I don't own The Fosters. Ugh.
Jesus gnawed at his fingernail, sitting as still as he could manage in his designated barstool. He was ordered to sit in it as Stef went to fetch the dustpan from the closet. He knew he deserved whatever he had coming, but that didn't mean he was excited about it. The truth was he was terrified. The last time something like this had happened it hadn't been pretty. He glanced down at his arm, poking at the slightly lighter line of skin. The injury had miraculously cleared up in due time, but the scars were still there – physically and emotionally.
He sat quietly as he watched Stef come back into the room, dustpan in hand. The room was excruciatingly quiet; the slight clangs of glass tinkling against each other was the only sound to be heard as they were swept up and discarded into the trash bag.
He hated the quietness. It was driving him crazy. He just wanted to know what was coming. Was that too much to ask? To be prepared for what he was going to endure? Why couldn't they at least give him that? At least if he had time to prepare himself he could attempt to calm himself as to not scare Mariana.
But no one ever gave him warning. The blindsided abruptness was like a sick addition to the consequence. He could hardly stand it any longer, but feared any outburst would be met with even more ruthlessness than what was already in store for him. On second thought, what would be the harm in asking politely? As he thought about it, nothing they could do to him would be worse than this agonizing anticipation of not knowing what was to come.
He finally got the courage to speak up, his voice dead and void of any emotion. "What's my punishment going to be?"
Stef's heart jumped a little at the sudden voice interrupting her quiet focus. She was determined to get every little shard of glass into the trashcan and out the door as soon as possible. "I'm sorry?" she asked, not hearing the boy.
"I asked what my punishment was going to be," Jesus repeated, his voice lifeless and flat.
"Oh sweetheart, you're not going to get punished," Stef said, scraping what she hoped to be the last bit of glass remnants into the trash bag, tying it tightly when she felt confident she had gotten all the remains of the cup.
"I'm not?" Jesus asked dumbfounded, almost in disbelief.
"Of course not love, it was an accident. You don't get punished for accidents."
Jesus squinted his eyes. This was news to him. But he was happy with this news if this was the way it worked in this house. However, the relief was short-lived as the guilt from earlier once again made its return to the forefront of his mind and the pit of his stomach.
Stef lowered an eyebrow as she spied the look on the boy's face. She walked over to the barstool adjacent to him, taking a seat. "Hey," she said, nudging the usually relatively good-natured, sociable child. "What's wrong, kiddo?"
Jesus swallowed and gritted his teeth. He couldn't do it. He couldn't tell her. She would get mad and hurt him. But he had to. "Nothing," he chickened out. "Just…nothing," he said again.
Stef raised an eyebrow. Something was definitely up. Jesus was a terrible liar. "You sure about that?" she asked, not menacingly, but still with evident query and authority.
Jesus' face went pale. He couldn't believe he was about to do this. After what he told Mariana and after what had happened at the last home they had been to…he couldn't believe he would open his big mouth. But he couldn't keep it inside anymore. The secret was dying to get out and he was unable to control it slipping from his mouth.
"I failed my spelling test," he admitted, immediately wishing he could take it back. His breathing got quicker and he was so mad at himself. Mad for telling and mad for ruining everything, not only for himself, but for Mariana as well. He was so angry and frustrated and his heart raced. He had been sitting forever and he had to get up and do something. He always sat around and let things happen to him, but his body was begging him to do something.
He practically jumped out of his chair. "There, I said it," he said. "I failed my spelling test! So you may not punish people for accidents but you probably punish them when they fail their spelling tests, don't you?" he practically spat. "So can we please get it over with?" he asked. He knew it wasn't the smartest thing to do in this situation, but he couldn't control himself. It was so unfair. He managed to mess up everything and he didn't know how he could stop it. Mariana deserved so much better than this.
"Well go ahead," he said, frantically pacing the floor. He was running out of breath. "Go ahead, I'm ready now," he said, practically panting. He paused, gasping, trying to regain steady breaths. He looked at Stef.
She was frozen into place at the unexpected outburst. It had all happened so quickly that it almost made her head spin. You'd think she'd have been used to it by now considering she dealt with unplanned chaos daily on the job, but it was always different when it was someone you were close to, when it was virtually one of your own.
Before Stef could think of appropriate action to take or words to say, Jesus cut her off. He was growing impatient and extremely confused. Where was the yelling and the screaming and the threatening and the consequence? Why was she just standing there, looking at him? He didn't understand. She wasn't supposed to react this way. She was supposed to be livid.
"What are you doing?" he practically shouted. "Don't just stand there, do something!" he demanded. "Do something, please," he nearly pleaded. He couldn't comprehend what was happening. Why wasn't she angry? Why was she looking at him like that? With…kindness? This wasn't normal, this wasn't right; this wasn't how anything was supposed to be at all. She was supposed to hurt him so he could hate her and maybe not feel so bad about screwing everything up.
Tears stung at his eyes and he was overwhelmed at the entire ordeal. It was like he was on some other planet, one that he couldn't comprehend. He craved some normalcy, something he was used to. He just wanted things to be regular so that at least there was some sense of pattern, no matter how excruciating that pattern may be.
"Just hit me or something," he commanded, his voice threatening to crack. "Please, just hit me," he said. The tears threatened to spill over as he stood on the other side of the counter. "I deserve it I don't understand," he muttered, continuing to murmur unintelligible things, his face creased with frustration and deeply-seeded pain.
Stef carefully got up from her seat, walking over to the child with her hands up in the most non-threatening position she could think of to muster. However, that didn't stop Jesus from recoiling about three feet backwards when he saw Stef's hand move towards him.
"It's okay," she told him, wrapping his arms around him in a gentle support.
"I don't understand," he mumbled into her shirt. "This isn't what's supposed to happen. I don't deserve this," he murmured softly.
Stef struggled not to cringe. She felt an intense hatred, fiery and sudden brew inside her. Whoever had convinced Jesus – her son as far as she was concerned – that he had done anything to justify a beating needed a serious thrashing themselves.
"Why won't you just hit me?" he questioned, still in the blonde's embrace.
"Because hitting anybody is wrong, Jesus," Stef said with conviction. "And I promise you as long as you're in this house, no one will ever do it, okay?"
"Even if I do something to deserve it?"
Stef sighed. "You won't. There's nothing you could do that would ever make you deserve it," she swore, pulling away to look him in the eye.
Jesus nodded, not completely convinced. However, he had gained back some composure, and he looked slightly less tense than before. He avoided Stef's eyes, looking off to the side as he opened his mouth to say something once more.
"Sometimes I wish I wasn't so stupid," he admitted.
"Jesus, you are not stupid," Stef replied with fervor.
"I am," he replied. "I failed my spelling test and I broke the glass and I don't even know why or how. Everyone else can spell and not break things all the time. But I can't. Because I'm stupid," he explained.
"Honey, look at me," Stef instructed, gently positioning his chin so he was forced to look at her. "You, my friend, are not stupid. Some things just come more easily to some people. And you know what? That's okay," she assured him with a smile. "It's okay that you have a little trouble with spelling. And so what if you're a little clumsy? That means we just spend some more time studying the spelling list and buy some plastic cups," she said.
Although in the back of her mind she couldn't help wondering if maybe his problems were bigger than just English and klutziness. She made a mental note to confer with Lena about scheduling a doctor's appointment just to be safe. He was having some difficulties at school lately, and she figured it wouldn't hurt to pay a quick visit to the pediatrician. However, that was beside the point. That she could deal with later. Right now she had more urgent matters to attend to.
"In fact, I think you may just be one of the smartest people I know," she said, as if letting him in on a secret.
"Really?" Jesus asked, skeptically but flattered nonetheless.
"Really," Stef nodded. "You know everything about football. And skateboarding, you are excellent at that. Just the other day you told me about the one guy. What's his name again? The skateboard guy. Last name was some kind of bird. Timmy Eagle?"
Jesus laughed. "Tony Hawk," he corrected.
"That's right! See! You know way more about all that stuff than I ever will. We can all learn things from each other," she said.
Jesus smiled, a slightly mischievous look etching the way onto his features. "You know, I could even teach you how to skateboard if you want."
"Oh really?" Stef raised an eyebrow. "Well, how could I pass up an offer to learn from a pro?" she asked. "Why don't you go get your sister and see if she could go for a little boarding lesson as well," she said, rubbing his back.
"Really?" Jesus asked, still firmly rooted in the kitchen.
"Go for it, kid," she directed, prompting him up the stairs with a pat to his shoulder. "Oh! And invite you mama out too!" she called up the stairs. "God knows she'll get a kick out of this," she mumbled, rolling her eyes. She could already see the smirk on Lena's face as she watched her fall straight on her ass. She could hear the lecture now as she threw her a bag of ice. 'What on God's great earth were you thinking, Stefanie?'
At which point she could probably ask herself the same question. What was she thinking? How had she gotten herself into this? Could she really give these two children the care they needed? These two wonderful, loveable, damaged, perfect children? Her children?
And then they came down the stairs, their faces smiling and excited and happy. Genuinely happy. With two bandaged hands and a tear-stained face. This family was chaotic and challenging and there was still such a long way to go.
But they had already come so far.
And it was the farthest thing from perfect, but it was the closest thing to family. Together – picking up the pieces.
That's the end of this particular story! Thank you all SO MUCH for all of your wonderful responses! I would really appreciate you giving me some final feedback as well! Don't worry, folks, you know I can't stay away from these characters for too long, so odds are there'll be another pre-pilot story out sooner rather than later. I am also very open to taking requests if anyone has anything particular they would like to see! I can't promise I'll write them all, but I'll definitely take them all into account, whether you get them to me via PM or review! Thank you all so much! Much love!
Final acknowledgements: thanks justliziam and obsessedatopia. You make my writing comprehensible. And you're nice people…most of the time.