Couple of Differences Than Canon: Katara had enough spirit water to save Jet and Aang, and Zuko pulled Jet from under the lake (when he was making his escape from freeing Appa), but not before the Dai Li separated Jet from his gang. Oh, and the seasons are a little different.
Summary: Jet survived in Ba Sing Se. On his way to reunite with his gang (who he predicts is with the avatar), he is forced to contemplate his morality. He is pit up against situations that question his understanding of the humanity of the Fire Nation. What can he learn from a Fire Nation animal? Or a Fire Nation kid? Or a Fire Nation prince?
Trigger Warnings: Violence. Depiction of Suicide. Depiction of none Main Character death.
"When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be."
― Lao Tzu
The fetor of decay. A deep, metallic hammering. The smell of burning hair and flesh. Wagon wheels on rough earth caused the wooden planks to wobble underneath him. There was someone on top of him. Someone cold and unmoving. More than one person, maybe two. Jet was dead. But now… he's not. They think he's dead. They're burning the dead. He's going to be buried. Or cremated. Or both. He shoved a stiff, bruised arm from on top of his face.
The faces next to him were expressionless, their souls long having left their bodies. Some of their eyes were open. They were in lines and piles next to him. Organized murder on a wagon. He thought he saw a child. He didn't look again to check. His body hurt as he lifted himself to look passed them. There was black smoke in the distance. The walls of Ba Sing Se had deliberate openings down the sides. A man with a straw hat was driving the wagon; An ostrich horse pulling it. Two ostrich horses. One behind the other. The man looked like Earth Kingdom. It didn't matter.
Jet stood, his legs uneven beneath him. He kicked the man in the back of the head, and he slumped off and fell to the dirt. The wagon stopped, and his fingers shook as he undid harsh leather straps. A horse went loose. His swords, he remembered. He looked for his swords. Buried under two men with blank stares, he found them. He shoved their bodies back. The ostrich horse scraped the ground with its feet as Jet climbed on top. There was no saddle. Someone shouted in the distance. He kicked the bird's side, and it went running. He didn't stop until the black smoke had almost cleared from the sky.
I'm dead. I'm dead. I'm dead. It's all he could think. The trees went by in blurs. He was dead. Now, he's not. How? How is he not dead? His body hurt. He was filthy. There were dead people on top of him. Someone else's blood was on him. He's wasn't alive. This was Hell.
He stumbled upon a stream in the woods and collapsed into it. He laid there for an uncertain amount of time. The sun went low as he laid. The stream rinsed away the someone else's blood. He wasn't dead. He was alive. The water felt too cool to be Hell. He picked at a smooth, circular stone in his fingertips. The algae picked off and went down with the current. It felt real enough. The ostrich horse pecked bugs from the stream. It looked real enough. The smell of mountain water and damp earth was calming. It smelt real enough. It just somehow still didn't feel real.
Katara. Where was Katara? He shot up, the water dripping from his mangled hair as the air filled his lungs with so much force it hurt. It was air. Not smoke. Not sickening, filthy black smoke. He could breathe lighter. This air was easy.
What happened? He tried to remember as he sat in a cold heap on the rocky shore, his legs dull and unmoving in front of him. His mind was a mess. Katara did something to him. He didn't know what. She saved him. Somehow. She was gone now. She thought he was dead. He told her to leave. She left. Bee and Longshot left too. He remembered that much. They must be with the Avatar. They all were with the Avatar. He wasn't anymore. He wasn't with anyone anymore. Everyone must think he's dead. He felt dead. And alone. And sore. Very sore. But alive. Somehow.
He stripped himself of his wet clothing and hung them to dry. He felt warmer that way. No water on his skin to steal his heat. He felt like an animal. Better to be an animal than dead. It was autumn. The night was chilly. He tried to build a fire, and his muscle memory built it for him. He sat and watched the flames. His clothes, he remembered. They had blood stains, but he could dry them by the fire. He needed them. It was colder now.
He waited too close to the flame. It made his skin hot and red it was so close, but his body still shivered. He didn't know where he was. Outside Ba Sing Se somewhere. Ba Sing Se. It had been taken. The Fire Nation took Ba Sing Se. Li had been there. No. Not Li. His name was something else. Zu- something. Zuko. That was his name. That slimy, lying bastard. That Fire Nation prick. Fuck his name. He didn't need to remember it. Fuck his filthy, bitch sister too. And his fat, bastard uncle. They took Ba Sing Se…
But Zuko had pulled him out from under the lake. He vaguely remembered it happening. Otherwise, the Dai Li would have finished him off for good... No, fuck that. He was still Fire Nation. He bended fire. Jet saw it with his own eyes. He had proof now. Everyone saw it. He was right the whole time.
It didn't matter. He was still cold. And shivering. His clothes felt warm to the touch. He slipped them on and fell asleep. He'd figure out what to do in the morning.
His throat was raw and dry when he awoke. He plunged his hands into the stream and sipped the water. It made him cough black film from his chest. He tried again, this time chugging the water until it jiggled in his stomach when he stood.
"Fuck," he breathed and wiped it from his mouth. He looked around and spotted the ostrich horse. A good horse to have. He didn't even tie it up, and it stayed. It was doing something though; stomping something into the dirt. That must have been what woke him up.
"Hey, whoa, calm it down," he said, raising his hands to calm the animal. It backed away from what it was doing with a frustrated huff. He led it away and tied it up, just in case. It was stomping a snake, a venomous one too. A really good horse to have. It was a dead snake now. Breakfast for this filthy wanderer. He skinned it haphazardly with his hook sword and threw it on the embers from the night before.
Spirits, it tasted like ass though. Gamey and stringy and gross. Better than nothing. At least he had water and food on his stomach. He ate the whole snake, organs and all. Not the intestines though. He wasn't that desperate yet. Good fishing bait though, but no pole. He pondered. He felt ten times better than he did the day before. He could actually think now. He looked for a long stick and fibers for fishing. Maybe something sharp for a spear. He thought as he looked.
He'd have to do something. He couldn't stay here. He had to find Katara and thank her. The more he thought, the more he'd have to do. It was worth it. He needed to find her. He didn't know where she was or where to begin to look. But he'd find her. Bee and Longshot too. Somehow. But to do that, he had to survive. He stabbed two trout with a stick and ate them both. Not a bad breakfast. Not a bad start. He could do this. It wasn't the first time he'd lived in the woods.
He hung his swords from his hips and stared at the ostrich horse. How the hell did he get on this thing last time? It was so tall. There was no saddle to climb. Oh, yeah. He stood on the wagon yesterday. Well, fuck.
"Lay down or something," he said as he gently pulled the reins. It did not lay down. It wasn't a dog. It was a horse. It looked at him curiously.
"Stupid horse," he murmured. He picked up the guts from the snake and held it out to it. What do ostrich horses even eat? Do they eat meat? Maybe. It seemed interested. He held it down, and its nose followed. Maybe they do eat meat. Kinda' gross but whatever.
"You gotta' lay down if you want this," he said, lowering its nose to the ground even more. It tried to peck the guts from his hand, but he wouldn't let it.
"That's it. Nice and easy," he said. Its legs tucked underneath it, and he released the guts. Surprised he'd gotten that far; he slid his legs over the horse's sides and sat on its back. It stayed crouched, much to his dismay. His feet could still touch the ground. "Come on you big idiot, let's go." He tapped the reins against its sides, and it stood suddenly causing him to wobble. He steadied himself and smiled. He could get the hang of this no problem. The real problem was figuring out where the hell to go. He looked around and tried to spot something. Anything.
Nope. Nothing. Just trees.
He followed the stream. Water always led to something.
He walked for three days, picking trout and cattail roots along the way. It was relaxing, in a sense. He'd missed the forest. The night sky was brighter outside of the city. No lights to dim the stars. No walls to hold him in. Just vast, enchanting wilderness. The leaves had begun to turn red and orange and yellow. The breeze pushed them and him along down the stream.
He spotted something on the third day. There was a bridge not big enough for a wagon running over the water. He looked for a sign, but there wasn't one. The path was small, and he had no idea if it would lead to anything at all. Perhaps a hunting run or a path to someone's home from the look of things. He kept on down the stream. That stream held his life in its hands. He couldn't leave it on a whim.
By the two-week checkmark, the nights had gotten so cold his red tunic and armor were no longer cutting it. He veered and took a beaten path up the mountain. He had to find something. Even if it was just a house or an inn. He had to get new clothes and supplies. Trout and berries wouldn't keep him warm at night.
An hour or two up the path, he could smell something cooking in the distance. Something other than trout. His stomach growled, and he held his hand over it to will it to stop.
The house looked like a fairy tale when he arrived. The path leading up to it was lined with buzzing boxes through the trees. A honey bee farm at the top of the mountain. He unclicked the short white gate that surrounded the property, and knee high dandelions brushed against his knees. The steps up to the porch were rickety, and the red paint on the door was peeling and flaking off.
He knocked and waited. Nothing. Not a peep. He tried again but to no avail. It didn't feel right to break in. These people were just homely bee keepers, not some rich bureaucrat or merchant like in Ba Sing Se's upper rings. But the sun was getting low, and the goosebumps rising on his arms told him it didn't matter. He reached for the door handle, and to his surprise, it was unlocked. He stepped inside, and it was dark and stuffy. It looked thoroughly abandoned, his shoes leaving scuffs in the thick dust that had coated the wooden floors. Perhaps he could stay here for a day or two, just long enough to gather some supplies from the woods surrounding it. Or until someone came home. Which ever came first.
The house itself wasn't much to behold. Creaky wooden floors, a bed, a fireplace, and some worn in chairs and kitchen table. There was some food though, like jarred peaches and honey, some homemade preserves, some dried meats, and what appeared to be pickled okras. Everything else was either rotten or just too risky. He found a leather satchel hanging by the bed, dusted it off, and threw what he could into it. There was an old pack of matches in the pocket. Easy fires.
There was a small closet, and he searched it for things to keep him warm. He smiled when he spotted a long fur coat made of patched together rabbit hides. It was so large it could even double as a bedroll. The multicolored furs were faced to the inside, as it should be. It wasn't just some fashion statement like he'd seen in Ba Sing Se, but an actual survival tool. He patted the cob webs out of it and rolled it up.
There were a few portraits lined above the fire place. He studied them for a moment, having to dust them away to see the faces. There was a man with a wife, pregnant from the look of things. Something was written over the woman's. "Martha", it read simply. Martha was a pretty woman, he concluded. Warm smile and dimples. She almost reminded him of his mother in a way. He wondered what happened to the family. Perhaps they'd been taken by the war and never able to return to their bees.
He heard a rustling outside, and for a moment he thought it was the ostrich horse that may have followed him in through the gate. He peered out the curtained window, but he didn't see anyone. Not even the ostrich horse. He furrowed his brows together and stepped outside to the porch to investigate. Something large ran into the woods out of the corner of his eye, a flash of orange and white. It must have been a deer coming to nibble at the crops, he concluded.
He rounded the house to see if there might be anything of use. Perhaps the barn would have a saddle, or the over grown garden would have some fresh vegetables popping up through the weeds. He popped a couple squash from the vines, but there wasn't much else. Damn deer had probably gotten most of it.
When he opened the door to the barn, the stench of death hit him like a slap in the face. He coughed it away and held his shirt over his nose, peeling the barn door open enough to where the dimmed light of the sun could illuminate the inside. His heart fell at the sight he saw.
There was a man in full Fire Nation army attire sat in a chair in the middle the dirt floor. He was covered in flies and had probably been there for a while. There was no signs of scuffle or a fight, only some liquor bottles kicked over nearby. Just a dead soldier alone in a barn.
"Good riddance," he murmured. He couldn't say he wasn't curious as to what the story was with this one though. Why was he here? Was he really Fire Nation? Was a Fire Nation soldier… really living on a honey bee farm at the top of the mountain? No, it couldn't be. The family here, Martha perhaps, must have found him and showed him the what for and fled before she got caught. That would make sense.
He looked around and threw the saddle hung up near the door out into the grass. On the way out, he spotted a paper nailed to the inside of the door. He ripped it down and swung the door shut, sealing away the stench on the inside.
He slumped down on the step of the back porch, a sort of uneasiness filling his gut. He held the paper in shaky hands. He was almost afraid to read it, even though he wasn't sure why. The words we rough and almost illegible, like a drunk man had written them.
I love you Martha and I'm sorry I tried to make a new life for us but you can't come here with me I guess the baby will be better off at home anyway but the memories Martha What things I've done I didn't want to do them I might as well die a soldier I'm so so sorry to those people and to you Martha
Martha Tell tell the baby I love them too if you ever see this I'm so sorry Martha I love you more than anything
"Spirits," Jet murmured.
He sat on the back porch for a good while. He stared across the yard at the closed doors to the barn, picking blade after blade of grass to nervously chew on. What a fucking situation he'd found himself in. That fucking bastard in there was Fire Nation. He was the enemy. He'd probably burned down village after village before he wound up here. He shouldn't feel any sympathy for him.
But yet - he did. That man in the barn had a wife named Martha. He was going to be a dad. He felt alone. He felt guilty. He had bad memories. And - he was sorry. A Fire Nation soldier was sorry for what'd he done. Jet didn't want to believe it. It seemed too human to be one of those soulless, fire breathing bastards. But why would a man who knew he was about to die write that knowing no one would see it, if it weren't true?
He wanted to leave this awful place behind. There was no way he was staying here now. But he felt a strange obligation to at least do something. He opened the door to the barn and avoided looking at the man as he gathered the hay up around him. He lit a match and set the barn ablaze. At least that way this nameless soldier would have some sort of burial. And if Martha ever came back, she wouldn't have to see what he had seen. Seen what this nameless soldier, her husband, had done to himself. He laid the note on the kitchen table along with their family portrait and grabbed his satchel and his coat.
He walked towards the white gate, the bellowing smoke behind him sending the scent of burning hay and flesh into the air. He was about to lift the saddle to the back of the ostrich horse, when out the corner of his eye he saw the animal he'd seen before at the end of the fence. He turned and studied it, and it seemed to be studying him too. A strange creature. The body and antlers of an elk, but the face and paws of a cat; Orange on top and white underneath like a whitetail. There was something around its neck, perhaps reins. That must have been what the saddle was for. Must be a Fire Nation animal for he'd never seen anything like it. He laid the saddle across the fence.
"Hey," he said. "Hungry?" It must be. Its only food source was in the barn, and it'd been shut away. Probably why it was nibbling out the garden.
The cat-deer pawed at the ground for a moment. Jet kneeled and lifted a squash he'd picked from his bag and held it out. It sniffed the air but didn't advance. Perhaps it wasn't interested in vegetables. It was part cat after all. He dug a piece of jerky out and tossed it onto the ground a few feet away from himself. The cat-deer advanced slowly, sniffing the ground and nibbling the dried meat.
"You like that, huh?" Jet said. "Want some more?"
He held another piece out in his fingertips, staying as ghostly still as possible so he wouldn't scare it off. It sniffed his fingertips, gingerly taking the meat from his hand and chewing it. It bumped its head against his hand, and Jet scratched its face. It was probably used to people if it had reins and saddle. He stood slowly and the cat-deer didn't scurry away, much to his excitement. He lifted the saddle and gingerly placed it on its back, and its fur wiggled at the sensation as he clipped the fastens into place.
"Good cat-deer thing" he praised. He saw something shimmering on its rein, a small brass tag with an inscription. It read "Rosebud" and nothing else.
"So, Rosebud, huh? That's your name?"
Rosebud responded by brushing her head against his torso.
"Wanna' come with me? You like to walk? We can sell this stupid ostrich horse and it'll just be you and me," he said.
Rosebud tapped her feet in what he assumed was a happy gesture. But just to test it, he said "Walk?" again. It tapped its feet again.
"Alright. That's one thing you know," he said. He secured his commandeered items onto the space on her back and slid himself onto the saddle. This thing was much easier to get on than the ostrich horse. Probably faster too. He held the reins to the ostrich horse behind him, and the two steeds walked one behind the other back down the trail and into the forest, leaving the nameless soldier and his honey bees behind.
He camped a few hours away back at the stream, relishing in the warmth of his furs and his new companion. He ate a whole jar of peaches and fell fast asleep, Rosebud tucked up against him like a dog.
In the morning, his journey continued down the current. Luckily for him, a couple hours in he spotted a large road passed over the water; One that actually had signs this time. There was a town a mile and half up the way. Perhaps there he could sell this ostrich. Then, he could get a map and begin to figure out his plan to find his gang and Katara. And maybe then, well, maybe he could show the Avatar a thing or two too.
Much to his dismay, the town was a Fire Nation Colony. Because of course it was. These bastards were everywhere, it seemed. He sucked up his pride and found a farm to buy the ostrich horse, bought a map, and got the hell out of there. He wasn't speaking to anyone he didn't have to.
Rosebud was a curious creature. He'd never really had a pet before, given fifty hungry kids were always enough to feed, but he was very much enjoying her company. And enjoying not having to walk everywhere, but that was beside the point. She was intelligent, more so than the ostrich horse. More personality too. Who would think a giant cat-deer liked to cuddle? Or play fetch?
Once far enough away from the Colony to feel a bit livelier, he decided he was going to have a bit of fun for once. He'd been so focused on getting places the last few weeks, he'd somewhat forgotten that fun existed.
He sat atop the saddle and surveyed for a moment, trying to spot anything that could potentially get in his way on the dirt road he was traveling down. He smiled a cocky grin to himself.
"Alright, Rose, let's see what you can do," he murmured. "Yah!" he called.
Rosebud tapped her feet but otherwise didn't move. He sighed. How the hell did they teach these things to run? "Yah," is what they said in books right? He thought for a moment, toying with the reins to perhaps figure it the hell out. Rosebud gave a frustrated huff at the varying commands.
"Yip yip," he tried, because why not?
Nope. Nada.
He furrowed his brows. Maybe it didn't have anything to do with commands or reins at all? He tapped his feet against her sides, and she startled to a canter. He dug his feet into the stirrups, because the rough bouncing surely wasn't comfortable against his groin. But hey! He was getting the hell somewhere!
He smiled as they rode, tapping once more to see if it'd work again. It did, and he had to snatch the horn of the saddle to keep from flying backwards. Suddenly the trees were going by in blurs. He leaned forward and tried to keep his eyes to the front as the adrenaline began to pump, Rosebud's paws kicking up dirt behind them as she carried him faster than he'd ever moved before. Her feet padded the ground in near silence despite her speed, and boy, was she fast as fuck.
"Yeahh!" he called into the forest, the only one to hear his joy being the quail he sent flying from the bushes.
This was the single most exciting moment of his life, he concluded. Well, the fun kind of exciting, that is. They tore down the path at lightning speed.
The path veered ahead, but he'd be damned if he stopped to pull out the map now. He let Rosebud lead the course, taking a sharp right turn and nearly sending him off the side. He straightened himself and laughed from the core of his belly. This he could get used to.
Well, until he realized the trail suddenly ended with a stone wall.
"Woah, woah, woah!" he called, but Rosebud wasn't having it. She quickened her pace even more. He tried to grab the reins, but they slipped from his hands. He held the horn of the saddle tight as they catapulted over the rock barrier and into the trees; The branches seeming to go by in slow motion as they flew through the air. Her front feet landed with a soft thump, and her strong back legs sent them going again.
"Shit, shit, shit," he murmured to himself as Rosebud sent them ripping through the underbrush, tearing through trees with sharp turns at the speed of light. A particularly low branch almost took him out, but he ducked just in time. He kept low, making sure the top of his head never came over hers as she bounded their way into a clearing. With nothing around to decapitate him, he reached down to find the reins and snatched them hard.
Rosebud came to a sputtering halt as he pulled her head back, her feet kicking and back bucking in frustration at having been stopped.
"WOAH," he called, his heart hammering in his chest as his steed swung him in circles. He held his ground and held tight to the saddle, and she calmed after an agonizing minute or two of trying to buck him off. She let out a frustrated huff and pawed the ground, and Jet finally smiled an adrenaline-fueled grin.
"That was just a warm up for you, huh?" he said breathily and humorously. She shook her head and the reins jingled. Cheeky, fiery bastard; this deer. "Where the hell were you even going?"
He looked around and scowled. Great. Stuck in the middle of the woods, once again.
His ears perked at a sound in the distance; A familiar grind of shifting earth. Benders must be sparring. Hard, from the sound of it. They might be putting on a good show.
"Maybe that's where you were taking me," he said, very aware that he was speaking to a deer. Fuck it, he thought, as he headed in their direction.
It took about fifteen minutes to find where the actual sound was coming from, but by the time he arrived, things had already settled down. The woods led to yet another path through the forest, and he found himself staring down it.
There was a wagon toppled over, a large obelisk of stone shot through one of the wheels. Whatever was pulling it was gone, and there was a fire in the woods nearby. He tapped Rosebud's sides and trotted up to investigate.
There was familiar, deliberate burn marks on the barks of the trees. Fire benders.
His breath caught in his throat as he rounded the wagon. There lay a woman in earth kingdom green, dead, leaned against it.
"Fucking animals," he hissed. He slid down from the saddle and surveyed. Most not have been a hard battle to win. Buncha' fire benders ganging up on one woman. Disgusting.
He shook his head. Spirits, how he kept happening upon dead people, he wasn't sure. But he couldn't just leave her. It wouldn't be right. He went to check her pulse, and her hand lifted just a bit. She was alive, just barely.
"Hey," he said, gently shaking her shoulders. "I'm here to help." Her eyes rolled back as she titled her head to lean against the wood, blood trickling from her mouth. His heart stopped.
Her eyes were gold.
"My baby," she managed before her eyes fell back into her head and she ceased to move.
He scurried backwards and swallowed the lump in his throat. His legs went numb underneath him as he looked around, and he had to sit on the dirt path to gather his thoughts.
He stared at the obelisk of stone through the wagon wheel. It made sense now. The woman wasn't an earth bender. She was attacked by earth benders. She was Fire Nation.
Rosebud padded up to him and nudged him, but it wasn't enough to break him from his revelation. He ran his fingers through his hair, his epiphany seeming to slap in the face.
"My baby," he repeated, as if mulling the words over. The sound of a soft wailing brought him back into reality. "Shit!"
He jumped up and clambered up the toppled wagon, throwing the door open and slinking inside. The baby wasn't hard to find, wailing and pushing its arms against the cloth. He picked up the small bundle that had been secured, probably by the mother, in a cushion of wrapped linen. He instinctively put it against his shoulder and hushed it, gently tapping its back. It was uninjured, despite everything.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Was all he could think. What the fuck was he gonna' do with a fire nation baby?
He calmed the frightened baby and rocked it in his arms, soothing it back into the sleep it had probably been in before being toppled over. Once securing the baby against his chest by wrapping the white linen around himself, he searched the wagon for anything that could potentially identify it. Or, at least, give him some information as to where he could take it. Perhaps the father was in a colony nearby; which he really didn't want to experience again, but he wasn't a monster that was going to leave a baby to die in the woods. Not like the nameless fire, no earth benders that had attacked the wagon. At least, that isn't who he wanted to be anymore.
Things were strewn throughout it, which wasn't surprising given that it was on its side. He wondered how the baby had been spared given it all. He stepped on the door, the glass crunching under his feet, as he searched the various chests that lined the front.
"Damn, what was she doing? Moving the whole house?" he asked himself as he shuffled through item after useless item. Finally, he picked up what appeared to be a journal and opened it.
There was a letter folded up on the inside. The first words were "Dear Martha."
"Fuck!" he called as he threw the journal to the floor. "Spirits, what the fuck?" he asked, his heart beginning to throb in his chest as he threw his hands out in disbelief.
Why? Just why? Not only was it a Fire Nation baby, but a now orphaned Fire Nation baby.
The baby stirred at his outburst and cracked a cry, and he told himself to calm down once more. He'd figure this out. He always figured something out. He gently shook his head and the baby, calming it back into slumber. He picked up the pocket-sized journal and smoothed it back into place before slipping it into his pants. He took a roll of the clean white linen and tossed it outside. He climbed carefully out the wagon, making sure his hand was over the baby's head so it wouldn't get bumped.
He slid down the side of the wagon, and there was the same familiar sound in the distance. It was time to leave. The assailants could be coming back. He called Rosebud, who was nibbling something out of a bush nearby. She trotted up and sniffed the new addition, tapping her feet happily on the ground.
"Yeah, at least someone's happy about it," Jet grumbled as his slid himself onto the saddle, the roll of linen strapped behind him and the sleeping infant tucked tight against his chest.
Jet slid the map back into the document tube that held it, mentally adding to himself which turns he'd have to take for the next hour or so. There was a Fire Nation colony nearby. He could drop the baby off with someone there.
It had been an hour or so since he found it, and the sun was beginning to get low. Which meant the cold was beginning to settle over the land. Which meant he should probably make camp, but he wasn't yet willing to do that. He wanted this baby out of his hands. What did he look like? Taking care of a Fire Nation kid?
As if on cue, the baby cracked a cry against his chest. He sighed and looked down. The baby's eyes were just peeling open from its nap to meet his gaze. It blinked for a moment, as if registering that this was, in fact, not its mother.
"What are you looking at?" he asked.
He wasn't sure if was a boy or a girl. They were still a bit undefined at that age. He didn't care to know. Better to leave it as an "it". All he knew was that it had the signature Fire Nation look. Golden eyes and black hair. It was probably around six months, he guessed from the few babies he'd ever encountered back at the old hideout. The baby furrowed its brows, and he could feel it straining against him.
"No, no, no!" he told it, as if that would stop a baby from pooping. It farted loudly and giggled. He sighed. Spirits, what had he gotten himself into?
He pulled Rosebud off to the side and slid down, untying the knot that secured the baby against him and holding it out.
"Damn, you stink," he told it, and it began to cry. He sighed again. He was never gonna' make it anywhere like this.
He unwrapped the linens, and the smell hit him like a ton of bricks.
"Damn, kid," he said, wafting the smell away. He stifled gags as he cleaned it. Well, not so much of an "it" anymore. A her, he found out. He rewrapped her with the spool of clean linen, a bit haphazardly but he tried his best. It wasn't near perfect, but she didn't seem to mind it. Her crying had stopped, at least.
He wrapped the linen around himself and created a pouch this time, that way he could just scoop her in and out. He slipped her into it and looked around. It was getting dark. Perhaps one night wouldn't hurt. She looked at him, burbling bubbles from her mouth and cooing every now and then. He looked down and smiled despite himself. She was kind of a cute kid. And she was probably getting hungry, he concluded.
He built a fire, one hand scooped against his chest the entire time. He sat near it on the cool earth and pulled out a jar of peaches. He looked at it for a few minutes before popping open the top. Could babies even eat peaches? Surely, they could. Right? It would have to do for the night.
He mushed up a few slices and popped a bit into her mouth. Her lips puckered and then smiled. He smiled again despite himself. So, she liked peaches. Good to know.
He unrolled the fur coat and laid on top of it, digging out the journal from his pocket, the baby still strapped against him. She didn't seem to mind, quickly falling back asleep on her full stomach. He skimmed through the pages, the only light coming from the fire as he tried to find something about the kid in there. She had to have a name, right? Not that he cared, or anything. Simply information he'd give to whoever was going to take her off his hands.
A few pages in and he'd found it. Tikka. Her name was Tikka. She looked a Tikka, he thought. He shut the journal shut, feeling like reading anymore would be invasive.
Rosebud scooted against him, and he shoved his hand against her back to usher her away. She looked at him like he'd shot her. What? No cuddling?
"No!" he said. Surely, he couldn't have a giant deer pressed up against him whilst a baby was on his chest. She huffed and sat elsewhere, giving him a particularly sad look over her shoulder. Oh, so what? She'd be fine.
He fell asleep before he knew it, the fur draped carefully over the bundle on his chest.
He awoke to crying. After years of being in the forest surrounded by kids, it wasn't new to him. But it still took him by surprise. He jolted awake.
"Spirits," he said as he remembered the situation he was in; The Tikka that was thrashing and wailing against him. He sighed and his head fell back against the fur. Man, this was gonna' be a long day already. He could feel it.
He sat up and did what he had to do. Change linens. Share peaches with Tikka. Get on Rosebud and start the damn day already.
They trotted for about two hours without any… incidents. And there it was. The Fire Nation colony on the horizon.
"Alright, kid. Time to find you a new mommy," he said. And yes, he did realize how fucked up it sounded out loud. He grimaced at his own words, and Tikka smiled, unable to understand the situation she was in. He sighed. Poor kid.
Once in the town, in which he constantly had an eye over his shoulder, he found a vendor. Fire Nation merchants were very different than Earth Kingdom salesmen. Much more rigid and uniform. Never faltering their prices because they all had the same stuff. He looked over the items at this particular stand. Spirits, how did Fire Nation people eat such crap? It all seemed so… processed and uncultured. Surely, they had signature foods, right? Where was the spice? Not that he cared or anything.
Then, the realization hit him. This wasn't Fire Nation food. These were Fire Nation rations. Probably shipped in from a boat from someplace foreign to him. That's why they were all the same. That's why it was all so bland and processed. They didn't have meals. What they had was just sustenance and nothing more.
"Hey, have anything for the kid?" he asked simply, and a little bitterly if he was honest.
The shopkeeper sputtered to a start and looked over the counter, nodding but otherwise staying quiet. He reached under a shelf and pulled out a brown bottle with large lettering that read, "Ministry of Food. National Dried Milk." Jet scoffed but asked how much. A copper piece for the whole bottle. Not worth that much but it would have to do. It's not like he could let the kid starve.
"Got anything to put it in?" he asked. The man reached around and grabbed one the lined-up copper tins. It had an opening at the top, a baby sized spout on one side, and a little handle on the other. It seemed so cold and harsh and foreign to Jet, but he was between a rock and a hard place here. "How do you use it?" he asked, referring to the dried milk. He didn't even know you could dry milk.
"Read the directions," the man grumbled, and Jet furrowed his brows. He threw the money on the counter.
"Thanks for nothing, asshole," he spouted and turned, grabbing Rosebud's reins and leading her away.
"You can't take that thing into the town!" the man called.
"Fuck off," Jet replied over his shoulder, and Tikka giggled a little at his outburst. He smiled at the sound. Spunky kid.
Down the way, he spotted a woman sweeping. He didn't want to ask for directions, but what else was he to do.
"Uh, excuse me," he said, pondering how to approach this question. Hey, I found this kid in the woods. Where the hell can I drop it off?
The woman looked startled at the sight of a large man pulling an even larger deer. She looked down to his chest and spotted the baby. Sure didn't look like his baby.
"Is there, like, I don't know, and orphanage around here or something?" he asked, but it sure as hell felt like the question he was thinking.
The woman pondered a bit. "No, I don't think so. Usually they get shipped back to the homeland," she said conversationally. Like what she just said wasn't fucking awful.
"Thanks," Jet replied, not even trying to hide the bitterness in his tone. Oh, yeah, just uproot the kids that lost their parents and ship them somewhere else. Real nice culture they got here.
He mounted Rosebud in the middle of the street, which garnered a few surprised gasps from the citizens around him. He didn't care. He was getting the hell out of here. Him and Tikka trotted pridefully out of the village. Everything about this place was despicable. And as much as he didn't want to admit, well, he didn't really want her to go to an orphanage anyway. He remembered what they were like before his days in the gang. Earth Kingdom ones were bad enough. He couldn't imagine what the Fire Nation ones were like. Especially with the callous attitude showed towards them.
Once far enough away to sooth his seething, he made camp early that day; A little spot looking over a field with the wall of forest behind him being the perfect pick. He unfolded the fur to allow Tikka to stretch, kneeling a few feet away. He surveyed the horizon for threats with his ear perked for sounds behind him.
Tikka rolled over and surveyed too, making burbling sounds as she did. He looked back and smiled.
Perhaps a Freedom Fighter she'd make one day.