Disclaimer: I don't own the Fosters, only the plot and any characters you don't recognize from the show.

Author's Note: Just to let you all know, I haven't quit We Care, I've just been super super busy with school. One of my teachers thinks that it's okay to give a multiple-choice test containing 250+ questions to be done in 100 minutes every two weeks. No joke. And that's just for one class. So I haven't really had any time to write. The first chapters of this story, however, I've had written for a while now, so I've decided to post it to give you something. It's in the same world as We Care, just set about 12-15 years later (haven't quite figured out the timeline; suffice it to say that everyone is out of college at this point). If you're new to my writing and haven't read We Care, don't worry, you don't need it to follow along. Read and review! If you like it, I'll give you more next weekend.

Trigger Warning: Several of the characters in this story will have undergone abuse of some kind or another in their pasts. This includes physical abuse, emotional abuse, sexual abuse, and substance abuse. For the most part, these are things that happened in their pasts and will be mentioned as such rather than detailed explicitly. I will add additional trigger warnings as needed at the beginnings of chapters. If you're sensitive to this kind of stuff, be warned.

~~~o~~~

Chapter 1- The Phone Number

Becky turned the once-crisp white business-card over in her hands. It held a name- "Haven"- and a phone number. Beneath the phone number was a single sentence- "Feel free to call collect." There was no other information. She'd been handed it a few weeks ago by the sandwich lady, told to call if she ever needed help.

A memory of that day came to the front of her mind. She'd run away again, away from her drunken mother's seemingly endless string of boyfriends. Most of the time it was alright, but sometimes when her mother was passed out on the couch, the man-of-the-month would come knocking at her door. Usually, she could get away. She used to go to a friend's house, until her friend's mother called the police. The cops came and picked her up, brought her to the station, tried to get her to tell them what had happened. Once, she'd even told them the truth, some of it anyway, that her mother was drunk. Later, when they went to her house to confront her drunken mother, a sober, well-dressed businesswoman and her equally sober respectful boyfriend met them at the door, thankful that they had brought her erring daughter home, apologizing for the trouble she'd caused. She had a tendency to exaggerate, to lie; she was at that rebellious stage; she resented her mother's boyfriend, wanted her father back; she ran away, but they thought she was just at a friend's house. Becky was then treated to a lecture by the policeman for causing trouble. He saw her seemingly perfect life, and suddenly her story was a lie. Becky learned that day, two years ago, that no matter what they told you, going to the cops did absolutely nothing. They always believed the grown-ups.

Now, Becky came to the streets for refuge, here again, just like the day she met the sandwich lady. She got her sandwiches, water, and vitamins, said "no thanks" to the offer of a blanket, book, or condoms, and started to go on her way, before being stopped and handed the card. She pocketed it, figured it was either just another churchy do-gooder, or some outreach program designed to trap runaways and hand them back, or even an elaborate trick orchestrated by a pimp to get you to trust them. But for some reason she'd kept it. Even after she finally went back home again, to her mother's tears, promises of doing better next time, and lack of the man-of-the-month. Her mother could be great, but Becky had learned something else that day with the cop. Appearances were everything to her mother. For the head of PR for a major company, a bad image could wreck her mother's career, a career that she had worked hard to build when she had nothing. That was not to happen, even at Becky's expense. What happened at home was kept to the home. Becky had told the secret to that cop, so Becky's image must take the fall.

But Becky was not going home this time. Ever. She didn't know what she was going to do, only that she wasn't going to allow herself to be put back into the hands of her mother and her mother's boyfriends. Not after her drunken mother, still conscious, sat by and did nothing while the boyfriend came onto Becky. Not after Becky, despite years of practice, couldn't escape from him on her own. Not after he got angry by her defense tactics and started punching her. No. That was it. The final straw. Anything was better than living with a woman who was supposed to protect you and instead consciously betrayed you. So when they were finally both sleeping off their drunk, Becky picked herself up off the floor, cleaned and bandaged her cuts, packed her backpack, and left. She wasn't going back again. Ever. Anyplace was better, as long as it kept her out of her mother's hands.

She knew she couldn't go to a shelter or police, or even a hospital, because in the end her mother would win and get her back. Staying on the streets was risky, she knew, not only from the dangers of con artists and pimps, but because police could find her and pick her up. She knew she only had a short while before her mother sobered up, worked damage control, thought up a story, and called the police to report her missing, presumed run away. And eventually, if she stayed on the streets of this city, they would find her. She needed to get away, find a place to hide out, but she had very little money on hand, whatever had been in her mother's wallet, and had heard plenty of stories of kids picked up at bus and train stations and sent home. Becky didn't even dare take one of the credit cards because she knew that could be traced back to her too.

Becky returned her attention to the card in her hand. She was staring at it, trying to get more information out of it. Was Haven a person or a place? Was the meaning of the name true or a trick? Would it provide an option? Was it just a hotline or something, or someplace that could actually help? The area code wasn't local, she knew that much, but she had no idea where it was from. If this was a place and it was located far away, that might be good, less chance of her mother finding her. And if it turned out to be a trap, then she could probably escape eventually, and have found herself with an anonymous ride to a strange city, a place she could start over. If it was just a hotline, even though she couldn't think of a hotline that wasn't a 1-800 number, and if she called them from a pay phone, then the worse that could happen is they would just give her stupid advice and she could hang up and leave. But either way, calling the number would give her more information, information she could use or not use, and be able to stop standing here wondering about. She decided to call.

Becky could see a payphone up the street. Its booth was covered in graffiti, which she was grateful for. It made it harder to see who was in there. She followed the directions on how to make a collect call- no point in wasting her money- and barely had to look at the number, she had been staring at it for so long. A sleepy voice answered after the operator connected the call. So, where ever this area code, it was still the middle of the night, and she had just woken someone up. Great way to start.

"This is Haven. How may I help?" The voice, although sleepy, sounded pleasant and sincere.

"I got your card a few weeks ago, from the sandwich lady."

"One of the sandwich ladies is me. My name is Lena. We may have even met, as I took the route three weeks ago. May I have your name?"

Becky hesitated, then answered. "Becky". Her first name couldn't hurt, could it?

"Hello Becky." The greeting was filled with warmth. It made Becky feel a little more daring.

"What is Haven?"

"Haven is a lot of things, Becky. It's a group of people who provides sandwiches to street kids. Right now, for you, it's a hotline. If you'll tell me what's up, then I may be able to help you. Depending on what you need, I can give you advice, point you in the right direction. And, if I find your situation warrants it, Haven could also be a true Haven for you, a place to escape from a bad situation. Will you tell why you are calling? I realize it might be hard, but there is no one answer for everyone."

"I ran away tonight. Please don't tell me I should go back. I've done it before. But each time it just gets worse and worse."

"What is bad?"

"I live with my mother. She's usually good, but she, uh...she drinks a lot sometimes. And she brings men home. Sometimes they're there for the night, sometimes they stay longer."

"And where are you during these nights?"

"I stay in my room usually. Listen to music. Try to ignore it. Unless..." a pause "unless the men... unless they come bother me."

"Where is your mother when they come bother you?"

"She's usually passed out on the couch or in her bedroom."

"And then what?"

"I can usually get away from them, and I leave. Run away."

"Where do you go?"

"I used to go to a friend's house, but now I go to the streets."

"The streets are not a safe place to be."

"I know. That's why I've gone back home before."

"What happens when you go back?"

"My mother cries, and apologizes, promises to be better."

"And the man?"

"He's gone by then."

"Why is this time different?" There was a long pause.

"My mother was drunk but awake when he came at me. And I couldn't get away. I tried. It made him madder. He..." another pause "he hit me, hurt me, and she just watched."

"So you don't feel safe at home anymore?" There were no apologies, just calm, simple acceptance. For some reason, that made Becky feel much better than sympathy would. It was like this woman was used to hearing stories like her's, which meant she would know what to do.

"No."

"Are you injured?"

"Not bad. Some bruises and few cuts that I took care of." Becky wouldn't allow herself to think of the other injuries, the less visible ones.

"But you believe that it would be worse next time?"

"There won't be a next time!"

"That's a very smart attitude to take, Becky. Have you ever told anybody about what is happening? An adult?"

"Yes. I used to go to a friend's house, but her mother called the cops on me, for running away so much, and she thought something might be wrong at home. The cops picked me up. I talked to them. They seemed to listen, but then my mother intervened, convinced them that I was lying."

"Are they believed her?"

"Yes. She was her daytime self... a sober, well-dressed, single-mother businesswoman. Head of PR at a big company. A paragon of the community. And I was just another rebellious lying teenager."

"Did she punish you for talking to the police?"

"Not exactly. She called my friend's mom, talked to her about it, and now we can't be friends anymore. Her mom doesn't want her hanging out with a troublemaker."

"But this experience with the police has led you to believe that if you go to them again, even with the evidence of abuse apparent on your body, they will believe her again and not you?"

"Of course they will."

"And she will take you home again?"

"Yes, but I'm not going back."

"That is a wise decision. But you need to go somewhere, don't you?"

"Anyplace I go will just send me back to her, even if it's the streets. The cops will find me and send me back."

"Child Services is obligated to follow up on allegations of abuse, especially cases of physical abuse. It would help you if you go to the hospital right away and get them to look at and record all your injuries."

"She'll just say I hurt myself, that I'm manipulative that way. Or that I'm running with a bad crowd. Or have an abusive boyfriend. But it's not me that manipulative, it's her."

"From what you have told me, that does sound true. Is there anything more you feel I need to know?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Well, I think I can help you, temporarily at least. Correct me if I'm wrong. Your biggest need right now is to find someplace that is safe where there is no chance that they will send you home."

"Yes."

"Then Haven for you could be a true Haven. Let me tell about another side of Haven. Haven was originally set up as a place for people to come and get help outside of city life. Some have stayed, some have moved on. There is a community of people here, mostly adults and their families. Apart from this, my partner and I run a shelter of sorts for minors, or a foster home, but not officially. We work outside the system, taking only cases where it seems the system will fail. Or, in some cases, has failed. If you choose to come to us. you will have come of your own free will. You are free to leave at any time. We are in a rural location, which means both safety and privacy, but also isolation. We do not attempt to keep you isolated in any way, you have the freedom of the place as long as you stay safe, but it is hard to get in and out, so you will have to trust us."

"You're offering me a place?"

"Not everybody who calls this number is offered a place. We try our best to redirect the callers into the system, to established shelters, the police, Child Services, even towards reconnecting with their parents. But for some, this isn't enough. From our conversation, it appears that you fit the latter profile. So this is what I am offering. First, if you want, I will send somebody to pick you up. Her name is Daniela, and she once called this number too, a little over three years ago. You can talk to her, ask any questions you want. If you still want to come, she will give you a ride back. I see by your area code you're calling from San Diego; it's a long drive, about four hours. Dani is here, so you have a four hour wait. If you do not feel safe in your current location, I can call somebody local to wait with you for Dani's arrival, or bring you to a safe place to wait there. Of course, you are free to back out at any time. If you do come, we will welcome you. You will have a safe place to stay, clothes, food, adults who care about you. In your first few days, you will be seen by a doctor for a check-up. It is confidential. You will also talk to me more, extensively and also confidentially, and together we will decide if this is truly the right place for you. I will not kick you out, but we have had cases in the past, where people have decided to go through the system, to tell their stories, at which point we have helped and supported them the entire way. If we do decide that this is the right place for you, you will be able to stay here for as long as you please, and we will help you and support you like a family. For example, Dani is 19 and she has been with us three years. If you do not choose to accept my first offer, then I can redirect you to a local, city shelter which will work with you, within the system, but will not immediately call your mother. They will spend time talking to you first. Which will it be?"

"I'd like to get as far away from my mother as possible, so you."

"Then I will send Dani for you. Are you in a safe location? Would you also like me to call someone to wait with you? It is four hours, remember."

"Ummm, I don't exactly know where I am. I took a random bus, got off at a random stop somewhere in San Diego."

"Could you tell me what the nearest street corner is?"

"Let's see, one sec" the line went quiet for a moment "it's College Ave and University Ave."

"Okay. One moment" silence on the other end "there is an IHOP about half a mile away on University Ave. I can have somebody meet you there in ten minutes, you could have some food, some talk. Would that be alright?"

"Sure, okay, I guess."

"Her name is Mariana Foster, late 20s, dark brown hair" a pause "and will be wearing a red jacket. She's one of the sandwich ladies. She's also one of my daughters, and this isn't the first time we've asked her to hang out with one of our callers. Okay?"

"Alright."

"She'll be at the diner in 10 minutes then. Would you like me to stay on the line with you until she arrives? Do you have any questions? We'll give you a thorough orientation once you get here."

"How long have you been doing this?"

"That covers a lot. Haven's been active about seven years all told, but we've only been doing this part of it for the last four. We were regular foster parents before, but then found out how the system can fail sometimes, for some kids, though we've always had good relationships with Child Services, relationships that have served us well over the years. So we stopped getting new kids, and after a while, didn't renew our license. We told them that we were too busy, with our kids and with Haven. We couldn't take the home inspections with minors living with us that we weren't legal guardians to. They know we run an outreach program, so on the few occasions that we've brought a child in to them, they figure we ran into them during the outreach. Since we have such a good record, they're willing to look the other way over small technicalities like that."

"How many people work there?"

"Again, that covers a lot. You'll understand once you get here. Stef, my partner, and I run the home. Think of us as the parents, of sorts. Stef was a cop, I'm a teacher. I run the Haven school, both for our kids (given all the troublesome paperwork and legalities at regular schools) and for the other kids in the greater Haven community. Some kids from town also come, the ones whose parents want an alternative education. There's about thirty kids all told, of all ages, but only eight, nine with you, live with us. Dani assists. In the rest of Haven, there's another thirty or so."

"I don't really understand about Haven."

"It's confusing, but that's because it's so many things. I've often thought we need to change the name of some parts, to make it less confusing, but do you know how hard it is to change the name of something like that? So we make do. Again, you'll understand once you see it, but basically, Haven is a large piece of land, 100 acres, kinda near the Nevada border. We moved there about eight years ago. But it's about time for you to meet Mari. She may be able to answer some more of your questions. She's also one of the few who knows exactly what we do. Okay?"

"Alright."

"Well then, Becky, I look forward to welcoming you to Haven in about eight hours."

"Alright. Thank you. Bye."

"You're very welcome. Good bye."

Becky hung up the phone. Wow, she thought. Who would've thought that card could hold so much? That woman, Lena, she sounded so nice. The place sounded weird, but good. Wait, she cautioned herself, it could still be a trick. But it seems too strange to be a trick, she argued with that part of herself as she walked up the street. Besides, would a trick give you four hours to change your mind and run away? Well, the suspicious part of her mind argued, they are sending somebody for you now. Somebody you're going to meet. Yes, but it's in a public space. I can always make a ruckus and get away. But what about the isolation? That sounds sketchy. But they wouldn't have told me about it if it were a trap. Her mental conversation continued along this track as she walked up the street, but in the end, Lena's honesty won her over. She hadn't made the place sound perfect, she'd admitted it was quasi-legal at best, and she gave her time to change her mind as well as two separate people to talk to, even if one of them was her kid.

~~~o~~~

Author's Note 2: So, what do you think? And where do you think the Foster kids are now, school-wise, job-wise, relationship-wise? I have some thoughts, but if I like your ideas, I might just use them. Again, read and review, please!