AN: Not entirely sure if anybody reads these but I'm gonna keep posting them. XD Always shouting in the dark. Anyway, for those of you that do read these, here's a little sad feels for your pre-finale pleasure.
denial
No. He wasn't dead. Bolin wouldn't accept that.
Bolin was a crier. When he felt sad he showed it. He didn't cry often, not enough to earn a childish nickname, but he did tear up on occasion. He liked sad stories. He impressed many a lady with his sensitive side. Ad every once in a very great while when things got to be too much for him he let loose a good cry. It made him feel better. Like getting it all out there would purge him of the bad feelings.
He didn't cry now, though. If he cried that would make it real. And he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't live in a world without him. Therefore he would not accept this world, this terrible mocking world before him, as truth.
Everyone else was crying. Asami looked like she was going to be sick. She stood back, her face pale and ashen, leaning over her knees and breathing deeply as the sobs wracked up and down her frame. Tenzin stood past them, almost beyond Bolins vision, looking stony and fearful. And then there was Korra, her body slick with sweat and dirt, tears streaming unforgivingly down her face. Her hands were pressed frantically to the wound in his side, water glowing between them. She was screaming something but Bolin couldn't tell what it was.
Bolin on the other hand stood a few feet from them, his eyes unfocused and uncomprehending. His head tilted one way there another, as if he was trying to fully understand the situation. As if it didn't quite make sense.
"Why isn't he waking up?" His voice sounded child-like. And suddenly it was the day his parents died all over again. He was staring at Mako who was screaming and crying and literally burning and he found himself mouthing 'why haven't mommy and daddy come back'. It was a living memory, fresh and raw. And then the tears came. But this time they were angry.
"Why isn't he getting up? Wake him up? Why are you just standing there? Wake him up? Wake UP!" Bolin demanded. He had never cried like this before. The tears came out hot and acidic. This wasn't the catharsis he usually sought. This was something else. Something he'd forgotten about. Something he thought he'd never have to face again.
Before he could blink he was moving, striding over to them in long and purposeful steps. His knees gave out under him at his side and suddenly his fists were in his jacket, fingers curled around his scarf—their fathers scarf. "Wake up!" Bolin demanded. His voice sounded choked, visceral, like he'd never heard it before. It was the voice Mako used with him when he was angry. It sounded strange from his own lips. It didn't belong there. It belonged to the man whose shirt he was now clinging to.
"Bolin." Korra's voice cracked, her hand was on his arm. He threw her off.
"Why isn't he waking up? This isn't funny. Mako! Wake up. Wake up!" He was screaming now, pulling his brother into his lap.
Korra was getting up. Her fists were clenched and he could see fresh blood trickling from the inside of her hands like she'd cut her palms. She was shaking but not with exhaustion. She was angry. But her face was broken. She didn't look anything like the girl he'd met in the gym so long ago. She turned away from him; he didn't miss the way her proud shoulders dropped and the tremor that fell down her spine.
Bolin grappled for her hand: a plea. "Korra, why won't he wake up?" She looked back down at him, her blue eyes red and dripping. Her lip quivered. It was so slight, he wasn't sure he saw it. But then she turned her head. He couldn't tell if it was in shame or grief. Perhaps both. Maybe more than that.
Asami's hand appeared on his shoulder, her other covering her mouth. "Bolin, he's gone."