[fic] Anagnorisis
Title: Anagnorisis
Word count: 1034
Characters: Jet and Zuko
Rating: PG
Summary: The war is over, but the damage has been done.
Note: Continuing from Reprise and Dénouement, another post-canon fic with a weird name. Written for day six of Jetko Week (though it doesn't contain any actual shipping) with the following prompt:
The flames and smoke climbed out of every window
And disappeared with everything that you held dear
***
Zuko rode through the ruins of the forest for what felt like days. Aang had offered to lend him Appa, and Sokka had argued that the Fire Lord shouldn't be wandering around the Earth Kingdom alone and unguarded, but he'd insisted on staying earthbound. His father had scorched the landscape, cut a wide, black path through the lush coastal plains. The assault had lasted less than an hour, but fire moved quickly through the dry underbrush of late summer. Whole villages had been swallowed, and what the flames had spared the waters Aang had summoned washed away. The least Zuko could do was see it for himself - understand the scope of what his family had done.
The trail was easy to follow. No one passed through these bleak, gray lands unless they had to. Not long after Zuko left the last of the greenery behind him, only one set of tracks ran through the muddy ashes.
He found Jet in a valley, near a creek choked with branches and the bones of animals that had washed downstream. He'd tied his ostrich horse close to the water and left a small mound of oats for it to eat. Now he stood beside the remains of an enormous oak, head tilted up toward where the canopy had been. He didn't turn as Zuko dismounted, but his hands moved to rest on the hilts of his swords.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice flat.
Zuko chose his words carefully. In the weeks since Jet had wandered into Uncle's teashop, he'd been surprisingly even-tempered. But Zuko knew that every moment of calm was a struggle, and he could see the tightness in the other boy's jaw.
"We were worried," he said. "You didn't tell anyone where you went."
Jet snorted. "No. I didn't."
"Smellerbee told me not to follow you-"
"She was right."
"I was worried." Zuko stepped away from his mount and across the clearing, his footfalls nearly silent on the soft, featureless ground. He knew that he should keep his distance, but Jet looked so lost -- a thin, broken boy standing in a dead forest. Sometimes, Jet didn't protest when Zuko drew close. Sometimes he even seemed to take comfort in it, the tension leaving his shoulders beneath Zuko's hand.
"Stay away from me!" Jet snapped, and stormed off toward the hills that surrounded them, his boots leaving deep footprints. A yard or so later he stumbled, and his arms curled around his ribs.
Zuko didn't follow, however much he wanted to. "You shouldn't have come by yourself," he said.
Moving slowly, Jet straightened and let his hands fall back to his side. "I don't need a babysitter," he said, though he couldn't keep the strain from his voice.
Zuko didn't answer. Instead he looked around at what was left of the forest. The largest trees still stood, charred and stripped of their branches. Between them lay blackened trunks and wet, rocky ash. Zuko had never seen the aftermath of a fire this large before, and the scale of it was difficult to take in. He could see too far in every direction, and the sun was too bright. The smell was the only thing that felt at all familiar - like mold and old campfires.
He saw something glint among the debris, catching the afternoon sun. He bent to pick it up, then brushed the mud away. It was a knife, the hilt gone and the blade distorted by the heat. Jet watched him as he turned it over in his hands.
"There must have been a village here," Zuko murmured. He scanned the landscape again, more carefully now. He saw a pile of thick, black timbers at the base of a skeletal maple, too regular to be natural. Crouching down, he used the knife to poke through a mound of ash. He uncovered a leather pouch filled with round stones, the ties burnt away; a forked stick that had been fashioned into a slingshot; a shoe, small enough for a child to wear. "I hope they got away," he said quietly, mostly to himself. "I wonder-"
"Don't," said Jet, his voice raw. "Don't touch anything."
Zuko dropped the knife, and it landed with a soft thud. When he turned to look at Jet, the other boy was shaking, his fists clenched as he stared at the oak's crumbling branches, eyes unfocused. Zuko wondered what he saw, but didn't ask. He didn't say anything, just pushed himself to his feet and waited.
"You shouldn't be here," Jet whispered.
"Jet-"
"I don't want you here."
Zuko nodded, though Jet's eyes were still on the tree. "I'll wait by the stream," he said. "With the ostrich horses. All right? Until you're ready. And then we'll go back together."
Jet didn't reply. He knelt in the ashes, his palm against the blackened trunk and his head bowed. Zuko hovered behind him, unsure if he should do as he'd said he would. He didn't want to leave Jet alone like this, with no idea what was wrong. He waited to be told to leave, but Jet didn't say anything, or show that he had heard Zuko at all. He made a small, soft sound and leaned forward until his forehead met the tree.
They stayed that way for a long time. The sun moved across a pale sky they could see too much of, and Zuko's knees and feet began to ache. He didn't move, though he longed to shift his weight, to adjust his limbs and get his blood flowing again. He waited until the light had started to fade, the moon rising above the hills behind them. Only then did he step forward to lay a hand on Jet's back.
"We should go," he said quietly. "It's getting dark."
Jet's hands slid over the bark, down into the mud between the roots. He squeezed it through his fingers.
"Come on," said Zuko. "I'll take you home."
"You can't," Jet whispered, though he stood and brushed the mud from his hands.
"It isn't that far," said Zuko, and wondered what he meant.
Jet shook his head. "It's gone," he said. Then he turned and walked toward the horses.
***
Word count: 1034
Characters: Jet and Zuko
Rating: PG
Summary: The war is over, but the damage has been done.
Note: Continuing from Reprise and Dénouement, another post-canon fic with a weird name. Written for day six of Jetko Week (though it doesn't contain any actual shipping) with the following prompt:
The flames and smoke climbed out of every window
And disappeared with everything that you held dear
***
Zuko rode through the ruins of the forest for what felt like days. Aang had offered to lend him Appa, and Sokka had argued that the Fire Lord shouldn't be wandering around the Earth Kingdom alone and unguarded, but he'd insisted on staying earthbound. His father had scorched the landscape, cut a wide, black path through the lush coastal plains. The assault had lasted less than an hour, but fire moved quickly through the dry underbrush of late summer. Whole villages had been swallowed, and what the flames had spared the waters Aang had summoned washed away. The least Zuko could do was see it for himself - understand the scope of what his family had done.
The trail was easy to follow. No one passed through these bleak, gray lands unless they had to. Not long after Zuko left the last of the greenery behind him, only one set of tracks ran through the muddy ashes.
He found Jet in a valley, near a creek choked with branches and the bones of animals that had washed downstream. He'd tied his ostrich horse close to the water and left a small mound of oats for it to eat. Now he stood beside the remains of an enormous oak, head tilted up toward where the canopy had been. He didn't turn as Zuko dismounted, but his hands moved to rest on the hilts of his swords.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice flat.
Zuko chose his words carefully. In the weeks since Jet had wandered into Uncle's teashop, he'd been surprisingly even-tempered. But Zuko knew that every moment of calm was a struggle, and he could see the tightness in the other boy's jaw.
"We were worried," he said. "You didn't tell anyone where you went."
Jet snorted. "No. I didn't."
"Smellerbee told me not to follow you-"
"She was right."
"I was worried." Zuko stepped away from his mount and across the clearing, his footfalls nearly silent on the soft, featureless ground. He knew that he should keep his distance, but Jet looked so lost -- a thin, broken boy standing in a dead forest. Sometimes, Jet didn't protest when Zuko drew close. Sometimes he even seemed to take comfort in it, the tension leaving his shoulders beneath Zuko's hand.
"Stay away from me!" Jet snapped, and stormed off toward the hills that surrounded them, his boots leaving deep footprints. A yard or so later he stumbled, and his arms curled around his ribs.
Zuko didn't follow, however much he wanted to. "You shouldn't have come by yourself," he said.
Moving slowly, Jet straightened and let his hands fall back to his side. "I don't need a babysitter," he said, though he couldn't keep the strain from his voice.
Zuko didn't answer. Instead he looked around at what was left of the forest. The largest trees still stood, charred and stripped of their branches. Between them lay blackened trunks and wet, rocky ash. Zuko had never seen the aftermath of a fire this large before, and the scale of it was difficult to take in. He could see too far in every direction, and the sun was too bright. The smell was the only thing that felt at all familiar - like mold and old campfires.
He saw something glint among the debris, catching the afternoon sun. He bent to pick it up, then brushed the mud away. It was a knife, the hilt gone and the blade distorted by the heat. Jet watched him as he turned it over in his hands.
"There must have been a village here," Zuko murmured. He scanned the landscape again, more carefully now. He saw a pile of thick, black timbers at the base of a skeletal maple, too regular to be natural. Crouching down, he used the knife to poke through a mound of ash. He uncovered a leather pouch filled with round stones, the ties burnt away; a forked stick that had been fashioned into a slingshot; a shoe, small enough for a child to wear. "I hope they got away," he said quietly, mostly to himself. "I wonder-"
"Don't," said Jet, his voice raw. "Don't touch anything."
Zuko dropped the knife, and it landed with a soft thud. When he turned to look at Jet, the other boy was shaking, his fists clenched as he stared at the oak's crumbling branches, eyes unfocused. Zuko wondered what he saw, but didn't ask. He didn't say anything, just pushed himself to his feet and waited.
"You shouldn't be here," Jet whispered.
"Jet-"
"I don't want you here."
Zuko nodded, though Jet's eyes were still on the tree. "I'll wait by the stream," he said. "With the ostrich horses. All right? Until you're ready. And then we'll go back together."
Jet didn't reply. He knelt in the ashes, his palm against the blackened trunk and his head bowed. Zuko hovered behind him, unsure if he should do as he'd said he would. He didn't want to leave Jet alone like this, with no idea what was wrong. He waited to be told to leave, but Jet didn't say anything, or show that he had heard Zuko at all. He made a small, soft sound and leaned forward until his forehead met the tree.
They stayed that way for a long time. The sun moved across a pale sky they could see too much of, and Zuko's knees and feet began to ache. He didn't move, though he longed to shift his weight, to adjust his limbs and get his blood flowing again. He waited until the light had started to fade, the moon rising above the hills behind them. Only then did he step forward to lay a hand on Jet's back.
"We should go," he said quietly. "It's getting dark."
Jet's hands slid over the bark, down into the mud between the roots. He squeezed it through his fingers.
"Come on," said Zuko. "I'll take you home."
"You can't," Jet whispered, though he stood and brushed the mud from his hands.
"It isn't that far," said Zuko, and wondered what he meant.
Jet shook his head. "It's gone," he said. Then he turned and walked toward the horses.
***