’t have to go to jail, can I sleep?”

“Of course.”

“And make sure nobody comes to take me? And only my mom comes in? She’s a cop, too. White with blonde hair and blue eyes.”

“I’ll watch for her. I’ll keep you safe. You rest.”

Jesus was so relieved, he didn’t even ask where he could rest. Just slid out of the chair and under the table, pulling the chairs around himself. It would be harder for Him to see Jesus if he was curled under the table like this.

“Thank you, Officer,” Jesus said quietly.

“You’re so welcome,” she replied, as Jesus drifted off to sleep.

5:56 PM

Lena was in the middle of coordinating dinner clean up when her phone buzzed on her hip. She expected it to be Stef - as she was now an hour late - and as she had been calling every twenty minutes since around 4 PM. But Lena was swamped with five kids and dinner prep. (And she couldn’t be a good example to the kids about not talking on the phone at dinner if she broke her own rule.)

“Kids, can you keep an eye on Frankie while I talk to Mom?”

“She’s in trouble!” Jude crowed. “She missed dinner and didn’t call first!”

“I got her,” Callie offered.

Lena stepped out back, in need of some air and some privacy to yell at her wife without the kids hearing. This was happening too much. The coming home late to follow this lead or that. Lena needed to tell Stef the truth: they needed to focus on the kids they had here - on their life now.

“Where are you right now?”Stef asked, her voice tense.

“You first,” Lena prompted. “Because you’re definitely not at home eating dinner with your family…”

“Lena, I’m--”

“For the second time this month, Stef, really?” Lena insisted, out of patience. “I thought we agreed after the last one that you weren’t going to do this anymore!”

“Where are you right now?” Stef insisted, her voice strained.

“On the back patio so I can yell at you in private. Why?”

“Because I think I just spoke to Jesus.”

Lena’s thoughts and anger screeched to a halt. “What do you mean, spoke to him?”

“An officer from the LAPD called me and said our son had been arrested for destruction of property. Of course, I assumed they had Brandon. Maybe Jude, if our ten year old managed to hitch a ride to LA without us knowing. But when I asked to speak to Brandon, the officer said they didn’t have Brandon...they had Jesus.”

“Honey, we’ve gotten prank calls before…” Lena said, her hope falling.

“Do any of those people know Jesus’s safe word?”

Chills rose on Lena’s arms. “He said Junior Mints?” she gasped.

“That’s all he said, love.”

“Well, how did he sound?”

“Older.”

“Older like 25?”

“Older like a teenager, Lena. His voice was deeper. Soft.”

“Wait. What if it’s not him?” Lena asked.

“What if it is, Lena? I can’t not check.”

“No, you’re right.”

“Mike’s here. I’m a nervous wreck so he’s driving. Traffic’s horrendous, so I might be a while. I needed you to know, but you cannot tell the kids. Not until we know for sure. So I will text you. I’m going to keep the line open in case they call again. I love you.”

“Love you, too. Let me know as soon as you can.”

Lena hung up and took a deep breath. Before she had a chance to fully collect herself, Jude stuck his head out the door. “Brandon’s not helping. He won’t even bring his plate to the sink.”

“Brandon,” she called, grateful for the distraction.

Maybe keeping this from the kids would be easier than she thought.

8:30 PM

More than four hours since she and Mike started toward LA and Stef had convinced herself that she was not going to see Jesus at that police station. She’d had to tell Lena, since she’d blurted everything to Mike before Stef could even process it herself. Lena needed to know. If the situation were reversed, Stef knew she would want to know.

But hope was the enemy right now. Stef could not afford to buy into this being Jesus until she saw with her own eyes whether he was or whether he wasn’t.

Mike was quiet most of the time, only talking if she asked him something. It was a huge relief that Vasquez was out with a line of duty injury. Stef could not deal with his incessant talk of psychics and his “sense” about people right now. Right now she needed calm and rational.

“We’re just checking out a lead,” she said under her breath.

Twenty minutes later, around ten to nine, Mike pulled into the parking lot of the police station where Officer Ruby Saunders waited with Jesus (or not-Jesus.)

“I’ll just hang out here,” Mike said, finding a chair just inside the doors. “Unless you want me to come.”

“Text Lena for me? Let her know I’m on my way to…”

“Yeah, I will,” Mike promised.

Seconds later, Stef’s phone buzzed with a text from Lena - just a string of exclamation points and sobbing faces. Stef hoped she was doing a better job keeping it together in front of the kids.

“This way, Officer Adams Foster.”

Stef concentrated on breathing. On counting her steps. On making this as routine as possible.

“He’s in here.”

Stef glanced through the two-way mirror. Saw a cop sitting near a table...and...no one.

They let him go. (Why would they have her drive all the way out there if they let him go?) The other officer tapped briefly on the door and held it for Stef to enter. She waited until the door closed at her back and crossed her arms, ready to let Officer Saunders have it.

But then she bent down, speaking under the table softly:

“Your mom is here.”

That’s bold, Stef thought, before she could stop herself. Promising a kid she was his mother before she could even ID him.

Stef couldn’t follow the thought further, because now the chairs were being pushed aside and a child was crawling out. Long, dark hair in a ponytail. Long-sleeved shirt. Jeans, worn at the knees and in the seat. Only a bit bigger than Jude. Jesus would be 13 and a half, almost, by now. She and Lena always thought he’d be tall. This kid was a peanut. (Malnourished? she wondered before she could stop herself.)

This couldn’t be Jesus. She couldn’t see his face, but this couldn’t be Jesus.

Struck silent, Stef just watched, as the child bent and rolled one pant leg past the knee, revealing the same scar Jesus had there. Same knee. (Stef remembered when he got the scar - a bike crash so spectacular that their tough little guy had allowed Lena to hug and comfort him for the first time.)

Tentatively, his head came up. Deep brown eyes met hers, and Stef’s heart skipped a beat. Nearly everything else about him had changed, but those eyes, and that knee. For the first time in more than four years, Stef was looking at her son.

“Jesus?” she asked, breathless.

“Mom?” he whispered back.

#fic: disuphere #fosters fic

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ficdirectory · 7 years

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Disuphere (An AU Fosters family fic) Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Sunday, March 31, 2019

Home: 7 years, 5 months and 17 days

In two days, Francesca’s turning nine years old, but the whole family is celebrating today. Right now, it’s just Francesca and her two brothers, Jude and Jesus, who live at home Her favorite is Jesus. The rest of her brothers and sisters are in college or just moved out. (Callie and Mariana are in college. Brandon’s just moved out.) Francesca wants to be a dancer and an artist when she grows up.

This is the first time in a long time all of them are together. Francesca likes it when they are together, because they aren’t very much. She has to stay in her room a lot today, because Jesus and Jude and moms are decorating and doing stuff, and she doesn’t get to help.

(She did help Jesus bake her birthday cake. It’s confetti cake with green frosting like a monster and sprinkles on top.) Mama told them a story of when Jesus and Mariana tried to bake her a cake when they were Francesca’s age all by themselves and it was gross, but she ate it anyway. Jesus laughs. That’s how Francesca know it’s an okay story to laugh at, too.

At school, the kids tease her about how she walks and think they know a lot better than her what she should do. She stopped being Frankie, because they said it like she was a baby. (You can’t say Francesca in a baby voice, or you just sound silly.)

Francesca’s watching on the porch for Callie and Mariana to get here. They’re bringing the ice cream, yum! She really want a bike for her birthday, but she thinks she won’t be able to ride one without training wheels. All the other kids were done with training wheels forever ago. But Francesca still needs hers for balance.

She has another worry, too.

“Jesus,” Francesca whispers.

“Hey, buddy,” (He always calls her buddy. She doesn’t know why. But he claims she started it when she didn’t, she doesn’t think.)

Jesus is 20 like Mariana. They’re twins, but that doesn’t mean they do everything the same. Like Jesus lives at home with me, and Mariana doesn’t. Both are okay.

“What’s up?” he asks, sitting on the porch swing next to her.

“I really don’t want to be nine…” Francesca tells him seriously.

“Why?” he asks. He listens to her better than anyone else. That’s because he’s her best friend. Francesca doesn’t have kid best friends because they all treat her different. Jesus treats her the same.

She bites her lip. Sometimes, talking about this is okay, and sometimes it’s not. She won’t know until she starts. “You know the bad guy that took you to his house that one time?”

Jesus nods.

“Will that happen to me when I’m nine?” she worries.

“Buddy, I didn’t get kidnapped because I was nine. I got kidnapped because a guy did a stupid thing.”

His words don’t make sense. She squints at him. “Tell me in nine year old words,” she says.

“No. You’re not going get kidnapped just because you’re nine. You remember what we talk about? Don’t walk places by yourself. Don’t take rides from people you don’t know even if they seem nice, and even if they say they know Moms.”

“I know. I just…” her voice hitches.

“Hey…. There’s no crying on your birthday!”

“Mariana!” Francesca screams, but Jesus is already up and hugging her like he hasn’t seen her in a million years.

Mariana can barely hang onto her balloon bouquet, Jesus is squeezing her so hard. It’s been so hard being at school while he’s not. It’s the longest they’ve been apart since 2007. Luckily now they can FaceTime and call and Facebook chat, and they do. Every day.

But it’s not the same.

She’s studying to become a legal advocate for kids, which means she needs a law degree. That means tons of school. She misses her family, though. Jesus, most of all.

After the epic hug from Jesus, Mariana scoops up Francesca. She’s still super skinny, because she burns calories like crazy just from moving around. Mariana holds onto her a little extra too.

“Why so sad?” Mari wonders.

Francesca exchanges a look with Jesus. In unison both shrug and chorus, “No reason…”

She should have known. (Obviously porch time equals private, Mariana. Duh.) Instead, she offers Francesca a smile and says, “You know if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were Jesus’s twin, not me.”

Francesca’s face splits into the widest grin. She loves being told she and Jesus are close. She often says he’s her best friend. That makes sense.

He’s Mariana’s best friend, too.

“My dear!” a voice reprimands from behind Mariana. “Get out of the doorway or this will melt!”

Callie hasn’t brought out Mrs. Georgina Feathersby Longbottom in years. She thinks it’s time to break her back in. Just like she hopes, she gets a smile from Jesus, and uproarious laughs from Francesca. Callie’s boyfriend, AJ, doesn’t know what to make of the voice, but a smile from Jesus is pretty major.

Even five years later, their trust feels a little dented from her senior project debacle. She ended up getting an A on her amended project, and she got her phone back on graduation day. (Yes, Moms were serious about that one.)

Now 21, Callie’s majoring in child psych and minoring in photography. Today, when she goes anywhere to photograph anyone, she always asks: “Hey can I take your picture? I’m Callie and I’m studying to be a photographer.”

Not everyone says yes. In fact, a lot don’t. But it’s important that she gives them the choice. (And if people don’t work out, Callie takes great pictures of rooms, of nature, and of anything she finds beauty in. Or sadness. Or truth.)

She hurries inside with the ice cream, finding Jude and greeting him with a kiss on the cheek and then leaving the cartons with him.

“Thanks,” Jude calls at Callie’s back, not knowing what to do with two cartons of ice cream.

He walks into the kitchen. “You know I have homework to do. I don’t have time for this today.”

“Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you went to Taylor’s Friday night and spent the whole of Saturday there,” Mom reprimands.

“Mom. Nobody does their homework Friday night,”

“People who don’t want to be grounded with no social life to speak of most certainly do,” Mom cautions.

Crap.

“I’m sorry. Lesson learned. I’ll do better.”

“What?” Jesus asks, looking concerned. (He has this way of showing up right when somebody in the family is getting in trouble. It freaks Jesus out still.)

Even though it’s been a long time, Jude still remembers Jesus back when he first came home and had that knife. The talk on the porch a few years later had helped, but he still had to talk to Moms a few times because of not feeling safe around Jesus. Mostly around October. Luckily that’s a ways away. Jude will be in college the next time October comes. Studying creative writing or journalism. He wishes the theater programs at colleges weren’t so competitive, or he’d totally do that.

“Nothing, I’m just gonna do my homework,” Jude says.

“Not right now you’re not, love. I need your help bringing the food outside,” Mama interjects.

“I’ll help,” Jesus offers.

“I’ll help, too. Hey, Mom. Where’s Cranky Frankie?” Brandon asks, walking in with Talya.

“I heard that!” Francesca exclaims, pouting.

“B, don’t tease your sister, please,” Mom says, and just like that, Brandon’s back.

“Here, Stef, let me help,” Talya says. (They’ve been dating since before Jesus came home. She’s pretty much one of the family now.) He’s thinking about marriage, but never about kids. Just not his thing.

He’s got an office job that pays the bills, but his real passion is his YouTube channel where he takes requests for piano covers of different songs. He’s got a lot of followers. It’s nice to play again.

Brandon takes some paper plates and plastic silverware outside. Through the window, he can see Moms kissing. He would say it’s gross, but he’s glad they’re still together.

Sometimes it’s hard to believe that Stef and Lena have been together for sixteen years, and married for five. They’d be lying if they said this hasn’t been a hard road for them. Ironically, it was in the years after Jesus came home that their marriage became rocky, with Lena rehired at Anchor Beach as principal and Stef still a cop with the SDPD.

They hit a few rough patches and even thought of divorcing. But Lena suggested counseling, and since Stef never wants it to be said that she’s a quitter, she gave it a shot.

Now, they are at the point where they can make their marriage more of a priority. They do a couple’s retreat every year, and have date nights every week, where they talk about what’s going on with each other. Not the house. Not the kids. Them. As whole people. As women. (Jesus is comfortable watching Francesca while they go out, even overnight, as long as another sibling - usually Jude - is also home.)

So far, it’s working - prioritizing themselves and their marriage.

Communication is not always easy, but they’re working on it. On showing each other they appreciate each other. On being there when they need one another.

It’s hard work, but as they always say, it’s worth it.

Sometimes it still strikes Jesus just how grateful he is. Seven years home and the feeling hasn’t gone away. In fact, it’s gotten stronger.

He never got another letter from Allie Martin, but keeps the picture of Isaac tucked in that notebook, right next to the letter to his mom. Sometimes he still looks at it. Sometimes, it still hurts like hell, because he’s here and Isaac isn’t and there really is no rhyme or reason for it.

Even though he’s 20 and technically should be on his own, Jesus isn’t yet. He kinda still feels like he should get a couple more years at home, to make up for the ones he lost. Luckily, Moms have never pushed him to leave.

In a way it’s nice with less kids around the house. It means less unpredictability. Less chaos. But it’s quieter, too, and Jesus learned pretty quick he needed to fill that quiet with something. He doesn’t see Dr. H. anymore because she works with teenagers and Jesus is past that point now, but he still does therapy and support groups. Sometimes he speaks at them. Sometimes not. His biggest passion these days is tweeting for social justice type causes @ItsHeyZeus: Mainly, to missing kids. To let them know they are not alone. To stay strong. That people will never stop looking for them. He tells them don’t give up.

(It’s everything he wished he had Then. Somewhere to turn. Someone to listen.)

Just like that, lunch is eaten and it’s time for cake and presents. He scoots in next to Francesca as she gets ready to blow out her candles.

“Don’t be afraid to turn nine,” he whispers. “At nine, you’re at the strongest you have ever been. The smartest. Okay? Don’t ever be afraid of turning nine.”

“‘Cause you’ll always be here for me?”

“Absolutely. I always have your back.” (He feels Mariana slip her hand into his. Squeeze.)

“Okay…” Francesca says, and she blows out the candles.

After the cake and the presents, everyone would normally leave, but Francesca begs to play a game, all of them together. (It won’t really be all of them together, since Callie and AJ and Brandon and Talya did have to jet early. Brandon has work and Callie has school stuff.)

Just because she knows it bugs them, Mom wants to play Scrabble. They pair off: Jesus and Mariana, Mom and Francesca, and Mama and Jude.

“Don’t you have school stuff?” Jesus asks softly as they all pick their letters.

“I mean, yeah. But it doesn’t take priority over this,” Mariana shrugs.

It doesn’t take long to remember that Scrabble so isn’t Jesus’s game. There’s too much going on. It’s hard to focus. And in the end Mariana just scores 60-point words by herself anyway. In the middle of the game, he gets up and starts making sure she’ll have enough leftovers to take back to school with her.

“Vixen! That’s 21 points! I am so good!” Jude cheers.

“Excuse me? Who thought of vixen?” Mama wonders, smiling.

“Fine. We are so good!” Jude amends.

“Mariana, do you want potato salad?” Jesus asks.

“Hmm… Cabbage!” Mariana exclaims.

“We don’t have cabbage, genius,” Jesus teases.

“No! Cabbage! Our word, Jesus. With our letters.”

“Okay but cabbage is only 14 points,” Mom insists. “Are you sure you don’t want to think of a better use for all those letters?” she asks.

“Yeah. 14 points is not a lot of points…” Francesca insists.

“No, because Jesus and I used all our letters and now we get to draw more and keep playing,” Mariana says gleefully.

“So...no potato salad?” Jesus asks.

“Um, yes potato salad,” Mariana says like withholding it would be an insult.

“Okay. Let’s just say I’ll give you some of everything…”

“Ooh, but no cheese, please...and no meat. And oh...potato salad has eggs in it doesn’t it?”

“Cake?” Jesus tries.

“Yes!” Mariana cheers. Jesus isn’t sure whether she got another word on the board and is beating the other teams or she’s saying yes to cake. He decides to give her some anyway, and not tell her there’s eggs in that, too. She needs to eat something.

“Honey, come and sit down,” Mama calls.

Jesus does and they finish the game. Mariana beats everyone all by herself, and Jesus sends her off with a giant piece of monster cake and a hug. “Miss you. FaceTime me, okay? I’ll help you study.”

“You will?” Mari squints.

“Well, I’ll distract you while you study so maybe just text when you’re done. At least to say goodnight.”

“Yeah, of course. Love you.”

“Love you,” he returns.

Mariana makes the rounds, hugging everyone and then stops by him one last time. “Really, Jesus? Cake?”

“You just ate a piece five minutes ago at Francesca’s party, like another one to help you study is really gonna be so bad.”

She frowns. “Ooh. You’re right. I’ll probably need the sugar.”

“Okay bye, I miss you. Text if you need me.”

“I miss you, and same.” Jesus says back, because even knowing they will be apart makes them start missing each other early.

Once she’s gone, the house seems so much quieter. That could be because Moms are out watching Francesca ride her new bike, and Jude’s doing all his homework at the last possible second.

Jesus is on the couch, on his laptop, when a message pops up through the email he has attached to his Twitter account:

Jesus,

I follow you on Twitter, I have for a long time. And I have wanted to talk to you for a while, but I didn’t know what to say except...I’m like you. And how do I move on? You are a role model to me and I saw your tweets when I was missing. They gave me hope, but I’m not sure how to start moving on now that I am home. It’s been months. I’m so glad to be home but I’m scared all the time. I just want to be normal.

Sincerely,

Ava

Jesus takes a deep breath and starts writing back:

Ava,

You are normal. It’s normal to be scared after what we’ve been through. So, it makes sense that you’ll move through your experience, too, not on with your life and away from it. It’s okay to need help. I’m not sure of your age, but let me give you the name and number of a great doctor I know who might be able to refer you to somebody, her name is Dr. Holly Hitchens… Please take care, and believe that you did everything right, because you made it home. And as long as you’re alive there’s hope. So hang on. And know that with the right support you’ll be okay.

Jesus

#fic: disuphere #fosters fic

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Disuphere (An AU Fosters family fic) Chapter 60

CHAPTER 60

THEN

Friday, October 14, 2011

Home: 5:21 AM

Twenty minutes later, Jesus was wringing the blanket in his hands. His whole body felt tense. Mike’s cell phone rang, and Stef answered for him since he was driving.

“That was Captain Roberts,” Stef said. “She says the press is camped out across the street from the house. So Mike’s going to wait until you say you’re ready, Jesus. When you’re ready, pull your blanket up again, like at the hospital, so the cameras can’t see you. Then, Mike will drive us down our street and park in our driveway. I’ll walk you inside, and when you hear the door close behind us, you take the blanket off your head. Does that make sense?”

Jesus was already ready. His head was entirely covered by his blanket so no cameras could see him at all. He nodded, feeling like The Grim Reaper, but not. Maybe just like himself covered in a blanket. About to go home.

Maybe.

“Tell us when you’re ready, love,” Stef urged softly.

“Ready,” Jesus said quietly.

The car started moving and Stef kept reassuring him the whole way. “We’re turning onto our street, my baby. There are people from TV stations across the street but Captain Roberts is making sure they can’t come into our yard, okay? We’re pulling into the drive now. I’m going to open the door and it’s going to sound loud, okay? But I’m here with you. I’ll walk you in just like Ruby and I did before.”

Jesus’s throat ached. He missed Ruby. He only felt about half safe without her. And his normal safe-level wasn’t very high.

“Okay,” he managed.

“I’m going to walk kind of fast, okay? So do your best to walk with me.”

“You won’t let me fall?”

“No, love. I won’t.”

“Okay.”

When the door opened, it was quiet for a second. Then it sounded like a roar of voices. Jesus went to Level 1, where loudness didn’t matter, and walked with Stef as she held onto him. He didn’t know if Mike was coming in, too. He hoped not.

“Jesus!” The voices screamed. “Are you happy to be home?”

Am I home? The yellow blanket did too good a job blocking out everything. All Jesus could see was driveway. Then sidewalk. (His heart tripped. Sidewalk.)

He stopped walking and Stef whispered, “We are almost there, love. You’re doing great. Stay with me.”

Jesus made his legs keep going. Up front steps. Then wood floor.

Thunk. The door closed behind them.

“Is it safe?” he whispered.

“Yes, it’s safe, love. You can take the blanket down now.”

But Jesus wasn’t sure. What if he took it down and it was like a reverse dream? What if he was back There with the pole and the chains and the mattress and Him? Still inside the blanket, Jesus looked down.

No chain on his ankle. New shoes. New socks. New gray sweats. Angry Birds shirt. All from Mike. That’s right. No handcuffs. No tape. No thing over his head like Before just this blanket from Ruby to keep him safe.

“Hey, my sweet. You’re welcome to stay in there as long as you need to,” Stef reassured. “But when you’re ready, Mama’s here and she’d really like to see you.”

“I’m really home?” he whispered.

“Yes, love. It’s okay to take your time. But you are home. I promise you.”

“Mama?” he asked, a test. (If he wasn’t really home, Mama couldn’t really answer him.)

“Yeah, honey?”

She sounded close. Jesus inched the blanket down. First his hair (short and not gross), then his eyes. Then…

“Mama?” he gasped, like it was a dream. Because it had to be a dream. Because she was right here and Jesus was clean and had clean clothes and no chains. (Maybe he died and this was what happened after. It would be nice for Jacob. To come home.)

“Hey, bud. That’s a nice blanket.” Mama said. She looked teary. Her voice sounded thick.

The blanket. Ruby gave it to him. She took care of him at the police station in LA after he broke all those smart TVs and let him sleep under the table while he waited for Mom. Ruby was real. The blanket was real.

“Can I hug you?” Mama said, like she was begging.

Jesus stepped forward. The blanket clutched around his shoulders. His whole face was showing now. He still felt numb, but he walked into her arms because she wanted to hug him. So he let her.

She cried and he stood still, not moving. The hug lasted a long time. It was okay with the blanket on. But just okay. Level 1 was there, and Jesus went because it was easier than staying and being hugged. Sometimes hugs with blankets or Grim Reaper costumes turned into...well...Jesus didn’t want to think about that.

“Can I see Mariana?” he blurted.

“Of course,” Mama laughed. “I’ll go get her now.”

It worked, and Mama let go. It also worked because seeing Mariana for real would prove that he really was home. At least Jesus hoped it would.

Stef stayed close and talked to Jesus, but he couldn’t really hear what she was saying. He was listening for footsteps on the stairs. But not afraid. For once, not afraid.

“What do I have to wake up this early for?”

Jesus heard the voice before he saw her. Chills rose on his arms. He clutched the blanket tighter. He didn’t even hear her feet on the stairs, just her voice. She sounded crabby, and just like he remembered. Mariana always hated waking up early.

“Seriously? It’s 5:30 in the morning,” she whined. “What’s so important when I could have slept another hour….”

Her voice trailed off, as Mariana came around the corner and saw him. Jesus stood and dropped the blanket. They stared at each other.

Mariana had grown. She was tall, even taller than he was. But it was still obviously her. In pajama pants with pumpkins and a top with a big jack-o-lantern smiling.

She came closer and gasped: “Are you real?”

“Are you?” he whispered.

For the longest time, they just stared. Then, simultaneously, both reached out one finger, and they poked each other in the arm. Jesus jumped back. So did Mari.

Eventually, Jesus’s legs got tired. Mariana must’ve noticed them shaking, because she sat on the floor. Then, Jesus sat too. They both sat cross-legged without checking, just looking at each other, still.

“When did you get here?” she wondered finally.

“Just now,” Jesus said. “We had to drive kinda far first.”

“Oh.”

“Are you mad? That it’s early?” he asked.

“No. No way. I’m not mad at all.”

Jesus tried to stay awake, but he kept nodding off. When he crawled under the piano that stood nearby, Mariana sat close.

“You won’t disappear if I sleep, will you?” he asked.

“I won’t if you won’t,” she promised.

Jesus fell asleep looking into Mari’s face as she lay on her stomach, peering at him under the piano.

He was home.

Finally, he was home.

#fic: disuphere #fosters fic

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Disuphere (An AU Fosters family fic) Chapter 58

CHAPTER 58

8:57 PM

It felt like they stared at each other forever. Mom looked older but the same. Jesus knew he didn’t look anything the same which was why he showed her his scar. That way, she would know he wasn’t lying.

She kept swallowing and there were tears in her eyes. Jesus didn’t like thinking he might have made her upset, so he glanced at the clock on the wall. His heartbeat sped up. Almost 9:00 at night. Only two hours left until He got off work. Jesus had to be sure New Kid was safe, too.

“Mom,” he whispered again, motioning her close. When she leaned in, Jesus whispered in her ear. Gave her His name and the car He drove. Told her which school He worked at as a janitor. Jesus gave her the address of both the school and His house. Then, he said: “Ten days ago, he got another boy. He calls him Caleb, and he’s in the basement right now, and he can’t get out. Please tell the cops to go get him before He does. Tell them to bring a saw or an ax. Something strong enough to cut chains.”

Jesus hovered next to Mom as she gave the other cops all the information Jesus told her. His eyes got big as he watched them leave right away. Everybody but Mom and Officer Saunders, who were there to protect him.

Still, Jesus felt so nervous. What if He was there when the cops got there, and He killed Caleb and used the hole Jesus dug yesterday to bury him in? Jesus paced back and forth. It was the same thing He did when He was stressed. The realization had him lurching for the garbage can and throwing up.

Mom was there, but Jesus kept her back.

“Don’t…” he begged even though the sound in his head was so loud he could see her talking to him but not hear her words. “Don’t touch me, I’m gross.”

The longest six minutes of his life passed, and then Officer Saunders told them Ethan Hall had been found in the basement, at the address Jesus gave.

The noise was starting to clear from Jesus’s head. “Alive? Is he alive?”

“Yes. He’s alive. He’s being taken to the hospital to get checked out.”

“You should get checked out, too, my baby…” Mom said so nicely, he wanted to cry.

(Jesus hadn’t been her baby in so long…)

“Can I look at you?”

Jesus felt Level 3 coming again, fast, but he fought it back. “How?” he croaked in terror. He took a step back even though he didn’t want to.

“Honey, I’m not going to hurt you, okay? I’m your mom. My job is to keep you safe and you are safe right now. That means no one can do anything to you that makes you feel unsafe. If they do, I’ll stop them. I wanted to know if I could look at whatever hurts. Maybe your arms or your legs? You show me when you’re ready.”

“Look with your eyes, not with your hands?” Jesus asked, in a whisper. Seeing Mom made the phrase come back. She used to tell that to him all the time.

“You remember that, yes?”she smiled. “So do I. And I promise, I won’t touch you.”

First, Jesus showed her his hands, blistered from hours of digging. Then, slowly, he knelt and pulled up the same pant leg he had before to show his scar. This time, though, he took his sock and shoe off part of the way, to show the spot where the chain dug in around his ankle all yesterday.

Just like she said, Mom looked but didn’t touch. Then she said: “I think we should go to the hospital, just to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am,” Jesus said, sure.

“I can see you’re very strong. You’ve had to be, yes? You’ve had to be strong and say you’re okay, even when maybe you weren’t? Even when, maybe, your hands were sore? And your ankle? I’d like a doctor to look at them.”

“Why?” Jesus was scared but didn’t know why exactly. “You looked at them already.”

“I did, but I’m not a doctor--”

“Child and Family Services need to interview the boy,” a dude cop said.

Jesus hid out behind Mom. “I wanna stay with you. Let’s go to the hospital or whatever.” Anything to get away from the dude cops and all their questions.

They left right then, after Mom yelled at all the cops that interviews could wait. They rode in Officer Saunders’ car which was so much better with Mom and no handcuffs. He sat next to her and stared out the window.

At 9:14 (Jesus checked the time), a cop said on the radio that they had arrested Chris Mitchell.

“Where’s my backpack?” Jesus asked, worried. If He got taken to the very same police station, He could see Jesus’s bag and know it was him that told.

“It’s safe,” Officer Saunders reassured. “So are you. Right, Mom?”

“That’s right. We’ll get your backpack as soon as possible, love.” Mom said. “Getting arrested was smart thinking. What made you think of that?” she asked, not moving as he grabbed her arm and leaned against it.

“You. In my head.”

“I told you to get arrested?” Mom asked, like she might laugh.

“Brandon told me if you break stuff at a store, you get arrested. You agreed with him.”

“Well, I guess I can’t argue with me, now, can I?”

“Nope,” Jesus said feeling almost normal.

“We were with you in your head?” Mom said quietly.

Jesus nodded. “Yesterday, you were there a lot.”

“I’m so glad. I’m so glad you didn’t think you were alone. You know, I did talk to you, too? I came to your room and said goodnight to you every night.” She sounded all emotional - like He would make fun of - but Jesus never will.

“Did I say it back?” Jesus wondered instead.

“No. Not that I could hear.” She sounded sad.

“Don’t worry,” he said, squeezing her arm. “I’ll say it back now.”

9:45 PM

It took forever to get to the hospital, but that was okay, because Mom was there. When they got there, there were tons of cameras and Jesus froze, and buried his face in Mom’s arm.

“I don’t like cameras…” he said.

Even though his voice was muffled against Moms sleeve, Officer Saunders still understood. “I have a blanket, Stef,” she said, reaching over the seat.

Jesus flinched and didn’t think. He just slid off the seat onto the floor of the police car. Mom talked to him for a while about how Officer Saunders was giving them a blanket so Jesus could cover himself. That way the cameras couldn’t see him. Even though he still felt like he was trapped and couldn’t breathe, he wanted that blanket. Eventually, he sat back on the seat and Mom told him how to put the blanket so nobody could see him if they tried to take his picture.

The flashes were bright inside the blanket, but Mom and Officer Saunders were there, protecting him and making sure he didn’t trip.

When he was safe inside, Jesus took the blanket off his head, but he still held it. It was scratchy, but a scratchy blanket was better than no blanket.

“These doctors are going to help you, okay?” Mom said.

“Will you stay and guard the door? In case He gets free?” (They had TVs all over the hospital, reporting that Ethan Hall had been found alive with Jesus. He always watched the news to see if anybody was talking about Him.)

“You bet.”

Jesus had to change into a gown like a dress. They checked his smashed finger from before sixth grade. His hands. His wrists. But when one dude doctor said he had to look at Jesus’s junk, he screamed and fought:

“I’m safe now! I’m safe! Stef!”

She was right there like she promised, standing between him and the doctor, blocking Jesus.

“Ma’am,” the doctor said like he didn’t respect Stef at all. “The boy is safe now. We need to be able to do our job here.”

“Officer Adams Foster. San Diego PD.” Stef showed her shield. “This is my son.”

“We have a social worker on the way. You’ll have to wait outside.”

Jesus’s heart beat so loud. (Please don’t go. Stay here.)

“I need you to understand that my son and I have been separated for more than four years. I cannot leave him, especially when he is feeling unsafe.”

“Well, you’ll have to.” Dude Doctor was an ass.

A younger doctor took Stef to make her leave. “Ruby!” she called. “Stay with him, please? Jesus, honey, I’ll be right outside. I’m not leaving.”

“I’m okay,” Jesus said, even though he was shaking. Ruby was Officer Saunders and she promised to stay and not let them kick her out. She looked tougher than Mom.

Jesus couldn’t understand a lot of the medical stuff they said, but when the camera came out, he jumped down off the table and hid behind Officer Saunders.

“Give us a minute?” she asked, and the cameras backed off. Officer Saunders turned to him:

“I know you don’t like pictures, but these are going to help us put the man who hurt you in jail for a very long time.”

“But He already has a bunch of those,” Jesus whined. “Check his phone and his laptop. You guys don’t need new ones.”

Officer Saunders’ face showed something unreadable. “Those pictures will be very helpful, Jesus, but so will these. Can you be brave for me just a little longer?”

Jesus sighed. “I guess…”

After 20 billion pictures, Stef came back to talk to him about what was gonna happen next.

She said rape kit and told him what it was. She said he could be asleep for it, and when he woke up, they’d stay a little longer and then go home together.

“What if I don’t want to sleep?” Jesus asked, nervous. (The only thing worse than being awake for Something Else was being asleep for it.)

“It’ll be very uncomfortable,” a girl doctor said.

“I can take it. I wanna be awake. Please,” Jesus added, because it was always better to be polite, in case it made them nicer.

Stef must’ve seen the way Jesus panicked about going to sleep, because she nodded. “These doctors will explain what they’re doing every step of the way, and why, so you won’t be surprised. Okay?”

“And after, can we go home still?” Jesus asked. That was the only way he’d make it through what was coming.

“Yes. After we’ll go home.”

“Will you be in my head?” Jesus asked.

“Every minute. I promise, my baby.”

Jesus swallowed and nodded as one doctor came toward him. It would be hard, but Jesus would stay here the whole time. No blanking out.

(No more disappearing.)

That way, he could still hear Mom.

10:30 PM

When Stef returned to the waiting room, she found Mike waiting there with coffee. She had forgotten completely that he had come with her, but she breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized.

“No. Stef, are you kidding? Don’t be sorry. Is he okay?” Mike asked.

“Relatively speaking,” Stef nodded, not wanting to compromise her son’s privacy. “Oh God. Lena. I told her I’d call her hours ago, but Jesus is gonna need clothes, and I wanna stay close by in case he needs me and the damn press is everywhere, and--”

“I got it. Don’t worry about it. You call Lena. Stick around for Jesus, and I’ll do some shopping. What’s he need?”

“Everything. Jeans, shirt, boxers, socks, shoes.”

“Don’t suppose you’d know what size he is?”

“He’s about as big as Jude. Maybe a little bigger. So around a 10-12. Maybe a 6 or 7 shoe?” Stef managed, wiping her eyes.

When Mike left, Stef took a deep breath. So far, all she’d managed to do was to text Lena to not answer the phone, not to watch TV and make sure the kids didn’t have their phones. Based on her reaction (which Stef just read now - OMG Stef no - with a line of crying faces) Stef knew she assumed the worst.

“Hopefully she answers for me…” Stef said to herself, listening as the line rang for half a second before Lena answered, in tears:

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” she managed, crying softly. “He didn’t make it?”

“What?” Stef asked, too shocked to speak.

“You said not to watch the news or answer any calls...to take the kids’ phones… He’s dead, isn’t he?” Lena sobbed as if her heart was breaking.

“I said that because I didn’t want you hearing half the story on the news, love. Jesus is alive,” Stef managed, through her own tears.

“What?”

“It’s Jesus, Lena. I couldn’t call sooner because I couldn’t bring myself to leave his side. I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner.”

“He’s alive?” Lena asked, sounding shocked.

“Got himself arrested breaking smart TVs at a Target in LA.”

“Oh my God! Is he okay? How does he look? Is he there with you now?” Lena fired questions at her.

“The doctors are examining him. Wouldn’t let me stay. But when he’s done, we’re coming home, my love.”

“When? God, I have to clean his room! Will I have time for that? At least to get the clothes off the floor?”

“It will probably be several hours here and then three hours back, so possibly early morning?”

“Oh my God. Are you sure, Stef? There’s no way this is a false alarm?” Lena begged.

“When I went to check him over myself, he said, and I quote, “Look with your eyes, not with your hands.”

“Oh my God it is him!” Lena squealed. “Well, should I tell the kids? Wake Mariana?”

“No, let her sleep. But contact Sanchez and tell her you and the kids won’t be in tomorrow?”

“Good idea. Oh, I love you so much. And tell Jesus I love him so much and that I can’t wait to see him....”

“I will,” Stef promised.

“How are you?” Lena asked, sounding concerned.

Stef thought for a minute and then said the single word that captured everything she was feeling: “Grateful. I’m grateful.”

“It’ll be a long road for him. For us,” Lena observed softly.

“But he’s here. And we’ll go down any road together.”

“Yes, we will,” Lena said.

Stef stayed on the phone, listening to Lena clean. Lena, listening to Stef breathe, and finally break.

Lena just listened, murmuring:

“He’s home now, my love. He’s coming home.”

#fic: disuphere #fosters fic

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Disuphere (An AU Fosters family fic) Chapter 56

CHAPTER 56

Josh was sitting in a room when he realized his backpack was gone. His heart beat even faster. Where was it? He hadn’t taken anything, just broken a bunch of stupid TVs! What about his notebooks? His journal? Jacob’s letter to his mom?

But Josh pushed those thoughts out of his head. He needed to get Stef here. He needed to give them the note. Only he was surrounded by dude cops. Not good.

“What’s your name?” a really big dude cop said.

Josh swallowed, nervous.

“Can you tell me your address?”

(What had Lena said? Just ask for a woman?)

“Can he talk?”a smaller one asked. “Wasn’t on scene.”

Josh glared at them, insulted. “I’ll only talk to a girl cop.”

“Is Saunders still here?” Big asked Smaller.

“Yeah, I think she’s off at 4:00.”

“Well, get her back before she leaves.”

Josh stared at the legs of his jeans while he waited. He could only think one second to the next. If he tried to think anymore ahead, he’d lose it. If they were getting him a girl cop to talk to that meant he was still doing the plan.

Since he couldn’t disappear, Josh counted the seconds and watched the clock. At 4:04, the door behind Josh opened. His pulse sped up.

“My name is Officer Saunders,” she introduced. Her brown eyes were warm, and they softened as she got a good look at him. Josh hoped he didn’t look scared. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Where do you live?” she tried again.

One minute ticked by.

“It says here you were arrested for destruction of property.”

Oh shit. This was all happening too fast. Still, he had to stay calm on the outside. Couldn’t let his fear show.

“How old are you?”

Two minutes. Three. (What if she got tired of waiting and those other cops came back? He had to say something. Now.)

Josh raised his hands, keeping eye-contact with her:

“I have to get something out of my sock. It’s just paper. Is that okay?” (Josh thought about how afraid Ana was of the cops. Of all the talks Lena had with him and Mariana about how to carry themselves around them. Josh did everything she said.)

Officer Saunders was squinting at his wrists, but she nodded.

Slowly, Josh bent down and retrieved the paper. Set it on the table between them.

She reached for it. Unfolded it. Read:

My name is Jesus Foster. I’m from San Diego. I want to go home.

Her eyes widened a little, but she kept her face from showing anything more. She stood up and went to the door. Talked to another cop. She waited by the door until he came back. Offered him an old fashioned phone.

“I’d like you to dial your home number for me,” was all she said.

Josh’s mouth went dry as he dialed Stef’s cell. When it rang, Josh all of a sudden had to pee so bad.

“Adams Foster.”

That voice - efficient, low, warm - Josh would know it anywhere. He opened his mouth to speak but a huge lump blocked his throat.

Mom.

4:10 PM

“Hello? Who is this?” Stef pressed. Who the hell was calling her from LAPD?

There was a rustling on the other end of the phone. Then an unfamiliar voice: “Ma’am? This is Officer Ruby Saunders with the LAPD. We have your son here. I’m afraid he’s been arrested for destruction of property.”

Stef stopped what she was doing. What the hell was Brandon doing in LA on a school day? “I’d like to speak to him, please. Put Brandon on the phone.”

“We don’t have Brandon, ma’am. We have Jesus.”

“Is this some kind of prank?” Stef asked as anger burned inside her. Several times over the years, Stef had gotten calls from people who claimed to have seen Jesus. She had chased every single one, but for a police department to claim they had Jesus? Well, that had to be on the little shit pretending to be Jesus. “Put him on the phone.”

The phone was passed again, and Stef was getting ready to really let this kid have it when she was stopped in her tracks.

“Junior Mints,” a boy’s voice said - lower than Jesus’s voice as she recalled it - maybe an early adolescent? (Jesus would be thirteen now…)

Chills rose on her arms. Once upon a time, right after Jesus and Mariana moved in, Stef and Lena had talked to them about a word they could use if they ever felt unsafe. Each had their own word. Stef had never heard Jesus use his.

But his safe word was Junior Mints. Nobody, not even Mariana knew it.

Stef’s heart was racing as she explained the situation to Officer Saunders. That her son, Jesus Foster, was kidnapped in 2007. Ruby told her about the note she had been shown. “I need you to keep him there while I drive out from San Diego, please. It will be a few hours, but I am coming.”

With Saunders on board, Stef hung up and rushed back to the squad car to meet Mike.

“Who was that?” he asked.

“I think,” she started, hesitant, “it was Jesus.”

#fic: disuphere #fosters fic

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Disuphere (An AU Fosters family fic) Chapter 62

CHAPTER 62

NOW

Thursday, December 25, 2014

Home: 3 years, 2 months and 11 days

“Jesus!” Frankie stage-whispers.

He groans and buries his face in his pillow.

“Jesus! It’s Christmas and Santa came and there’s presents! Even ones for Moms!”

“Yeah, that’s great. Awesome. Go to sleep, okay?” He opens one eye to check the time. “It’s 2 AM, dude. Seriously?”

“Does that mean it’s Christmas?” Frankie whispers again.

“No. Christmas only starts when it’s light out. So go back to sleep, okay, buddy? I’ll see you when it’s light out.”

“I can’t go downstairs in the dark by myself…” Frankie protests.

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause you should be sleeping when it’s dark. Wait. How did you know there were presents downstairs if you can’t get down there?” (For a terrifying second he imagines Frankie sledding down the staircase like Kevin in Home Alone.)

“Jude…”

Exhausted, Jesus, pushes back his blankets and feels his way to the doorway to pick Frankie up. He carries her to Jude’s room first. The door is open, but only Brandon sleeps inside.

Carefully, Jesus walks down the stairs with Frankie and looks around.

“Santa and the reindeers eated all of our cookies and milk!” Frankie whispered right in his face.

Jesus can see Jude by the tree and walks up to him. Nudges him with a foot.

“You wake her, you take her,” he says.

But Jude doesn’t move. Jesus listens, and hears him breathing all heavy.

“Who checks out all the presents and then falls asleep?” Jesus scoffs. He sits down on the couch with Frankie, to stare at the tree, all lit. Presents stacked all around.

He snags a blanket and covers Jude, sprawled on the floor. Then goes back to the couch and covers himself and Frankie with the yellow fleece he’d worn down from his room.

“Can we open presents yet?” Frankie whispers.

“Not yet. Look at the tree, okay? See how nice the lights are.”

“I say presents are nicer,” Frankie pouts. But soon her breathing evens out, and she’s snoring. Jesus crashes, too.

The next thing he knows, it’s like deja vu. Somebody else is whispering his name. He opens his eyes and squints in the morning light. Frankie’s still sleeping hard, sprawled all over him. Jesus glares at Mariana.

“What?”

“Jeez, Merry Christmas to you, too, Mr. Grinch,” she whispers. “I just wanted to know if I could take your picture. You guys look so cute.”

He grimaces. “No. Memorize it. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Callie and I are making cinnamon rolls whenever you decide you want breakfast.”

“Huh?” Jude asks, too loud, jerking up from his spot on the floor.

Frankie jumps in her sleep, and whimpers. Jesus pats her back. Wishes his bro didn’t have such weird habits in his sleep. The teeth grinding was enough to have Jesus throwing all the couch pillows at Jude during the last few hours. Luckily he stopped after Jesus threw the last one.

“Cinnamon rolls, nerd,” Mari says, reaching down to set a Santa hat on Jude’s head.

“Mmm,” he says, still half asleep.

By 8:00, Moms are up, which means everybody else is up, too. Nobody can sleep through Mom’s tone deaf performance of Don’t Save It All for Christmas Day, which was another song Jesus has never even heard of before.

They eat cinnamon rolls and it’s then that Jesus realizes he hasn’t showered. He doesn’t want to hold anybody up but a shower on Christmas is more than nice, it’s necessary. So even though everyone’s looking about ready to open stuff, Jesus has to bail.

“I have to shower, guys, I’m sorry. I’ll go quick, okay? Maybe if Moms say it’s okay, you guys can open your stocking presents now…” He’s saying this mostly to hold off a major meltdown from Frankie, who is tired and hyper from all the cinnamon roll icing. (He’d rather not be there when they see the haikus he wrote for all of them. He means them. They’re just private. And if somebody read theirs aloud or passed it around? That would be awful.)

Jesus sends a pleading look Mama’s way. Everybody’s dressed in red or green. (He’ll have to bust out his best long sleeved tee shirt for the day. Does he have a red or green one?) Mama’s got her necklace of holiday lights with the switch that turns them on and off. Jesus loves that thing. It’s holiday tradition for sure.

“Sure, sounds good, bud, if you’re okay with opening yours when you come back…” she says.

“Yeah. Totally,” he agrees.

“Jesus wait,” Brandon says, shocking him. B hasn’t said two words this morning, because he’s used to sleeping past noon on breaks and weekends. 8 AM is still super early for him.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“Your Christmas present,” he says, handing him a scrap of paper.

He doesn’t check it out until it falls out of his pajama pants in the bathroom. It’s a YouTube link and a title: Wintersong. Confused, Jesus searches Wintersong and Brandon’s YouTube channel. When he finds the video and hits play, everything makes sense. It’s just an audio recording against a snowy winter landscape. But then the piano starts and Jesus recognizes the song Mariana, Frankie, Brandon and Callie did last night. This isn’t like the impromptu version they did last night. This is different. Sounds professional.

Jesus loops it and jumps in the shower, so easily anchored in the present through something way difficult, by not only Brandon, but his sisters, too. He’s surprised out of his mind almost when he hears Mama and Jude dueting on the “sense of joy” lines, and then Mom holding her own with the short line “As you throw your arms up to the sky.”

His whole family. His whole family did this for him. (How, he has no idea. Maybe when Jesus was in therapy each week?) But he doesn’t care how they did it, just that they did it at all.

Jesus lets the song play through twice, because it’s short, and because he needs to hear it again. He loves them so much. He hopes the verses he wrote for them convey as much, and just how much this means to him.

When he finds them all in the living room, each with a giant Christmas themed reusable bag to hold their presents, and any wrapping paper and boxes picked up, he breathes a sigh of relief. He spots Brandon sitting in a chair in the corner and walks over to him.

“Dude. Thank you. That was epic.” And for the first time since he’s been home, Jesus embraces Brandon.

“I got your poem,” is all he says back, but Jesus can tell his voice has gotten thick. Jesus remembers what he wrote, word for word, to Brandon:

Invisible Boy,

Your music is my anchor.

Make the world better.

And he had. He’s playing piano again. The hug lasts a bit, but it’s okay. When Jesus steps back, nobody comments. He goes to everybody else and hugs them, too. Tells them thank you. Because what they did matters.

Finally, it’s time for presents, which is good, ‘cause Frankie looks fit to explode from the anticipation.

Jesus has a plan to get him through this, too. He’s gonna take breaks. As many as he needs. Moms have told him they won’t pressure him to stay with the family for all of it, and that he can step away whenever he needs it.

The first round of gifts goes okay. Frankie gets a ton of Frozen stuff and a Doc McStuffins mobile clinic that she plays with while turning her back to Jesus. (“So you don’t have to see this and be scared.”)

Everything’s going pretty well. Jesus has taken three breaks. They’re trying to keep the mess to a minimum, and Jesus doesn’t have to worry about a mess too near him because his only gift so far as been the music from the fam. He’s enjoying just watching everyone else, when he realizes they’re nearing the end. Everybody has “big” gifts that come last. Jesus won’t, because he got his already. He got some smaller stuff, but he spent the money Moms would have spent on him on making the stairs work for Frankie.

So, he’s shocked when he’s handed a “big” present with all the rest of the kids.

“These are from Grams,” Mama says, and Jesus opens the coolest long pillow that he could totally sleep next to, or on, or whatever. When he squeezes it, he realizes it’s got that awesome memory foam in it.

He’s about to check out what the other kids got - sees Mariana with some clothes and Brandon with a new luggage set when a sound stops him. It’s familiar. Chilling.

Zzzzzzzip.

Nobody else reacts. Because nobody else has been zipped in a duffel bag before. Just Jesus. (Just Isaac.) He gets up and steps away to the closest room. The kitchen.

So not an ideal situation.

He’s breathing too deep, braced over the sink, when Jesus hears Jude’s voice behind him:

“Whatever it is, I have your back.”

Jesus nods. Shows his hands, out of habit, because they are in the kitchen after all.

“What are you doing here?” he gasps.

“You got all pale and walked out. Wanted to be sure you were okay.”

“Everything okay?” Brandon now.

Jesus turns, angry, but not. “Your damn duffel bag. Sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t know,” Brandon admits. “I’m sorry. Whatever it was, I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah… Where’d Jude go?” Jesus asks, to distract himself from the fact that his heart is beating like a damn jackhammer.

“I asked Frankie if I could give you this,” he says, like Jesus’s words have conjured him out of the air. Jude’s back in the kitchen holding a badly-wrapped gift with too much tape. It says:

JESUSFRANKIE

Jesus can’t think. Can’t talk. Just shakes his head.

“I’ll open it in there and come back,” Jude says, running to the living room.

Brandon stays close but doesn’t touch him.

In seconds Jude’s back, holding a bottle of blue glitter. He hands it to Jesus. “She and Mama made it for you. Frankie was so excited she told me about it early. So that’s how I knew.”

“Sit down,” Brandon urges.

Jesus does. Jude puts the glitter bottle in front of him. Brandon sits beside him. “Have you ever tried to watch just one piece the whole time?”

Jesus is trying that, when Jude comes back to the table with the covered plate of pickle rollups Mama made at his request.

He takes three off the plate, and sets them all in front of Jesus, no plate.

“These are yours,” Jesus says, staring at his one piece of glitter until he loses track of it.

“And now they’re yours,” Jude says, nudging them closer.

“Ever hear of a plate? Seriously, pickle rollups on the clean table…” Brandon reprimands lightly. Standing, he goes to the crockpot and stabs some Little Smokies, grabs a plate and brings them over. “In case you wanted something hot.”

“Is it weird if I play the song again?” Jesus asks. “I just need to get the sound out of my head.”

“Yeah, I haven’t heard it,” Jude says eagerly, but he keeps calm, too. It helps Jesus to not get too wound up.

“If you hated the Christmas Eve version, we had something else we were gonna do instead…” Brandon offers, making Jesus laugh unexpectedly.

“That’s a lot of pre-planning…” Jesus manages.

“Hey, you’re worth it,” Jude says easily, and nods, totally confident.

He plays the song again, with the glitter and the food. And it helps. But he still stays in the kitchen until the luggage is out of sight.

“Hey, buddy!” Frankie exclaims. “Did you like my Super Glitter Bomb Blaster I made ya?”

“I do. I always wanted a Super Glitter Bomb Blaster. How did you know?”

“I just know,” Frankie answered cryptically. “Hey, can I have some pickles?”

Moms check in, and he has to keep his distance from Mom because his handcuff fear is at an all-time high. Mariana stays nearby and Callie offers Mrs. Longbottom if Jesus is in need of her assistance. He says no thanks.

They eat a big lunch and that helps some.

They watch the Cooking Channel and that helps some more.

Before he knows it, it’s night, and the day has gotten away in a haze of self care: music, glitter, and lots of food. Frankie crashed by the tree surrounded by presents that she refused to move. Mari takes a picture so she can show Jesus. (He hopes Mariana will delete it after.) But she looks like Jesus wishes he could look. Totally relaxed. Guard down. Surrounded by good memories.

“I loved all your poems,” she told him, after giving them both hot chocolate and candy cane refills.

“You read all of them?” he asks.

“Yeah. I didn’t know you could write like that. I think my favorites were, mine, of course…”

(You may not know this

But you saved me, just by

Never leaving me.)

“ ...but I also really liked Frankie’s...”

(You are my sunshine

On so many cloudy days.

Shine on, Francesca.)

...Brandon’s and Mama’s, too.”

(Where the wild things are

You were so undaunted that

You held onto me.)

Jesus smiles. “You realize that’s over half of them, right?”

“Yes, I realize that. I’m kind of a math genius…”

“I’m gonna probably go to bed...with this…” he says, holding out the cup. He bends down, dropping a kiss on her head. “Night, sis. Love you. Thanks for my present again. I love it more than you know.”

“You don’t love it more than I love you,” she says softly.

“Not possible,” he grins, and walks upstairs. The living room’s picked up, so it’s okay.

At the doorway to his room, Jesus stops and checks his mail. Ruby’s Christmas card had been in there. And some others. But this time, there’s only one envelope. He hasn’t thought to check it since yesterday morning. More mail had come since then.

He brings it in and puts down his haul from the day. Gets comfortable on the giant pillow from Grams, and squints at the envelope in his hands.

A. Martin.

Santa Barbara.

Oh shit.

With shaking hands, Jesus rips open the envelope and and shakes out a piece of yellow legal paper. Reads:

Dear Jesus,

I can’t tell you how much it meant to receive the letter from Ike just in time for Christmas. While my heart is still, and will always be broken, without my little boy, I want you to know it comforts me to know he had a friend like you looking out for him. Enclosed is a photo for you to keep.

Thank you,

Allie (Isaac’s mom)

Hesitantly, Jesus shakes out the picture, flipping it so he doesn’t have to see the image until he’s ready. The back reads:

Ike playing in the snow. South Lake Tahoe. December 22, 2009.

Just three days before he was taken. This is probably one of the last pictures she has of her son, and she sent it to Jesus.

He takes a deep breath and flips it over...and there’s Isaac. He’s laughing, and snow is falling all around him. He looks so alive. So there. So right now.

Jesus smiles, even as tears fall down his cheeks. Song lyrics are there in his head instead of thoughts, because Jesus can’t think past the lump in his throat:

And this is how I see you:

In the snow on Christmas morning.

#fic: disuphere #fosters fic

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Disuphere (An AU Fosters family fic) Chapter 61

CHAPTER 61

NOW

Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Home: 3 years, 2 months and 10 days

For years, Jesus has dreaded Christmas, because it was so full of triggers for him, and that’s still true. But now, he’s finally learning how to love it a little bit. Part of that has been making peace with Isaac’s memory. And that meant, keeping the promise he had made to his friend.

A week and a half ago, when he pulled out his journal from sixth grade for the first time in years, he read all the entries in it after the fam had gone to bed. He read about Isaac, coded as “his cousin” for both of their protection. After he read every single entry, Jesus searched high and low for his Science notebook from the same school year. He usually kept them together, but it took some serious digging to find it, shoved all the way in back, under a bunch of stuff.

All these years later, and Jesus still had the letter.

That night, he had sought out Mom, and asked if she had an address for Allie Martin.

“Why does that name sound familiar?” she had mused.

“Can you just tell me, please, if you know? She’s from Santa Barbara, but I never got a full address. I have something I need to give her. It’s important.”

“I don’t know offhand, but I can do some checking and get back to you,” Mom had said, recognition making her eyes shine with grief.

Jesus had bent down, and given her a hug. “Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

A few days after that, he found a yellow Post-It in his mailbox with Allie Martin written in his mom’s handwriting...and an address. She was still in Santa Barbara.

That night when everybody was asleep, Jesus slipped into the kitchen where the printer was plugged in. He laid his notebook letter-side down and made a copy of the original. (That had been his biggest problem. For years. Not knowing how to part with the only piece of Isaac he had but needing to still keep his word somehow.) A copy would allow him to hold onto the memory of his friend, while also keeping his promise.

Dr. H. was kind of a genius.

It was also her support and questions that had Jesus now referring to him as Isaac, not Jacob. He hadn’t really been Jacob at all. Just like Jesus had never been Josh. They each were their true selves the whole time. Going by a different name didn’t change that.

Jesus had thought long and hard about what to send with the letter. What kind of an explanation to give. How much to say. He ended up going to Dr. H. for that part, too, and while the words in his letter to Isaac’s mom came from him, he really needed Dr. H. as moral support while he did it.

To Isaac’s Mom:

My name is Jesus Foster. Your son was a close friend of mine during a very hard time for both of us. When he turned 12, I asked him what he wanted most for his birthday. He said what he wanted most was to write you a letter. I am sorry it has taken all this time to get it to you, as I promised him I would make sure you got it. The holidays are hard for me and I am sure they are for you, too. I hope this will make it a little easier. Isaac was a great friend and we called each other bros. We were family for each other. Something you should know is He gave us other names There. I was Josh. I never could tell Isaac my real name because of threats made to me. But Isaac shared his when he told me how to sign the letter by him. I am so sorry for your loss. I loved your son very much like I do my own family.

Sincerely,

Jesus

The letter had taken a long time to get right. Mailing it was super hard. But it was out there, in the world. Maybe in Santa Barbara by now. Maybe being read by Allie. Maybe sitting unopened in her mailbox. Jesus had to be okay with whatever choice she made. He could only control writing the letter, and sending the one Isaac wanted sent.

He walks out of his room and toward the stairs, feeling his heart swell with something like pride. Now, there are carpet runners laid down and paid for by him, too. He had asked for his Christmas present to be whatever it cost to carpet the stairs. He never dreamed it would be $100 for a few pieces of carpet with adhesive on the back, but Frankie’s worth any price.

There was also a brand new, smaller railing on the wall, thanks to Brandon and Mike. (In the end, Jesus hadn’t been able to ask Mike, or work with it on him, but he had asked Brandon if he could work on it with his dad.) It was a way for them to spend some time together in the house, which is what Brandon said he really missed.

“I’m using my brand new railing, Jesus! And my feet aren’t slippery!” Frankie offers with a big smile.

“Hold on there, buddy. One sec. Mom?” he calls.

“Yes?”

“Can you take a picture of us with your phone and send it to Ruby? Tell her about how special this one is to me, and how we fixed the stairs all up so she could use them the best way. Right?” he asks, holding tight to Frankie.

Even years later, Ruby sends his family a holiday card. This year, it’s a photo card, showing her and her husband and their five boys. Jesus hadn’t known at the time she helped him that Ruby was a mom, too. But it made so much sense.

“Who’s Ruby?” Frankie wonders, as Mom gets set up and asks if they’re ready.

“She’s saved me from ever having to go back to the bad guy’s house, and she protected me while I waited for Mom to come and get me,” Jesus tells her quietly. “I’m ready,” he nods at Mom. “Are you ready, buddy?”

“Yes, I am,” Frankie answers, confident.

They smile, and Mom takes the picture.

Jesus walks next to Frankie down the rest of the steps and checks out the shot of the two of them. “Okay, that’s awesome. Can you send it to me?”

“Of course I can,” Mom says and zaps it to him.

“You like pictures now?” Frankie asks incredulous.

“I like pictures when people ask first, right? Pictures when I’m happy?”

“Oh yeah, because privacy, right?” Frankie remembers.

“That’s right.”

“Jesus? Ruby says she is very proud of you for helping your sister, and that she’s glad to see your smiling faces,” Mom passes along.

It pretty much makes his whole day. Hearing from Ruby is still one of the best things ever.

Jesus smiles and then pauses awkwardly, standing and waiting. He wonders if anyone will connect where he is right now. Frankie looks up first, and plows into him, with a fierce hug. “You’re under the mistletoe!” she giggles.

For a long time, the mistletoe had been one of those things that just got to Jesus. A thing where there was such a strong expectation to kiss or be kissed whether you wanted it or not? Well, that was not Jesus’s thing. So they adapted. This was the first year mistletoe meant that if you just went and stood under it and waited? Your family could come and give you a hug.

Jesus liked it because sometimes the words still got all jammed up inside. Sometimes it’s easier to move than it is to talk.

After dinner, while everyone’s busy cleaning up, Jesus goes out by the tree with his pillowcase stuffed with seven little presents. He puts one in each stocking hung by the fireplace. He figures it’s the best way to ensure they don’t get lost with all the bigger gifts, size-wise.

When all the cleaning is done, Brandon comes out to the living room and sits down at the piano. Starts noodling. It sounds random. And then it doesn’t. Earlier this week, he had asked if Jesus was familiar with a particular song. Jesus looked it up on YouTube and said no. Brandon asked if it might bother him to hear. (“...you know, like if I played it on piano or something…”) Jesus noted a few things in the lyrics that made him feel weird, and Brandon agreed they’d be easy to change.

It’s that song.

The sound brings everybody else to the living room, too. Mom and Mama, Jude and Callie with two cups of hot chocolate each and candy canes melting inside each.

For a while, until everybody gets settled, Brandon just plays the instrumental part of the song. The piano sounds good. Now it makes sense why the piano tuner dude had been here out of the blue.

Mariana comes over and extends a hand. He smiles. Takes it. She’s seemed like a weight’s been lifted off her since she talked to him about her guilt gut. She even asked if she could keep the story he wrote about her. Of course, he said yes. It’s why he ripped it out of the notebook in the first place.

They walk together over to the piano. Callie follows with Jude. They stand kinda in a line behind Brandon. Frankie is there, trying to keep her balance by leaning on Jesus’s legs.

“Want me to pick you up?” he asks, and she nods. He gets his hand back from Mariana, to be sure Frankie is secure and then reaches for Mari again. Brandon is still playing and all of a sudden, Callie’s singing low. Mariana’s singing high:

“The lake is frozen over. The trees are white with snow. And all around, reminders of you, everywhere I go.” Mariana squeezes his hand.

“It's late and morning's in no hurry, but sleep won't set me free. I lie awake and try to recall how you felt beside me. When silence gets too hard to handle and the night too long.” (Mom’s here now, one hand on Brandon’s shoulder and an arm around Jesus.)

“This is how I see you: in the snow on Christmas morning. Love and happiness surround you as you throw your arms up to the sky. I keep this moment by and by…” Mari and Callie sing and damn it if he isn’t getting a little misty. Then Frankie shocks the hell out of him, coming in with near perfect pitch:

“Oh I miss you!”

“Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, my love. Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, my love.” (Mama’s come over, now, too. Holding the other one of Mariana’s hands, and one of Callie’s. Callie’s holding Jude’s. They are all together. All connected.)

“Sense the joy fills the air and I daydream and I stare. Sense the joy fills the air and I daydream and I stare up at the tree and I see your star up there.”

“This is how I see you: in the snow on Christmas morning. Love and happiness surround you as you throw your arms up to the sky. I keep this moment by and by,” The girls sing, and Frankie comes in again, near perfect:

“Oh, I miss you!”

“Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, my love. Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, my love.”

The song ends and you can hear a pin drop. Because you just don’t get this kind of musical talent in any old family. But it just so happens that three sisters, none of them biologically related can sing circles around anyone Jesus has ever met. (Jesus can’t sing at all, and while Jude can, he won’t unless it’s for choir or a musical. Mom sounds terrible, and he suspects Mama is really good, but she won’t sing at all, except in the car alone, so Jesus can’t really judge.) Brandon’s still got the touch with the piano. You’d never know he hadn’t played in years.

“How did you learn to sing like that?” Jesus asks Frankie, impressed.

Frankie shrugs. “My sisters. We practiced.”

“You did?”

“We sounded really beautiful, didn’t we?” she says, sounding sure.

“Absolutely,” he nods. “You are so talented.”

“So, anybody know any more obscure Christmas tunes?” Brandon asks. “Requests? Anyone? Jesus? Anyone?”

“I’m good. Thank you so much,” he says, eyes shining. “That was awesome.”

#fic: disuphere #fosters fic

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Disuphere (An AU Fosters family fic) Chapter 54

CHAPTER 54

Jesus is neck deep in Christmas prep for the fam, with a note on the wall outside his room which totally forbade peeking through the beads. He has plans to attack the railing and stairs project sooner rather than later. He’s been thinking about asking if Mike will help. Mike’s the only one who knows about how to do home improvement stuff. (All the YouTube videos Jesus could find were totally confusing.)

Historically, Christmas had totally sucked for him. He couldn’t do the classic holiday tunes at all because they made his anxiety spike so much. He didn’t do well with all the boxes that came with holidays involving gifts, all because of being trapped some way in His house all on his own. He always had boxes all over. And He left the radio on playing Christmas music just to make Jesus extra bummed.

The first Christmas he was home for had sucked extra because Jesus hadn’t known those things would be triggers until he found himself in a mess of boxes and wrapping paper on the floor, with Christmas music hurting his ears. By then (after two months at home with just Moms) Jesus knew what to do when he was feeling overwhelmed. Rather than screaming and fighting and making everybody around him feel unsafe, too, Jesus had booked it to his room. He had found his headphones, and burrowed under all his blankets, and obsessed about all of his food and water, wondering if it was still there until Moms could help him figure out what the hell was wrong, and reassure him that the boxes were cleaned up and the Christmas music wasn’t playing anymore.

It’s still weird to think that this would be his fourth Christmas home. Over the years, they’d adapted all kinds of stuff for him, but all these years later, it still made him nervous. Even though Moms had just talked to him about it, he was still weirdly hyper about where her handcuffs were and if she ever would use them in the house, on him. She was good at reassuring him, but some days, Jesus needed it on a loop 24/7 in his head, so he could know it was still true.

Jesus is trying to work on Jude’s gift when his phone vibrates next to him with a text. His heart trips in his chest as he looks at it:

Fireworks. From Mariana.

Immediately, Jesus is shoving all evidence of Christmas prep under his blankets and texts her back:

Where R U?

He’s on his feet, when he realizes he can totally hear Mari’s phone chime with his text. She’s in the bathroom.

Jesus taps on the closed door, taking a deep breath to be sure he’s calmish before he attempts to help Mariana.

“It’s me,” is all he says. She’ll open the door if she wants. When she’s ready. “I’m right here, okay?”

Slowly the door opens. Mariana’s there. Pale. Breathing too fast. Cradling her stomach.

He just looks at her, questions in his eyes. Then sees a paper clutched in her hand.

“You said I’m the reason…” she gasps, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’m the reason that you got away.”

“You are,” he says, honest even now. Because honesty’s their thing. “Here. Sit down,” he urges. “Get your breath. Like you always tell me, right? You wanna hold hands?”

She grabs on and squeezes hard. Tries to breathe. He tries to slow her down. Wonders what happened to freak her out this much. Did she just find the letter? Just read it?

Jesus breathes super deliberately. Slow and deep. “Can you match me?”

And she does try. So hard. Tears roll down her face. She’s gasping. Jesus feels anxiety grip him, but he has to keep it together for her. She is so calm for him. It’s probably exactly what she needs. People help in the way they want to be helped, he knows.

“I’m the reason…” she manages. “It’s my fault you left! It’s my fault He got you!”

She is nearly inconsolable now and Jesus swears his heart stops for a couple beats.

“What?” he breathes.

“That Day...I told you to go home if you were sick, and then I didn’t tell anyone about it. We could have found you sooner if I had told… If I hadn’t told you to go…”

(The memory is fuzzy, but it’s there: his class and Mariana’s passing in the hall. The lines stalling out for some reason so that he and Mari were beside each other, each facing the opposite direction:

“What’s wrong with you?” Mariana had asked, making a face.

“I don’t feel good,” he’d complained softly, so the teachers did not overhear.

“You should go home if you’re sick,” Mariana had said, just before the lines started moving again.)

Jesus needs time to process this, but there just is no time. Whatever she said or didn’t say, she was just a kid like him Then. She needs to know the real truth:

“Mariana…” he says, and the words won’t come, so he wraps his arms around her and holds on tight. She is sobbing. Shaking.

“What happened to me was not your fault. Ever. No matter what you did or didn’t do,” he whispers into her hair. “We are not responsible for His choices. I got in That Car, right? I trusted Him. Do you blame me?”

He can feel her shake her head against his shoulder.

Remembers Mom’s words from his anniversary two months back, about needing to connect to him so her words would go to his heart better. Jesus eases her back, Mariana’s face between his hands. His eyes are shining with sympathy tears and his throat sticks with a million emotions, but Mariana has to know this. So, he looks her in the eyes, and forces himself to say the words:

“I don’t blame you,” he tells her.

She’s holding his wrists, grounding him as much as he is grounding her. But the words are too much for her to take and she looks away. So he takes her in his arms again. Holds her. Rocks back and forth. Like that long hug Mama gave him when he really needed it. Jesus lets her cry. Sure, it makes him choke up, because like Mari said, when he hurt so did she. The same was true vice versa.

It takes a long time for her to calm down. Everybody in the family has come by to check on them, and each time Jesus shakes his head, glad Mari is mostly obscured from them, sitting in the bathroom while he sits entirely in his room. But when Frankie sticks her whole head through the beads to “check in,” Jesus scoots forward until they are both in the bathroom.

The far door is closed and locked. If this door closest to them stays open, it will offer them privacy, and Jesus a way out, should he need it.

“Sorry, we kinda had an audience…” he apologizes.

Mariana half-laughs and half-sobs. “It’s okay,” she manages. (She is still hanging onto him, and Jesus still feels okay. It’s the longest he’s been able to go without calling Time. It makes sense that this victory would come with Mariana - he has always trusted her the most - even when he didn’t know how to talk to her.)

“Did you just read my letter from last week?” he asks gently.

“Maybe,” she admits, he head still resting on his shoulder. “At first I didn’t see it, and then I didn’t want to...finally, I just did it, you know? Read it. And this happened.”

“‘Cause it was a lot,” Jesus insists softly. “I just wanted you to know that I didn’t forget you. I’m sorry if I made things harder. ...Is this why your stomach hurts all the time? You were blaming yourself?”

Mariana nods and swallows. “For a while...a long time...I kept it so buried that I didn’t even get why. But then you called it guilt gut, and, I don’t know. That made sense, I guess.”

“You were just a kid, Mari, and you were scared, I bet, right? I bet you thought you’d be in trouble.”

“I did…” Mariana admits, finally sitting back to look at him.

“Yeah…” Jesus nods. “I did, too.”

Standing, he takes Mari’s hand and leads her into his room.

“What are we doing?” she asks, drying her eyes.

“I wanna show you something. Don’t look under those. Christmas stuff,” he gestures to the pile of blankets with a foot.

“I won’t,” she promises softly.

When he goes to the closet, she comes, too. When Jesus opens it, and gets down on his knees to look through the mess there, so does Mariana.

Finally, he finds it, letting go of her hand. His sixth grade journal, which he had never shared with anyone. Jesus turns the pages until he finds it. The entry he is looking for. He rips it out and hands it to her.

She is silent, reading. Jesus has it all committed to memory. Can recite it word for word in his head:

Short story #2 Sunday October 11, 2009

Once their was a girl named Mariana. She was eleven years old. She had a hard life but soon some nice people saved her and let her live with them and be there little girl forever. She loves princesses and Bell is her favorite princess. She has brown hair and brown eyes and the best smile. I think she feels lonely sometimes. I think she misses her brother. He got turned invisible so he is still with her but she cant see him at all. Some times she dreams about him, but he never dreams of anything. One day he hopes they can be together again. The End.

“This was two years before you got away…” she says, breathless. “You wrote about me?”

He answers her question with one of his own:

“Did you know I was always with you?”

Pause. She swallows. Meets his eyes. Answers.

“I do. Now, I do.”

#fic: disuphere #fosters fic

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Disuphere (An AU Fosters family fic) Chapter 53

CHAPTER 53

NOW

Sunday, December 14, 2014

Home: 3 years and 2 months

It’s been about a week since Jesus’s session with Callie. So far, she’s been keeping her word. Her project is in Moms’ room now, and every so often, he goes to the door, knocks, and gets a handful of pictures to look through on his own. Five pictures at most, five minutes at most at a stretch, each day. The ones Jesus does not feel comfortable with Callie using, he returns to Moms. The ones he does like, Jesus sticks in the mailbox outside the girls’ room, in an envelope with Callie’s name on it.

He’s headed downstairs to find Frankie, when a picture catches his eye on the wall. It’s definitely from when he was gone - a group shot of the kids. Mariana looks about twelve, so Jesus figures it was taken around a year before he got away. He loves this picture because - while there are tons of pics of the kids from his Missing Years - this is the only one where Mariana is holding a framed picture of Jesus. The school picture on all the posters. In the picture, Mariana’s face is serious, but not unhappy. Frankie’s less than a year old there, a big smile on her face. Callie, Brandon and Jude are all there, all smiling, too, but Moms aren’t in the picture.

Jesus hears a gasp and glances down at the stairs to see Frankie, grabbing for the railing and only finding empty air. She’s falling, but Jesus is there, reaches out and grabs a handful of her shirt.

She’s gonna cry - no doubt about it. Jesus remembers his epic roll down all the stairs right after he got home. It had shaken him up and he’d been way older than Frankie. Jesus scoops her up and holds her in his arms, just as she starts to cry, clinging to him.

“That was scary, huh?” he asks.

She nods. Her voice is a whimper. “It’s too slippery and I can’t hold on…”

Jesus looks at her feet. Socks. “Why didn’t you scoot?”

“I just forgot to, okay? It was an accident…” she wails.

“Okay. I’m sorry. Listen. I was looking at this picture,” he boosts her in his arms to point it out. “I like it. Do you know who took it?”

“Callie did.” Frankie hiccuped, rubbing her eyes. “You don’t like that picture, I bet. You don’t like any of Callie’s pictures, right?”

“It’s complicated,” he offers. “You know about privacy?”

“Don’t come in a closed door without asking. Don’t touch a person without asking. If they say stop, stop.”

“Another part of privacy is if somebody takes pictures without asking. Like, if somebody took a picture of you just now when you were upset after almost falling. Would that feel good or bad?”

“Bad,” Frankie says, nodding. “‘Cause I felt scared about that.”

“Right. Pictures are hard for me because the bad guy took pictures of me a lot when I was scared. He did it when I didn’t know.”

“I punched him for ya, okay, buddy? ‘Cause it’s okay to fight bad guys, right?” Frankie says, looking him in the eyes.

“Thank you, buddy. So then Callie took pictures a lot when I was scared. And I didn’t know again. She didn’t ask, “Jesus, can I take your picture, yes or no?”

“Just took it no asking?” Frankie looks horrified.

“Yeah,” Jesus nods seriously.

“She would go in timeout at my school.” She pauses, thinking. “Is that how come you yelled and pushed?”

“That scared you, huh?” When Frankie nods again, Jesus holds her close. “I’m sorry, buddy. Sometimes my feelings just get too big. Remember when you got mad because I couldn’t come with you to school? You were really mad then, right?”

“Yes,” Frankie admits, embarrassed.

“You needed Mama’s help to calm down. Even when you’re older, it’s okay to need help calming down. It doesn’t mean I’m mad at you, though, okay? It’s not your fault.”

“Will you hold my hand?” she asks. “I wanna go downstairs.”

“Can we talk for one more second, though? I have a question about superpowers, and I really need your help.”

“I want to fly!” Frankie says, excited. “That’s my superpower, okay?”

“Okay,” Jesus laughs. “That’s not my question, though, listen. Are you ready?”

Frankie nods.

“If you had superpowers that could fix the stairs so you could use them super easy, what would you do? How would you make them the best way for you?”

“Not slippery and more to hold onto,” Frankie said, sure of herself.

“Okay. Cool. Hold onto me, buddy. We’ll go downstairs together.”

Jesus gets pulled into playing Frozen where they turn each other into ice sculptures. Half an hour later, Moms, Jude and Brandon come in from working in the yard. Jesus sends Frankie in the kitchen with Jude to get a snack and snags Moms.

They sit down in the living room and Mama is immediately checking in with him:

“You look worried, bud, are you okay?”

That slows him down. Jesus stops and thinks. Asks if they have gotten the chance to talk to the other kids about picture-taking and consent. They assure him they have. He checks in with Mom about where her handcuffs are - not usually an issue - but in winter when Jesus is used to being chained, they worry him more.

“You wouldn’t use them on me, right? Like, even if I really screwed up, or you had to go somewhere for a long time?” he asks.

“If you really screw up, we talk to you about it. If we go somewhere for a long time, we make arrangements for all of you kids to go somewhere safe, like Grandma’s, or you come with us. I do not use my handcuffs on my family. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I just, you know...might need to hear it a lot…”

“Absolutely,” Mom nods.

“What else?” Mama prompts. (He loves that she can tell there’s more.)

“I get that it’s probably way expensive, and it’s the holidays already, but…we need to fix the stairs.”

“What’s wrong with the stairs?” Mom asks.

“I just caught Frankie from taking a header down them today. She needs, like, a better handrail or something and some carpet or runners down. It’s too slippery for her and she can’t get a good grip on the big railing. I could work on it.”

“Thank you for telling us, Jesus,” Mama says. “That’s too big a risk for her. We should have fixed it a long time ago.”

“You know how to carpet stairs and install a railing?” Mom asks, confused.

“There’s YouTube,” Jesus shrugs. “How hard can it be?”

“Wait. How do you know what she needs?” Mama asks.

“I just asked her. Same as you guys ask me. She’s little, but she knows what she needs.”

“You’re a good brother, Jesus. Thanks for looking out for her.” Mom says.

“No big deal. We’re family. You do what you gotta do for family.”

“Right you are,” Mom smiles.

#fic: disuphere #fosters fic

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Disuphere (An AU Fosters family fic) Chapter 59

CHAPTER 59

THEN

Friday, October 14, 2011

Home: En Route

2:23 AM

After, Jesus took a shower. It was quick, because Jesus didn’t want to be here any longer than he had to. That was one of the worst things that ever happened to Jesus. It didn’t help to be awake. It didn’t help to have them explain what they were doing, if they knew it was gonna hurt why was it okay for them to do it and not Him? It didn’t make sense and Jesus hoped he would never have to go to the doctor. If all of them were like Him. If all of them did things that hurt exactly like Something Else, Jesus couldn’t trust them. It didn’t even help to not disappear, because it ended up that Jesus didn’t want Mom in his head for this.

Luckily, she didn’t come. She must have known it was bad.

(He hoped Mom didn’t leave for real, like, maybe if he was too much trouble.)

His heart started beating even faster, as he tried to wash all of his gross hair. Jesus hated this hair. It helped him hide. It got pulled and yanked, sometimes He even pulled Jesus to his feet or across a room by it. It was His choice, and He made sure Jesus could never ever cut it.

There was a person waiting just outside the main door of the bathroom. Like a doctor, too. She said there were clothes for him folded on a chair just inside the bathroom. Jesus hurried to rinse off, glad to not even be able to feel how bad he hurt.

He found the clothes - a long-sleeved Angry Birds shirt, gray sweats, white socks and black shoes. Jesus ignored the boxers, even as he put them on. Everything looked new. Still had tags so he knew how much somebody spent on him. Jesus felt sick wondering what he would owe them for being so nice and spending all this money on him.

Once he was all dressed, he put all his dumbass hair back in a dumbass ponytail and rushed out of the bathroom:

“Did she leave? My mom?”

But the doctor lady walked next to Jesus and showed him right where Stef was. In the waiting room. He ran to her feeling shaky now - feeling his body now - damn, it hurt.

“Scissors!” he blurted, breathless. “I need scissors right now!”

Stef squatted so they were eye to eye. “I want to help you. Can you tell me why you need them, love?”

“To cut this off!” Jesus jerked his own hair roughly over his shoulder. He was talking too loud, but he couldn’t help it. His whole body ached. He was dizzy from being so hungry and thirsty, plus he just got messed with again. Jesus was feeling out of control. Too many things felt like Before. He needed this one thing to be different.

“I hear you. I will ask for scissors, okay, love? Can I cut it for you? You tell me where? I won’t hurt you.”

Jesus jerked his head up and down. He didn’t care how or who did it. He just needed it gone.

In minutes, she was behind him, snipping through his ponytail way above the rubberband. His hair would still be kinda long but this would do for now. When it was done, Jesus took the hair from her and threw it in the trash.

“Can we go now?”

“We can,” she said as her phone buzzed. “That’s Mike,” she said checking her texts as Jesus looked on warily. “You remember Brandon’s dad?”

Jesus nodded, even though he didn’t really.

“Mike drove me here to get you. So he’s going to drive the squad car back, and you and I can sit in back together. He picked up some food, so we can eat as we go.”

“Me, too?” Jesus asked.

“Yes, all of us. You, too.”

“Can I have a blanket again?” Jesus asked, nervous. He didn’t know if he could handle even more cameras.

“Take this one,” a familiar voice said, handing him a bright yellow fleece. It was softer than anything Jesus had ever touched. It felt brand new.

“Ruby, thank you so much,” Stef said, giving her a hug. “...For taking care of Jesus.”

“Just doing my job,” she said, like it was no big deal.

“Your shift ended like ten hours ago,” Jesus pointed out absently, arranging the new blanket around himself. “That one dude cop said you got off at 4:00, right before I even got there.”

“That is true,” Ruby nodded, getting down so she could see his eyes. “But you needed me. My job is to help when somebody needs me.”

Jesus wanted to hug her so bad. He hated that his body didn’t trust people. Instead, he just looked at her for a long time. His nose and throat burned. “Thank you...” he managed. “For believing me. For protecting me...and for the blanket…”

“You’re very welcome. You take care now,” Ruby said, blinking back tears.

Jesus waved behind him as he and Stef walked toward the exit. Jesus pulled the blanket up over his head and face and they went outside together. There were tons of camera flashes and so much noise that Jesus’s head hurt.

In the car, when it was safe, Stef pulled the blanket off Jesus’s head. He almost couldn’t breathe from it being like Before. (That Car. Covered up. No air.) Then he could again and Jesus smelled food. Not fast food but real. Stef was opening a take-out box: it had meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans. Giant cups of water.

When Stef said he could, Jesus ate everything, in no time.

3:55 AM

Jesus was so tired, but he never let himself fall asleep in cars anymore. Just in case.

The blanket still felt nice. So did the clothes. Jesus thought again about what he might have to do to prove he was thankful. He knew by now the clothes were from Mike. So a normal thank you might not be enough.

Jesus looked at Stef, biting his lip. He cupped his hand and whispered in her ear:

“What do I have to do for the clothes?”

“What do you mean, love?”

“With the blanket, I just said thank you, but Mike’s a dude…”

“Thank you works for both men and women, love. If you want to tell him thank you for the clothes, that would be fine.”

“Then what would he do?” Jesus whispered.

“Mike? Say you’re welcome, I think.”

“Oh. That’s it?” Jesus wondered softly.

“That’s it.”

Jesus tried it. Made himself speak up so Mike could hear and said thank you for the clothes. Then Mike said you’re welcome and that really was it. Still, Jesus felt kinda like throwing up.

Mom’s phone buzzed.

“Who’s that?” Jesus asked. (Mike was right here, and he was driving so it couldn’t be him. That would be weird.)

“It’s Mama,” Mom smiled. “Would you like to answer it? Say hello? She missed you, you know? Very much.”

Hesitantly, Jesus took the phone and answered the call. “Hey, Mama.”

“Oh, Jesus!” she gasped, surprised. Her voice sounded the exact same. Jesus wanted to cry hearing it. “How are you?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

So, she went with an easier question next: “What are you doing?”

“In the car with Mom and Mike. I had meatloaf.”

“Yeah? How was it?”

Jesus was getting the feeling Mama just wanted to talk to him forever, but except for yesterday, he hadn’t talked on the phone in years. It was making him nervous. At least Level 1.

“Good,” he said, even though he hadn’t tasted it. “Mom wants to talk to you, I think,” Jesus tried. It was the nicest way he could think of to hang up with Mama.

“I love you so much, honey. I’ll be here when you get home.”

“Same house?” he asked.

“We wanted to stay..so that if you ever could get away and you were close by...you’d know where to come.”

“Oh,” he said. (It sounded like she was crying. He didn’t know what else to say.) “Okay.”

He handed the phone back to Mom and sank deeper into his blanket.

5:00 AM

“We’ll be home in about twenty minutes, love,” Stef said softly. The sky was starting to get lighter. “There are some things I need to tell you before we get there, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispered. “What?”

“The family’s a bit different now.”

Jesus felt sick, but he made himself ask: “Does Mariana still live there?”

(Twins were a package deal. What happened when Jesus got in That Car? Did Mariana act out? Did they not want her anymore? Did they send her away?)

“Yes, love. She’ll be so glad to see you.”

Jesus breathed a sigh of relief. “How old is Brandon?”

“He’s fifteen.”

“Oh.”

“But, uh… Mama and I adopted two other kids from foster care. Callie is fourteen now and Jude is ten.”

Jesus stayed quiet, listening.

“And Mama had a baby. Your sister, Frankie. She’s eighteen months old.”

Jesus didn’t care about other kids living there, too, as long as there was still room for him. Otherwise He might break out of jail and come and get Jesus again. Just to kill him. Just because He could.

“Do you have any questions?”

“Can I see Mariana?” he whispered in Mom’s ear.

“Yes, love,” Mom whispered back.

Jesus waited and then said his last question like a secret, too. Just in case Mike changed his mind. “...Are we really going home?”

“Yes. We are really going home,” Mom said in her cop voice, so he believed her.

Jesus sat back, and watched the sun come up. It was a new day.

His first day free.

#fic: disuphere #fosters fic

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Disuphere (An AU Fosters family fic) Chapter 49

CHAPTER 49

NOW

Monday, December 1, 2014

Home: 3 years, 1 month and 17 days

A week has passed since Jesus’s world was turned upside down by Callie’s senior project. It’s time for therapy again. This time, Dr. H., Jesus, Mom and Mama are there. Jesus is as ready as he’s gonna be to talk about what went down. Not ready for Callie yet. (Yeah, he’s still avoiding her.) Maybe next week, though, depending on how this week goes.

Jesus sits in his usual place - a way comfortable chair that he never would have been allowed to sit in Then. Moms are next to each other on the couch that’s across from Jesus. Dr. H. sits in a chair between Jesus and the couch.

“Jesus? Where would you like to start?” Dr. H. asks.

(Deep breath. Focus. You can talk to them.) But Jesus hasn’t even wanted to talk to Moms on the porch lately. Talking to them now feels hard. Harder than usual.

He clears his throat:

“Um…” Jesus hedges. He can’t even look them in the eyes. Doesn’t matter that it’s been a week, this was a huge breach of trust. He doesn’t know how they’re gonna get it back.

He looks to Dr. H. for backup, ‘cause he can still trust her.

She nods. “You can be honest. You’re safe here,” she encourages.

Finally, he risks a glance at them - well, at their hands. Fingers interlaced, like him and Mariana lately. No white knuckles. No clenched fists.

Jesus breathes again. Glancing at their faces brings tears to his eyes. He’s still so damn raw about this. They look stressed and for once, Jesus just doesn’t care. They dropped the ball. He gets that it wasn’t on purpose, but still. He’s gotta talk to them about this:

“When I first came home, Grandma took a picture of me…”

The memory had come back this week, after years of hiding - resurfacing with the horrendous picture-taking stress. He remembered it clearly. Standing. Smiling.

“Yes, love, I remember…” Mom says. Her voice sounds stressed. Quiet. The opposite of cop.

Bravely, Jesus meets her gaze. “When I said I didn’t need privacy...did you buy that?”

“Not for one second,” she says, and he nods. Loves it when she is definitive.

“So what’s changed?” he challenges. “How the hell did this happen? How did it get this far?”

Dr. H. calls for a pause and Jesus kinda hates her, even though he gets it. He just asked, like, three questions, and he has to give Moms time to respond. Has to give himself time to breathe before he gets too worked up for conversation. Still, it’s like, he’s spent over four years of his life being quiet and good. Being cautious had gotten him nowhere. Being cautious cost Jacob his damn life because Jesus had waited a whole hour before going Down There that last day. An hour that could have meant them getting away. Jacob still being here.

“Jesus?”

Dr. H.

Damn. He’d blanked out and not even realized. Not good. (And so not a good day to talk about survivor’s guilt. Jesus needs Moms to know how bad this is for him. He has to focus.)

“Sorry. I’m here.”

“Where did you go just now? What were you feeling?”

Jesus picks the easiest question: “I’m feeling angry.”

“What are you feeling angry about? Do you feel comfortable being more specific?”

“The pause,” Jesus admits. “It brought up old feelings. Submissive feelings. Like I have to ask permission and shit...” He tries not to swear in front of Moms but in the office, strong language is okay, as long as it’s honest and about your own feelings, not about a person.

“Okay. Let’s talk about that. Talk to me about submissive feelings. What, about the pause, brought them up?”

“That it existed! You cut me off!” Jesus is mad now. Eyes flashing. “I get why you called it, but I have a right to my feelings in here. And I wasn’t done.”

“You are absolutely correct. Your feelings are valid. The purpose of a pause is--”

“I get what the purpose of a pause is!” he snaps. “I’m not a dumbass!”

Jesus is losing it. Losing his grip on control. On here. On now. He can feel it in the way he’s breathing. The way his heart’s beating. The way his thoughts are veering sharply to Then, with almost no cause.

Something’s in front of him. A plastic bottle full of purple glitter and some kind of clear liquid so it floats. It’s pretty. Kinda mesmerizing. Watching the glitter settle is helping him settle. There were no glitter bottles There. This level of sensory stimulation just didn’t exist. That’s probably the point. Once he’s feeling a little more regulated, he nods, prompting: “The point of a pause is…” softly.

“Can you tell us?” Dr. H. asks. “What is a pause? Tell us in your own words, Jesus. Take your time.”

His mind trips from Level 3, where Jesus would recite the definition as he’s heard it told to him. In her words. It’s back in the present with the glitter and Dr. H. where his feelings aren’t taken away from him. Where they have weight. Where he is human. Because she wants to hear him, not a definition.

“A pause is like, temporary…” he begins. “It’s to get our bearings and to make sure we’re still present. It gives other people the chance to respond.”

“Very good points. Very specific,” Dr. H. praises, her voice calm and in control. “Now, can you tell me, please, what a pause is not? In your own words.”

Jesus takes another breath. Looks from the bottle of glitter to Dr. H’s face: “A pause is not forever. It’s not meant to silence someone. It’s not used to dominate or control.” Jesus bites his lip. Focuses on the glitter again. He hopes that last part didn’t get too real.

“Love those,” Dr. H. smiles and it makes him feel lighter. Smarter. More like a person.

After a beat, she asks him to be sure he is grounded and to check in with himself. He watches the glitter to keep him grounded, but keeps his ears tuned into her. Presses his feet down, breathes, and tries to unfold his body from sitting forward to stare at the glitter. Finally, he’s square. Present. He can look them in the eyes.

“Submissive feelings?” Dr. H. checks. “Are they less now, or more?”

“Less,” Jesus nods. “I was feeling kinda freaked about what Moms were gonna say. I wasn’t ready.”

“I understand. Are you ready now?”

Jesus nods. Says “yes,” quietly. Clutches the glitter. (They need one of these for at home.)

Dr. H. sends a nod to Mom and she starts slowly. Makes sure he’s looking at her in the eyes before she speaks:

“Jesus, you asked me what’s changed since Grandma took your picture and I made her take it down because I knew you deserved privacy. Is that right?”

He nods. “Yeah. That’s right.”

“The answer is our awareness, love. I walked in as soon as that happened with Grandma. I saw how you reacted when you saw me with my phone out. How you just...weren’t present. I knew you weren’t okay. I knew what caused it. This time, honey, Mama and I just didn’t know. This happened because we didn’t know. It got this far because we didn’t know.” Her voice is full. Un-Mom-like.

“Because Callie’s privacy matters more than mine…”

Mama clears her throat. “I should have been much clearer when I spoke about privacy to you, Jesus. I did not mean that Callie’s privacy matters more than yours. Honey, if we had known what she was doing, we would have stopped it.”

“But you didn’t know. You didn’t ask. And because of that, she’s gotten to violate my privacy in a million different ways since I’ve been home. When I should have been safe. You guys always say I matter. But when stuff like this happens, I don’t feel like I matter.”

“You’re right,” Mama nods. “We should have been more aware and we weren’t. We are so sorry about that, bud. You don’t deserve to feel like you don’t matter. You don’t deserve to have your picture taken without consent and have it used in a way that exploits your privacy. That’s on us. Callie is grounded. She does not have her phone or access to any social media. We’re monitoring that.”

(Jesus thinks about his advice to Brandon on Facebook...when he was supposed to have been monitored: You can’t go wrong with a family picture. Callie was living with them then. Had she taken it?) Mama’s still talking:

“We are not allowing Callie to go forward with this project until you and Dr. Hitchens can sit down with her and discuss what needs to happen with it for you to feel safe. Is there a way that you could feel safe with the existing project or does she need to start again? But she is absolutely required to speak to you about this, and to ask you for your consent.”

“Do I have to give it? I mean, I heard you guys talking. I know she can’t start over.”

“What do we know about consent? Remind us what it is, Jesus,” Dr. H. coaches.

“Consent is…given freely.” He focuses on the glitter. It’s easier to talk to it. More calming: “If it’s coerced, it’s not consent. If you feel obligated, it’s not consent. If you’re not present in your body it’s not consent. If you say nothing, if you’re drunk or high, if you’re a child, if it’s not a clear, comfortable yes? It’s not consent.”

“That’s very thorough,” Dr. H. nods. “So, based on what you just said, think about the question you asked your Moms. Then, when you’re ready, answer it.”

Jesus breathes. Stares at the glitter. It’s tough staying present and calm for this long but it’s leaving room for a lot of clear communication. He’s starting to feel safe again.

“Based on what I just said...If I felt like I had to give it, it wouldn’t be consent at all,” he says, softly. “Right?”

“If you are not okay with Callie’s senior project...which your reaction made very clear...you do not have to agree to it. It was Callie’s responsibility to ask you earlier. She didn’t. If she has to start over, that will be on her, not you. Do you understand?”

Jesus nods. Mama’s explanation helps.

“But right now, Jesus, we’d like to know what you need from us?” Mama continues. He can feel her looking at him, even though he’s not looking back.

He glances up from the purple glitter: “Just consider me…” he begs, voice heavy. “I need this to never, ever happen again. If that means sitting down with everybody individually and saying this is a thing: we don’t take pictures of people and post them or use them without that person’s permission, then that’s what it means. ‘Cause right now? It kinda feels like I’m back at square one. Like I have to protect myself.”

“I can see why you’d feel that way, love. Trust has to be earned, doesn’t it?” Mom asks. “So we would really like to start earning yours again.”

Jesus nods, cautious. In their earlier sessions, without Moms, they had talked about all the different parts of being human. That part of being human meant that - not matter how old you got - no matter if you were a parent, a grandparent or just an adult - human beings made mistakes. Even the best ones.

“I’m working on forgiveness right now…” he offers: a gift.

They look at each other. It’s shaky, but there’s a bridge there.

“If you could talk about next steps together… What would that look like?” Dr. H. asks.

“Talking to Callie next week about her project,” Jesus ventures. “Just with me and her and Dr. H.”

“Moms? Your thoughts on Jesus’s next steps and what will yours look like going forward?” Dr. H. asks.

“We’re going to work on earning your trust again,” Mom says.

“Jesus?” I want you to hold the bottle in your hands, and try to look your mom in the eyes while she’s talking to you.” Dr. H. turns to Mom. “Stef, I want you to look at Jesus. Tell him again what you’re going to work on. Take your time. Let the words sink in.”

Looking at Mom’s eyes is like torture. Jesus remembers eye contact as the worst part of rebonding, because it made him the most vulnerable. Not being able to disappear is hard. But he tries. (Jacob would probably try if he were here. He’d give anything to be able to look at his mom again.)

“Jesus, I’m going to work on earning your trust again.” Mom repeats and pauses.

He’s gripping the neck of the bottle hard. Mom waits until his hands relax.

“To do that, Mama and I are going to be more aware of what your brothers and sisters are doing. We’re going to ask questions. We’re going to sit down with them and have a conversation about how taking pictures of someone without permission goes against our expectations.”

When Jesus breaks eye contact, Mom stops.

“Too much?” she asks.

He nods.

Dr. H. has them all breathe and focus and get calm. When he’s ready again, he asks to hear from Mama.

When Jesus meets her gaze, her eyes are so soft, it almost breaks him.

“Jesus, I think you have a solid plan. I want you to know that I trust your judgment about what you need. Going forward, I want to make sure you know how sorry I am. I want to tell you I’m going to do everything in my power to never make you feel like I am prioritizing your siblings’ rights to make reckless decisions over your safety.”

Jesus nods. That lands right.

“I promise to consider you, always.”

“Okay,” Jesus nods. Jesus waits a beat and then raises a hand, tentatively.

“Yes? You can speak your mind, Jesus. We want to hear from you.”

“Because we’re not doing family therapy tonight, I was wondering. Could we maybe keep doing the thing where we honor each other’s feelings?” he asks.

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea,” Dr. H. says.

Jesus glances at her, and offers a tiny smile.

#fic: disuphere #fosters fic

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Disuphere (An AU Fosters family fic) Chapter 55

CHAPTER 55

THEN

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Missing: 4 years, 1 month and 6 days

When he woke up on Thursday morning, the first thing Josh noticed was the quiet. No loud music. No TV on. And most of all, nobody in his head.

Moms, Mari and Brandon were all quiet now.

It made Josh nervous that they weren’t here to talk to him now, but he knew that he didn’t have a choice. It had to happen today, or else he would be out of chances. It was like he and Jacob promised each other: if even one of them got out, it would be like they both were free.

Josh kept it at Level 1 just so he didn’t slip and give away something about the plan. If it showed that he was nervous, Josh just planned to blame it on his test. (Which he did really have today.)

It was the hardest thing to keep his regular pace and regular schedule, but Josh knew if he was running around, trying to get out of the house, He would notice and get suspicious. So, Josh made breakfast even though his whole body ached from all the digging. Stood behind his chair and thought about math problems, leaving room for his family to come and tell him stuff if they wanted.

But they didn’t.

Josh went to school like it was just a normal day. The hours dragged on like when he was Down There by himself for days or a week. He massively tanked his pre-algebra test, because he was so nervous. Told himself Josh would do that anyway, even if Jesus (could he think his old name?) was planning to get away in a few hours.

He made himself eat lunch and drank as much water during the day as he could, since Josh didn’t know what would happen after 3 PM. If he would be back There, in the hole outside, or at the police station. None of those places sounded like they were sure bets for water.

The clock crawled toward 3:00. Josh tried to stay busy, but made himself not do anything until the bell rang.

Then, Josh walked out of school like usual. Made sure he saw That Car and that He saw Josh, walking home, just like he should have been, at that time.

This time, though, Josh walked by There and just kept going. He ducked into a smaller store on the way, to go to the bathroom and write his note to give to the police. Josh folded it up and tucked it in his sock, where he could always feel it.

He kept walking, counting his steps, trying to keep a rhythm. Target was about a half hour away on foot, and the whole way there, Josh’s heart was pounding. (He was at work until 11 PM. That gave Josh eight hours to be sure he was safe and be sure cops knew where to get Caleb, before He got home and found Josh gone.)

“Where are you guys?” he asked under his breath.

But still there was nobody in his head. It felt like his family had deserted him.

So Josh decided he was doing this for himself, and he was doing this for Jacob. He still had Jacob’s note for his mom in his Science notebook. And Josh had made a promise to get it to her. He had made a promise to stay alive.

Now outside Target, Josh felt a little bit like passing out.

(Come on, you dumbass. You’ve been through so much worse stuff than this! Just go in there and start breaking shit!)

Josh took a deep breath and walked in. He stared the security camera down until it was out of his line of sight. It smelled normal in here. And just knowing food existed in the store made Josh’s stomach cramp like he hadn’t just had lunch two hours ago.

He had to force himself to walk over to electronics - left as far as he could go - the opposite direction of food. He had to focus. Had to do this right. Had to make sure store people saw what he was doing and called. Josh had decided on the way over that the smart TVs were probably the most expensive things. And it didn’t hurt that looking at them brought out a rage so strong that Josh felt like The Hulk. He never stopped bragging about His smart TV and how it was smarter than Josh.)

Josh checked his watch: 3:39 PM. He’d been here for ten minutes already. He’d give himself one more minute and then he had to start. He paced in front of the display. Paused right in the middle of it. Made eye contact with a store person:

“Can I help you find something?”

3:40.

(What would Mariana do?)

Josh kept eye contact, and reached up, for one of the TVs on the shelves, playing Target commercials. Had to really push, but it fell. Josh jumped out of the way, dodging it as its plug was yanked from the wall and it crashed to the ground.

Looked back at the store person whose mouth was moving - whose body was moving - fast. Josh couldn’t hear anything. Just blood rushing in his ears. He kept looking at the store person in the eyes. Reached for another TV. Pushed it off the shelf. Kicked and stepped on the pieces.

Everybody was freaked out. Josh could tell. But none of them put hands on him. None of them tried to stop him. He saw walkie-talkies out. A phone. Josh turned away and kept breaking TVs. Had to be sure he broke enough to get the cops here. To get arrested.

Josh felt like he had been breaking TVs for six hours, not six minutes, when sirens cut through the rushing sound. He tipped another TV off the shelf for a good measure. Another.

Hands.

Josh went blank but not all the way.

Handcuffs.

Cops lead him away from the mess and out the door. Into the back seat of the cop car. With his arms behind him like this, it reminded him of That Day.

But Josh forced himself to stay there.

So he could finish the plan.

No more disappearing.

No more disappearing ever again.

#fic: disuphere #fosters fic

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Disuphere (An AU Fosters family fic) Chapter 46

CHAPTER 46

On Monday, Jesus’s world got turned on its head for the second time since he’s been “safe.” There have been other times, of course. Times as a really little kid with his birth mom, where she’d be high and there wasn’t enough food. Where they got locked out of the house. Or left in the empty one. There were the foster homes, so many Jesus had lost count. Each one slowly weakening his ability to trust.

Then there were the Fosters. (The Adams Fosters, eventually, when marriage was finally legal for his moms.) But back then they were just the Fosters. Jesus remembers Stef - meeting her at the police station - where he and Mariana had been dropped off by the latest foster parents who “couldn’t take care of them anymore.” Even at five, Jesus had thought how scary it was that no grown ups could take care of them. How scary it was to be responsible for his sister all on his own.

Stef and Lena, though. They changed everything. They were the first adults that proved they could take care of Jesus and Mariana. Three intense years in the foster system, living with Moms, and being bounced back to Ana when she tried to get clean, and they were finally adopted at eight. At nine, Jesus got in That Car and at thirteen had to start all over again with the bonding and the trusting.

All for what?

So Callie could creep on him and take pics while he didn’t even know she was doing it? Moms didn’t even know what she’d been up to? How could Jesus ever trust them again? How could he trust his family to keep him safe, when all this time, that was an illusion?

He doesn’t want to think about it too deep. Besides, that’s what therapy’s for. He’s been yesterday and today. Trying to rebuild and work through everything. At least he can still trust the office, the process and Dr. H. It’s the only reason he comes out of his room. Because he knows he needs it. But he’s not ready to talk about Callie. Or look at her. Or see her.

Even just hearing her talk to Jude about how she’s in “the biggest trouble of her life” makes him feel a strange mix of violated and vindicated. What she did was so bad. He feels gross even thinking about it. So, hell yeah, she should be be punished. Losing her phone should be the least of her problems, but right now, it sounds like it’s the biggest.

Jesus knows she’s faced real loss. Jude, too. For all of Jesus’s awful trauma anniversaries, Callie and Jude lost their birth mom. Their birth dad was driving the car, drunk. Brandon told him about it once. The day was awful for them.

But trauma doesn’t excuse this. Nothing excuses this.

Jesus hears it, the minute Mariana arrives. It’s hard not to. Even when she’s trying to be quiet, she makes an entrance.

...Except this time, she doesn’t.

He can see her, silhouetted by the light down the hall. She has blankets. A pillow. Her backpack. It’s like she’s moving in. And it makes him feel secure, except:

“Did you know?” he asks, hoarse.

The day’s coming back to him - the moments he lost and the words he was screaming - he’s starting to remember. It’s like rocks weighing him down to the bottom of a river. How Mama had sent Frankie from the room to call Mom. How Callie and Mariana had come in, and Jesus had rushed at them, shoving Callie all the way back against a wall, until Brandon intervened, dragging Jesus away. Frankie crying. Him screaming, “I trusted you,” at Callie. At the family. Because he had. He’d trusted them. Now, he just doesn’t know.

“No,” Mariana says. “Why do you think I’m out here for the third night in a row?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. He feels close to blank, but he can’t be blank when he’s talking to Mariana.

“I’m here because I’m on your side. Because I’m your backup. Because I’m mad for you…”

“Then why are you crying? If you’re mad?” Jesus asks. It’s subtle, her crying. He wouldn’t know she was actually doing it, except her voice got thick. It’s not how she used to cry, he realizes. She’s adapted for him.

“Because, if you hurt, I hurt. That’s kinda the way it works,” she snaps. “And I should have known what she was doing. I should have asked more. Made her tell me. Because her doing that hurt you so much. You not trusting her carries over to the rest of us. We all let you down, Jesus.”

“Not if you really had no idea,” he manages. Jesus crawls over, like the slug he feels, and reaches through the beads for Mariana’s hand.

She takes it, tentative.

They just stay like that - her lying out in the hall, him in his room - separated by a curtain of beads. He lets go, and she moves.

She’s going.

His heart sinks. He feels totally alone. Stares at the stars on his ceiling. It’s fine. He’s used to being alone. So, he just thinks for a while. Mostly about those damn pictures. Mariana was right. What happened did hurt him. It set him back. He thinks about the pictures he hates, and then one nudges the corner of his mind. Jude, around ten years old, watching Jesus at thirteen.

Seeing that picture, he honestly doesn’t know how he could have ever thought that Jude and Jacob looked like each other. Hair color, yeah, and maybe their height at first. But Jude was sturdier. So much more confident. And there was another major difference:

Outside of that first day, Jacob never thought Jesus was going to hurt him. But in the picture Callie took (Christmas of 2011, when everybody was finally together again) Jude looked guarded. Afraid.

How had Jesus missed something so obvious?

Jesus hears it in his head - the words Jude had just spoken earlier tonight - in the hall with Callie:

At least he didn’t pull a knife on you.

Had Jesus ever apologized? Ever tried to make that right? Because if Callie’s trauma isn’t an excuse for her to systematically destroy three years of safety, security and trust, then his was never an excuse to scare his little bro.

Little bro.

It feels wrong to think it, and right at the same time. Jude’s not Jacob and he shouldn’t be worried about what Jesus is gonna do. So, maybe he’ll talk to Dr. H. about Jacob some...and maybe he’ll talk to Jude, eventually. He’s not responsible for Callie’s choices.

He hears the beads again and glances over. Sees the entire box of Cheez-It crackers, outlined by the hall light, and a letter.

This whole time, Mariana’s been writing to him. Emotion closes his throat but he clears it.

“Thanks,” he whispers. He flips on the light, unfolding the paper and reading:

Jesus,

I don’t know what to say right now, but if my letters help you even the smallest bit, why wouldn’t I write you?

Maybe because I’m embarrassed? Maybe because you’ve always taken such good care of me and I feel like I am sucking at returning this totally vital thing.

Maybe because I’m guilty. You really are the best brother ever. You always protect me. You always have. But I can’t reciprocate. When I could have helped you, I didn’t. And I can’t forgive myself for that.

Okay, this letter is getting seriously depressing. You said you liked hearing stories about when we were little, right? Well, I remembered one.

It was Mama’s birthday That Year. So pretty much right before. Moms were at work and Brandon was in charge. He’d just turned eleven, like, two days before. But he thought being in charge meant bossing us around, and that he got to call Aidan to help him babysit us. They got distracted (of course) mangling a poor bee on the back patio...and while they were busy you may have locked them out. (Front and back doors.)

I decided that we were in charge and we were gonna bake Mama a cake. From scratch. IDK why I was so opposed to boxed cake mix, but I was determined. I thought baking a cake must be kinda like baking cookies. You climbed on a chair and got a super old cookbook down. We destroyed the kitchen, Jesus. It was so bad. Technically, we weren’t allowed to use the oven, but I was sure Moms would make an exception if they knew we were using it to bake a cake for Mama.

Amazingly, we didn’t burn the house down. The cake turned out. Like, it baked. But it looked weird. Then you found like three different frostings in the cupboard and wanted to use them all to frost the cake - and we were in a rush because we didn’t want Moms to come home to Brandon and Aidan locked outside and us using the oven.

So, you frosted the cake with oven mitts on, because the pan was still hot. All the frosting kept melting off and you just kept saying how it was a good thing we were using all of them - vanilla, chocolate and cream cheese frosting BTW.

Long story short we got the cake done and hid it in the refrigerator. But Moms came home to a destroyed kitchen and we were almost grounded forever. But then you were like, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MAMA! WE MADE YOU A CAKE!”

Mom took it out and set it on the table. Mama cut herself a piece right then...and ate it! (The cake looked seriously weird, Jesus. She should not have eaten it.) But we were so proud and she hugged us and said it was the best cake ever.

That’s how much she loves us, Jesus.

She ate our scary-gross-made-by-nine-year-olds cake.

She still does, you know? She loves you. She just didn’t know what Callie was doing. None of us did. And if you can forgive me for not knowing, try to forgive her, too.

Mari

Before Jesus does anything else, he folds the letter back up and tucks it with the other one inside his wallet. Then, he reaches through the beads again, for her hand, not really looking at what he’s doing.

“Yes. Hello,” Mariana says. It’s muffled. Jesus peeks through the beads. His huge hand is totally against her face.

“...Kinda like your hand, but different…” he mumbles, embarrassed. He pulls away. And just like that, there’s her hand through the beads.

“I don’t know, you know?” he admits.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “It’s a lot. But I won’t push you, okay?”

“You don’t have anything to feel embarrassed or guilty about BTW. You’re here for me the way I need you to be. That matters.” He squeezes her hand.

She grimaces but he can see it. “Sorry. Too hard?” he asks, glancing at their hands.

“No, it’s my stupid stomach.”

“Guilt gut?” He means it as a joke, but when she doesn’t answer, Jesus thinks maybe he’s onto something. “You can tell me about it. I didn’t mean to shut you down just now, I just meant that I’m not holding a grudge against you or anything like that.”

Silence.

“Will you tell me about it? Sometime?” he asks softly.

“Yeah…” she echoes. Sometime.”

They fall asleep, still holding hands.

It’s the first time in three nights he doesn’t wake up with nightmares.

#fic: disuphere #fosters fic

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ficdirectory · 7 years

Text

Disuphere (An AU Fosters family fic) Chapter 52

CHAPTER 52

3:12 PM

When He left for work, it was so hard to keep digging. To not scream for help. To not look around for something to chop his chain off. But no. Josh had to stick to the part of the plan he knew for sure: he had to go to school tomorrow.

His muscles ached and burned. His arms felt like lead weights. Checked the watch on his wrist. Nine hours digging. Almost no progress. Josh had no idea how he had done this the first time. Must’ve blanked out and just done it. He wished he could do that now, but he had to listen to Mama. Had to stay focused.

“Hey.” Nine-year-old Mariana was there in his head. “Think about me. Think about coming back. Think about how this is probably the last hard thing you’re gonna have to do. Moms don’t make us dig holes. Plus, if they make us work hard, they help, and they give us food and water.”

“Okay, I get it. Jeez, I’m digging okay?” Josh said out loud. (If He really was watching somehow, He’d just think Josh was talking to himself.)

Josh imagined he was digging his way home, each shovel full of dirt bringing him even closer.

All his hair was hot and heavy on his back. He smelled like sweat. Gross. Josh was so gross. Probably the grossest kid ever. It made him wonder again if Moms even wanted him back. Then, he wondered about New Kid. That made Josh a tiny bit jealous. Because at least Down There it was colder.

“Jesus, listen. We have to think together, okay? All of us. If you’re going to get out of there,” Mama said.

“So, what do I do?” he asked in his head. “I can’t break any of His stuff or He’ll kill me.”

“You know if you break stuff in a store, the cops come and arrest you?” Eleven-year-old Brandon was there, sounding impressed and scared.

“I can’t get arrested. Mom would be so pissed!” Josh shot back in his head.

“It’s a means to an end, love.” Mom.

“No idea what that means…” Josh admitted silently.

“It means I understand and I need you to do this for me. I know cops scare you. But I need you to trust me. I need you to get arrested.”

(Okay. Mom had lost her brain. Officially. What the hell was she saying?)

Josh felt so dizzy he almost passed out. This was crazy. He couldn’t do this. What if the cops got him and just sent Josh back to Him? It happened with Ana even though she couldn’t keep them safe. It would happen again, and then he would just die anyway. Josh just made his family up in his head to deal. They weren’t actually there. Mom would never tell him to get arrested! She was a cop!

She was a cop… If Josh got arrested, they wouldn’t know who to call. Josh could give the cops Mom’s cell number. (She’d had the same one forever, and made them memorize it in case of emergencies when they were in kindergarten. Josh couldn’t forget it if he tried.) They could call her instead of Him. She could come and get him and…

“I can’t. I can’t say all that. Where I’m from. My other name. Your name. What if it’s a guy cop?”

“Ask for a woman,” Mama said calmly.

“Oh, like it’s that simple…” Josh scoffed privately, hefting another shovel full of dirt.

In his mind’s eye, Mama crossed her arms and raised one eyebrow.

“Oh my God! Fine!” Josh snapped. (His mind was super sassy. If he ever saw Mama again, he wouldn’t be so disrespectful.)

“You know what was such a good idea?” Mariana piped up after another long time of digging.

Josh waited, but kept digging.

“Those notes you wrote last Halloween and hid in the candy bowls!”

“You mean the notes nobody found and when they did they thought it was a prank?” Josh insisted silently, wiping sweat out of his eyes.

“Yeah! Those! Write another one with the most important stuff on it, and when they start asking questions, give that to them.”

“I’d have to write it after school or something, so He didn’t catch me, or find it…”

“Duh, Jesus.”

The expression was so Mariana that Josh couldn’t help it, and he smiled just a little.

7:19 PM

Back home, after a successful trip to the pumpkin patch, Stef couldn’t help but feel irritable.

It was nothing particular that got under her skin. At fifteen, of course, Brandon was making sure everyone knew how “over this” he was. He sat and refused to pick a pumpkin. Callie and Jude at fourteen and ten, were awed by the experience, and Stef suspected it was their first time pumpkin picking, too. And at thirteen, Mariana patiently carried Frankie through the rows, until they found the perfect “baby pumpkin” for Frankie. (For the record, Frankie shared Brandon’s temperament about this, despite her earlier excitement.)

Lena snapped pictures and kept taking videos of the kids and Stef just found herself growing more silent. That evening as they carved and painted pumpkins, and Lena put pumpkin seeds in the oven to toast, Stef stepped down the hall - slipped upstairs and into Jesus’s room. The kid who loved Halloween wasn’t even going to be here to celebrate it. Not just this year. Never again. Stef had to accept that.

But Stef had always felt like she had six separate hearts running around outside her body. To wall one off forever? Well, she couldn’t do that. As much as she had told Mariana differently just a week or so ago.

She couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat, so she let her thoughts do the talking:

“Jesus? It’s Mom. Can you hear me?”

11:32 PM

After seventeen hours of digging, with only a couple breaks for water, He unchained Josh and let him come in. Made him shower. Told him to come to His room after.

Josh hated His room the very most. But told himself that it was good that He wanted him in here, even if it was for Something Else.

This would be the last time.

Josh didn’t fight. Didn’t yell. Didn’t fall asleep like he really wanted to. Instead, Josh did everything He wanted. Even thanked him for being able to go to school tomorrow. When it was over, Josh said:

“I really need to study for my test. Is that okay?”

“No amount of studying is gonna make you any smarter, but go ahead. Knock yourself out.”

When Josh went to his room to get his backpack, the bed was stripped. All Josh’s stuff was gone. Carefully, Josh went through his bag to make sure he had the right stuff in it. His Science and Language notebooks from a couple years ago.

Opening to a fresh page in the one that was basically like a journal in sixth grade, Josh wrote:

Journal entry #2 Wednesday October 12, 2011

I have to get out of here. He had me out side digging a hole. He did not say but I think its to put me in after because that is what he did when he made me dig the other one. It was to put Jacob in.. Tomorrow I will do the plan. If this is the last thing I write, I love my family. My real one, not Him..

Josh put the notebook back in his bag and zipped it closed.

He fell asleep and dreamed of walking into the local Target, and breaking all of their most expensive stuff.

#fic: disuphere #fosters fic

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