Don't mind me. I'm just being a lemming and joining the fandom like everyone else.

I like Mako as an older brother. He kind of sucks in the romance department, but what can you honestly expect from an eighteen-year-old knucklehead? He'll grow into himself eventually.

Mako is eight-almost-nine and Bolin is six.

So here is my story. It'll probablymaybesorta be a two-shot, since I enjoy making Bolin cry (he is the ugliest crier, and I love it). Enjoy this first part and please review!

Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Airbender or Mako or Bolin or Bolin's tears or Bolin's snot.

Part One, Pigeon-Keets

The sun beat down on Mako's back, which would have been unpleasant had he not been half-submerged in the city fountain. It was a laundry day, meaning that he and Bolin had managed to get their clothing dirty enough that it consistently stuck to their backs and retained unnatural wrinkles. Earlier in the morning, Mako had gently woken Bolin up and led him to the city fountain where he proceeded to strip them both down to their skivvies so he could plunge their filthy clothes in the water. He had no soap, but he made up for it with rough scrubbing.

It should have been a simple task – washing their clothes – but Mako was also supposed to be watching over his younger brother, who was attempting to harness his earthbending abilities. Bolin didn't have Mama or Papa to show off to, which meant that Mako was the sole recipient of each earthbending error Bolin made.

"Mako! Mako! Look what I did!"

Mako looked up from the laundry just in time for a ball of dirt to explode in his face. Coughing, he groaned out, "Bolin," before tossing their newly-soiled laundry back into the fountain. As he started scrubbing again, he heard his brother squeal out several apologies, each rising in pitch until it was obvious Bolin was starting to cry.

"I didn't mean to!" Bolin choked out. That was annoying. It was like Mako couldn't even look at Bolin disapprovingly without making him cry. Mama hadn't ever had to deal with this; Mako didn't know what sort of charm his mother had, but he wished he'd inherited it.

"It's fine, Bo," Mako exhaled heavily, pulling Bolin's shirt from the water to wring out and lay on the fountain wall, "Just be careful."

"I'm trying, I really am," Bolin pouted, having recovered with Mako's forgiveness. He inched closer to his brother, climbed up onto the edge of the fountain to sit, and swung his dirty legs into the water. "Hey, Mako? Mako? Mako, I'm hungry."

Mako used his wet fingers to rub a smudge of mud off his brother's downy cheek. "I know."

"When are we gonna eat?"

"As soon as I'm done," Mako said, giving his own shirt an extra drying twist before pulling it on over his head. "I'll finish our trousers and then we'll get breakfast. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

Mako resumed washing. His skin broke out in gooseflesh from his damp shirt, but he supposed that their clothes would dry quickly under the sun. Besides, they couldn't go walking around the city in just their underwear; even as a sidewalk orphan, Mako had some dignity.

When their trousers were rinsed and wrung-out, Mako helped his younger brother dress – with head and arms and legs going through the proper holes. Then, he washed Bolin's face clean of dirt. After they were both finally – finally – clean, Mako declared that they could find some breakfast.

"Ooh, I want noodles," Bolin moaned. As they walked down the street of food shops, Mako held fast to his brother's hand, because he would probably wander off otherwise. "Mako, I want dumplings. Ooh! Ooh! Roast duck-iguana!"

Neither of the boys was accustomed to being alone yet. Mako dearly missed the prospect of a full stomach after meals, and Bolin refused to believe that they had anything less than the world's riches. Without parents, being hungry was a genuine problem. It seemed as if the city became a volatile place the moment the boys' parents were put in the ground.

Mako led Bolin up to a merchant who sold skewers of roasted pigeon-keet for a few cents each.

"How many of those can I get for this?" Mako asked importantly, holding out an unbelievably tiny amount of yuan. The merchant gave him an incredulous look, as if he didn't know whether to laugh or be insulted.

"You c'n have the ashes from the fire," the merchant said flatly, "Get outta here, kid. I've no time for your squalling."

Well, Mako had attempted to do things reasonably first, and that's what counted. He pretended to be resigned in his hunger and led Bolin into the mouth of a nearby alley. Bolin looked mightily concerned.

"Mako!" Bolin complained, "I'm hungry!"

"I know, Bo," Mako said patiently, peering around the corner of the alley into the busy street. The crowd of people was relatively thick, which meant it'd be easy for two small children to go unnoticed. If things were done right, they'd end up with pleasantly full bellies for the day – or Mako would, since Bolin had a bottomless pit for a stomach.

"Okay. See that crack in the path under his foot?" Mako said to his brother, guiding him to look at the merchant's sandaled feet. "Can you make it bigger?"

"Yeah!"

"Shh! And not yet. You have to do what I say, Bo. And you have to do it right."

"Okay."

After explaining the plan to Bolin – twice, to make certain he really understood – Mako scooted him out of the alley. Though he was still pudgy and still had a habit of toddling, Bolin managed to be discreet enough to inch closer to the merchant's cart. Then, he crouched and waited. At first, Mako thought his younger brother had forgotten the plan entirely, but Bolin suddenly fisted both of his hands and pushed.

With a sharp, grinding sound, the pathway under the merchant's feet split, sending the poor man into a fit of screaming as he tumbled to the ground. As planned, Bolin immediately ran to help the man up, apologizing profusely and purposely blocking his view of the cart. Mako darted out from the alley, scooped up several skewers of pigeon-keet that had fallen on the ground, and hid again. He expected Bolin to be close behind as he retreated back into the alley.

"Damned brats!" the merchant was shouting, "I've had it with you!" There was a brief pause as the merchant righted his cart and began to mourn his spoiled wares. Bolin was starting to inch back towards the alleyway while Mako watched uneasily. Mako didn't know whether he should scream for Bolin to run, or to wait. The skewers of meat were steaming in his grip, and it took every ounce of his self-restraint to not immediately begin gnawing at them.

"Where are my skewers?" the merchant was saying, his voice rising as he repeated himself. "Where are my skewers? You."

Mako stiffened when he saw the merchant suddenly snatch Bolin up by the scruff of his neck. Promptly, Bolin began to whimper, eyes clouding with fat tears.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Sorry isn't gonna cut it, kid!" the merchant hissed, giving Bolin a little shake. "My cart's ruined, I'm missing my inventory, and I know you had something to do with it! Where's your little friend, huh? Is he in on this, too?" Bolin surprised the man by struggling, kicking his legs out and flailing his arms in fear. When he clocked the merchant in the jaw with one of his round fists, the man shook him, hit him, and threw him to the ground with a curse.

At first, Bolin burst into loud, messy tears upon impact, his nose bloodied and one of his eyes starting to swell. Then, he shouted, "Mako!" in a terrified, desperate shriek.

Bolin hardly got out the second syllable of his brother's name before a blast of heat – not quite fire, but still searing – smacked the merchant in the face. The man cried out and cupped his cheek, swearing as he looked for his attacker. As expected, Mako was there, his fists still held up in a firebending stance. His face was tight with anger.

"Leave him alone," Mako said between his teeth. The merchant had an expression that bordered between rage and wariness. "You leave my brother alone! Bolin, c'mere!" Fists still cocked, Mako called to his younger sibling. Bolin ran to him, crying and smearing nose-blood on his shirt. When he was within reach, Mako wrapped a protective arm around his brother, one fist still cocked in the merchant's direction.

"That's it. I'm calling the police," the merchant threatened, heading for the nearest shop. Unfortunately for the merchant, Mako helped his brother flee the scene as soon as his back was turned. By the time the police arrived, the two boys were gone.

The pigeon-keet skewers were still warm when Mako and Bolin finally rested in the alcove of an abandoned building a few blocks away. As Mako breathed a sigh of relief, Bolin gave a low whimper and tried to sniff through his still-bleeding nose.

"Hey, don't do that," Mako chided, scooting closer to his brother and cupping his face in his hands. He gently tilted Bolin's face upwards and pinched his nostrils together. "Here, stay like this for while. Once you stop bleeding, we can eat. And don't cry. You'll be alright."

Bolin didn't seem to show any sign of wanting to calm down anytime soon. His large, green eyes continued to well up with tears that spilled over his cheeks – a bruise had swelled up under one of his eyes, dark and painful. Mako brushed over it with the fingers of his free hand, eliciting a high-pitched whine from Bolin.

"Shh," Mako soothed, leaving the bruise alone. "It's fine. It'll make you look cool, I'll bet."

"Really?" Bolin said nasally. Mako smiled as best as he could.

"Yeah. Really." But Mako wanted to cry. Things hadn't ever gone so wrong before, especially not for Bolin. People were supposed to like Bolin, with his wide-eyed gaze and round cheeks; they usually thought he was cute. Mako supposed there were always going to be flukes, though. Not everyone was as compassionate as expected; he realized that when his parents were murdered.

After waiting another minute or two, Mako let go of Bolin's nose and used the edge of his sleeve to carefully wipe off the flakes of blood on his brother's face. By then, Bolin was no longer crying – actually, he had stopped sobbing and instead resorted to weird, hiccupping breaths.

"See, Bo? Everything's okay now," Mako said, pushing a skewer of lukewarm pigeon-keet into Bolin's hands. As Bolin took a savage bite out of the meat, he held out his elbow.

"I got scraped," he said unhappily with a full mouth.

Mako resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Want me to kiss it better?"

"Yeah," Bolin said in a small voice. His nose was running and in danger of dripping mucus on his food. He looked so upset, so exhausted from running and crying. The blood that Mako had missed with his sleeve was caked around his nostrils and in his shirt, which would have to be washed again. In such a miserable state, Bolin was impossible to say 'no' to.

Without complaining, Mako lifted his little brother's elbow up and planting a tender kiss on the raw skin. Then, he leaned forward and pressed a bigger kiss to Bolin's cheek.

"There. All better. You're healed," Mako said with an encouraging smile. Bolin offered a grease-lipped smile in return, then urged Mako to have a skewer of pigeon-keet as well.

As the two boys finished off their breakfast, Bolin began to yawn. It took Mako little effort to convince Bolin to crawl into his lap for a midday nap. Bolin stuck his thumb in his mouth and shut his eyes, cheek leaning on Mako's thin chest and his breaths coming slow and warm on Mako's neck. The sun beat down on Mako's back, which would have been unpleasant had he not already been in a deep slumber.

The brothers slept, and the gnawed wooden skewers baked on the street.

Please review!