covered in you | taylor swift oneshots

𐙚 | put me in coach.

𐙚 wren: age eight
𐙚 set: mid autumn of twenty-three

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

Travis Kelce knew that he was great with kids despite the narrative his brother liked to create on the internet. His nieces had been the light of his life since late twenty-nineteen when Wyatt Elizabeth had come into the world with a wrinkly little face and tiny soft fists. He'd learned a lot from them, like how to have unwavering patience and love unconditionally, but he'd never learned how to ease a panic attack. Travis Kelce was great with kids, but he felt so far out of his element now.

New York City was alight with life, which was unsurprising for the early evening hour; rush hour. Horns blared beyond windowpanes and headlights flickered down below on the overcrowded streets. Taylor was somewhere displaced in the chaos, attempting to come home to them after being away all afternoon. She'd left Wren with Travis before. She'd trusted him with her kid countless times, and he'd always risen to the challenge and subsequent expectations, but this time he felt stranded in a desert without a way back home. Taylor was supposed to be back nearly an hour ago. An hour ago, things had been going as well as Travis thought that they could, but then ten minutes ago, Wren's breath spiked, and her face paled, and she'd gone from her sweet, always sprightly self, to a panicked ghost of herself.

Travis hadn't thought anything of it at first. He'd felt her tense against his side, felt her breath quicken, but his blue eyes had trailed across her delicate side profile and green eyes had still been looking straight ahead at the television screen. He'd thought she'd just been reacting to the movie; reacting to Sideburns and Patchy Stabbington as they betrayed Rapunzel on the coast, but then Flynn had rescued her, and the heart that was pressed flush against his ribcage continued to beat rapidly. He'd given her another minute, let his eyes trail across her side profile again, but when she remained in a state that so eerily resembled a statue, he'd realized that this wasn't just Taylor's kid being her overly empathetic self. This wasn't just a little girl reacting to a deep betrayal in her favorite movie. He'd heard of her panic attacks, listened to Taylor as she cried and prattled on about the heartbreaking sight, but he'd never been witness to one. He'd never seen her handle Wren in these intimate, impactful moments, but now he had to navigate it himself.

He didn't know what he was doing as his rough hands guided her face away from the television screen and toward him. He didn't even remotely understand that the far away gleam in her delicate eyes was the work of a brutal flashback — a forgotten memory being rediscovered. He'd had his own panic attacks, handled them with both lonesome and company, but this was an eight year old girl who had unimaginable trauma inflicted upon her during fundamental years. He was out of his element. Educated but so far from the shorelines.

"Hey, baby girl." His voice is low, quiet and gentle as it breaks across the surface of still water like a skipping pebble before it sinks. He wouldn't sink though. He'd create his own buoyancy if he had to, because if he sank beneath the pressure of being the only person this little girl has right now, Wren would sink right along with him. He wouldn't let that happen. "Can you hear me, girlie? I need you to squeeze my hands if you can hear me." There's no response for a handful of seconds, too many seconds for Travis's liking, but just as he's about to panic, about to pick her up and whisk her away to the emergency room because he doesn't know how to help if she can't even comprehend the presence of his voice, little fingers clench around his knuckles and green eyes seemingly come back to the present moment, only to fill with fear and panic as breathing spikes and hyperventilating begins. He hates how her breath rattles in her chest, hates how she wheezes for clarity that's just out of reach, but it's a good sign. She's here with him. She's back with him.

"M-Mommy." Green eyes that are brimming with anxiety and terror search the room for Taylor's face, but she's still far from home, stuck behind cars and taxis, stranded in a sea of endless traffic that clears for a second only to intercept her path home again. Travis wishes she were here too. Not because he doesn't want to be the one to help Wren, not because he doesn't want to learn how to comfort her and bring her back down to stable peace, but because he knows that she deserves familiarity. His pride doesn't restrict him from recognizing that he's still a new face even if the room is familiar and his hands have held her countless times. He needs Taylor home because as much as he's willing to put everything on the line for Wren, it's unfair to assume that he means even a fraction to her as Taylor does. She's not here though. It's just him and Wren. He has to figure this out.