Disclaimer: I clearly do not own Avatar the last air bender. Does it even need to be said?

Edit:15/08/19 Brushing off the dust and finding there is in fact a story here.

"And don't come back you little piece of shit!"

Well, it would seem Thursday had come early… hold on, maybe I should explain.

You see my life tends to follow patterns, a pattern that is determined by the days of the week, Monday is usually uneventful and it seems to be that way for everyone now that I think about it, everyone down to the teachers at school love to complain about how slow and tedious it is.

Tuesday is where things tend to pick up, dad's unemployment benefit comes in and the pantry gets stocked...sometimes…you see it depends on how much alcohol my dad ends up buying that day, sometimes he thinks he needs a little more to get him through the week.

Dad doesn't normally start drinking hard until Wednesday at which time I start trying to make myself scarce, I usually get a few hours of peace before he starts to become a verbal drunk, but thankfully the TV keeps his attention occupied while he yells at what I am pretty sure are the same re-runs of the same rugby games but hey, I'm not going to complain about that.

It's Thursday when the TV starts to lose it magical powers of distraction and things start to head south, the slightest thing will send him into a rage, after ten or so years of this I've gotten pretty good a avoiding him but by the end of the day he's normally got some reason to follow me around the house hurling abuse.

Friday's the day that constant alcohol abuse and sleep deprivation push him to the edge and he becomes physical, hence my nice home away from home in the tree house I doubt he even remembers building me for my 6th birthday, judging by the fact he has never once found me there. It's more of a habit now than a necessity though, ever since I started fighting back the violent dad has made fewer appearances.

Normally by midday Saturday dad has reached his remorseful phase, the drunken apologies come out in force and he could almost be called convincing… but not to me, I guess the weekly repetitions have rendered me immune to that particular brand of bullshit.

Sunday rolls around and the booze is becoming sparse which normally means dad has gone out in search of his precious poison at the nearest pub and oh happy day! I have the whole house to myself! The dirty, stained and smelly piss-hole that it is. By the time dad stumbles back home at some unholy hour the house is clean and ready for his next week of abuse.

So there, that's the typical week in the life of Hunter-can't turn 18 fast enough-Heke and considering I just turned 16, there seems to be many more weeks left in this cycle.

But hey, back to the present with me slamming the door behind me while my drunken excuse for a father makes unintelligible threats he won't remember tomorrow.

It's at times like these that people turn to their friends and family to help and I'm no different, well aside from the fact my family is the cause of the problem but that's unfortunately not a unique situation here in south Auckland, so I'm on my way to see my friend and by 'my friend' I mean the only real friend I have in the world which I suppose is pretty sad for a 16 year old, but to me friends are the people that are there for you and there is only one person who has ever really fit that description that I can remember and that's Joe, the owner of and instructor at the local self-defense school...and his wife, I pretty much think of them as a package deal. I suppose it's fitting that a nine-year-old me would end up hiding behind his gym the first time dad chased me out of the house. Ever since he found me that day he's been my best friend, he took me under his wing at the gym, he always had food for me which was great because there was practically none at home, he even tried to get child-protection services involved, obviously that didn't work out on account of them being…ah how did Joe phrase it? That's right, a useless bunch of wankers who should do the world a favor and jump off the harbor bridge.

But I guess the best thing he gave me was a place to work out my issues. Instead of exploding at school and getting myself into a whole new world of trouble, he had me work it all out on the bags, on the mats and every other piece of equipment or willing person that happened to be around. More than once I've heard him ask himself if teaching an angry kid Krav Maga was a good idea but hey, no trouble with school or the police just yet so it can't be that bad.

Speak of the devil. I couldn't have timed it better if I tried. I thought as I walked through the gym doors and saw Joe walking out of the changing rooms in his gear.

"Hey Hunter" he said with his usual grin, "didn't think you were coming in today".

"Thursday came early" I reply by way of explanation though it's all he needs to hear being the only one entrusted with my weekly schedule.

"Ah shit mate, anything I can do?" He asked.

"Yeah, be ready on the mats in half hour" I say grinning as I turn and walk off to the changing rooms.

There really is nothing like a good work out to get your mind off things, and getting my ass handed to me by Joe is the best workout of all (masochism jokes aside). Seven years of training under him and he still gets me 9 times out of ten.

I guess that's why he's the instructor and I'm the student. I think, chuckling to myself.

Eventually after an extended warm up/venting session I find myself on the mats in front of him looking for an opening. We slowly circle each other, arms raised but tucked close and tight like a coiled spring. Neither of us are too eager to rush in, I know I can't bully my way into his guard like I can with most people in the gym and he knows that I am deceptively fast and have a far longer reach. I am considerably bigger than him even at 16, but he is easily my match in strength, he has that type of strength that older fighters always seem to have without looking like it, but thanks to his training I was his match for speed. He always has me working on my speed saying that a kid as big as I am will catch a lot of people off guard by being fast.

Unfortunately, he seemed to sense that my focus slipped and I barely dodged back to avoid his punches. Great, barely 20 seconds in and I'm already hard on the defense.

Deciding to get off my ass and use my reach I throw a few well-placed jabs of my own forcing him off, and deciding to press the attack I move in throwing a true combination of my own, unfortunately my punches lacked their usual speed and being the merciless ass he was he stepped in close, planted a solid one in my gut and I found myself slightly winded and grappling. That went about as well as it usually did which is to say he toyed around for close to a minute, tiring me out before making his move when all of a sudden, things seemed to slow like we were fighting underwater.

I could see his shoulders tensing in preparation to move, I could see him moving his leg into position to throw me…and I saw my opening. With a sudden burst of speed, I jabbed my arm forward and threw his arm up over me as I ducked under. Sensing his mistake, he tried to move out but it was too late, he had taught me well and he was not in a position to stop me from circling behind him and before he could grunt out a curse I had my arms locked around his waist and was already lifting.

I grinned as my body acted purely on muscle memory-Suplex, baby!- My hips dropped and my back flexed backward bringing him down as softly as was possible with the throw before rolling away back into the ready stance. He blinked up at me for a second as if trying to process that I got the better of him before he grinned and rolled to his feet pulling the practice knife sheath from his belt.

Looks like we're covering all the bases today. I thought, returning his smile.

The spar was exactly what I needed, long and tiring. By the time it was over I had a nice set of bruises which wasn't bad considering how serious our spars can get, this usually brought down the wrath of his wife who would dress us down for being too stupid understand the definition of "spar", which in turn would have us both staring at our feet muttering apologies for 5 minutes. I think I would rather face an actual knife wielding attacker than her.

We sat against the wall just talking as we normally did every time I came here after my dad's episodes, never talking about much, just dancing from topic to topic, planning for my 18th birthday when I could legally leave home and move in with him and his wife…and of course a healthy bit of banter for good measure. Eventually the time came to head on home, the last thing I wanted was to get home late and accidentally wake the drunken bear.

"Hey Hunter". Joe said as we made our way outside.

"Yeah?" I replied, turning to him with a smile.

"I know I say it all the time mate but... just one day at a time alright?". He wore a concerned expression. For all my attempts at being non-chalant, he always seemed to see right through it.

"Yeah Joe I know, it's just… well you know" I replied, reaching for words.

He let out a small chuckle, "Yeah I know, me and Sara are always here you know? Anything you need, don't let it boil for a day before hand."

I stopped and pulled him into our usual half-hug, "I know Joe, I'll see you two tomorrow?"

"You know it kid". He said, turning and heading off for the short walk home. "See ya then".

Sometimes I can be such a bloody idiot.

I mean I should have known; the pattern was right there to see. If Thursday got here early then logically Friday will be right behind it right? But did I anticipate this? No, I didn't because as previously stated: I am a bloody idiot.

So, I got home from school later far later than I usually did. I decided to stay and sign up for the wrestling team after being asked for the millionth time by the coach, I mean why not right? It's not like I've been training under an actual military veteran and combat instructor most my life. Unfortunately, I forgot that I needed to get dinner on for the drunken couch potato.

And now here I am with said couch potato (who is most definitely drunk) in my face screaming about how I need to pull my weight if I want to live in 'his house'.

That particular line almost sets me off. 'Not pulling MY weight? I thought darkly. 'What the fuck do you do besides take up space and stink up the place? You don't even pay for this place; the government pays the rent because you're too busy at the bottom of your bottle to get a job!'

Whether these thoughts showed on my face, or I said them out loud, or he just reached the tipping point by himself I don't know, but the next thing I know I'm frozen lying on the ground suffering from what I'm almost certain is the effect of a flash bang. My ears are ringing, my vision blurs, my jaw is aching like crazy and all too soon I find myself being pulled to my feet again as I try to force my way through a childlike panic. Despite being drunk he's still only a few inches shy of seven feet tall and my earlier description of a bear is not inaccurate, he has no trouble at all lifting and pushing me up against the wall still shouting words that don't pierce the panic in my brain. It feels like an eternity passes before by body reacts and I feel my head snap forward smashing into his nose, sending him stumbling backwards.

Muscle memory acts seemly of its own accord as my hand grabs his shoulder and pulls him face first into my rising elbow, my body keeps moving, sliding under and locking around his upper arm. Just like yesterday my body moves through the forms of its own volition, my hips drop and my arms pull sending over 150 kilograms of dad hurling over my shoulder to the floor with a crash.

He's already trying to get to his feet when I crash down on top of him, my brain may be fighting through a fog of panic but the rest of me knows what it is doing. My weight drives him back to the tiled floor, his breath coming out in an explosive 'Oof'. He's hardly down for the count though and I nearly fall off in pain as his fist crashes against my bottom ribs, even with his lack of leverage.

I feel something snap inside me as a feral roar tears through the evening air, only a small part of me recognizing it as my own voice. My fist comes down with all the considerable strength and leverage I can put into it, I feel his nose flatten under my knuckles, I hear a crack as his head bounces from the tiles beneath him. My fist comes down again accompanied by another half roar, half sob; his head snaps to the side, I feel something warm and wet. My other fist follows not a second later snapping his head back the other way. Again, and again I rain down on him fighting through a red haze of emotions I can't even begin to understand.

It's too quiet when I finally come to myself. The night is dead quiet, the ringing in my ears is gone, the loudest thing I can hear is the pounding of my own heart. My breath catches as I look down at my father's bloodied and broken face and I stagger backwards scrambling for seconds to get to my feet in a show that would have been comical in any other situation.

He's not moving, I can't tell if he is breathing.

There's a puddle of red spreading around his head...Oh my god there's so much.

I run.

I run as fast as I can towards the gym, my labored breathing the only thing I hear over my pounding heart. I can barely think, part of me wants to go back and finish the job, part of me is screaming about how much trouble I'm in right now but the bigger part just keeps telling me to run. Eventually I crash into the doors only to find them locked.

"FUCK!" I scream out loud. 'Why is he not here? Joe and Sara should be here! He Said he'd always be here!'

Nothing makes right now, not even my own thoughts.

And so, I find myself running to their house. What would be a 10 or so minute walk passes in an instant as my adrenaline-fueled legs eat up the distance only to stop dead as I arrive at the scene. There are cops, I feel my heart stop. There's an ambulance, and I feel my blood turn to ice. There are neighbors crowding the sidewalk.

'No'. My legs move.

'No!' I unceremoniously shoulder my way up the drive through the crowd even through a policeman who's in my way.

NO!

Then I see it, the white cloth covering a familiar shape being wheeled by an EMT, the sight stops me dead in my tracks once more. I see Sara's tear streaked face as she rushes towards me.

"I…wha…Joe?" I finally manage to choke the syllables out past whatever was blocking my throat.

"We were having a late lunch…"she managed. "He said he didn't feel well…h-h-he went to lie down…he wouldn't w-wake up!"

I reeled back, staggering as if struck. My hand found the hood of a police car stopping me from falling completely, the noises all blurred together, my vision blurred, nothing was making sense.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, I could make out the face of a police officer looking at me concerned, his mouth moved but the words were lost to me, all I could do was stare dumbly back.

'No!' My mind rebelled, refusing to piece the information together. 'No! He promised!' I jumped back a step shaking my head profusely as if I could simply deny reality.

"Son? You need to look at me." The officers voice barely broke through the haze, then his face scrunches up as he sees my hands. "Hey, what happened to you?"

I took another step back still shaking my head, "No…he said…he said", the words tumbled out making as much sense as the world did me.

"Son please, you've got to breathe." The officer tried again, "Son?"

And so once again, for the third time this evening I find myself running. I don't know where to, I'm barely aware of the man I near trample in my escape, I vaguely make out the officer's and Sara's voices but they soon disappear.

I still don't know where I'm going, I don't even know where I am, I jump another fence, I sprint across another road, I crash through some bushes.

When I finally come to its dark and I'm kneeling in some sort of clearing surrounded by trees, I can feel my chest burning, I can feel little cuts on my legs, probably from the bushes, but above all It hurts. It hurts like a physical pain; I raise my head and roar my pain and anger towards the heavens. Eventually my head drops and fall forward to the earth, my energy all but gone. I grip the grass and push my head against the ground, it feels like I kneel there for hours before I feel warmth on my face and hear a small but strong voice on the wind.

"What is it you wish, child?"

Absolutely nothing is making sense today so why not answer the voice in my head? "I…I just want to go…far…anywhere but here".

"Then you shall have it."

I woke up to the sound of strange birds chirping…and rushing water? I lay there trying to piece together the events of last night and instantly wish I hadn't, my unopened eyes clench tight as I ward of a wave of emotion.

Suddenly I hear breathing, I hold my breath. 'yep, definitely not mine.' I slowly open my eyes…to find a pair of smoky grey eyes on a curious face staring right back, I can see chocolate covered bangs, a long braid, a pink dress.

My first thought? 'This is probably the prettiest face I have ever seen.'

My first word however came out as nothing more than a high-pitched squeal usually reserved for when one finds a spider on one's neck.

"GAHHHHHH!"