Miriam worried, he knew.

She worried when he was born, and worried again when together they were blessed with a baby brother. She worried before the soldiers came for their youngest sibling, and she worried after, when they watched him float away on the river.

She worried even when she knew he was in good hands. She worried through all their hardships, though she hid it well. Behind a clever tongue and a sharp mind.

Miriam worried for all their sakes; especially Moses'.

She shouldn't, he naively tried to tell her. Mother is with him. Though she cannot raise him as our brother, she will always be there to watch over him!

Until one day, when she wasn't.

News from the palace traveled slowly - at least, it did when reaching them. Why should they be told, anyway. It wasn't as if they were ever given any more knowledge than they needed. The business of the Pharaoh's second son was none of their concern, let alone the recent death of his wet nurse.

He couldn't remember where he had been when she had passed. Completing some assigned task, probably. At home, maybe - asleep beside his sister. Anywhere was possible, since he didn't rightly know when she had died.

He remembered where he was when they'd told him, however. That was something unforgettable.

If memory served, it started with the sound of pottery breaking.

He hadn't heard it himself, too busy throwing down another strike of his hammer. The pale stone refused to crack, even under his hardest blow. With such blunt tools, he couldn't find time to be surprised.

The sound of running footsteps, weaving in and out of their tightly packed rows; that was what he remembered. Shouts of his name, a vaguely familiar voice pushing through the crowd. Forcing its way down the trench, past the swinging hammers and the sullen bodies that looked so terrible in the heat.

He turned in time for a man to grab his shoulder, heaving and doubled over in pain from his haste. Stiff fingers dug into his skin, a graying beard and wild eyes appearing as his visitor straightened up to look at him.

"Aaron-!" The man gasped, moving to grip the taller boy frantically with both hands, "Aaron, you must go to your sister-! S-She-! She needs you, you must go to her!"

As much as he wished to put it down, Aaron's grip did not leave his hammer. He opened his mouth not to protest - "But the work-!" - to question instead, but the older man was too quick for him.

"I will take your place." Calloused, yet strong, hands took the tool from his grip, frantically shouldering him aside and on his way, "Your sister needs you now."

Stumbling on the dislodged earth, Aaron backed away, turning to look down through the trench. His body followed his gaze, scrambling over the cracked rock to head back to his home. His hesitation was clear, as he paused to look over his shoulder. Face fearful; an expression met by the urgent shout of his messenger.

"Run, Aaron!"

And he did.

He ran through the stone quarry, past the weary diggers and reclining figures of the guards. He dodged hammers and ropes alike, ducking between each body and rock and obstacle that threatened to stop him.

He ran across the dry dirt to the edge of the city, where the pale stone met jagged, red cliff sides. He ran through the neat Egyptian houses until he crossed the boundary into his own people's dwellings. He passed slanted doorway after poorly repaired wall, sunken face after crumbling rooftop.

He ran all the way back to his family's home. The one he had been raised in, as his sister had before him. The one his mother and father were forced into - the dusty, one-room shack that had held their whole family once. Father, mother, sister, brother. The first name soon to fade, only to be replaced by a second brother.

For a short time, at least.

Aaron almost fell through the door of their hovel, close to knocking the splintering wood from its hinges. It hit the wall with a smack as he stumbled inside, bare feet skidding on the ground as he came to a sudden halt.

His chest heaved, rising and falling with a tremble he had not seen for many years. All his muscles threatened to fail him, to double him over or drop him to the floor in exhaustion - but he stood firm. Kept his back straight, his body upright as he surveyed the scene before him.

What he had been expecting, he could not say. The worst his mind could provide him with, he supposed. Which was what, exactly? What could be worse than this?

Maybe he could have found Miriam hurt, whether by a guard's whip or simple accident, it did not matter. Surely that would have been worse, would have been the terror he expected. Instead of finding her like this - on her knees, shrouded by the shadows of their crumbling home.

"...Miriam?"

There was no blood, no wounds, upon his sister's body. None that could be seen through her dress, still in the same tattered condition it had always been. No, she was not hurt on the outside.

But as she turned her face towards him, lip trembling and tear marks on her skin, it was clear that whatever Aaron had expected - this must be worse. For whatever hurt his sister had escaped on the outside, it had been done to her tenfold on the inside.

They didn't need to talk about it, not even as Aaron dropped to his knees at his sister's side.

There wasn't anything to say. Miriam was strong; she only cried for the sake of her family. And her brother was not brainless, either. Words ceased to be needed after a simple exchange; Aaron whispered his mother's name in question, and his sister's tears only became more violent sobs, muffled by her face buried in his shoulder.

They huddled together in their house as the wind shook their door that night. It beat against the wood, demanding to be let in. They refused it, choosing to focus on rest instead.

Miriam fell asleep with her head on his chest, troubled and exhausted. Her brother was left awake, staring up at the ceiling. Listening to the wind howl and the sound of dogs barking in the distance.

This house had seen their family torn apart and sewn crudely back together as many times as there were stars in the sky. It had witnessed the loss of their youngest sibling, and their father's death soon after.

Now, it would be seeing two yahrzeits each year, rather than just one.

But even after they had both cried all the tears they could for their mother, Aaron didn't feel his eyes becoming any dryer. Because though he had rarely seen his mother at home, since she spent so much time away at the palace, her reason for being there still burned in the front of his mind.

If Yocheved was no longer there to serve as a wet nurse to the Pharaoh's family, then who would watch over Moses?

A/N: So, this will include references to things written about the Exodus, but not included in the film (i.e. Moses' mother being his wet nurse etc.)

But at the same time, it's gonna veer off from that too. Kinda like an AU, except not really because, man, have you seen how vague some of the descriptions of Moses' early life are? This could be 100% Torah accurate for all I know!

Disclaimer anyway - No offense intended to any Jewish readers more devout than me.