For the second time in two days, Mako woke in a different bed, reaching for someone who would never again reach back. The empty space beside him was a presence in itself, and he felt it strongly enough that, for a moment, he forgot what had woken him in the first place. Then, through the wall, he heard Bolin fall into another fit of violent coughing; he was out of bed and in the hallway before his heart had a chance to beat.
His brother was doubled over in bed, but he seemed to have reined it in by the time Mako reached his door. Now, he was picking at his sheets, a disgusted look on his face as he surveyed the fresh mucous staining his lap.
"Okay, this is seriously gross," he groaned. "What is this, anyway? Feels like my organs are coming up or something." Mako gave a half-shrug, moving to Bolin's bedside.
"This’ll have to go," he commented on the sheets. "I'll see if I can find something clean, or maybe do some laundry." Bolin weaved him off.
"Nah, don't bother. I can deal for a few more days."
"You'll have to clean them eventually, you know." Bolin refused to meet his brother's eyes, and Mako grabbed him a little too roughly. "You're not going to die, bro," he growled. "You're not."
When Bolin had first started coughing, Mako had wrangled up a boat. Bring Korra back-that was his only objective, he had no plans beyond that. He was on the water and fighting with the mooring when Bolin had caught up to him, and demanded that he stop.
"There's nothing Korra can do," he'd said, and there was such pain in his eyes that Mako stopped fighting him. "Right now, she thinks we're safe. Can't we just leave it at that?"
Hell no we can't, had been Mako's first response. Hell no was he going to sit back and watch and do nothing; not this time.
"Please," Bolin had begged. "I'll be fine, I promise."
Except that had been a lie; he wasn't fine, and there would never again be a time in Bolin's life when he was fine. Even days after their bedside exchange, the fourth day since Korra had left, when his health suddenly returned, and he ran around looking for Pabu-and where had the poor creature gone, surely he hadn't been trampled by the hoards of sick people?-Bolin was not fine. And at the end of that fourth day, Mako cornered his brother in his room.
"Enough stalling, Bo," he said. "We're going to find Korra."
Bolin looked at his brother. Then, he turned his head to the window, across the water beyond, toward the dark, dilapidated dome of the Pro-Bending Arena that had once been their home-and the city beyond, on her way to chaos and ruin, dark in places where the power grid had failed. Mako followed his gaze. Korra was out there, still fighting, still trying to save everyone; still failing.
"Actually," Bolin said, softly. "I was hoping we could just stay in tonight."
They slept in the same bed that night for the first time since they were children, Mako embracing his brother as he screamed and writhed in agony, spewing blood and grey mucus across the pillow. He stroked his sweat-soaked hair and soothed him, humming the lullabies their mother used to sing back when life was still simple. He held Bolin until he finally ceased to suffer-and even after, until morning broke through the window.
Mako burned the ruined sheets and re-made the bed with fresh ones, as fresh as he could find in a place that had seen so much death. He ran a warm bath and cleaned Bolin's body, massaging shampoo through his scalp the way he liked, the way that used to make him almost purr with contentment. Then he laid him on the bed where he had died, and tucked him in, using blankets he had found in the closet to keep in the warmth.
"I'm going to go find Korra, Bo," he murmured, pressing trembling lips against his brother's forehead in one last kiss goodnight. "We'll both catch up to you later. You won't even have time to miss us. I," he choked on the words, "I love you."
As he left, Mako lit the Air Temple behind him; there was no longer any reason for it to stand. None, but to remind him and Korra both of their failures.
The next part is gonna be a long one, and it'll probably take me a while to finish writing...hopefully not more than a week, but I'm starting a summer class tomorrow.
His brother was doubled over in bed, but he seemed to have reined it in by the time Mako reached his door. Now, he was picking at his sheets, a disgusted look on his face as he surveyed the fresh mucous staining his lap.
"Okay, this is seriously gross," he groaned. "What is this, anyway? Feels like my organs are coming up or something." Mako gave a half-shrug, moving to Bolin's bedside.
"This’ll have to go," he commented on the sheets. "I'll see if I can find something clean, or maybe do some laundry." Bolin weaved him off.
"Nah, don't bother. I can deal for a few more days."
"You'll have to clean them eventually, you know." Bolin refused to meet his brother's eyes, and Mako grabbed him a little too roughly. "You're not going to die, bro," he growled. "You're not."
When Bolin had first started coughing, Mako had wrangled up a boat. Bring Korra back-that was his only objective, he had no plans beyond that. He was on the water and fighting with the mooring when Bolin had caught up to him, and demanded that he stop.
"There's nothing Korra can do," he'd said, and there was such pain in his eyes that Mako stopped fighting him. "Right now, she thinks we're safe. Can't we just leave it at that?"
Hell no we can't, had been Mako's first response. Hell no was he going to sit back and watch and do nothing; not this time.
"Please," Bolin had begged. "I'll be fine, I promise."
Except that had been a lie; he wasn't fine, and there would never again be a time in Bolin's life when he was fine. Even days after their bedside exchange, the fourth day since Korra had left, when his health suddenly returned, and he ran around looking for Pabu-and where had the poor creature gone, surely he hadn't been trampled by the hoards of sick people?-Bolin was not fine. And at the end of that fourth day, Mako cornered his brother in his room.
"Enough stalling, Bo," he said. "We're going to find Korra."
Bolin looked at his brother. Then, he turned his head to the window, across the water beyond, toward the dark, dilapidated dome of the Pro-Bending Arena that had once been their home-and the city beyond, on her way to chaos and ruin, dark in places where the power grid had failed. Mako followed his gaze. Korra was out there, still fighting, still trying to save everyone; still failing.
"Actually," Bolin said, softly. "I was hoping we could just stay in tonight."
They slept in the same bed that night for the first time since they were children, Mako embracing his brother as he screamed and writhed in agony, spewing blood and grey mucus across the pillow. He stroked his sweat-soaked hair and soothed him, humming the lullabies their mother used to sing back when life was still simple. He held Bolin until he finally ceased to suffer-and even after, until morning broke through the window.
Mako burned the ruined sheets and re-made the bed with fresh ones, as fresh as he could find in a place that had seen so much death. He ran a warm bath and cleaned Bolin's body, massaging shampoo through his scalp the way he liked, the way that used to make him almost purr with contentment. Then he laid him on the bed where he had died, and tucked him in, using blankets he had found in the closet to keep in the warmth.
"I'm going to go find Korra, Bo," he murmured, pressing trembling lips against his brother's forehead in one last kiss goodnight. "We'll both catch up to you later. You won't even have time to miss us. I," he choked on the words, "I love you."
As he left, Mako lit the Air Temple behind him; there was no longer any reason for it to stand. None, but to remind him and Korra both of their failures.
The next part is gonna be a long one, and it'll probably take me a while to finish writing...hopefully not more than a week, but I'm starting a summer class tomorrow.
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Hurts so good.
So much love to you, writer!anon. <3
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