The firebenders were coming, the firebenders were coming!
Or, at least, that's what the entire village screamed as they fled, grabbing what they could as the entire village emptied, fleeing the supposed threat of firebenders. About once every two weeks, the whole village would do this because some herder or farmer had seen a hint of red and panicked, thinking instantly of impending doom. In this day and age, who could really blame them? There was no one left in the surrounding villages, all the inhabitants either dead or moved to Ba Sing Se or left for safer villages, so they had no advanced warning system which meant, she supposed, no one could really blame people for panicking, tiresome though it was.
"Mom?" Her little boy asked, tugging on the side of her robes. "Mom, are we going with them?"
She looked down at her pride and joy, who had already grabbed their emergency pack and had it strapped to his back along with his absent father's bow and arrows, a sun hat perched on his head. Her little boy was already so grown up…
"No, honey." She said, voice weary, pushing the too big hat back so she could better see his face. The past few times (well, actually, the past nine years) nothing had happened. No one had annihilated the village, nothing of any sort was wrong. The worst that happened nine years ago was a bunch of Yu Yan Archers just stopping in the village for a nice, peaceful drink, not causing any ruckus. Well… Much ruckus. "I think we should just sit this one out…" She said, patting his shoulder, patting her lap, inviting her son to come sit at the kitchen table with her. He'd see, there was nothing wrong. Not that she wanted to teach him not to be diligent, not to anticipate attack… No, she was just tired.
Just so tired…
Her headaches are constant, increasing in pain with each passing day. She can't even manage to stand on her own, it's gotten so bad.
Her son had refused to sit on her lap, instead opting to wait on the porch, to keep watch. Her little man was already so grown up… She knew she should have gone with the others, or at least gone out with him so he wouldn't worry so much, but her bones felt heavy, heavier than they should be at her age. They had always felt heavy, her head had always felt like it was swimming, but she'd always just ignored it, gone about her day. She was a mother, with no man to help her with the crops other than a little boy who really should have been out playing, rather than trying to help his mother plant and tend crops just to keep them alive.
Sometimes, she wondered if he was growing up too fast…
"MOM!!"
Her son's terrified cry peeled her eyelids away from her eyes, straightening her spine in an instant. She put a hand on the table, beginning to stand, only to have pain shoot through the soles of her feet, up through her legs. She sat down instantly, willing the sharp needles to stop prodding her, willing her muscles to stop their spasming. She hadn't noticed in the sharpness of the pain, but she was panting now, her breath dragging unevenly past her lips, her sweat dripping into her eyes. A new panic bubbled in her chest, below the panic she felt for her son. What was wrong with her?
"MOM!" Her son burst into her vision, the new moving figure making her head swim. "Mom, they're here!" He was yelling, tugging on her arm, adding a new, unpleasant sensation to her long list. "Mom, they're here, a whole army! I can see them! Mom, they already set part of the village on fire, It's burning to the ground! We've got to go! MOM!!"
His last cry reverberated through her skull, echoing in her brain. He needed her, he needed her to protect him, now more than ever. He didn't need the slow-moving woman some called dumb or lazy, he didn't need the woman who always rationalized other people's choices and lives, he didn't need the understanding, calm woman she always was. He needed his mother to protect him.
"STOP!" She hadn't meant to yell, she really hadn't. But she needed him to stop screaming, she needed him to stop begging for her to help him. She needed him to understand her head was throbbing, and she needed to think.
She needed him to know she was going to save him.
Now you think of saying, "There's no use in praying." And still, she bows her head, so she can say, "Thank you for just one more day."
If she loved one thing in the entire world, it was the smile of her little boy. Whether it was the proud smile of hitting something with his long gone father's bow, his aim just as perfect as his father, or the shy smile when his mother ruffled his hair, or the triumphant smile when he did something noteworthy. But she especially loved the smile that accompanied the "I love you" he gave her every night as she tucked him in, normally accompanied by a yawn. That was her favorite smile. That was the reason she got up in the morning, no matter how hard the day promised to be. Raising a child without a father wasn't something she ever envisioned herself doing, but the spirits had decided this was her path in life. So, she got up each day, just to see her young son's smile.
The smile was no where on his tear-soaked face as she told him to run, to get out. His first answer was to shake his head violently, flat out refuse to leave her and vow that he'd protect her, that he'd stay if she wasn't coming with him. Her little man didn't understand why she couldn't come with him, and honestly, neither did she. But there was something wrong with her, which meant she wasn't going to be able to run with him without slowing him down, even if she managed to stand up on her own.
"Honey, listen to me." She tried to explain calmly. "Mommy can't come with you because Mommy's hurting…" She had to swallow, to stop the tears from coming. If she broke down now, there was no way he'd ever leave.
"I'll fix you then." Her little man insisted, his lower lip quivering as he drew himself up, looking as stubborn as he could.
She let out a shaky breath, trying to embolden herself to lie to her only son, her whole reason for being. "I know you will, honey." She told him. "I'm so proud of you, my little man, and I know you want to stay. But I need you to be a man for me, honey. I need you to find the nearest villager you can and get them to help. Can you do that for Mommy? Just go get some help, alright?"
She couldn't help but hold her breath as she waited for his answer. Slowly, the little bow nodded, tears pouring out of his eyes. "I will, Mom." He vowed, his voice strong.
"Atta boy." She said, leaning down to kiss his forehead, for what she knew would be the last time. "And I know the Spirits will keep you safe, honey. Now, scat."
"I love you." He told her, one tiny hand reaching up to touch her face.
She kissed his little hand, giving it a squeeze with her own, saying, "I love you too," but feeling hollow inside. And then, he was gone. She knew he'd be safe, he was the best little hunter she'd ever seen. He knew how not to get caught, he knew all the best trails. He knew exactly where the villagers would be, he'd get there, where hopefully someone would have the sense to hold him back. It broke her heart that he'd have to find out that his mother lied in that manner, but he would never have left if she'd told him the truth. He would have stayed, and she refused to let her only son die because of her foolishness.
She shut her eyes as she heard the footsteps come closer and closer, her lips moving around long forgotten prayers, imploring every spirit she could name to watch over her son, to guide him to safety, to guide him to loving arms that would protect him better than she had.
Supernatural patience graces her face and her voice never raises. It's all because of a love never let go of.
Never let go of...
--
The only thing he hated about being a Freedom Fighter was that he'd gotten used to the nightmares. Nearly everyone had them here, so he first got used to at least one of his comrades sitting up in the middle of the night and letting out a blood-curdling scream. He never slept through them, but he'd gotten all to used to checking whoever it was, sometimes offering comfort if they required it and then just going back to sleep. He'd never woken up in the middle of the night and screamed, because even his subconscious knew it wouldn't solve anything. Letting out an audible plea for help would only invite unwanted attention and people would spend their time worrying about him, rather than worrying about themselves and the firebenders out to get them.
One of the many things he loved about his new life was the fact he got to repay on firebenders for what they'd done to him, for what they'd done to his new family. They were monsters, and they deserved every pain he inflicted on them. There were many who deserved to die, no, all of them deserved to die.
But every time his conscious mind traveled down that road, somewhere deep in his brain, a feminine voice offered some very unhelpful sentiments, insisting that firebender or no, they were still human beings. They still had lives, hopes, dreams. They had families.
Longshot flicked the nut he'd been twirling in his bandaged fingers, letting it fall to the ground a couple feet below, leaning back against the tree trunk as he thought, allowing himself to be consumed by a memory.
He'd had a family too, hadn't he?
He has every reason to throw up his fists in the face of his God who let his mother die.
He remembered her voice, her looks, her smell and especially her smile. She'd raised him alone, but you could forgive a child born out of wedlock by saying his father was killed in the war. He highly doubted his father was a war hero, more likely he was some drunk stopping by the village looking for a good time or some coward who'd run off. All he'd had of his father was a nice wooden, military style bow and a tattered red scarf that had seen better days, one that his mother had used to cover him when he was a baby.
His mother…
Longshot flicked another nut to the leaves below. He didn't have anything from her. Sure, the bow he'd had was long gone, destroyed in some battle or another, but he still had the scarf, a keepsake of his father he supposed. Longshot guessed he had no basis for assuming that the scarf and his father were linked, but it didn't seem like the kind of this his mother owned on her own. It didn't really matter. All he had from his mother was a stupid blessing from the Spirits that had never come true as he was sent away so she could die.
Thanks, Mom.
Through all the prayers and tears, she still passed in pain anyway.
She used to pray when she thought he wasn't listening, praying to the Spirits for help, for strength. Longshot never put much stock in the Spirits. Sure, they were there and deserved respect, but they had never intervened in his life in any way. They'd taken his mother away from him, made him lose all faith in humanity and taken his voice. They'd burned his arms and destroyed his home. They'd effectively killed his spirit.
Longshot shook his head, mentally ashamed of himself. Invisible or no, the Spirits didn't deserve all that blame. Sure, they probably didn't help much, but they weren't the ones who took his mother away. It was the firebenders and whatever caused her gentle face to screw up in pain every so often. His faith died with his voice, when he'd screamed until he was hoarse for help, yelled at the other villagers to come and save his mother until they'd hit him and told him to shut up. But he'd kept it up until some Earth Bender who could have defended them shoved a rock into his chest, telling him that his mother was dead, and he should give up already. His voice was gone because he didn't have the heart to use it anymore, because he'd failed. His arms were burnt because he'd been stupid enough to try and dig through burning rubble to get to his mother, trying to sift through his destroyed home for some semblance of hope.
The hope that hadn't returned until he'd found the Freedom Fighters…
Oh, hog-monkeys.
Now you think of saying, "There's no use in praying." And still, he bows his head, so he can say, "Thank you for ending her pain."
Longshot tried not to think about what he was about to do, trying to just get it over with so he would never have to think about it again.
'This feels so stupid,' Was the first thought that crossed his mind, but he shook his head, determined to do this right, if he was really going to try and get this out. 'Don't really know whether or not Spirits can hear thoughts, but if you can't then I guess I'm just rambling to no one but myself.' Wow, this was going to be harder than he thought.
Inhaling as he leaned forwards, he rested his elbows on his knees, picking at the bark on the tree branch. 'I just wanted to say thanks, I guess. Thanks for… you know, the Freedom Fighters. I really met Jet by chance so I guess you must've had a role in this.' Who was this you he kept addressing? Was it polite to address all the Spirits as one? 'Look, I have really no idea what I'm doing, or why I'm doing it, okay? But if Mom believed you guys helped, then I guess I owe you at least a thank you. Not that I appreciate the fact that she died, or anything like that. But she just wanted me safe, and I hope she knows that. Spirits, I hope she knows that. I don't think I blamed her for a second, I was just so mad at myself…'
The bark snapped off in his hands, also falling to the forest floor below. He sighed, looking up at the sky, the blue hidden by the changing leaves. It was beautiful, it really was. And it was all his, this was his new home. This was where he ended up when his life was torn apart, and it was a whole lot better than some of the other places he could have ended up.
'Thanks for looking out for me.' He thought, trying to think as fast as he could so he could get on with his life. 'And… Well, I'm not saying thanks for killing my mother, but… Thanks for ending her suffering.'
Feeling incredibly stupid, but meaning every word he'd just thought, Longshot brought two fingers up to his hat, giving whatever or whoever was watching a little salute. 'Okay, I'm done now. You can stop listening…. Seriously, get out of my head.'
Supernatural patience graces his face and his voice never raises. It's all because of a love never let go of.
Never let go of...
--
No matter what, Longshot is the most careful and cautious person she'd ever seen. He personally investigated every whistle, every rustle, every cry for help, no matter how trivial. Smellerbee supposed something bad must've happened to him, but, then again, something bad had happened to all of them. That was why they were all here, with Jet, fighting against the Fire Nation. But something told her his pain was special. Everyone blamed themselves for their parents deaths (well, maybe not the Duke, but he didn't count) and Longshot was always the first one there to refute that claim with his silent stare, which was far more convincing than Jet's little 'This is why we fight' speech. Sure, it was inspiring, but it didn't really do much to alleviate long-term pain.
They all couldn't be mini-Jet's, too tough to accept any emotional support. But something that bothered her was that he never took his own advice, never asked for any comfort. And that just wouldn't fly with her.
He is teaching me...
He was her best-friend in the whole world, and she wasn't going to let anything change that. She watched his back when they fought and he watched hers. She stood up for him when he wouldn't, pushed when he insisted that he didn't need her sticking her neck out for him, reached for him when he needed a friend, even put a small amount of blasting jelly in Sneers' bed when he was looking down.
She was the one who could get inside that head of his, she was the one who understood him one-hundred percent of the time, she was the one who could notice even the slightest change in his mood and she hoped she was the one he knew he could come to with anything. Sometimes, Smellerbee knew he'd much rather be alone, but he didn't know what was best for him sometimes. Sure, the boy could eerily read everyone else's minds sometimes, but when it came to his own feelings… Well, Smellerbee was glad to interrupt him, he needed it.
If he planned on unconditionally listening to everyone and helping everyone, then he'd need something steady (like a Smellerbee) to lean back on.
What love really means...
"Hey!"
Longshot wasn't the kind who was easily snuck up on. So when he jumped so violently that he nearly fell out of the tree at her sudden appearance, she allowed herself a small smile of victory. "Wow, Longshot." She said, relaxing on her new perch, eyes never leaving him as he collected himself. "I thought I'd never be able to sneak up on you. I didn't scare you, did I?" She asked, with a mischievous smile upon her face.
Jet and the Duke would have vehemently denied any such thing. Pipsqueak would have laughed it off and vowed to get her back and Sneers would have… well, sneered. But Longshot looked up at her with a nervous smile upon his face, sweeping his arm up in an over-dramatic motion only to rest his hand over his heart, a fake look of distress upon his pale face.
Bee laughed, leaning over to punch him playfully on the shoulder. "So, whatcha doin' up here, huh? Plotting bad things, are you?"
She knew the odds of that were slim, at best. He'd slipped away at some point during lunch, looking as if he was lost in thought. Honestly, he was so easy to read sometimes, it was a wonder that some had trouble understanding him. He might as well screamed at her that something was bothering him and she'd better come investigate or else he'd spend his day moping around the forest lost in unhealthy memories.
…Okay, maybe that wasn't exactly what he wanted. But he didn't always know what was best, especially when it came to himself.
Supernatural patience graces his face and his voice never raises. It's all because of a love never let go of.
He looked a little uneasy, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled a little informing her that he'd been thinking about his mother. Ah, so that was what was bothering him… "I know you're plotting something. Something evil." She said, putting her feet up on his branch, crossing her legs at the ankles. "And I just have one thing to tell you, mister."
He looked immensely uneasy now. Honestly, this was way too easy and it worked every single time he was upset. Distraction was a wonderful tactic, Smellerbee knew, but she would have put money on him seeing through it every single time. Ah well, the master of perception could have a few holes in that brain of his she supposed.
"I," She told him, pointing her finger in his very confused and apprehensive face, her voice as serious as she could make it. "Want in on it."
Yes it's supernatural patience graces his face and his voice never raises. It's all because of a love never let go of.
His face broke out in a relieved smile, nodding his head in compliance to her request. She smiled right back, happy that he was happy again, at least for the time being. His smile really was beautiful, and as much as she wished he'd smile more often, she was touched that he'd share it with her, if only her. "Okay," She said, clapping her hands together in anticipation. "What's the plan?" Smellerbee knew that Longshot would have to come up with something brilliant and brand new in a couple seconds time, but that was part of the fun. She leaned in closer to him, better to see his face, as he thought, thoroughly distracted from thoughts of spirits, his mother and the Fire Nation for now.
Never let go of...
Somewhere in the realm of the deceased, a woman smiled, clasping her hands together in thanks to the Spirits for granting her wish, her one final prayer, finally feeling at peace for the first time in a long time.
For her son had found the loving arms that would protect him better than she ever could, who'd love him just as much as she had, who'd make him happy forever.
He is teaching me...
What love really means.
Wow. This… Wow. This was, I kid you not, seven and a half pages on Word. I know I should be finishing up Reunion (I promise, I will!) but then I heard this song and it spawned… this. The song is called "Supernatural" by Flyleaf and had such haunting vocals that made me want to write something using it. The thing that lead me to Longshot was, "Supernatural patience graces his face and his voice never raises. It's all because of a love never let go of." He seems the most hurt of all the Freedom Fighters to me (but not most scarred, if you understand the distinction, that medal goes to Jet) and also the most compassionate. I don't know, I like this.
Oh, on another depressing note, I'm working on more 'death' fics, including one about Sneers (poor guy never got a line, even though he got a name) losing his family and some tragic Smellershot. Happy stuff, right?