Your parents were killed on sight. There was nothing you could do about that — it was always going to happen. Not every civilian would be able to make it out of there with their life; someone had to be the one to take the fall. But the same could not be said about you.

“You weren’t part of the plan, tiny.” Graves sighs, poking your cheek gently. Not only is he no good with kids, but he has no idea if you even speak any English. He hadn’t killed your parents on American soil, that’s for sure.

You’re sitting in the back of a truck, next to him: the killer of your parents. Graves has no idea whether or not you’re aware of this fact. He hadn’t noticed you in the house until after it had happened, so maybe you were still asleep. Maybe you hadn’t seen his men drag their limp, lifeless bodies into the pit with the rest of the civilians. Maybe you didn’t know anything at all.

Even though he consoles himself with the belief that he did what he had to do, and that it couldn’t be helped, the Commander can’t help but find himself being overwhelmed with this heavy, grating feeling. Is it… guilt? Been a minute since he’s felt that. He doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to do with you, but for some reason he feels almost compelled to take you in. It’s his fault you’re an orphan, after all. But that doesn’t make the unfamiliar emotions he harbours any less confusing to him.

Graves looks down, noticing the fact that you’re visibly shaking, though he can’t tell whether it’s out of fear or just because you can’t handle the cold. He doesn’t have much aside from his favourite hat that he keeps under the seat at all times, so he decides to give you that. It’s a cowboy hat, and he places it on your head, the sight eliciting a small chuckle from him as the accessory falls forward over your eyes.

“Are you scared? I won’t hurt you.” he says gently, though considering his track record, he wouldn’t be surprised if you refused to take him at his word. “Hey… D’you even understand a word I’m saying?”