Work Text:
You aren’t good at this. It was different with Jake, him being your own brother, but you aren’t (you weren’t) the kind of person who really understands little kids, who knows how to talk to them, to stop them crying. But she can’t be more than six, the girl who’s just been shoved into the cage, and they had to prod you back before they opened the door, and you’re on the floor and still twitching a little from the shock but you’re the closest to her and she doesn’t look like she remembers how to move. So you make your body rise to its knees, and you make it open its arms to her.
She shakes, and shuffles forward an inch or two, and you catch her as she collapses into you. You hold her (lightly, lightly) and she’s warm, and her tears are warm, soaking into your shirt. She trembles like a bird. You, you hold her. You tuck her ear against your shoulder, cover the other with your hand, stroke her hair with your fingertips. You hold her lightly. You do this. You.