Summary: The first "man" in Sara's life to love her unconditionally? Her brother. Pre-series childhood fic. Sometimes, a sibling is the only one you can run to.
Disclaimer: Sara and her family don't belong to me, I'm just borrowing them for a bit. I promise to return them to TPTB when I'm done. Scout's honor. :) Title comes from the song by Emmylou Harris, Alison Krauss, and Gillian Welch.
Nobody But the Baby
You've just started chapter three of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer when you hear a light knock on your bedroom door. Barely audible over the traveling sounds of your parents' angry voices, it lets you know that their fighting has once again woken your little sister. Sure enough, the knob turns and two small feet appear in the widening triangle of light that spills over your soft blue carpet.
"Hi," Sara says with an endearingly hopeful expression, waiting patiently for you to invite her in. She's wearing an old tee-ball shirt of yours as a nightgown, the sleeves pushed up over her skinny little arms. Like always, one of them is wrapped tightly around the tattered stuffed rabbit that has slept beside her every night since she was a baby. Though she's trying bravely to hide it, you can tell she's scared.
Without a second thought, you turn down the corner of the page you're on and toss the book to your floor to settle among piles of dirty clothes and comic books. Sara hesitates for a second, looking at you as if she's wondering when you're going to start acting the part of a typically self-centered 13-year-old boy and stop letting her run to the comfort of your bedroom on nights like this. Never is the silent answer your own question For your sister, your door will always be open.
"Come on," you encourage with a smile, sliding over and giving the mattress a healthy thump.
Sara doesn't waste any time hurrying over and climbing in beside you as the yelling downstairs begins to escalate. When the sudden crash of something breaking against a wall grabs her attention, you suddenly find yourself scrambling for a topic to distract her. Thankfully, a story you heard in school a few years ago pops into your head.
"Did you know that tigers used to be all orange?"
The statement has its desired effect.
"What? Nuh-uh."
"They did too. A long time ago, they didn't have any stripes."
She eyes you suspiciously, an expression that never fails to make her seem older than her six years.
"Then how did they get them?"
"Well," you tell her, suddenly wishing that you had been paying attention to the rest of the story at the time instead of having a poking war with your best friend Jimmy, "You know how some tigers live at the zoo?"
"Yes"
"And there's bars outside where they live, right?"
She props her elbow on her knee, one fist tucked under her chin. "Mmmhhmm."
"One day the zoo owner was painting the bars again 'cause they were all chipped and stuff, and there were two brother tigers that were watching him do it."
Unfortunately, that was all you could remember of the version that your teacher told. Improvising a little, you decide to tease her.
"After a while, they got an idea. They were going to play a prank on their bratty little sister. She was always following them around and being really annoying."
"Hey!" comes her indignant response, coupled with a smack to your arm. You grin, momentarily congratulating your own wisdom. It was working.
"So, they wait until the zoo owner is done and then they go find their sister and tell her that she should rub up against the bars because they were nice and cool and would feel good because it was so hot outside. When she does, they laugh at her because she has black stripes all over her coat. That's how tigers got their stripes."
A glance at Sara's face tells you that she doesn't believe a word of it. It isn't long before she's pelting you with questions.
"Why didn't they wash them off?"
"They tried. But the paint was really strong and it, uh, wouldn't come off."
"But even if her babies had stripes, wouldn't the other tigers' babies not have stripes?"
You're about to tell her that it was just a story when the house's front door slams with a sickening snap, and after a minute or two you can just barely make out the familiar noises of your mother's muffled sobs as she climbs the stairs.
In seconds, your hard work is all for naught. Sara turns to face you, her eyes wide and small face filled with worry. You know without asking that she's thinking the same thing you are. Sara may be young, but she isn't naive. Your father has never left during a fight before. A weight settles in the bottom of your stomach. You hope he's coming back.
"Danny," her voice wobbles, "what's gonna happen?"
Rather than answer, you motion for her to lie down so that you can pull the covers up around her. As you're tucking the blankets tight around her narrow shoulders, she tries again.
"Danny?"
You turn out the light and give her arm a soft squeeze.
"I don't know, Sare Bear. I love you."
She sniffles and snuggles closer. "Love you too."
You fall asleep holding each other's hands, her small fingers threaded through your own.