Mako's Age is the number in parenthesis in each of the titles by the way. So here, it's 12. Enjoy!
Mako kicks around the tattered blanket in their meager shack, sneering at it.
It's not going to keep Bolin warm, and he hates himself for it.
Where is Bolin anyway? I sent him out for some food from the market, not a trip to the Fire Nation.
Mako scowls, stomping in to the streets. The kid makes it so damn hard to make sure he stays out of trouble, with the way he runs off all the time.
With an omniscient pitter patter, rain begins to drizzle down lazily, taunting Mako. The rain, how horrible it is, drenching him. He rearranges his scarf, pulls down his jacket as it rides up on his torso. It's too small, stupid piece of crap.
He hears the Republic City sirens in the distance, and it adds to the dreary sound of the rain permeating through his thin clothing, and he stomps through a back alley to the market.
How damn hard is it? All Bolin had to do was go down the main street to the market. An hour? No.
"Well, aren't you cute? Lost, you say?"
Mako slides against the wall before the corner of another alleyway. No. The last thing he needs is witnessing a fight.
"I am lost! I'm trying to find my way back home!"
At Bolin's desperate cries, Mako resists the urge to snarl. He whips around the corner, trying his hardest to look intimidating.
"Mako!" Bolin cries in excitement, eyes lighting up, and the two men turn, a wicked gleam in their eyes.
"Oh, are we playing savior now? This is just endearing. Well, pity for you two, this little rat here was on our territory."
"Let him go." He wills his voice to not shake, and he is satisfied when it doesn't.
"Why should we do that?" the taller man sneers, advancing toward Mako while the shorter man held down Bolin.
"He's only 10. Leave him alone!"
The man pouts, standing only a few paces from Mako. Mako looks him dead in the eye, those cold, unforgiving eyes, the color of mud and bad rainwater.
"And if we don't?"
"You… you better!"
The man grins, and spins around, sliding his foot out suddenly. A rock shoots up from under Bolin, hitting him in the side. Bolin cries out, and struggles against the man holding his arms.
"Stop it!" Mako insists, lunging for his brother. The tall man grabs Mako around the waist with a cackle.
"It's time you learned yourself a lesson!"
Mako struggles fruitlessly, kicking and clawing at the man, but he laughs.
"Go ahead!" he calls out, and the shorter man hits Bolin. Bolin screams as the man's finger braces scratch his cheek, and something inside Mako snaps.
"STOP IT!" he screams, voice rising an octave, and without a firebending position even, fire explodes around him, and the man bellows as he falls to the cement ground.
He writhes on the ground, and Mako leaps over him, aiming a stream of fire at the man. It doesn't matter what happens to them, they hurt Bolin.
They hurt Bolin.
They deserve no sympathy, no second chances, and he offers none as his flames burn the man's face.
"M-Mako?" Bolin whimpers, touching his cheek in shock.
"No. None of that," Mako replies assuredly, propping Bolin up. "You doin' alright, bud?"
"Yeah," he replies, eyes wandering toward the still bodies of the thugs.
"C'mon. Don't look at that, okay? Let's get you home."
Bolin nods, grabbing onto Mako's pants loosely. Mako lights a small fire on his palm, trying to find his way through the now-darkened alleyway.
As Bolin curls up in their only blanket, Mako sits by the hole in the wall - which he has deemed the window - overridden with guilt.
He had killed two men.
Mako sets out a half an hour later to bury their bodies modestly, and he returns promptly to the house.
Even as the winter's chill cuts him to the bone, he sees Bolin's body rising up and down with his steady breaths, and Mako can't find it in himself to regret what he'd done.