Hey, so anther little one shot for you... I hope you guys like it :3

So I wanted to write the next one about Jesus... But I'm not certain if I got his character right... sorry :3

Any how, please favourite, review or follow if you like it and let me know if there's any particular scenes you want - I'll happily try my best!

Title: His Fault

Summary: Jesus-Centric (sorry, can't think of a good summary...)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own a thing, and I don't pretend to.

His Fault

It was his fault. Of course it was. Rather than listen to his foster mother and calm down, he'd continued to run about and, as a result, the urn had been knocked over.

He knew the instant it fell, the instant his foster mother turned and saw the ashes of her grandmother scattered across the floor, that that was it, he and his sister weren't going to be staying at that home any more.

He knew that - once again - it was his fault.

Without giving her a chance to say - to yell - at him, he fled upstairs, pulling his twin behind him.

Entering his room, his sister headed straight for under his bed, tightly clutching her blankie, her very much beloved comfort blanket, as she remained hidden. Unlike Mariana, he stayed out in the open - he didn't want their foster mother to search the room for him and end up finding his sister. Sitting down on the covers of his Pokemon duvet covers he patiently stared at the door, waiting for his foster mother to angrily burst threw it and trying desperately hard not to fidget.

As he waited, he could feel his mind racing, one thousand and seventy four - make that one thousand and seventy fi... eight - thoughts swimming around his head at once. He knew that he was getting work up, he could feel it happening, but he couldn't do anything about it - he couldn't stop it.

Suddenly, a wave of anger overcame him.

He hated not being able to control himself. He hated that because of him his sister was hiding under his bed. And he hated that there was nothing he could do about it, about anything.

Full of rage, he stood up and yanked his duvet off of his bed, throwing it onto the floor. Then he grabbed his pillows and they quickly joined the duvet on the floor. Still angry and definitely not thinking straight, his shelving unit was the next thing to fall to the ground, several items noisily breaking as they impacted with the wooden flooring. Heading to his wall, he violently pulled the poster that he'd so proudly put up just the other day, causing it to tear.

Breathing loudly, he stood in the middle of his room, sweat causing his black hair to stick t his forehead. As his vision cleared, he slowly realised what he'd just done.

If they weren't going to be moved before, then they definitely were now...

Before he could move, or do anything, the bedroom door opened and his foster mother stood in the doorway, her mouth opening in shock as she stared at him.

"Jesus Christ! What have you done?!"

"Actually, it's Jesus Gutierrez..." The words escaped his mouth before he'd had time to think. For a moment his foster mum just stared at him, opening and closimg her mouth like a goldfish, before she slowly began to laugh.

"That... That, my young friend, was a good one." She carefully made her way over to him, before sitting down on his rather bare bed. "Do you want to tell me why you did this?" Her tone was nothing but friendly, and her eyes held no anger, just concern for the boy in front of her.

He shrugged. "I was angry."

"And when you're angry you like to break things?"

"Not exactly," He bit his lip as he searched his limited vocabulary for the right way to explain himself, "I just... I didn't realise that I had broken anything, until I calmed down."

"Right, and why were you angry in the first place?"

"Because I did something stupid." Shifting from leg to leg, he scratched the back of his neck and bowed his head, trying to avoid looking at the woman in front of him.

Unfortuantely, she wasn't having that. "Eyes up here, please." She gently but firmly told him. Once his dark brown eyes met her blue ones, she smiled kindly at him and spoke again. "What did you do?"

"I broke it." Ashamed, he tried his hardest not to look down, "I broke your vase-thingy with your grandma in it I was angry because it meant that I'd ruined everything."

"My 'vase-thingy with m grandma in it'?" She frowned, looking at the boy quizzically, "Do you mean the urn you broke earlier?"

"I think so, yeah." He nodded.

"Oh Sweets," Once again, she smiled at him, "That urn didn't contain my Grandma - I moved that one to some place safer after the football incident last week, remember?"

"It didn't? Oh yeah..."

"Yeah," His foster mother smiled again at him, "The one that you broke contained Mr Pebbles, Brandon's old cat."

"It did?" His eyes widened in fear. He'd broken his foster brother's urn... That couldn't be good...

"Hey, don't worry! Do you want to know a secret?" Leaning forward, she shot him a mischeivous smile, humour dancing in her eyes when he nodded. "I never liked that cat - he always scratched me and stole my seat."

"Really?" He giggled.

"Yeah!" She nodded, laughing, "And he always hissed at me for no reason!"

"Well if I were a cat, I'd probably hiss at you too!" He teased, confidence washing over him as he laughed with her.

"Oh, you cheeky little-!" Springing forward, she grabbed him and pulled him to the bed, where she started tickling him mericilessly, "Take that back!"

"No!" Laughing, he wriggled out of her grip and crawled under the bed, where he whispered a few words to his still-hidden sister.

"It's okay, Mari, we're safe."

With a grin, she opened her eyes and removed her face from her blankie, in which it had previously been buried in. Following her brother, she arm-crawled out from under the bed and launched an attack on her foster mother.

If Stef was surprised to find out that Mariana had been hidden under the bed all the time, she gave no indications and instead continued the game, working hard to tickle both of them and all the while smiling widely as both children became more carefree and playful.

Later on, when the twins were worn out, Stef would clean up the mess - both the one upstairs and the smashed remains of the evil Mr Pebbles'. And that night, after she'd tucked them and Brandon into their respective beds and read as many bedtime stories as she could before her eyes began to go blurry, she'd go downstairs, open a bottle of wine and talk to Lena. Because right now, as she hugged, tickled and teased those two laughing children, she knew, without a doubt, that they were hers. They belonged with her and Lena and it was about time they made it official.