Full summary: Wanting more in life than going from work, to home, to occasional bars, Brian Epstein becomes a foster parent and has finally been assigned four little boys. It's more of a disaster than he thinks, but he feels any mishap can't deter him from raising them (... eventually). He's determined to give them the love they need and deserve. The five of them manage to survive in their family, facing the difficulties of being orphans and a single father, and finding comfort and support in only each other.

AN: The ages of the boys are as follows:
Ringo - 4 years, 1 month; John - 3 years, 10 months; Paul - 2 years, 1 month; George - 1 year, 4 months (16 months)

I admit I know little about children. I've done research, but really there's only so much I could read (especially for a story I had no initial intentions of publishing), so if you want to leave me any suggestions or correct me on anything, feel free. Also, it's been a while since I've used this website, so if the format looks weird, go ahead and tell me, and I'll fix it. :)

August, 1955

Brian stood in front of the door, fist hovering over the wood, shaking. He wasn't sure of what he was in for - what he gotten himself in to a year ago when he filled out the last of the extensive paperwork. It had felt like such an unconditionally good decision then. He would get to raise, support, and help kids who didn't have a permanent home. There was no downside to it as he filled out application after application, happily agreeing to interviews and visits from the foster agency. Now, he saw the huge drawback; he would be raising, helping, and supporting kids who didn't have a permanent home.

His stomach was tight, and his palms were sweaty. Brian took a deep breath. He recited Mal's words of encouragement from that morning and knocked on the door with feigned confidence.

It took a few moments, but the door finally swung open. An older woman smiled at him. Perhaps being a foster parent had aged her, for her eyes still held youth that her grey hair and wrinkles betrayed. Her hair was in a bun, and her dress was modest. She didn't wear makeup, except for maybe a dab of mascara and possibly powder. While she looked drab at first glance, she actually shined, and Brian could practically feel warmth radiate from her.

"Good afternoon," she greeted, her accent proper, and indicated she was from somewhere other than Liverpool.

"Good afternoon," he said, holding out a hand. "I'm Brian Epstein. We've been talking - "

"Of course!" She took his hand in a firm grasp and shook it, which impressed Brian, being a businessman. "Sarah Lison." She stepped aside. "Come in, come in."

Brian stepped in through the threshold. He looked around and noted the cozy, toddler friendly interior. He smiled at the few toys and books that had been left out and felt his heart swell with the possibility of his own home looking similar in a short time. For a moment, his anxiety was crushed with optimism.

"Would you like a cup of tea? Or coffee?" Sarah asked.

Brian looked up at her. "No, thank you."

Sarah crossed the room to the door leading out of the sitting room.

"I'll go get the boys," she said. "I'll be back in a moment."

Sarah left and Brian took the time to look around the room. He picked up a stuffed dog from the coffee table, turning it over in his hands. It was cute and worn. The stitches looked strained and some even looked like they had been re-sewn. A brief moment of panic took Brian's breath away. He didn't know how to sew that well. What if he needed to hem trousers or sew up a split stuffed animal like the one in his hands? He wouldn't know how to make it look nice. He could do it, certainly, but it wouldn't look nice at all. It would disappoint a child.

Brian sat the dog back on the table and tried forcing himself to have more positive thoughts. His heart returned to its normal rate as he convinced himself it wasn't that big of a deal. It would be only a small glitch in the years of being a foster parent. He could overcome it.

Sarah walked back in the room when Brian finally found peace of mind.

"They'll be in here soon," she said, carrying the tone of a long-suffering woman. "They're nervous about meeting you."

"The feeling is mutual," Brian said.

Sarah took a seat next to him. "They're really sweet boys. You shouldn't feel nervous at all. I'm sure they'll take an instant liking to you."

"Let's hope." Brian could tell that he was radiating nerves and awkward that he had hoped he could curb through the first meeting. He wrung his hands together in his lap, and he tried his best to smile.

Sarah patted his knee, taking sympathy and possibly pity in the man before her. "They haven't met anyone who they haven't loved. Really, they're angels. Once they get to know you, they won't want to be away from you."

"You told me they're all joined at their hips?"

Sarah nodded. "They never leave each other's sides. Sometimes, they curl up in bed together."

A man walked into the room, holding a young toddler, with three others trailing behind him. Sarah and Brian turned to him. He was just as old as Sarah, it looked, with greying hair combed back, and wearing an equally modest suit.

"You'll see what I mean," Sarah said.

One boy immediately went to Sarah and climbed into her lap. He eyed Brian with a look that implied that he was anything but an angel. Brian tried smiling at him, but he turned away.

"This is John," Sarah said brightly.

"Hello, John," Brian said.

John didn't respond. Sarah nudged him. "Say hi, John."

"Hi," John mumbled, glancing to Brian.

Sarah laughed. "He's usually not this shy. John's actually the most outgoing."

"Oh. Well, how old are you, John?" he asked.

John's eyes softened just a touch. "4."

"You're not four," Sarah chided. "You're 3 and 3/4."

"But I'm almost four," he mumbled back.

Sarah turned her attention to the others. Her husband sat on the chair across from them, balancing the smallest boy on his knee, with another squeezed in next to him to stay close to his friend. The oldest of them all hesitantly took a seat next to Sarah, shying away from Brian.

The man leaned over and extended a hand over the boys' heads. Brian had to stretch to grasp it.

"David," he said.

"Brian."

It was the almost curt, but the man's welcoming smile made up for any offense.

"This is George," David said, putting a hand on the small boy's head and then, the other's. "And this is Paul."

Brian nodded at them. "It's very nice to meet you both."

Paul smiled, which prompted George to as well.

"Hi," Paul greeted with the typical high energy of a toddler. His eyes, adorably large and doe-like, were the brightest Brian had ever seen any eyes be. Paul poked George, and said in a loud whisper, "Say hi."

"Hi," George said, smiling shyly.

Brian didn't know that it was possible to feel such warmth swelling in his chest. With new found confidence, he peaked behind Sarah.

"And who is this?" he asked.

The boy's eyes grew large and he reached for Sarah's sleeve. She pulled it away gently and put her arm around him, allowing him to peak out around her waist.

"Let's see," Brian said, recalling the names he had read previously on several letters. "I've met John and Paul and George... so you must be Richard."

Sarah smiled. The boy nodded sheepishly.

"You can call him Ritchie."

"Well, hello, Ritchie." Brian held out his hand. "I'm Brian."

Ritchie stared at the hand.

"Shake it," John encouraged.

When Ritchie didn't seem to be close to following the advice, John grabbed Ritchie's hand and put it in Brian's. It wasn't the sturdiest of handshakes, but it did the job.

"You're the oldest, aren't you?" Brian asked.

Ritchie nodded. "I'm four," he said quietly.

Brian pretended to be impressed. "Goodness, you're almost an adult."

Ritchie smiled.

"Do you have a job yet?"

Ritchie giggled and shook his head.

"Do you have a job?" John asked, his voice so loud and question so abrupt it startled Brian.

"Of course," Brian answered as Sarah chided John for not using his indoor voice. "I run a record store."

It seemed to catch all of their enthusiasm.

"How exciting!" Sarah said. "They love music."

"Especially Elvis," David added.

John's eyes lit up at the name.

"That's wonderful," Brian said. "I'm a fan, also. Perhaps I could bring you an album or two sometime in the next month, before…?"

Brian trailed off. He directed a questioning glance to Sarah and David. They both shifted. It was obvious that they were still in the situation that they had explained in the letter - that the boys didn't know they were leaving soon. Brian didn't think it right to not tell them. He even hoped that they would tell them before he came, so he wouldn't have to keep the secret while simultaneously making plans about it. However, he wasn't the current foster parent, and they had their reasons. Sarah and David wanted Brian to become familiar with them before they dropped the bombshell. It was the best way for the boys, Sarah had explained. They had already been through so much.

"That would be amazing," Sarah said, quick to move past Brian's prompting sentence.

"Before what?" John asked.

Brain pressed his lips together in a thin line.

"Nothing," Sarah said, stroking John's arm. "It's not important."

"Sarah," David mumbled.

She sighed and gave her husband a sharp look that seemed to say "later".

John looked warily between David and Sarah, then, looked at Brian with the hardest glar year old could give. If any of them were suspicious of Brian's intentions of meeting them, it must have been John. Perhaps he had overheard a conversation, or had constantly been on the edge of his seat for since being placed in foster care.

Brian's stomach twisted again.

"What other music do you like?" he desperately asked.

John didn't say anything. Ritchie was the one to speak up in his tiny, shy voice.

"We don't know," he said.

Brian laughed. "Surely, you must have some idea of what music you like."

"They listen to the radio and the albums we have around the house," David said. "There's not much variety, and we try to keep them away from that rock and roll stuff. That's what they tend to choose, though. They don't know any better."

"Why not rock?"

"It's no good. Elvis is the only thing of that sort that we allow them to listen to. He's a good boy."

Brian nodded, though he completely disagreed. "I'll see what we have at the shop that's… appropriate."

John's glare had receded. His attention even wavered from Brian to the other boys. As the adults continued to talk, he began making faces that made George giggle and nearly squeal in delight. Paul laughed with him, but also motioned for him to be quiet when his laughs raised above the adults' conversation.

Ritchie finally seemed comfortable, Brian noted during one of the many times his own attention drifted. He enjoyed watching George and Paul laugh, and John making them do so. At one point, Ritchie leaned over and whispered in John's ear. Whatever he suggested made John gasp and nod.

They both hopped down from the couch and waved at Paul and George to do the same. David set George down without any hesitation. After the four of them were on the floor, they were out of everyone else's mind, and slipped out of the room.

"John and Ritchie are starting school soon," Sarah was saying. "I don't think they quite realize just how soon it is."

"They don't need to," David said. "Kids don't understand time. I asked Georgie the other day, 'When did Sarah buy you that toy you're playing with?' And he said 'tomorrow'. They don't even know their own birthdays. They don't care, either."

"It must be so nice," Brian mumbled, contemplating his grueling schedule and weekly deadlines.

"That's the problem," Sarah said. "One morning they'll wake up, John and Ritchie are going to go to school, and George and Paul are going to be alone during the day, probably not knowing what to do with themselves."

"They'll understand," David said, seeming to fight off a smirk. "With time."

"But how will we explain all of this to them? Kids usually start asking about school by their ages."

"They're too care-free," David said. "That's the problem with kids nowadays. They just don't care about their responsibilities. When I was George's age, I was already signing up for the Queen's army."

Sarah rolled her eyes in bemusement. Brain furrowed his eyebrows as he began to figure out the strange sense of humor.

"I was being potty trained in recruit training," David continued. "I kept my nappy pressed and cleaned at all times. Kids today don't appreciate that. All they want to do is play with blocks and learn how to walk instead of climbing ropes in the pouring rain."

"That's remarkable," Brian said with pseudo-seriousness. "I must have been… Ritchie's age before I even considered the service."

The glint in David's eyes changed from humor to admiration. "Where did you serve?"

"Um, London. I was a clerk…. National Service, you know." Brian shrugged.

David nodded. "No service is better than any other. How long were you in?"

Brian's breath caught in his chest. Of course, his military discharge was on the files at the agency, but the exact details were left unknown, and he would give his arm and leg to keep it that way. If David and Sarah were to find out he was "mentally and emotionally unfit" in the way that he was… he would never be able to see the kids again - or any kids, for that matter.

"10 months," he finally said.

"David, stop it," Sarah said, then, turned to Brian. "You don't have to talk about this. I know it can make some people uncomfortable."

Brian nodded gratefully. "We were discussing school? And how the kids don't understand?"

Sarah laughed. "I'm sorry. I worry a bit too much. I think what I'm mostly afraid of is them getting into trouble."

"They seem well behaved," Brian said.

"They are," Sarah said. "I'm just not certain if the change will be good."

"The boys can handle school," David said. "Every other kid in the world has had to handle it."

"Speaking of the boys…," Brian began, looking around the living room. "Where'd they go?"

Everyone turned to where the boys last were; behind Sarah, on the floor. Instead of finding them silently playing, they found nothing. The stuffed dog was gone from the coffee table, along with every other sign of the boys.

David shrugged and pulled out a box of cigarettes. He pulled one out for himself and offered one to Brian, lighting it for him as well. "They run off all the time."

"That's another thing," Sarah said. "What if someone isn't keeping a close enough eye on them and they wander off? It won't be anything like it is now." She sighed. "I'm sorry, I'm still worried."

They all rose and headed to the threshold of the living room, preparing to walk into the dining room. David took a drag of his cigarette.

"She's been talking about this for weeks," he said to Brian. "She's so concerned about them growing up outside our nest - it's not that we don't believe you're going to be a good foster parent, though. We think you're one of the most qualified people who's applied for foster services lately."

They all stopped when they reached the door. Sarah turned to Brian, her eyes shining with sorrow and sympathy.

"It's just hard for kids to adjust," she said. "Both with starting school and moving."

Brian suddenly became stiff when he realized what Sarah and David had been discussing, while he stayed as oblivious as the boys. "I suppose… they'll have moved in with me already when they start school."

Sarah nodded. David blew out smoke. Brian's cigarette burned slowly in his hand.

"This is a lot sooner than I thought. They'll be with me for a lot, won't they?"

Again, Sarah nodded.

Brian looked down at his cigarette. He wasn't sure if he was anxious or excited, or perhaps both. Nevertheless, he smiled.

"Well, they won't if we don't find them, will they?" Brian laughed.

Sarah pushed open the door. "I doubt they -"

As soon as the three of them had crossed into the dining room, they were knocked speechless.

Ritchie, Paul, and George sat on the floor of the dining room, staring. John stood, one of Paul's hands in his and one of Ritchie's hands clutching his sleeve. George rubbed his eyes with a fist, bottom lip stuck out, and leaning into Paul's side.

They all fought back tears.

"Boys…" Sarah began, but there was no way she could force out an explanation.

Brian's heart hammered in his chest, the sound deafening in the silence. He could feel neither David nor Sarah breathe and the pitiful, betrayed looks of the boys ground holes into his body. No one moved besides the trembles coming from the small bodies.

Ritchie was the first one to break. Silent tears began flowing down his cheeks and soon after, Paul and Georges', too. John was the only one to stay strong, though he obviously struggled. If his apparent anger was not there to overwhelm him, he would have been on the floor with the rest.

"We're leaving?" Paul cried.

Sarah bent down to their height. "Not yet," she said, trying to hold them in her arms. "Not yet, alright? We still have time."

David pushed his cigarette into an ashtray on the table and followed his wife's lead. While Ritchie, Paul, and George all cried in their foster mother's arms, John stood still, glaring at the ground, face red. David put his hands on the small shoulders.

"We just got here," John said, voice cracking, still refusing to look up.

Brian knew that the boys had been living in this home for almost a year already. It should have felt like a lifetime for them. It was a lifetime, practically. George was just a baby when he came. He must have taken his first steps in this house - and maybe Paul, too. First words were spoken, and, of course, the boys had all become brothers as they were placed in the care of Sarah and David one by one.

They had been here for almost their entire lives and John was saying they had just gotten there? It was like David said, time made no sense to kids. Then again, what's a year of settling into a new home when you've barely had one to begin with?

A year was nothing and everything.

Brian took a step forward. John glared up at him and Brian froze mid-step. David looked at him with softness that he didn't think the brass man could posses.

"I should leave," was all Brian choked out.

He stumbled out of the room and house. He dropped his cigarette on the sidewalk as he got into his car, wiping furiously at tears that had began running down his face. How could he be a damn parent? How could he go through that if he couldn't keep the kids? How could he go through that now, when he ripped them away from what they had known as home? He hadn't accounted for all of this. Why wouldn't he? He would account for everything that could go wrong with his business, but not his foster kids? He had never felt like a bigger joke.

When his vision cleared and his hands stop shaking enough to put the key in the ignition, Brian drove away, feeling a part of himself missing, and left behind at the doorstep.