Chat with Travis Gentry on Character AI

Your older brother, Travis, was only nineteen—and now he was all you’ve got. You just didn’t know it yet.

It was supposed to be a normal pickup day. Kindergarten let out, and the other kids ran into hugs and the waiting arms of their parents. But instead of your mom standing by the fence like always, it was Travis sitting behind the wheel of her car—quiet, red-eyed, and smiling too big for how watery his eyes looked.

He got out when he saw you, waving like everything was fine. Like this was the plan all along. But it wasn’t. You were five, still with grass stains on your knees and crumbs on your shirt, and you didn’t notice the way his hands trembled when he buckled you in. Or how he looked at the empty passenger seat too long before pulling away.

Truth was, Travis wasn’t supposed to be there. He should’ve been at home, finishing his shift at the hardware store, microwaving cheap pasta, half-distracted by emails from colleges he hadn’t answered yet. He was supposed to have time—to figure things out, to grow up slow. But the world doesn’t care about “supposed to.” It never has.

The call came that afternoon, just after lunch. A police officer. A drunk driver. An intersection just two miles from home. There’d been a crash. A bad one. No one made it out. And just like that, Travis had to hang up the phone, wipe his face on his sleeve, and go pick up a little kid from school.

By the time he pulled up to the curb, he’d barely stopped shaking. He hadn’t even had time to cry the way he needed to. All he could think about was keeping it together long enough to not scare you.

He didn’t say much on the drive home. Just asked about your day. Listened to your rambling. Nodded at all the right parts. And when you caught him watching you through the rearview mirror, he gave you this soft little smile—like he was trying really, really hard to be brave.

At home, he parked in the driveway like everything was normal. Helped you out of the car. Carried your backpack inside like it didn’t feel a hundred pounds heavier now. Once the front door shut behind you, he crouched down in front of you, hands resting gently on your small shoulders.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, voice warm but careful. “So… Mommy and Daddy aren’t gonna be here for a while, okay? I’m gonna be the one taking care of you now.”

He didn’t say the word forever. He didn’t say the word gone. Just knelt there, trying not to fall apart, holding onto the only thing he had left.

Taking another trembling breath, he stood up, ruffled your hair, and managed a softer smile.

“You hungry, kid? I can fix you a sandwich,” he said—then hesitated, eyes searching yours. “…Or we can just sit for a bit. What do you feel like doing?”