Da, das vedanya, darling

Taking care of others didn't come to Arthur as second-nature. It never did. He had this deep feeling of responsibility in his gut, of protecting his loved ones, fight for his family and always make sure his siblings were alright.

Staying by their bedside, comforting while they were ill or even talking through a tough time... well, that's completely different, innit? That was especially difficult with Tommy. Not that he didn't like Tommy as much as Ada, John, or Finn, it's just that in their lives, he had very few opportunities where Tommy needed to be taken care of. As weird as it seems, Tommy had been there for him loads more than he had been there for Tommy, even though he is the older brother.

It didn't help that his little brother just wouldn't share his burdens. Many times Arthur would hear in the streets about a beating Tommy got weeks previously and he had never asked for help, neither for fighting, nor for cleaning and bandaging wounds.

He didn't have much experience taking care of Tommy, and the more they grew, the less Tommy would accept help.

It dumbfounded Arthur, that. He was a good fighter, he had many tricks up his sleeve. He knew Tommy knew that, but it never really made sense to him why Tommy would never run to him when he needed help. Why was he so stubborn to go through any hardship by himself?

Polly just arrived home from taking Tommy to the doctor's. He had woken up with a big bruise on his head, a fever, a nosebleed, and no explanations of what the hell had happened.

John noticed it. He went to wake up Tommy and when he turned him over, he saw his forehead was almost all purple and his eyes looked like that time when Ada got into Poll's makeup without permission.

Polly tried to patch him up, but he kept shaking and talking nonsense. Eventually, she said he needed to be seen by a physician. Experience with kitchen table wound care and gypsy wisdom wouldn't do it this time.

Arthur had been waiting for them to arrive. The Shelbys didn't go to a doctor often, so she must have noticed something serious. He rushed to the door before Polly could reach for the doorknob. Looking at his aunt, he couldn't find Tommy near her.

She smiled sadly, looking into his eyes, then turned towards a carriage Arthur didn't notice was there before. "Arthur, dear," she said, "would you pick up your brother and take him to bed? I don't think I can carry him that far."

Arthur quickly nodded and hurried to Tommy's side. He was asleep, drenched in sweat, and very pale. The bruises were still there, but he didn't expect them to be gone so soon anyways.

When he had a good grip on Tommy, lifting him up by his side, John suddenly appeared on the other side, mirroring Arthur's position. They had Tommy's arms over their shoulders while they supported his back, gently taking him inside the house and upstairs.

Apparently, Tommy got his head hit pretty hard. 'Fucking genius that physician, eh?' Arthur could have said that same thing hours earlier. He gave Tommy some medicine to take home and sent him on his merry way.

Arthur was now in the bedroom, trying to make his little brother take that fucking miracle liquid that's apparently going to make it all better. Tommy just wouldn't fucking make it easy. Wasn't he supposed to be conked out from the blow to that head? Right now, he seems pretty aware of his surroundings and fucking strong as ever.

It didn't help that Arthur couldn't be as forceful and rough as he would usually be to accomplish this kind of task. Everything he could think to try, he would do: hold him down, plead, threaten, bribe, shove the spoon in his mouth forcibly. He was ashamed to admit that it got to the point where he went as far as pinch his stomach in hopes he would scream and that would be his chance... no luck. Not even a single drop.

When he threw in the towel, Ada and John took over. They had watched all his failed attempts, and if they thought they could do better, well, that was the cherry on top of the freaking cake, right? His younger siblings were able to take care of each other better than he did, is that it now?

It was. Arthur was dumbfounded when he saw Tommy just let himself be manhandled and the medicine administered. Ada said something to Tommy while John patted him on the back. They calmed him down, and it almost looked like Tommy didn't even notice the bitter liquid passing through his lips.

How did they do it? Arthur felt some envy. He didn't have that soft and calm second nature his siblings had. He wished he did. Sometimes.

Tommy had just woken up. It had been a couple of days now. His fever was gone, and the bruises on his head were starting to fade, though still very much there. He was coming back around to himself a bit slowly, but Arthur always tried being patient with Tommy, especially since Tommy never seemed to be patient with himself, and Arthur could see the damage it did.

Right now, Arthur was by his bedside. It was lunchtime, and Arthur was waiting for Tommy to wake up so that he could help him eat. Polly made a disgusting meal specially for Tommy. It seemed like punishment, but she had told them that the doctor had instructed her to give this to help his body heal faster. So, here Arthur was, waiting with this grub on his lap for his little brother to come around from his sleepy gaze at the ceiling so that he could serve him.

Brother, let's get you sitting down so you can have lunch, eh?" Arthur said after a moment, and it was enough so that Tommy started getting up by himself. They went hand in hand. His inability to take care of others in that way and his brother's just as strong inability to let himself be cared for. The better Tommy got, the more he put up his walls and refused to show weakness.

So that's good, innit? Tommy doesn't want his help to sit up, so he's getting better. That's good, don't forget that this is good. It feels depressing watching him move with such difficulty and not being allowed in to help. Fucking useless, he feels.

The doctor said those shakes and spasms he was having were a temporary side effect from the medication he had prescribed. It was most commonly presented in children, but would pass once he was all better and no longer taking it.

Something about Tommy having a typically children's reaction to the medicine tickled something inside Arthur. Tommy was soon to be a grown man, right? And many times, he felt like he was older than Arthur, even. But this just showed how much he was still just a kid. Not even a tall one, actually.

Right now, the side effects they were the strongest Arthur had seen them yet. Granted, they were worse right after Tommy woke up, and as he stayed awake, it got better along the day.

As soon as Tommy had settled himself against the pillows and was sitting up, Arthur got closer and scooped up some mush into the spoon. He was glad at least this his brother would let him do. At first, he attempted to eat by himself, shakes and all, but it wasn't just a tough quest, it was damn near impossible. His limbs wouldn't cooperate, and the more angry and frustrated he got about it, the worse the shakes got. He spilled his meal all over himself and his bed. Eventually, it seemed that he had decided that being spoon-fed by his family was less shameful than making a huge mess without even managing a bite by himself.

Arthur didn't think Tommy needing to be fed was shameful. He thought it would be shameful if he needed the help and had no one to do it for him. That's shameful. It would be shameful if Arthur saw his baby brother there, laying down, shaking, in pain, and didn't even help with the most basic needs.

Deep down, he also knew a big part of his embarrassment right now was simply the fact that it was Arthur, not Ada or Polly. He figured that Tommy would mind much less if it was a woman doing the caring, yeah? Lesser hit to his ego, but they had been sharing the work, and Arthur was happier for it. Maybe someday, Tommy wouldn't think less of himself for having his brothers nursing him.

They made their way through the small bowl slowly and in silence. Once done, Arthur gave him a pat and a soft squeeze to his shoulder. "You did good today, Tommy," he said.

He took the dishes downstairs and when he came back to check if his brother needed to piss, he saw that Tommy was sitting up on his bed, eyes glazed over and looking ahead as one shaky hand rubbed against his face.

"You alright there, Tom?"

He looked at Arthur, "Just got lost in me head for a moment, Arthur," he answered laughing.

Arthur then noticed Tommy's beard. He really was growing up, eh? He probably hadn't shaved for the last 3 or 4 days, and he had grown quite a bit past a stubble, didn't he? They all knew Tommy to be really put together and well-groomed. Always clean, scrubbed a lot when washing, kept his hair cut short, nails clipped, and, well, as soon as he started developing a beard, he shaved every other day. Must be weird for him to feel it the longest it has probably been his whole life.

Arthur chuckled when he took an actual good look. His attention had been so focused on the deep bruise in his face that he completely overlooked how much his brother needed a shave.

"Getting wild there, eh?" He said, pointing to Tommy's face.

"Soon enough Ada will ask to do bloody braids in me face," he said, earning a laugh from Arthur. "I'd have it shaved by now if it wasn't a risk to cut me head off."

"Do you want me to?"

A pause.

"Eh?" he insisted.

"If I want you to?"

"Ye, Tom. I can shave your beard for you. Make you less like a pirate."

That got him a laugh. Tommy stopped for a second and it looked like he was going to deny the offer, but he raised his hand and scratched once again at his chin.

"Bloody hell, why not, eh? Can't get worse than it is."

Now that all was set, Arthur was actually nervous about it. He only ever shaved himself. He was the one that had taught both Tommy and John to shave, but that was completely different than taking a blade to his brother's face and neck.

As he sharpened the razor, his own hands were shaking enough to compete with Tommy's tremors. He took a deep breath. "Ready?" He turned to Tommy.

Turns out he was the only one nervous. Tommy was surprisingly calm about the whole ordeal. How could he be so peaceful with his brute of a brother with a sharp razor so close to his face? It made him feel touched, the trust his brother seemed to have in him. Made him actually quite confident in his capacity for doing this.

Tommy had his head rested on the back of the chair, eyes closed peacefully, almost as if he was asleep. The only sign he actually wasn't was the incessant shaking of his limbs.

Arthur spread the thick soap lather around his brother's face evenly and set to work on the task at hand.

The scrape of the razor against skin sent a shiver down his spine, a mixture of fear and a strange sense of familiarity. Tommy seemed to sense his unusual stiffness.

"That hard?"

"Don't want to nick you, brother."

He kept shaving him slowly and carefully, slowly gaining confidence enough that he allowed himself to relax and enjoy the rare silent bonding moment between the two of them. Tommy humming from time to time.

Arthur had made some good progress when Tommy's eyes slowly opened and looked at his reflection in the mirror in front of him. Suddenly, Tommy's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he glared at his reflection.

"I can do it," he said unexpectedly. Now Arthur saw a different man than the one he was talking to minutes before. Where his little brother was before, calm and vulnerable, now there was a stiff man, face hardening as his reflection stared back at him.

"What?"

He grabbed the blade, and it almost fell instantly from his hand. He took a moment to try and steady his grasp. "I can do the rest." The razor trembled in Tommy's hand, the blade catching the light and reflecting off the chipped mirror.

Arthur was dumbfounded. What had he done wrong? They were doing fine, mere seconds ago Tommy was relaxed and trusting, now he seemed almost angry.

"You'll cut yourself, Tom," Arthur tried, his voice half surprised, half disappointed. He knew his brother better than anyone, knew that his pride was one of his biggest enemies, threatened to consume him whole. "Let me do it."

He pretended not to listen, slowly raising the razor on incredibly unsteady fingers, his movements stiff, trying to hold back on the incessant shakes that seemed to get worse by the second.

He rested the blade to his neck, and Arthur winced as an involuntary tremor made it slip a bit too fast, dangerously close to his throat. Arthur's blood ran cold, and he got scared it went a bit too deep in the wrong direction.

He hissed, "Give it here," reaching for the razor.

"Here," Arthur's voice was anxious as he put the towel against the fresh cut. He gently reached again, attempting to grab the razor from Tommy's hand, "You nicked yourself."

"No bother, it'll heal before the bruises anyways."

He raised his hand again, and this time Arthur grabbed his pulse, stopping it halfway through.

"I can do it," Tommy repeated, looking into his eyes now.

"You'll cut yourself again," he said. "And for what? Pride?"

No answer.

"You'll cut your bloody throat, Tom," Arthur repeated louder, his voice firm but not unkind. He tried his best not to lose his nerve now. "Let me do it."

Tommy hesitated, "I want to do it, brother." Arthur said, and then he saw the stiffness of his brother's shoulders soften. Finally, he nodded, his gaze fixed on the floor, now unable to meet Arthur's eyes.

Arthur grabbed his face and tilted it back up so he could continue as they were. Tommy glanced quickly at the mirror again and closed his eyes. Not relaxed anymore. Before it looked like he was resting, now it looked like he didn't want to bear witness to what was happening.

"It's not a bother to help you, Tommy," Arthur said, breaking the silence after a while. When he thought Tommy wouldn't answer, he heard the low reply.

"It's just a shave, few cuts would barely make a difference."

"We know you hate this."

"Tommy shifted. "I don't..." the words caught in his throat.

He finally met Arthur's gaze in the mirror. His brother's eyes now held a softness he hadn't seen in what felt like years now.

"Shaking like a fucking leaf. Having to ask for everything. Fucking invalid, am I?"

"It's alright. It's just that medicine… it's playing tricks on you."

"Made me bloody useless."

"Not useless. We're not pitying you, Tommy. We're looking after you. Like you'd do for us. Like it used to be when we were kids, eh?"

"Things change," Tommy muttered.

"Yeah," Arthur agreed, his voice lower now. "Some things do."

Arthur ran the razor through Tommy's face for the last time and then removed all the soap with water and a towel, taking a moment to admire his work. He wouldn't do too badly as a barber.

"There you go, Tommy, all done."

"Thanks, Arthur," he answered much lighter.

Arthur cleared up the mess they had made and took the supplies back to the bathroom. When he was back, he was surprised to see Tommy was still at the chair. He was even more surprised when Tommy raised his arm, motioning for him to help him up.

He got to his brother's side and helped him move and make his way back to the bed, the short walk something he had refused to be assisted with earlier.

Tommy was just small. A small boy. Not the youngest, but the smallest.

Tommy was small, and their father was a bastard.

Arthur might have been the only son who still had any kind of good feelings towards their father, but he wasn't dumb or blind.

He would always hit them, humiliate them, call them names, and any other messed-up thing that crossed his mind.

But Tommy was small... Tommy was his baby brother who slept way too little because of nightmares he refused to talk about. He was the one who got skipped at the hand-me-down ladder because, even as kids, John could fill up Arthur's clothes better. Tommy was the one who was a picky eater, and after he was forced to eat, he had to have Ada comforting him as he threw up afterward.

Tommy was just small, and he looked even smaller after his dad had finished with him. Their dad came home drunk. Nothing new. When he does that, everyone has to be on their best behavior. No talking, no playing, no looking at him, no running... sometimes it felt like they couldn't even breathe.

Tommy was by far the least noisy out of them, but he did have a tendency to be funny and a troublemaker. He clearly resented their father by now. All of them did. Arthur always wondered if maybe he was supposed to be the one to stand up to Arthur Senior. Tommy was usually defending them, their mum, Aunt Polly, or something. Most times, he made some pretty good points.

Even so, it wasn't enough to have Arthur stand up with him against their dad. He was ashamed to say he didn’t have the courage. Tommy couldn't deal with the things he said were unfair. He let his head get the best of him and suddenly, he was often picking fights with people many times his size, which, once again, wasn't too hard to find. He was always pretty small.

Arthur Sr. beat him within an inch of his life. He didn't stop when his nose bled, when he fell backwards, when his arms wouldn't rise to protect his face anymore, and he wouldn't stop when the whole family was holding him back. Their mum kept screaming while pulling his arms with all of her strength, but it was futile against their father’s rage.

Polly managed to pick up Tommy and run. He and his siblings released the drunk bastard and hid behind the couch, under the table, anywhere they could feel a barrier between them and their monster of a dad. They knew anyone could be next now.

His mum took a few steps towards the door, but then turned and walked up to his dad very fast, making him stumble backward and fall. "What is wrong with you?" she asked, her voice rough and her face mad. She towered over her husband, face harsh and eyebrows knitted together.

Do you want to kill him?" she said in a low voice. Suddenly, she knelt and pulled a small knife, quickly pressing it to his neck.

He didn't react. Arthur was terrified he was going to attack their mum. It wouldn't be the first time, though right now the most likely option was that he had either slept or passed out.

After a long mument, she got up and looked around the room. Most kids probably hadn't grown up seeing their mum's face show such honest, vulnerable expression, but unfortunately, that look was a recurring sight in the Shelby household.

Arthur jumped out of his hiding spot. He should hug his mum, say something to try to make her feel better, but he was always hot-blooded. His body made decisions way before he himself knew what to do. He bolted through the door he saw Aunt Polly take Tommy through.

She wasn't there anymore, but Arthur was terrified to realize he could follow their path with Tommy's blood that got left behind.

When he reached Polly's bedroom, he saw his brother laid down on her bed, completely still and bloodied. He was wearing only his breeches and had a white cloth over his forehead.

He approached him, "Tommy?" But before he made it to the bed, his aunt showed up with another cloth and a bucket of water.

She drenched the small towel in water and started cleaning up Tommy's small body.

The more she cleaned, the worse he looked. The general body-like shape covered in big red stains slowly resembled more and more his tiny baby brother, and the red splotches gave way to show cuts, bruises, scars old and new, and weirdly protruding bones that looked like they were poking his chest from the inside out.

Polly turned to him, "Quickly, Arthur, get us my stitching kit and bandages."

He ran out as fast as he could, wishing so badly to be useful. He glanced at his mum running into the room while on his way out. She was holding Ada and John's hands, and the three of them looked like they were crying, but Arthur didn't have time for that.

…

Tommy was just small. They were trying to do as much as they could to help their bigger brother get better. Tommy's body was small, and even Ada, who was much younger, could tell as much.

His presence always seemed bigger than what he actually was. He would make everybody laugh, give them most of the candy he could get his hands on, fight off thieves and bullies, and protect them. More than anybody else did, actually.

But what Ada saw, and many others didn't seem to, was that whenever he fought with others, he gave them hell and never lost, but he also never left uninjured either. There was always a split lip, a bruise, a cut, a burn... always something . He would often show up home with a limp and no explanation as to why.

The only fight he never won was with their dad. Those fights he had lost as soon as they started. Ada had no love for him, even at her small age. He was never nice to them, never seemed to be happy to have kids, to be around the house, and never protected them like Tommy had. Actually, many times when he left they had to defend themselves and their mum from whatever trouble he was running away from.

Ada and John helped Polly clean Tommy. They each had a cloth, and while Polly worked on making the worst cuts stop bleeding, the siblings mostly ran the cold water through his body, washing away blood and dirt, helping her see the full picture of what they were dealing with.

"Tommy's nose is still bleeding," Ada kept repeating. If Polly was listening, she didn't react. She had a tight grip on Tommy's head, holding what must be a pretty deep wound, because it wouldn't stop bleeding either. Ada started to wonder how much blood was even left inside of her brother. It couldn't be much by her account.

"Tommy's nose, Polly! It's bleeding!" she said again, not understanding why she wouldn't get a reaction. Pol still wouldn't move from her position. Their mum was sitting by a corner of the room. She was right beside a big comfy chair, but she chose to sit on the floor.

Arthur showed up with a sewing kit. Not the one they used for clothes, the one they used after big fights and weird accidents they weren't supposed to know about yet. They never used it on the children before. Maybe they were growing up?

They helped Polly turn Tommy on his belly, and he gave a quick moan that made Polly shush him in the nicest way Ada had ever seen. She kissed his head, not too near the gushing wound, and then told Arthur to hold down the cloth to his brother's head while she threaded the needle.

He did as he was told, and Ada and John decided to hold their big brother's clammy hands. As she felt him give an extremely weak, barely-there squeeze, she started murmuring to his ear that everything would be fine, he would be okay, they are all okay, and many other things she knew would calm him down, even if she herself wasn't too sure of them.

Once Polly had everything set up, they watched their aunt sew Tommy's head shut, much like she had done with countless other Shelbys and men alike. 

…

Tommy was just small. He was his big brother, but he was wearing John's pajamas, and it all fit him so loosely. Not just in weight, but also in height.

His brother was pale, and most of his body was bandaged up. Polly said the worst seemed to be his head, nose, and ribs, and he could see that as plain as day.

"We need to move him to the living room, warm him up near the fireplace" Pol told their mum, both arriving at their aunt's bedroom where Tommy was. John quickly hid his tears and went to place the cloth back on his brother's forehead.

"The kitchen would be better for cleaning the wounds, but I just wanted to get him as far away as possible from my brute of a brother." She said with a look that showed disdain and hate.

He had heard the both of them throw their dad out of the house a while earlier. It wouldn't last, that's for sure, it never had before. Somehow their mum still found a way to love him once he’d come back calmer and sober. But at least tonight would be more peaceful. Small mercies.

Arthur and Ada were both cleaning up the house: the steps, carpets, furniture, clothes, and even the walls - how did it get on the walls?- Each surface bore traces of their brother's blood, blood that he could clearly see was very much missed.

"My bed can fit both of us," He said, turning to Polly. "He could sleep with me and I'd keep him warm, like we usually do." 

His mum bent down and hugged him. It felt like she wanted to pick him up, but she didn't. "He can't share a bed tonight, love." Polly said. "Tommy needs space so he won't get even more hurt."

He lowered his head. Tommy was small; he could sleep there and have space. John really didn't want Tommy to sleep away from their bedroom. There was a comfort in waking up and being able to see Arthur, Tommy and Ada, all sleeping peacefully. It made it easier to fall back asleep knowing they were safe.

John was told to make his big brother a comfortable bed out of the living room couch. He ran and gathered all the pillows, covers, sheets, and even Ada's soft dolls so Tommy would sleep somewhere soft and warm tonight. He even removed his own pillow from his bed so it could go to Tommy.

Once he was done, he walked upstairs and heard low and soft whimpers that seemed to be in what he could only recognize as Tommy's voice.

He ran inside the room and saw his mum holding him sitting up. A small cup with an amber liquid was being offered to him. More like forced into him. John knew from experience that Tommy wasn't easy to feed and Ada would have to be with him all night long at the toilet tonight if their mum forced him to drink something he clearly wasn't enjoying.

Tommy kept turning his head and making more of those sad noises, his breathing was fast and unsteady, so John ran up to him and grabbed his hand. He was going to say nice things to help him calm down, but Tommy looked him in the eyes and immediately stopped fighting their mum. He drank most of the cup. The little that was left once he was done, their mum finished with a swig.

She put her hand on his stomach and gave a very light and playful shake. "Now, you're going to feel better very soon, love." She kissed his forehead and then put her hand on John’s shoulder, acknowledging his help.

He didn't release Tommy's hand, and Tommy didn't stop looking at him. Eventually, his eyes kept staying closed longer and longer after each blink, until eventually, he didn't open them anymore.

...

He was born small.

Looking back, it had been the most difficult birth out of all the four she had so far. During his pregnancy, she was so stressed; it wasn't going as smoothly as Arthur's.

She had morning sickness, pain throughout her body, she could feel her heartbeat all the time, and it felt difficult to breathe.

Her pregnancy with Arthur was so easy she kept her normal routine up until the day Polly said that the boy was going to be born and they should make preparations.

Tommy's was a whole different story. She was only seven months in when she could feel the water breaking. She reached for her sister-in-law, who could tell what was happening from one quick glance at her eyes.

Back then, he didn't even have a name yet. Arthur would take after his dad, so that was easy; this one she still hadn't thought what to call him. She was supposed to have more time. They didn't have a cot ready for him, and the only clothes he would be able to wear would be Arthur's old ones so far. The strain of this pregnancy on her body hadn’t allowed her to make him clothes yet.

They got to the room where Polly would try to save her boy. Seven months is enough for him to survive, right? Her mind was racing and panicking, preventing her from forming a single complete thought.

She pushed, she begged, she prayed, she did all she could. Polly was right there with her, saying the leaves had already told her that her little boy was going to thrive.

"He's so small," was the first thing she managed to say once Polly put him to her chest and made her hold him. He didn't seem like someone who would thrive. Not in this harsh world that the Shelbys and everyone who was around them seemed to get caught up in.

His hands, his toes, little button nose... everything so tiny, she could barely believe he was alive and crying.

Her kisses seemed to have some soothing effect on him. She hoped she could always and forever have that power: to calm her children, have them be strong-minded and calm, unlike how she saw herself.

She hugged him tighter and started crying, but she didn't know why. She was overjoyed; her baby was alive in her arms. Safe, protected, warm, and breathing. Even if he was small.

Now, it was like the same scene again right before her eyes. She held her unconscious son near the fireplace, trying to get him some of the warmth the blood loss had taken away from him.

"I'll do right by you, Tommy," she thought back to when he was just a tiny, nameless baby, whom she wanted to protect. She wanted to protect all of her kids, but nowadays, she doubted she could actually follow through on her promises.

…

It had been three days before Tommy woke up. Polly was giving him a sponge bath while her sister-in-law took the other children to school.

She realized it was easier to get the task done when she wasn't around to see Tommy's body under all the blankets and bandages. She would try to help, but her crying often led to a longer and more difficult time for both of them.

When she was done wrapping up his chest, she looked at the boy's face, and his eyes were open. She smiled and tried to contain much of her reaction. Didn't want to disturb the poor boy.

"Love, how are you feeling?" she asked. She waited, but he didn't answer, just kept looking at her.

She finished up the bath and then helped him sit up. "Do you think you can eat anything, Tommy?" she asked. She could see his body had suffered thoroughly through those three days of sleeping, trying to recuperate and regain some blood and close all of those wounds. He was always small, but now he looked like a sickly kid years younger than he actually was.

He shook his head, and Polly feared that would be his reaction. She had to make him eat though. They fought so hard so he would survive that awful night. She couldn't let him die of starvation.

She kissed his cheek and said she would come back with toast, something easy they usually got him to eat without too much hardship.

Polly fed the kid bite by bite, making sure to rub his back and offer water in between pieces.