Twisted ankle

We leaned against the huge fallen tree beside the duck pond.  Fluffy baby geese splashed under close watch of alert parent geese.  Kate ran to the edge, her little hands pressed together with undisguised excitement... peaking  with an intense trip and face plant in the mud.  The goslings flapped their useless tiny wings while propeller feet swished them across the water.  Kate blinked with shock before she cried and pulled her leg in close.  She'd hurt her ankle, scraped her knees and redecorated her clothing.  I leaned down beside her, mostly concerned that her foot looked oddly angled.  Older brother hands reached in, grabbed her ankle and twisted it to its full range in the opposite direction.  Kate and I gasped in surprise while her eyes opened wide.  Her hands shot out to push Davis away and mine grasped his shoulders to pull him back.
"What are you doing?"  I blurted.
 Kate yelled.  Davis' back straightened in frozen confusion.  "I'm fixing her ankle,"  he said as he let go of her foot.   
"What?  How is that helping?"  I tried to look calm while my frustration mounted and concern tripled.
He didn't answer.
"Davis, she's hurt her ankle..."  we both looked down at his four-year-old sister.
"That's what they do on TV.  If someone breaks their ankle they twist it back into place,"  He made a cracking sound as he demonstrated with his hands.
"In cartoons,"  I said.
"Ya, also in cartoons,"  he nodded. "It always helps."