[Dan's been doing some version of "this" for a very long time, jumping in and coaxing the wounded into trusting the healing hand they're offered, walking onto bloody scenes with his calm demeanor and soft-spoken tone as great a tool as his skill with a needle or disinfectant, unwinding people from the traps they can't relax enough to slip themselves. He's been doing it long enough to know that there's no silver bullet. Every person is unique, with their unique triggers and paranoias, and that's why he never approaches a situation like this feeling certain about the outcome.

But feeling confident can come from just feeling competent, and Dan knows that he and Stacia are both that. Stacia gave Dan a brief explanation of what she knew about the little guy earlier, back when said little guy was passed out in a Big Gulp cup, and Dan's smart enough to put two and two together even before Branch says anything. After all, Dan's married to a prey animal. He knows how deep that drive can be and how scary the world can seem.]

Ain't no carnivorous kids around here. [While Dan's voice is certainly unpleasant, in the way rusty hinges and blenders and strep throat often sound unpleasant, people often find the soft, warm monotone to be weirdly calming.]

Don't worry about the sudden movement. I'm sending you a tool.

[He crouches down, several feet away from the butterfly net, observing the blood and the injuries from far enough away that he hopes it won't feel like encroachment to Branch. He pulls his small Swiss army knife from his pocket and places it on the ground, feels the slickness of the floor for a second, then slides the knife like a hockey puck with expert coordination so it comes to a stop less than a centimeter from Branch.

He figures that Branch can, if he can finagle his hand out of the net, use it to slowly cut himself free. It's probably a little too big for Branch to effectively wield it as a weapon, but it might give him a sense of security, while he's at it.]

I'm Dan. I heard you done met Stacia.