From the moment his warm little hand had wrapped around him, throwing him confidently after his target, he had known: they were made for each other.

For years he had been his constant companion. He was always nestled tight against his back, ready and eager to assist in any way he might need him. He was a weapon, protection, a toy. He was the confidence of youth and the ability to make a strong boy stronger.

He had lost track of how long they had been together. Time didn't really affect him, though he knew it affected the one who he belonged to. And in the years they had been together, they had come to depend on one another. The one who had him needed him, but he needed him, too. Without the boy, he was nothing but a bent piece of metal. Not everyone could use something like him—simple yet surprisingly difficult. But the boy held him, threw him, used him with the confidence of one seemingly born to it.

They had been separated once, sometime after the boy had left the cold. It hadn't been his fault. Men—Rough Rhinos—had come for them and they had escaped, but his boy hadn't had time to come back for him. He was not worried, however. He knew they were meant for each other. They would find each other again.

And they did. His boy had found him again, ecstatic to have him with him once again.

Later he learned they had spent nearly a year beyond the cold where he had been crafted. Together he and his boy had become inseparable. They were a powerful team—unassuming in their simplicity, surprising in their ferocity. With him at his side the boy had become a warrior. He knew he was destined for great things—perhaps to be a legend among the world like the men they met in their travels.

Perhaps not always with him at his side, however.

The last battle had been terrible, but he could only hope his boy had won. He couldn't know because he had fallen. The boy had used him in the way he had been crafted—to save himself and his smaller companion. As he fell he had seen him use Space Sword with the same confidence he used him previously. But then he had vanished into the trees and whatever happened after he did not see. He could only hope his boy survived.

Time was not something he knew much about. It passed, he knew, but he could not understand what exactly it meant. But, still… he knew he was not with his boy. He shouldn't have missed him, but somehow he did. He could feel the light imprints of the boy's sure fingers against the worn metal that formed him. Lost somewhere on the floor of a dark forest, he didn't know if he would ever see his boy again…

0o0

Fingers touched him. He knew who touched him, though it was not his boy. But he heard voices—though he only really understood words spoken by his boy. Still, the voice spoke to him in a manner he was familiar with and so he was hopeful—as hopeful as he could be, anyway.

Perhaps more time passed. He could not be sure because even if he could understand how it passed, he was covered and could not sense anything around him. But then strong fingers were removing the wrappings protecting his metal edges. Familiar fingers… and then a voice that he had waited for, speaking with the same child-like joy he was used to. He hoped—as much as he could—that his boy would always sound like that, no matter how old he got.

"Boomerang!" Sokka's voice was gentle as he ran a finger along a slightly worn metal edge. "You do always come back…"

…..

Out of the blue, while trying to think of how to continue my other stories, this little drabble about Sokka and his boomerang popped into my head. Sorry if it's not very good—the dorm where I live is unbelievably, irritatingly, maddeningly annoying and it is after one in the morning…