A/N: I own nothing.
I wasn't quite sure what to make of the pallid little boy clinging tightly to the arm wrapped around him. At twelve, I still appreciated the cuteness of babies in an abstract way, but preferred playmates closer to my own age or older to looking after younger ones. The small boy wasn't exactly a baby, either, and those big brown eyes of his were unnerving when he wouldn't speak. Those eyes were too old, too wide, and too unblinking for his babyish face. "What's your name?" I asked, noting the way my father clung right back with more than a hint of jealousy. He didn't answer; he just reached around Pop's arm to touch the oversized bracelets on his pale, bony right wrist. "What's he doing here, Pops?"
"This is Toboe, Blue," my father said. He pulled a hand out of the little boy's grip and placed it on my back. "He's going to be staying with us a while."
Toboe transferred his grip to my father's flak jacket. "I want Granny," the little boy whispered. He sounded hoarse from crying. I put a hand on my father's back, trying to show I cared, even if I didn't quite understand.
"Hey, Toboe," I said. "Don't worry; Pops and I'll look after you until your Granny can come pick you up." Pops shook his head, warning me not to say anymore. I recognized that expression. It was the same one he'd worn when I'd started to ask about the details of the fire.
Having missed Pop's expression, much less its meaning, Toboe turned wary, weary light brown eyes upon me. "Promise?"
"We promise. For as long as you need us to, we'll be here," Pops said, pulling both of us close. Toboe nodded seriously and let the lids come down over those eyes. His breathing slowed until it was in time with the rise and fall of my father's chest. "Thanks, baby Blue."
I looked down at my feet. "I'm not a baby anymore, Pops."
"No, but you're still my girl. I wouldn't go through the trouble of dealing with those idiots from foster care for just anybody, you know." My father walked towards the couch, and reluctant to let go, I followed at his side, studying the sleeping face of the boy in his arms. He wasn't my brother, a piece of my mind thought rebelliously, but maybe we could find a place for him around here. Pops liked him, and that was enough for me to give him a chance.