Chapter One
Two weeks later
People. The one thing Aang was not in the mood for. Two weeks ago, he had been a slave, forced into sex from any gender that desired him, to now. It had taken his days to reach San Francisco. He had no idea what to do now that he was here, but he was sure he wanted nothing to do with these strangers. Keeping his head down, he made his way to the nearest shop. The bus had just left, leaving him wondering how the hell he was supposed to find his parents.
For all he knew, that bitch of a mistress had lied about them. Maybe they weren't even here at all. But it was the only lead he had. Aang knew he couldn't go back to his old home. There wouldn't have been any trace of his parents. Plus, the mistress and her cronies would most likely look there first in order to either take him back or kill him.
Personally, he would have preferred death. It sounded morbid, but at least he would have been free from her. The idea of being one of her pets again filled him with a mix of emotions he wasn't sure which was which. Hatred was one of them. He knew someday it may be his downfall. When Aang had lived with his parents, they always told him that hatred was a festering disease that would be almost impossible to cure. The only way anyone could really get through life was to forgive.
But how could he forgive someone who had stolen him away, someone who made profit off of torture? The idea sent chills across his skin. Aang shook the thought away. There was no time to dwell on those thoughts. It was breakfast time, and then he would go into the city again to look for his family.
When he entered the shop, the smell of pastries and freshly brewed coffee made his stomach growl. Remembering how he had eaten so little on the way here, it was no wonder. Still, how could he eat when his nerves were shot? Although, perhaps a latte would help calm himself before starting the search.
Taking a deep breath, Aang walked up to a boy not much older than himself, maybe eighteen, with dark brown hair, cerulean eyes, and mocha skin. His hair was in a small ponytail. He smiled at Aang in a welcoming gesture. "Hi, I'm Sokka. What can I get for you?"
Aang looked up at the menu and considered for a moment. There was a variety of stuff on the menu, including hot and cold beverages. "Um, I'll have a medium iced vanilla latte and a croissant. For here," he added, thinking maybe he could find some answers in this place. The thought of his parents coming here was slim, but it was as good a place as any.
Sokka nodded. "Coming right up." He rung up the register and said, "That'll be $7.25."
He counted out the money and handed it over. When he was about to go over to the waiting pickup counter, Sokka asked, "You're not from around here, are you?"
Pulse thumping in a sudden panic, Aang shrugged, trying for nonchalance. "No, not really."
The other boy tilted his head. "Where are you from, then? I've lived here my whole life and have never seen you before."
Stay cool, he told himself. No one has to know you, but be polite. "I'm from Detroit." That, at least, was true. He had spent the first thirteen years of his life there, before moving to New York, where he had been taken from when fifteen.
It was there he had escaped from, and the thought of that place made his blood run cold.
Sokka looked him over, as if wondering the story behind that short answer. Then he shrugged. "I've never been. San Francisco was where my family lived for as long as I can remember."
Aang nodded, unsure of what to say, but there was something about this guy that made his tension ease a little bit. "Detroit is okay, though I am new here."
"Ah," Sokka said, nodding a little thoughtfully. "So, do you have anywhere to stay? Where are your parents?"
The tension returned tenfold and he looked down, feeling his heart beat erratically. What could he say? That he had been a sex slave and that his parents were gone? No, perhaps it was best to pretend that he was staying in a motel, though in truth he had mostly stayed in alleyways. But before he could say anything, a girl at the pickup counter called his order and he relaxed a bit before saying, "That's me. Thanks."
After grabbing his food and drink, Aang walked over to a table that was in a mostly empty part of the shop. From the window, he could see the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance, something he had never seen before except in books as a child.
He remembered how his mother, Linda Windstorm, had taught him that books could take you anywhere, no matter where you lived. She had taught him a great deal and, although she loved meat, she always made something for his vegetarian lifestyle. His father, Joshua, had believed him to be the best son a man could have, and he had loved Aang and his mother unconditionally. After his brother, Gyasto, had passed away from cancer when Aang had been ten, there had been a sorrow that he had tried to hide.
Feeling his eyes sting, Aang blinked hard, sipping his latte. Maybe if he found his parents, the nightmares would stop, or at least slow down. Almost every night he remembered the torture, the burns on his skin, and the abuse his lower regions had taken. After the incident with the little girl…
Once more he stopped that train. It was in the past and his future involved his parents. Where could they be and how in Hell was he going to locate them?
Someone sat down at the table with him and he looked up, startled. It was Sokka, who had a serious look on his face. "Everything okay?" he asked.
Aang shrugged, taking a bite of his croissant. The buttery taste filled his mouth and had to force himself to chew slowly. He tried to make it as plain as possible that company was not welcome, but either Sokka was stubborn or he didn't get the idea.
When he didn't say anything, Sokka moved a little closer. "Seriously, there's something weird here. When I asked about your parents, you totally went tight-lipped. Are they with you?"
Anxiety building in his chest, Aang looked away. "It's none of your business."
Silence for about a minute. When Sokka spoke again, his voice was soft in understanding. "I know how you feel. My mother died when I was eight in a hit and run. If there is anything I can-"
Unable to take it anymore, gray eyes looked up in anger. "If you have to know," he growled, "my parents are here somewhere." He stood up, appetite gone. "And I don't need your goddamn help. I'm fine on my own."
He left the bewildered boy at the table as he stalked out of the café, feeling rage burn under his skin. How could a stranger know how he felt? No one can know about what he was because, deep down, there was always the chance that someone would see the hideous monster inside of himself. Aang's childhood had been shattered since the kidnapping.
The sunlight was blinding as he opened the door, but before he could get far, a tanned hand grabbed his wrist. Yanking it away as disgust rolled through him, he whirled around and practically yelled, "Don't fucking touch me!"
Sokka raised his hands in surrender. "Easy, man. I didn't mean any harm." He took a deep breath, as if he himself was holding onto calm, but his eyes were stormy as he continued. "Look, I just want to help you. I can tell that you haven't had a decent night's sleep in a week or so, and that you need a shower and maybe some clothes."
Aang looked at him suspiciously, holding the strap of his backpack tightly. "So?" he grounded out. There was no way there wasn't a catch. There always was. He had learned that the hard way.
Sokka sighed, running a hand over his face. "Maybe I could help you find your parents, and I'm sure my Dad and sister would be willing to as well."
Aang stepped away. "No thanks," he said harshly.
But before he could say anything else or even leave to find somewhere for the night, Sokka said, "C'mon, man, at least stay with us. Get to know the family before coming to a decision. My Dad is the chief of police. If anyone can help, he could. What do you say? Knowing your name would be a good start." He held out his hand for a shake, looking him in the eyes.
Aang felt torn. On the one hand, he would like to sleep on anything that wasn't a hard ground or uncomfortable bus seats. On the other hand, how could he trust someone not to take advantage of him? His mind was his, dammit, but if someone wanted to take his body, there was no way he could defend himself. Not as weak as he was.
Still, what if the guy was sincere and Aang had been too pigheaded to listen? Was Sokka for real?
Taking a deep breath and hoping he wouldn't regret this action, he brought his pale shaking hand to clasp the warm tanned one. And he said, "Aang. My name is Aang."
Sokka smiled as he released his hand. "Well, Aang of Detroit, I'm done for the day, so shall we head out?"
He nodded, and as Sokka led the way to his car, he could only hope that this was the right decision.
Hopefully the demons would leave him be for a while.
(***)
After a thirty-five-minute drive, they arrived at a little cul-de-sac with town-homes adorning the lawns. Sokka had said that it was one of the few left in San Fran, but it was a good community with people lending helping hands to those in need.
Aang got the idea fairly quickly that Sokka was trying to show him that none of the people in this area was going to hurt him, but he had built up his walls so high that he couldn't see that picture. For now, it was best to remain as anonymous as possible.
Sokka pulled into a parking space in front of the garage, his Chevy truck a dark gray color that was surprisingly sleek. Clutching his pack, Aang left the truck with the boy and followed him to the door. From there into a spacious living room that was clean but well lived in. There were pictures everywhere, with a bookcase filled to the brim with novels and hardcovers.
He might have to look at those later.
The furniture was slightly worn but comfortable looking, browns, tans, and creams with accents of other rich and natural colors. The couch was made of faux, cream colored leather, the walls caramel colored, and the decorative lamps had a collage of color that ranged from right red to the deepest green.
The coffee table was glass-topped, the rest of it painted white. The forty-nine inch TV was mounted on the wall above a dark brown play station cabinet.
This home was so like the one he had been taken from that it made his guts clench. But he tried his best to remain unaffected. He couldn't afford to get comfortable, no matter how nice these people might turn out to be.
Sokka turned to him. "Welcome to my abode, Aang. My dad is still at work and my sister will be home any minute from seeing a friend. I think you'll like her."
Aang nodded, but before he could think of anything to say, the sound of a car turning into the driveway. Fear spiked through him, but when Sokka smiled and said, "That would be her," he almost breathed a sigh of relief.
It wasn't a minute later when the door opened, and Aang's heart seized before starting to gallop. He couldn't take his eyes off the girl who had come in. Chocolate curls bound in a ponytail, the ends reached the small of her back, and her skin was more caramel colored than her brother's. But it was her eyes, those deep and light azures looking at him in surprise, that had him rooted to the spot.
Her mouth, full and glossy, made his own tingle in response. He held the pack closer to his chest, though he was sure she could hear his pounding heart. Sokka came over and gestured to the goddess before them. "Aang, this is Katara."
And when she smiled at him in a kind way, he thought he would melt right on the spot. "Hi," she said in a voice like an angel. "It's nice to meet you." She held out her hand for him to shake.
After a moment's hesitation, he reached out, and clasp her hand. Electricity zinged through his body. For a moment he thought he saw Katara's eyes widen slightly, but surely he was imagining things. He quickly let go and backed away a little. Maybe this was a bad idea. Perhaps it was best to leave, before he got attached.
"Um," he started, but before he could add anything, his stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten his croissant. Aang blushed, looking down as the siblings chuckled.
Katara asked, "How about some lunch? Anything you want, Aang?"
"I-well…" Come on, Aang, pull yourself together. "I'm a vegetarian, so…"
Sokka looked aghast. "Say what? No meat? That has got to be the most ludicrous thing I have ever heard."
Aang's eye widened in the way Sokka spoke, but Katara only rolled hers with a smirk before turning to him. "Don't mind him. He's the meat guy of the family." She leaned in close and whispered, "I'm surprised he knows what 'ludicrous' means."
Laughter bubbled out of him slightly, surprising him. He hadn't laughed in years, but somehow this caramel goddess made him do it. Her face as he did so made him feel lighter than he had before. She said, "So, Aang, since you are a vegetarian, what would you like?"
Aang thought about it. It's been a while since he had had a real home cooked meal, but he didn't want to the family to spoil him. "Maybe some oatmeal and bananas?"
"Sure," Katara said. "Follow me to the kitchen and I'll get you set up. Sokka and Dad can't cook to save their lives."
"Hey!" Sokka protested. "I happen to make great food."
"Only if it's from a box with Neanderthal instructions," Katara muttered.
Aang laughed again at the both the joke and the brother's face. Maybe...maybe this would be alright.
Maybe he could get used to having friends.
