Foster Mom — Strength
OC (30) - Travis (7) - Connor (6)
2000
Mel doesn't really remember when Travis and Connor joined the Aggie family.
Which sounds awful as their foster mom. What kind of parent doesn't know the day the children came into their life?
But it's the truth.
She tries and tries and tries and it changes every time.
She had them since they were infants whose parents died tragically in a car crash. No. That doesn't sound right.
She adopted them when they were 4 and 3 when their parents could no longer support them and left the brothers at her door. No. That's not right either.
A man with two pet snakes had mistaken them for an orphanage and dropped them with her. No, no, no. That can't be right.
She knew them before they were born. Her friend Mary was fatally stabbed in the heart and before she could pass, she birthed Travis and Connor. No, wait. They're not twins. Travis is older by a year. So the last one can't be true. Can it?
The more she thinks about it, the blurrier it becomes. It hurts to think about actually. So she tries not to. Travis and Connor are here now. Does it really matter how it happened?
Besides, the blurriness of her memories is the least of her concerns compared to how ill-behaved Travis and Connor are.
They have no manners, manners children their age should already have. They're needlessly violent, resorting to kicking and punching rather than coming to her to fix the problem like children their age should be doing.
And they're unbelievably crafty, setting wire traps around the house that'll spring flour all over into the air when triggered. Rigging the fire alarm to not sound the ear-breakingly loud siren but the song, "Never Gonna Give You Up" by Rick Astley. Somehow getting into the waterlines of their apartment complex and contaminating it with dye — thankfully food-safe, non-toxic dye, but still! Where did they get that? How did they get access to it? And how in the mother-flipping world do they know how to do any of this?!
And going hand-in-hand with their bad behavior, Travis and Connor are filled with lies and wild stories. They talk about one-eyed creatures stalking their apartments, but that's just their neighbor Jenkins who lost an eye in the Vietnam War. They talk about flying ladies in the sky but those are just doves. They talk about black dogs the size of a school bus, but those are just Irish Wolfhounds. They talk about two talking snakes connected on a staff and their mailman Dad who can pop in and out of existence with wings on his head and feet. And that's… that's just ridiculous. Mel has no explanation for that.
But are all these stories an allegory for something else though? Were they abused and their mind is shielding them by disguising it as fantasies? Are they lashing out like this because of trauma? Whatever it is, it is a cry for help. She needs to get them into child therapy ASAP.
If they're untrusting of adults, Mel had hoped they would at the very least get along with other children, especially other boys close to their age.
But they do not.
They actually hate each other, Travis and Connor and her two sons, Dale, 10, and Cory, 8.
The four of them fight. Constantly. Endlessly. And over the littlest thing too. For the TV remote. For the last cookie. For the soccer ball. Sometimes it's not over possessions, but who's funnier: Patrick or SpongeBob? What's better: Catdog or Courage the Cowardly Dog? And the worst question of all, who's the better big brother: Dale or Travis? Or who's the better younger brother: Cory or Connor?
She feels like they argue just for the sake of arguing. Like now. She has heard this specific fight for what feels like a billion times now. And it would always begin the exact same way.
With her sons starting it.
"We're not twins!" one of them would yell, stomping a foot with his old, worn sneakers (she tried to get them new ones, but they didn't want it) and crossing his little arms and glaring at all of them with distrustful eyes.
"So stop calling us twins!" the other would say, just as indignant, just as loud and bratty, just as insecure as he clings to his brother's shirt.
"Alright! I heard you the first time. You don't have to yell. Jeez," her older son would yell back before she could step in, beyond annoyed, "But does it really matter? You two look alike. I bet you are twins and the doctors messed up or something."
Her second son pipes up, following his older brother's horrible example, "Yeah! What are you? Stupid? You have the same face and you're basically as tall as the other. No way you're not twins."
"Stop calling us twins!" they both screech together in their shrill voices.
Dale considers it for a minute before sneering, "Nah."
It's Connor, the boy with the red wristband, who always tackles her first son first. And it's Travis, the one with the blue wristband, who pulls Connor out of the way of her second son's punch. Then it devolves into a brawl that has her children bruised while Travis and Connor suffer no injuries. Quick as a cat, they dodge all of her sons' strikes and then shove their unbalanced bodies to the ground the first chance they get.
Travis and Connor are only seven and six respectively so the injuries are minor. Just scraped knees and hurt egos for her sons.
But what about when they're older? If they're already showing violent tendencies this young, what will happen when they're bigger and stronger? Sure, her sons aren't any better. But at least they listen to her. Whether it's bedtime and lights are to be turned off, whether it's to clean their room and make their bed, whether it's to wash the dishes and clear the table, Dale and Cory do as they're told.
Travis and Connor do not.
They do not turn the lights off, do not go to bed when asked, do not make their beds nor do they wash dishes.
Both of them tell her that their dad will be coming back for them any day now and taking them back to their home in downtown San Francisco where they'll go back to living how they always do — stealing from the local neighborhood for their necessities.
They are rather independent for children their age, but that only means their 'dad' isn't suited to be a parent. What kind of parent leaves children to their own devices this young? No education whatsoever. No social interaction beyond each other. Pickpocketing and stealing from stores to survive. These two boys turned out more or less normal in intelligence. Surprisingly, their reading, speaking, and fine motor skills are age-appropriate despite the lack of significant human socialization.
If you ask Mel, their dad should be in jail for child negligence.
But these boys adore their father for whatever reason and she has enough grace to not badmouth the man.
Despite her best efforts, Travis and Connor do not warm up to her.
"If you want us to listen to you, then pass this test," Connor tells her, arms crossing over his chest as he pouts.
"Test?" she says with a small and hopefully not nervous smile.
Travis nods, holds his wrist up, and dangles the wristbands she got for them. "Tell us apart without these thingies."
Ah. That's impossible. She can't. Her cheeks burn with shame, but it cannot be helped. Travis and Connor are too similar.
She tries appealing to them individually, starting with Travis but that doesn't work either.
"You're the older brother, aren't you, Travis. Don't you want to be a good example for Connor?" she says.
Travis blinks at her and tilts his head to the side in confusion. "Example? Me? But Connor is so much smarter. He's always the example and then I copy him."
Connor isn't much better either when she finds a moment to pull him away from Travis.
"Connor, your brother likes it here," she lies, "Don't you think it'll be nice to show him it's nice and safe here?"
"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Connor chants, blowing a raspberry, "Travis tells me everything and he didn't say any of that."
"Dad will be back. Dad will pick us up. So stop trying to make us a part of your family."
They both tell her this, but it's not happening. She knows it's not going to happen.
She tries. She tries so hard and for so long to get these two hurt children to open up to their family. For years and years and years — (years? But she only had them for a day. No, two days? A week? A month? How long have these brothers been with them?) — she worked on building their relationship.
Signing all four children up for the Little Leagues together.
("Years?! What are you talking about, Mom?! A man just dropped them off at our front doors two days ago!")
Having game nights every weekend.
("They're not normal. They're not human . Ever since they got here, there's been these — these — these strange monsters around our house! Mom? Mom! Are you listening?!")
Going to the movie theaters together.
("Mom! Cory. It's Cory! He's — He's in danger! A monster grabbed him and took him into an alley and they both disappeared and I don't know where he is and — and —and — MOM! What's wrong with you?! Why aren't you listening!")
But nothing has been working out.
She feels horrible for this. But maybe she should get into contact with the agency and have Travis and Connor removed from her care. They're not a right fit. She's not equipped to deal with the problems Travis and Connor have. They need more specialized care, a more personalized care. Maybe a home without other children.
She decided.
She'll talk with her husband when he gets back and then they'll take Travis and Connor back to —
Back to…?
Where did they come from? Which agent did she speak to again? What was their phone number?
None of it makes sense.
She can't remember. Her head hurts. Something is going on around her and she's asleep for it. Wake up, Mel. Wake up. You have to wake up.
("What's wrong with her? Why isn't she hearing me?")
"Forget her! Just call for help!" a squeaky voice breaks the fog and she snaps out of the daze, turning around to find — to see — to spot —
Dale — beside her in their kitchen, punching buttons on their home phone as he sobs, the phone sliding out of his trembling hands and clattering on the phone.
Cory — being dragged inside by Connor with the red wristband, but his lower half, both of his legs, they're… gone? They've been nipped off. There's blood everywhere and —
"Chair! Someone give me a chair!"
And the other brother, Travis, with the blue bloodied wristband — pushing the kitchen door shut and nearly slipping in the puddle of blood as something pushes back against him.
The door splinters, wood chips slicing against her face. On the other side, she can see a — a dog. A Great Dane — No. No paws, but hooves. A deer. In San Francisco? No. It's not a deer. It just has a deer's body. But its head resembles more of a badger than a deer and its teeth are — there's no teeth but just flat plates that click and clack together.
The thing rams its head against the door again and more of it splinters.
Dale wails beside her and clutches her knee, crying, "Mom, do something!"
Connor drops Cory and lurches for the chair in their dining room but the thing bashes its head one more time and the door falls apart completely. Travis would have been stomped to death if he hadn't darted out of the way. How is he so fast? She doesn't get it. She doesn't understand what's happening.
The monster charges towards her. But her legs are frozen. She can't move. She has to though. Dale is still clinging onto her leg and they'll be trampled if she doesn't move. Travis and Connor are yelling at her to move. Go. She has to go. Move. Move, Mel. But her mind is still foggy. Her body refuses to obey. The monster crashes into her and her son. And she flies clean across the room, head smacking into the wall.
But when she opens her eyes, she's standing. She's fine. Nothing hurts. Not even the monster passing through her body makes her feel anything. The creature's jaw opens and words come from it.
"I'm scared," it says, "I want my dad."
The thing speaks, in a human voice, in the voice of a child, but frighteningly stilted, speaking in a very calm and factual, toneless voice.
There's a hiccup, small and frightened.
On the other side of the room, Connor stares at her in terror, clutching their dining room chair in his little hands. His eyes whip between her and the monster as he takes little steps back on shaky knees.
"I'm scared."
"Connor!" Travis shrieks, shaking the broken door off him, "Let's go! We need to get out of here!"
But Connor's knees crumple and he falls on the floor. The monster bares its rows of bony ridges and speaks again.
"I'm scared."
"Connor!" Travis wails, struggling to get to his feet, but his ankle is twisted. The monster prowls closer, teeth chattering. And Connor just hiccups, tears streaking down his face as he trembles and she's reminded that Connor is only six. He's only a child.
"I want Dad."
"Connor, what are you doing? Don't just stay there!" Travis screams, voice quivering with fear. He's only seven. They're both children. Come on. Move. She has to do something. She's the adult here. She's supposed to be protecting them. But her body refuses to obey her.
"Connor!" Travis wails again.
"But Dad doesn't care about us. He left us."
The monster pounces. Connor is still just sitting there and she wants to look away. She doesn't want to see this. She can't bear to see this.
But there's a blur beside her.
A sharp whistle resounds the room. Like a jet pilot cutting through the sky. Like a falcon dive-bombing for its prey. One second, Travis is there and the next he's gone.
When the monster lands, there's no child pinned under its hooves. Connor is safe, several feet away, with Travis beside him. His tiny body is wracked with tremors as he gasps and gulps air desperately, a hand clutching his chest.
And at Travis's feet, flaring out from the heel of his shoes, feathers — large, deep-brown, white-spotted feathers that are disintegrating before her eyes. Two blinks and the feathers are entirely gone. She's imagining things now. She's going crazy.
"T-Travis?" Connor mumbles in a small, broken voice, hand curling around his brother's sweat-soaked shirt.
The monster clicks its teeth, head tilting curiously. It takes a step towards them. But that's all.
"Stay away from him!" Travis screeches, looking over his shoulder, blue eyes that are normally so gentle with a mischievous gleam in them, now a raging storm, a ravaging tornado.
The words echo in the room, reverberating with power that has all of them obeying. The monster leaps back immediately, as far as it can go, pressing its Cervidae-like body against their blood-splattered kitchen wall. Its hooves stomp on Dale, his neck at an awkward angle (a broken angle, she realizes), punching a hole through her deceased son as well as her… her body? (Is she dead? Is this an out-of-body experience?)
On shaky legs, Travis stands in front of his brother, his chest heaving, eyes blown wide in a wild panic.
"Stay away from us," Travis orders, but his voice isn't as strong as before, fainter now, feebler. "Don't — Don't hurt… my… Don't…"
Travis's eyes roll up the back of his head and he crumbles forward, face clonking on the tile. Connor cries, crawling on all four to his brother's side.
"Travis? Travis!" Connor bawls, shaking his unconscious brother. "Please wake up. Please don't leave me alone. I…I'm scared. I'm scared. Don't leave me. Please don't leave me. Wake up. Wake up please."
The monster stares at them with hungry eyes, restless tail whipping back and forth. But it doesn't approach them. It's teeth clackers, still speaking in a child's voice. Connor's voice, she realizes now.
"Dad left us. I only have Travis now."
Connor cries harder, hands balling into his brother's shirt as he tries again and again to wake Travis, wailing with abandon.
"Travis is the only one that matters now."
Even this far away, she can see Travis is burning with a fever. Shivers wrack his body. His skin is clammy. And he's gasping like a fish out of water even unconscious. They need to find help. Travis needs to go to a hospital. But she can't move. There's nothing she can do.
And like Connor figures out the same thing she did, the sobbing dies down. When Connor raises his head, they're steely with resolve that should be on no child's face.
"As long as Travis is with me, then everything will be okay."
With crafty hands, Connor makes a makeshift sled out of their broken door and duct tape. He rolls his brother onto it.
She watches Connor go over to her youngest son's body. Maybe to help him? Maybe to take him with them? But Cory is already dead. He's beside her right now, pressing his face onto her leg and covering his ears with both hands. Dale too. They're all dead. But still Connor goes to check anyway, flinching away from the corpse when he realizes. His teary eyes fall on her and Dale's bodies beside the monster. Then they wander up to where her ghostly body is and oh. He can see me. He definitely can see us.
"I—" Connor begins after a while, voice wobbling dangerously and stumbling back on unsteady legs.
"I'm sorry," he says as he turns his back to them, grabbing the cobbled-together sled and leaving with his brother.
The monster stays in place for maybe another 20 minutes before wandering off through their kitchen door, tail swishing in annoyance. Maybe because Travis is far away enough? Or maybe because the spell just wore off? She doesn't know. Dale and Cory have fallen asleep on her lap, tired from all the crying. She sits cross-legged, waiting for what's to come next. She doesn't have to wait long. A man drops in through the ceiling, phasing through the solid plaster like it's air.
An angel, is her first thought, a really handsome angel that looks familiar.
But he's wearing what looks like a chiton. He does have wings, gorgeous white feathers, but they're protruding from his helmet and sandals rather than his back. And the man is holding a caduceus in his left hand, two snakes wrapped around the rod. She doesn't know any angel who associates themselves with snakes.
The man steps into their kitchen, going wide-eyed as he takes in what happens here. A leucrotta , she thinks this man mumbles under his breath.
"I know you," she says first before he can address her, "You're the guy who dropped those two children off."
The man freezes, blue eyes wide as he stares at her, recognition blossoming onto those otherworldly features.
"Where are they? Travis and Connor?" the father chokes out, eyes surveying the carnage, the horror that the two children brought onto them. "Where did they go?"
"I don't know. They left," she admits, carefully watching the man sigh in relief. She stares as his face shifts from horror to repose.
"They're alive?" the man asks and doesn't wait for her to answer, running a hand through his curly hair. "Of course they are. I would have picked them up already if they weren't."
She thinks it's the ease of how quickly he goes from worry to reassurance that has her seething. That monster is still out there. And they're only 6 and 7. They can't survive on their own. Do something if you care for them.
But what comes out of her mouth is none of that. Only the sharp retort, "They said you left them. They said you don't care about them."
The man's face twists in hurt and he's clutching the cadeuces tighter.
"I didn't mean—"
There's another flap of wings but from behind and Mel turns towards the sound expecting another man, or at least a human being. But she sees what she can only describe as an Eldritch horror instead. The form is indescribable. Even worse than the monster that killed her and her family. At least that thing looked like a deer. This one is… is… she doesn't know.
"Be not afraid," they say.
She screams anyway.
"They always scream when I'm in this form," they sigh before morphing into a more humanoid shape, a conventionally attractive male in a business suit, wing tucking neatly onto their back, but Mel still sees the horrible eldritch creature. "Well, anyway. Sorry, Hermes, for making you come all this way. They are under my jurisdiction so I'll be taking them. Come visit sometimes. Me and my brothers always enjoy your company. I apologize for the delay, Mel. I'll take you and your children to Heaven now."
"Wait! Michael, I need to ask her about—"
But this Michael person already has his hand on her back and they're soaring to the skies above, Hermes becoming nothing more but a small dot down on Earth.