A very long time ago, in the enchanted forest.
The young boy curled into a ball, wishing for the power to turn invisible. The thin boards of the crate he was hiding behind didn't seem like much protection, but he only needed to stay quiet, and out of sight. If he did that, he'd go unnoticed, and besides, the shallow crate was better protection than nothing.
He trembled as a pot clanged against the wall of the grungy, one roomed hut, hard enough to crack the board, and dent the pot. It would be alright.
He just had to stay quiet.
His little fingers reached for the smaller hand, and his heart froze cold in his chest as he realized that the little girl was no longer sleeping up against him.
"Poppa?" The tiny voice spoke, well beyond the imagined safety of the crate.
He held his breath, listening. Perhaps she could calm their poppa from his drunken rage.
"What do you want, you sniveling little, BRAT!" He bellowed the last word, and the floorboards creaked all over the place as his heavy boots bore closer.
Sucking in a gulp of air, he rolled out from behind the cover, and yanked the little girl back, sheltering her with his body. "She doesn't want anything! It's okay. I'll get her back to sleep."
His poppa snarled down at him, the drink so heavy on his breath, the whole hut now stank of it. "See that you do. You worthless piece of filth." The words almost stung as much as the hand that whipped out against his face, knocking him backwards.
He stayed where he was, covering his face with his arm, waiting, but a second blow never fell. The boots stomped away, and the door creaked open, before banging shut. It missed the latch, and fluttered open to let in the night, and the rain.
He started at it, trying to get his breath back when he heard a little gasp of a sob behind him.
He turned to pull her into his arms, ashamed of himself. She was only three years old. He was nearly eleven. He shouldn't be making her any more frightened than she already was. "Shhhh, little one. It's alright."
"I'm sowwy. I didn't wan' Poppa ta be mad no more."
"You didn't make him mad. The drink did. He doesn't know what he's doing when he gets like that. You know to keep clear."
"You're bweeding."
He wondered how she could tell. Save the lantern their poppa had left, there was no light in the little hut. It was probably the smell that gave it away.
"It doesn't matter. Go back to sleep. And don't worry. I'll protect you."
She hesitated, and then snuggled obediently up against him. "I wove oo, Wumpel."
Warmth filled his chest at her garbled little words, and he didn't bother to crawl behind the crate again.
She truster her big brother to protect her, and he would. Even when the drink wore off, and Poppa was back to his usual self.
"I love you, too, Melina. Now sleep, little one."
He tried to lull himself to sleep, assuring himself that things would get better, as he often had to. After all, they couldn't get worse. All he had in the whole world were his Poppa and baby sister.
He frowned down at the toddler, trying to make out her features in the dark. He still couldn't see why Poppa blamed her when their mother died.
Right from the start, the bawling, red faced baby had been rejected. His Poppa wouldn't even hold her, and his mother wasn't there to do it anymore, so the midwife had wrapped the infant in a blanket, and plopped her into his arms.
It had been fun, for a few minutes, because he'd never held a baby before, but it wasn't much of a distraction, because it was just more crying.
Then he'd discovered that talking to the baby quieted her down, a little bit. After a few minutes, she'd opened her eyes, and looked up at him. As the helpless, unwanted little bundle in his arms squinted at him, as if asking who he was, he promised to protect her for the very first time.
The door banged open in the wind, jarring him back to the present. Most of the time, Poppa ignored her. But when he got filled with the drink, there was no telling how he'd react. Most times, he'd just come home and sleep it off.
But when Melina heard him, and wanted to make him 'fweel bettew'… well, this wasn't the first time he'd been caught in the crossfire, and he doubted it would be his last.
Little did he dream that his father would be unable to afford any more drink before dropping them off with two spinsters, or that a magic bean would soon leave him with only one thing left in the whole world.
The one he had to protect.