A/N: this is the final prompt for this years kataang week! much thanks and appreciation to secretsecrettunnel tumblr for going to such great lengths to organize it, and many thanks, as always, to you, dear readers, for continuing to encourage and critique me. as always, this drabble is dedicated to you, and i hope to write more soon! the final prompt was safe. enjoy! ~TA
It's a breathless run through the thick forests of the Earth Kingdom, with her heart in her mouth and his blood on her hands – not again, please Spirits not again – her lungs heaving, screaming in agony as she presses on, following the crashing footsteps ahead of her, her stomach rolling, boiling over.
Not again, you can't take him from me again.
She has never been the damsel in distress, the fair maiden awaiting rescue by knight of courage. She's never been the girl to lie back and await rescue: she has fought and scrapped and carved a place out for herself through sheer force of will, always willing to take a beating for the right cause. She thanks whatever lucky stars are in her corner for it every day.
She can't imagine putting Aang through the torment she is in now.
Sokka skids to a half in front of her, his body crumpling slightly under the heavy weight of Aang's broken body. Toph is already digging into the ground, building them something to protect them, just for a moment, just for a little while. Sweat is clinging to their skins and Katara's hands are soaked in blood that has cooled and frozen to her like it was destined always to be a part of her.
"Katara!" Sokka's voice is sharp, the words flung like knives, as he struggles to lower Aang to the ground and staunch the bleeding. His normally jovial face is thrown into sharp relief in the half-light of the moon, covered with a sheen of sweat and blood (she can't tell if it's his own or someone else's). He moves quickly, every action deliberate, but when he reaches to undo the knot of Aang's robe, the better to see the damage done, she realizes her brother's hands are shaking.
It wasn't supposed to be dangerous. It wasn't supposed to happen this way.
Don't take him from me again.
The water in her hip-flask rockets out with the force of her bending, too fast and too much; she has to take a deep, steady breath to remind herself of where she is and what she is doing. Sokka inhales sharply as he uncovers the worst of the damage, tearing away the ripped remains of fabric to reveal the gaping wound in Aang's side, the flesh torn away with one clean swipe of a sword. There's blood everywhere, inky black in the night, and soon her brother's hands are coated, too.
"How bad is it?" Toph's voice is unseemingly loud in the harsh reality they are in; Katara jerks in surprise and rests her own hands on Aang's torso, running her fingers in slow, careful circles around the wound.
"I don't know."
Please, Aang, don't leave me.
The healing water glows blue, and they watch the flesh slowly knit itself together, bright pink and raw despite her ministrations. She doesn't look up once from her task, still not entirely sure she won't fall apart if she considers anything besides the right now, right this very second: that if this doesn't work, if it fails …
Don't leave me.
The greatest of the damage is healed, and Katara stills, just for a moment, to survey the damage. A faint breeze rustles the leaves in the trees, ghosts along her face like a spirit leaving this world.
"Aang," she whispers, fear squeezing the words out of her throat.
Sokka's eyes are fixed unwaveringly on his best friend; Toph is hovering over them. She has blood on her too: a streak of it from when Aang was attacked. No one seems to be breathing, least of all the man who is lying before them, the very picture of a corpse.
Her hand slides up his torso and rests over his heart, desperate to feel some sign that he is alive, that his heart is beating. His mouth is parted slightly, but his eyes are shut.
She leans closer, her hair swinging down like a curtain. "Sweetie," her voice cracks in despair. "Please."
Something thuds under her hand.
Toph lets out a string of relieved curses and Sokka releases a breath so long and deep it could fill an ocean, as Aang groans, his eyes fluttering open, a grimace twisting his face as he takes in the damage of his body and where they are. His gray eyes are stormy, but his heart is beating and he's breathing, moving, and Katara can't quite stop the tears from spilling out as she throws her arms around him, holds him tight so that the frantic rhythm of her own heartbeat merges with his.
His arm comes around her waist and he buries his face in the space between her shoulder and neck. "It's okay," he says, his voice muffled by the fabric of her dress. "It's okay. I'm safe."
He raises his head and extends an arm out to the other two, who throw themselves into the hug as enthusiastically as if they were still young children, on the cusp of defeating the Fire Lord. "We're safe."