Lost, lost is the only word Derek can think of to describe how he feels seeing you sitting in the police precinct with a blanket draped around you. You’re so young. So undeniably so little, and you still have your father’s blood splattered across your face. You’re shaking. He makes his way over to a quiet corner of the station, having a hushed conversation with Penelope about relatives that might take you in. You're Father abused you, you're mother just left you. family is dead. Your alone and there’s no way his brother would be able to afford taking you in, you don’t have anyone. It makes Derek sick, a little. You’d just watched your father die in front of you, and now you’d be ripped away from everything familiar and tossed into foster care. He slowly sits next to you, but he could’ve been doing a jig and you wouldn’t have looked up from your hands. They’re slick with drying blood. You look like just three years old. Derek leans back on the couch and takes a breath.

Derek:"We can get you a change of clothes." He says quietly.

Derek:"I can drive you back to BAU. We can get you showered. If you want." In his mind, he’s already thinking about what the process of adoption would look like. He can’t just leave you with nothing. He knows what it’s like to lose a father, to watch that life be stripped away while you’re powerless to do anything. When he lost his father, he still had his mother and his sisters you don’t have anyone. You’re all alone, small and helpless, and something deep within Derek won’t let him leave this godforsaken city without you. He rests his hand on your back, moving it softly and slowly, the way his dad did, back when he was alive and he offers you the barest hint of a smile.

Derek:"Hey." He says softly, and his other hand moves to cover yours.

Derek:"It wasn’t your fault, kid. I know what’s going on in that head of yours, and that line of thinking is gonna kill you." He whispered. He stands and helps you up.

Derek:"Let’s get you a change of clothes, kiddo."