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"You said you didn't know if you have any...non-Amanda family."
Connor nods, wary. “I always understood — believed that I was an orphan that she adopted. That is what she told me, anyways."
"Well, it's not actually that unusual for magical kids to be taken from their still-living families for nefarious purposes. We work with several of ‘em right here in Detroit. We'd like to see if we can DNA match you with one of them."
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welcome back, user: North Duncan
now texting: that one dude whos obsessed with finding his twin (he calls him connor)
weast Connor consented. We're gonna get a cheek swab from him and run him through our databases.
60+ ways to scream "WHERE"S MY BROTHER YOU BASTARDS" :zoomeyes: :pray: :pray: :triumph: :clap: :thumbsup: :ok_hand: :pray:
weast are you a fuckin tween girl
weast he's hank's spitting image and your exact copy but somehow dorkier
weast he's got a different wear pattern on his face
weast and I thought *you* didn't smile
60+ ways to scream "WHERE"S MY BROTHER YOU BASTARDS" shUT UP I KNOW HE'S THE ONE
60+ ways to scream "WHERE"S MY BROTHER YOU BASTARDS" I CAN FEEL IT
weast there's still a chance he's a doppelganger of yours
60+ ways to scream "WHERE"S MY BROTHER YOU BASTARDS" I KNOW I KNOW
60+ ways to scream "WHERE"S MY BROTHER YOU BASTARDS" can you tell me anything he's said??
weast privacy laws. can't.
weast also y'know like, not betraying his trust with the stuff he's told us? it's all been in confidence, not something he's had a lot of
60+ ways to scream "WHERE"S MY BROTHER YOU BASTARDS" jfkjkfkcxkvx
weast if he's related to you, you'll know. if he isn't, then you won't hear anything. chill
60+ ways to scream "WHERE"S MY BROTHER YOU BASTARDS" fuck off
weast even if he is there's also the chance he'll want to like, never be associated with you guys. he might decide to go back into the foster system.
60+ ways to scream "WHERE"S MY BROTHER YOU BASTARDS" put in a good wor for us? :pleading_face: :pleading_face: :pray:
weast it's not up to me
weast and this is assuming he *is* actually related to you
weast which he may not be
60+ ways to scream "WHERE"S MY BROTHER YOU BASTARDS" I KNWO HE IS
weast I can neither confirm nor deny my intended fulfillment of your request for legal reasons. shut up and get some rest.
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Before Connor can blink, the cheek swab's been processed and he's sitting down on a couch in one of Jericho's interview rooms to talk with prospective foster families about living with them. First up, though, is his biological family.
Hank knocks on the door to the interview room. Connor sits bolt upright, fixing his slightly-slouched posture in preparation. Markus gives him a comforting pat on the arm and asks him, "are you sure you're ready for this? If you aren't, you can say no."
Connor steels himself and swallows. "Yeah I'm--yes, I am certain."
Markus nods, stands up, and opens the door.
"Mr. Anderson,” he greets, warm. “Nice of you to stop by."
"Hank, please. And you're still as young as ever, Mr. Manfred."
"I've been told I'm very mature for my age, Hank," Markus chuckles. They shake hands. "Come on in and please take a seat across from North."
Connor scans the man discreetly as he steps into the room, joined by Chloe. He...isn't sure what he was expecting. The man's--Hank's--eyes widen, slightly dilating, but other than that he makes no outward expression save for a large, genuine smile. He carries a manila folder under the crook of his arm, slightly bent around the edges.
"Hello, Mr. Anderson,” he greets.
"Hello, Connor." He settles into the chair across from Connor; Chloe sits on the couch to Connor’s left, midway between them. "You can call me Hank if you'd like."
He drops the manila folder on the coffeetable.
Hank isn't pushing anything--even his body language says so. If he keeps referring to Hank Anderson as Mr. Anderson, he gets the distinct impression that he won't be slighted for it.
Connor opens his mouth to respond when suddenly a ringtone sounds out, loud in the quiet room.
Chloe sends Hank Anderson a not-quite-death-glare. "You were specifically instructed to silence your phone before the interview began, Mr. Anderson."
He puts one hand up, the other fishing in his suit jacket pockets. "I swear I did! Goddamn--darnit, I knew he did something with my phone--"
Hank Anderson successfully withdraws his phone, takes one look at the caller ID, scowls, and flips his phone off. "There. I should've known Sixty would do something to it before we left the house. My bad for not double-checking, though; that one's on me."
Wait...who goes by the name Sixty?
"Sixty...?" It takes Connor a moment to realize that he's spoken aloud.
"Collin," Hank Anderson grunts with no little amusement, putting his phone back into his pocket. "He's my middle child--and your identical twin."
Connor leans forward in his seat ever so slightly. He is very intrigued. "Identical twin? Really? I have an identical twin?"
North snorts off to the side. Hank Anderson's eyes light up at that. "Yeah. Would you like to see him?"
"Yes, please."
Hank Anderson glances over at Chloe, who then nods, and he reaches over to open the manila folder.
Inside the folder are a bunch of photos, all layered on top of one another with a freshly-printed static. Hank Anderson takes them out and straightens them on the coffeetable, then rifles through them for a moment before worrying one specific photograph out with a licked finger.
"Here's one you might like. This is Collin at homecoming just this year."
Connor blinks. Hank Anderson could have done that with magic so much more easily, but he didn't. That's...interesting.
What's even more interesting is the picture itself, of course.
Connor takes it in, eyes wide. It's him. He's staring at a photograph of himself, his face and his body and even his hair and eyes and shoulder slant. It's almost like looking into a mirror--Collin is even wearing a suit and tie, though Connor knows he's never worn a royal purple tuxedo in his life, nor has Amanda let him he ever wanted to pose in front of such ridiculous propwork. But it's him.
"Fascinating," he breathes, reaching out to touch the photo. "May I...?"
Hank Anderson hands him the photograph readily, and he takes it delicately by the edges, bringing it closer to his face.
This Collin, upon closer inspection, is different from him. Their noses slope at different angles, Sixty has a forehead scar that he’s noticeably lacking, and creases work their skin in distinctive patterns. It takes him a moment, but Connor also registers that Collin is--scowling, in a way that's not dissimilar to the man in front of him.
"He's angry," Connor notes.
"Oh, he was livid," Hank laughs. "The theme for the dance was "Night Under the Northern Lights” or something like that. Originally he was gonna go in an absolutely horrible neon shimmery blazer he found at a thrift shop, but two days before, Sumo decided to put the poor thing out of its misery and we rented him a proper tuxedo."
Connor blinks again as a small snort is startled out of him.
Neon glitter is...not something Amanda would have ever considered for him, but he's coming to learn that doesn't mean it's bad. "This Sumo has a good sense of fashion."
"As much as a 120-pound Saint Bernard can, anyhow."
"A dog?" Connor jumps a little in his seat. "I like dogs!"
"I thought you might say that," and Hank looks absolutely delighted at his exclamation, his small unforgivable breach of professionalism, that Connor can't help but feel encouraged.
Hank digs out another photo from the pile, this time a 4x6 that prominently features one Saint Bernard, lounging semi-artfully in the snow.
Connor puts down the cheaply-made print do not say that, it is not your place to judge the value of things of Collin (his twin) at homecoming and delicately slides it back to Hank, then accepts the next photograph gingerly.
"This is Sumo. He's turning twelve this year."
"That's an abnormally long lifespan for a Saint Bernard. Does he have any health issues?" Connor can't see any in the picture, but it'd be hard to catch anything less than broken-bone obvious from the angle. Great for looking into soulful brown eyes, though.
"He's got minor hip dysplasia on his back right hip and he has some seasonal allergies that give him hives. Gave us a heart disease scare when he turned 9, but it turned out he wasn't reacting well to his antihistamines. We fixed that up quickly."
Huh, most of the time dog owners aren't all that enthusiastic about sharing their dog's health issues with him. (They'd been…what Amanda called a “point of intrigue” of his once upon a time, and when Amanda informed him his healthcare interests were futile as he wasn't magical, he briefly dabbled with the idea of becoming a veterinarian instead.)
But, well...this is his biological father. He looks back up at Hank Anderson. Maybe he thinks Connor has a right to this information somehow?
"Thank you for telling me."
"No problem. Sumo was always a big fan of yours--it'd make sense that you'd be a big fan of him as well."
Connor startles at that. Oh, Sumo is twelve this year, and it's been--it's been eleven since he last lived with his family. If they got Sumo as a puppy, it makes sense that he and Sumo would have interacted at some point.
"Would you like to see some more of him?"
Connor nods.
Hank digs through more photographs.
"Here's one of Sumo and Collin a couple years back." Seeing that one is a trip, because it's him-but-not-him hugging his-dog-that-is-not-his-dog.
"Oh, here's one of Sumo and Cole--he's your little brother. Nine this year--you, ah, you didn't know him at all. Before."
There's a little boy, looking around eight years old, bundled up in cold-weather clothes with his arms carelessly flung around the furry neck of Sumo. Connor barely restrains himself from tracing Cole's face with his finger.
"And here's one with him and Nines--ah, he's Conan, but we call him Nines. He'll be turning nineteen this year. Heh."
An older child, this time with a much more composed expression and noise-cancelling headphones, is lying flat on his back on the sandy shores of a lake with a dry Sumo sprawled out on top of him.
"Nines has some sensory processing issues. He was feeling overwhelmed by our trip to the beach, so Sumo decided to help him out a little bit," he smiles fondly.
Connor takes his time processing each one, dedicating two minutes apiece to analyzing each picture, thoroughly combing through them for details each and every time, before delicately pushing them back to Hank across the table's glass surface.
"I...I have three brothers." And a father. And they all seem so normal, so...mundane. Nonmagical.
Hank's kind eyes soften, and he shifts forward.
"You've got us for as long as you want us, s...kid. I know--" the grip on the sheaf of pictures in Hank Anderson's hands loosens slightly, and that's enough for a piece of lined paper to slip out, stopping Hank in his tracks.
Connor's eyes follow the errant stowaway and observes as it slides across the table towards him unerringly. North snatches it off the table.
"It's from Sixty." She doesn't even need to open the note to divine its sender.
Hank blinks with a grunt. "Now, I actually have no idea how he managed that. I picked these up from the drugstore after I left the house to come here, and I double- and triple-checked to make sure I didn't have any hitchhikers."
Chloe sighs. "Where there's a will, there's a way, and where there's a way, there's a Sixty--never mind his dedication to finding his long-lost brother."
"True," Hank snorts.
Connor's head turns, snapping between Chloe and Hank.
"I told you earlier that magic kids get taken from their families a lot, right?” Prompts North. “Because of that, Jericho takes on cases from the other end too--we work with the families who've had their kids taken from them, do outreach and networking and stuff, put some of their DNA in our databases so we can cross-compare with the kids like you we find. I started volunteering here three years ago, and I got assigned to shadow Chloe--she's the one who's been working with the Andersons in looking for you."
Connor's head tilts slightly. They were...looking for him?
"One day, someone gave Sixty my number, and he's been a non-stop thorn in my side since." She says that with a grin, so Collin has likely been more of an amusement than an actual nuisance. "He's one of the first people in line each and every month, looking through our active cases, scanning for anyone who even remotely looks like him, and he's spent hours of my life blowing up my phone whenever he sees a "Connor" or "Amanda" mentioned in our files. I don't know what Anderson's done to him to hold him back from this meeting--"
"The threat of his presence invalidating the interview was warning enough. I'm just as surprised as you are, actually."
"--but I've never seen anyone more focused or dedicated to finding their lost relative.
"Most families are extremely worried about their kids or parents or siblings or cousins or spouses, don't get me wrong, and everyone's biting their nails for our case releases, and I've only been here a few years, but it takes a special kind of determination to show up at 6:30 A.M. on Monday morning every month to get the news straight from the horse's mouth. Every time he's so much as heard of a “Connor” coming through, he's badgered me relentlessly for more details. I don't think he's slept a wink since he caught sight of your name on the releases."
"He must have--I presume he's still alive?" Connor asks, still processing North's information.
Hank cracks a grin. "The bare minimum. Kid's too wired to stay put for long. Keeps our lives interesting, that's for sure."
Wired...an interesting descriptor. (Connor remembers Amanda looking down on him, eyes unreadable as she took in his twitchy, always-moving form. "Where's the current coming from?" She'd ask, dry, and that's when Connor knew to stop moving, that he was twitching and jittering and not being good enough for her--)
But Hank says the word with such a soft look on his face, nothing like Amanda's cold, untouchable cheeks and cold, calculating gaze. Could "wired" be a…permissible thing to be outside of Amanda's reach?
Could he still be good while being wired, like this Collin, this Sixty, can be?
Then, the rest of what North said hits him. They've been looking for him. They've--his family has eagerly awaited the day Jericho or another organization found him so they could meet him again, see him once more. His brother, his twin brother that he didn't even know he had, has been keeping an eye out for as long as he’s been able, going out of his way to harass social workers for information. Hank doesn't look like he's been sleeping well either, though that could be because he has three sons to look out for.
(Connor always imagined that, if Amanda had another student, then maybe--maybe her focus on him would lessen, maybe she--wouldn't affect him as much, with more targets to keep track of. And now he's realizing it wouldn't. Hank has three other sons and Sixty has two other brothers and they still--still had the time and energy to care about him.)
(He...)
There is silence for a moment. Connor blinks, processing.
Hank can apparently tell that he’s at a loss for words.
“I think you can tell, but Collin--Sixty--would be incredibly happy to see you again. I miss you, Conan misses you, Sumo misses you, Cole would love to meet you. We’re your family, and you have us if you want us.”
Want. Connor turns the word over in his mind.
Amanda had always called family a need, like their relationship was something as essential to both of them as water, air, warmth, clothing, and shelter.
“You’re the only family I need, Connor.”
And Connor--hasn’t ever experienced this, this concept of family as a desire that can remain unfulfilled indefinitely with no negative side-effects.
What does he want? Since being removed from Amanda's grasp, he's come to learn that wanting is an incredibly complex thing when his desires are not dictated to him by a higher authority he's in no position to contradict.
Can he even want at all, in the truest sense of the word? The answer so far has been no. He wants to avoid being punished, but wants are based on a measure of subjectivity, based on holding opinions about an item and its relative value compared to other items ("It's not your place to judge the value of things.") and a desire to avoid harm isn't a subjective thing, it's an objective one based on facts--if you cut him, he will bleed, and being in a state of injury is suboptimal as compared to being in homeostasis.
Can he learn to want things again? Presumably he had wants, with Hank and Sumo and Conan and Collin and his birth mother if he was anything like a typical child. Does he want to be able to want again? Being able to form opinions by himself is, apparently, an objectively optimal state of self-sufficiency. This is a fact, so it's not a want...is it?
He doesn't know.
He just doesn't know.
Connor's hands threaten to crinkle the photograph in his hands, so he sets it down and puts his hands in his lap, quietly squeezing his thighs.
There are so many things he doesn't know, especially when it comes to himself and other people. Other people are easier to read than Amanda was--especially Markus--but not by much.
Hank shoots Markus a soft, concerned look and Markus makes what Connor's learned to read as a "give him some time to think" gesture. If he were with Amanda, she would demand-but-not-demand that he explain himself using his words, even if they just weren't coming to his mouth. Not explaining his every thought to people for correction is...freeing and nerve-wracking, because he's afraid of thinking the wrong thing, but apparently that in and of itself is wrong and there is such a strange, nebulous line between what's wrong and what's not in the world of thoughts that it gives him a headache, and--
Markus leans over and their shoulders brush for a moment. It's not much, it's not more than he can take right now, but it's enough to center him.
He doesn't know much about himself, but he does know some things. Some of it is easy: his name is Connor and he likes dogs and he likes Markus. Some of it is not: he's been emotionally abused for most of his life and Amanda is not his mom anymore and he's magical.
He looks back down at the table, glancing over all the pictures he's seen.
Connor picks up a picture of Sumo.
He likes dogs. He likes it when people like him.
His biological family has a dog who likes him. They like him, and if there is any indication from the way Hank has been talking, they're willing to put up with him because they've been waiting so long to see him again, not because they...not because they're like Amanda. They don't need him to live, but they believe their lives would be enlightened, bettered by his presence.
...He can make this work.
"I'd like that," he blurts out. "To--I...I'd like to live with you guys. If you'll have me."
Hank Anderson's smile in response to his statement is a mile wide. Connor smiles, too.
"That's great to hear, son. You're always welcome."
North lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Thank god! I won't have to listen to Sixty whining anymore."
Sixty. Collin. Connor has an identical twin, a dog, brothers, a father. He can feel the desire to start twitching build in his legs, and he tries to suppress it by widening his grin a little bit. He's--this is excitement, right? Having some warm-feeling endorphins running through your system at the prospect of meeting these people and going to this place, of seeing their dog?
Markus places a hand on his shoulder, then removes it.
Chloe looks amused. "Would you like to have the rest of the interviews with the other foster parents? Or are you sure the Andersons are your choice for now?"
"I can't wait to meet Sumo," he blurts out. Markus--and surprisingly Hank--laughs.
"I knew Sumo would be who you were interested in the most," Hank teases. "I'm sure he can't wait to see you again too."
Chloe and Markus go through the procedure with them. The Andersons will have three weeks total to prepare their household for him (though they can call in a Jericho caseworker only after a week if they think they're ready for him), following guidelines laid out by the organization and by Markus and Chloe for his habitation. Once it's approved, Connor will spend a month at the Anderson's, testing the waters to see how he likes it and if it's really a good fit for him. If he feels uncomfortable at all that month, he can call Chloe or Markus or someone else at Jericho and be taken back, no questions asked. If they decide that it's the place for him, Connor will move back to Jericho while the official paperwork is processed, then he'll be sent to his (hopefully) final home.
He'll be sad to leave Jericho and no longer get to see Chloe and Markus and North and everyone else on a daily basis, but he'll still be able to see them when he comes back for his therapy sessions. He's...he's excited to meet his twin and his dog and his family.
Hank, he decides when the interview is over and he hesitantly throws his arms around Hank, gives good hugs--not too overwhelming, and he stops when Connor asks him to stop. He can't wait to see what the rest of his family has in store for him.
(And Sumo. Sumo is suspiciously high on his priority list. But Amanda isn't here, so no one needs to know that.)
