Chapter Text
There's an ashmaker too close to their camp.
Jet had promised Smellerbee and Longshot that they were starting over, but it's a long way to Ba Sing Se and Jet's all too recent upset is still raw.
Koh damn the naïve Avatar and those self-righteous Water Tribe; they'd ruined everything. All his kids, who Jet had taken in, looked after and trained, abandoned him because they couldn't handle the harsh reality of war. Only two out of dozens had remained loyal. Jet can't fail them again, but neither truly understands how he feels.
There is no starting over, not when firebenders still breathe. They took everything from him, and Jet will never forgive or forget.
This ashmaker dares disguise himself in Earth Kingdom green, mixed with travel worn browns; a worse insult than a blatant soldier's armor. Jet doesn't care if this ashmaker's a spy, or what he has promised his remaining freedom fighters about going straight now.
If Smellerbee and Longshot were here, they'd understand and agree that all firebenders must die. Since they're not, Jet will do it without them, sparing them from at least one more death.
The reconnaissance is over when the ashmaker has bedded down for the night next to the smoldering remains of his ill lit campfire- the proof Jet had needed to lay in wait, and now to act. Once he's gotten close enough on silent feet, Jet can see that the pulsing glow of embers matches the ashmaker's breathing. The view fills Jet with fury. Even asleep, firebenders can't control themselves.
It's so easy to line up the hooked head of his sword with a too pale throat, and rip.
The reaction's immediate, of course. Those yellow eyes fly open as skin tears, red spurting and gurgling as the ashmaker rolls to his feet with strange steadiness. From the new position, with the faint glow of his campfire and the moon above combined, Jet can see that half the ashmaker's face (the side that'd been turned away from him) is just one big scar.
Jet knew he'd cut a fatal wound, so he's startled by the calm way the ashmaker glares at him, fully lucid in spite of the gaping wound in his throat. He's not breathing; just bleeding all down his front. Unsettled, Jet lashes out again to sooner end that eerie stare.
Only pure reflex saves Jet from his own shock when the ashmaker dodges the blow with alarming fluidity and then strikes back with an open palm. There's no fire, but the hit still lands with enough force on Jet's blocking wrist to flare sharp pain and send him staggering back a few steps.
"Monster," Jet hisses, regaining his balance and drawing his second tigerhead. It proves unnecessary just as quickly, however, because the blood loss has finally gotten to the unnatural ashmaker.
He sways forward drunkenly, trips and falls to his hands and knees. Blood soaks his front and bubbles from his mouth, breath now struggling in gurgling, thin wheezes.
Jet's wrist throbs fiercely, probably sprained, but he doesn't let his guard down again. He holds his twin hook swords steady, prepared to end the threat with a third blow that won't miss this time, but equally unwilling to strike too quickly and grant mercy to the monster. He waits until the fruitless struggles to breathe have fallen still and silent, until he's certain the ashmaker is just another curled up corpse on Earth Kingdom soil.
Jet leaves the body to rot unburied, stealing the pack that the ashmaker can no longer use.
When he returns to Smellerbee and Longshot, neither questions where the new supplies came from, nor why Jet splints his aching wrist and then starts to clean his swords. Before, they would have. Now, Jet's torn between gratitude for their knowing silence, and infuriated by their tentativeness. Jet never should be the one that they're wary of. They'll learn he's still right. It'll just take time.
The following day, Jet forcefully puts the eerie, scarred ashmaker out of his mind. He's got more important things to worry about than a dead man.
It's a pretty straight shot to Ba Sing Se, if Jet's placed their position on the newly acquired map right, but that's still a few days on foot through the forest that isn't as familiar the further they get from Gaipan and their forest. They're avoiding the road and any main paths, following the river as far away from it as can be done without losing it, to travel undetected.
The dead ashmaker's food meagerly pads theirs, and Jet had been furious to find an Earth Kingdom dagger swaddled in spare clothes. The latter will eventually be torn to strips when needed, because Jet refuses to let any of them wear a firebender's scraps. The dagger goes to Smellerbee, where it belongs better than with any ashmaker.
She's on first watch tonight, after a full day of near silent walking. Jet feels like he's scarcely fell asleep when he's woken by weight on his sore wrist. The pain opens his eyes, but realizing he's actually been pinned clears his vision almost instantly.
A dead man's pale, scarred face sneers down at him, and in spite of himself, Jet freezes.
He hasn't had a nightmare about a kill in years, and the weight on his chest and throbbing wrist suggests that this isn't a dream. Jet didn't believe in spirits, but he hadn't thought the Avatar still existed either.
"I want my knife back," The dead ashmaker's spirit tells Jet in a raspy voice, and from the campfire's light, Jet can so clearly the ragged scar across his throat. "And then I have a question for you."
"Jet!" Smellerbee's alarmed voice cuts in, and Jet jerks.
He chokes when one of the spirit's hands comes down harshly on his throat, heating threateningly as the ashmaker lifts his other hand full of fire to ward off Jet's fighters.
"Attack me and he dies first. Trust me," The spirit warns them without looking away from Jet at all. "I'll have plenty of time to do it."
The light makes the spirit appear ghastly, dried blood still caked down his front.
Jet hears the quiet sounds of Smellerbee and Longshot arming themselves, prepared to strike from a distance at his signal. Jet recalls the spirit’s threat, remembers how long the ashmaker had stood with a torn out throat before he fell over.
Can a spirit still be affected by steel?
Jet wets his lips, then whistles for his fighters to stand by. The spirit’s hand tightens warningly, but it doesn’t ignite or cut off Jet’s air. His free hand still burns.
Can spirits still bend?
They all wait anxiously for a long moment. When no one moves, the spirit extinguishes his fire.
“I want my knife back,” He repeats, yellow eyes still boring down at Jet alone.
Unnerved, Jet whistles softly for Smellerbee to comply. She may not know the specifics, but there’s only one new knife she’s gotten. She throws it at the dirt next to Jet’s pinned body. Still without looking at her or Longshot, the spirit picks up the dagger and tucks it away beneath his bloodied shirt.
“Now, my question,” He says calmly, heedless of the weapons aimed at his head. “Why did you kill me?”
Jet curls his lip immediately. “You’re a firebender.”
“That’s all?” The spirit pressures, and it’s a struggle to remain still as Jet’s fury builds.
“It’s the only reason I need,” Jet spits.
“You’re a coward,” The ashmaker’s spirit retorts, equally sharp. “Attacking a man in his sleep is dishonorable.”
Jet barks a noise that could be a laugh and feels like he garbled broken glass. “What would you people know about honor?”
“I’m not a people,” The spirit snaps, but then he heaves a noisy sigh.
Do spirits still breathe?
“I did you no wrong,” He continues, quieter. “But I understand my people have. I know why you’d strike first.”
“You don’t know anything,” Jet seethes, straining up only to be pressed down harder.
“I don’t?” The spirit throws back, aggressively pointing at his half scorched face. “You think I survived this?”
Jet stills, thrown by the question. What? Jet hadn’t done that. The ashmaker’d had it before Jet killed him.
Jet had killed him, but here the firebender knelt: warm, breathing, bending; still alive with a fully healed scar where Jet’s hook had ripped out his throat.
“Jet?” Smellerbee pipes up cautiously into the lull of silence, still waiting on his signal to remove the threat.
Jet ignores her. “You died.”
The not-spirit, not-dead boy smirks a twisted thing of sardonic amusement. “I die all the time. It never sticks.”
He doesn’t die. That’s why he doesn’t care that Longshot has an arrow pointed at his head. It’s why he memorized how Jet looked while he was bleeding out. He doesn’t stay dead.
“How?”
The scarred ashmaker shrugs off Jet’s question. “I’m gonna let you up now. If your followers kill me, it just means I’ll be back tomorrow, so let’s not waste all our time, yeah?”
True to his word, the firebender releases Jet and stands. Movement at the corner of his eye has Jet whistling a sharp command to stand down. Smellerbee pulls up short, glaring in offended disbelief. Jet shakes his head firmly, climbing to his feet. As much as he hates agreeing with an ashmaker, the guy’s right. There’s no point in killing him. He’ll just come back again, probably even angrier.
“Jet, what is going on?” Smellerbee demands, still holding her aggressive posture because the stranger hasn’t left.
Why hasn’t he left yet?
“He’s a firebender,” Jet begins, because that’s where it always starts. “I killed him last night and took his stuff.”
“Hurt like a bitch, too,” The ashmaker adds dryly, rubbing his throat and eyeing Jet’s tigerheads with mingled distaste and interest. “I’ve never seen swords like those.”
“There a reason you’re still here?” Jet gripes, wanting the firebender gone if he won’t stay dead.
“I want my stuff back,” The scarred boy retorts, plucking at his bloodied clothing purposefully.
Jet waves a hand at the pack in question, impatient. “Then take it and go already.”
“Wait,” Smellerbee interjects, stepping pointedly in the way. “If Jet killed you, then aren’t you a spirit?”
“Spirit-cursed, more like,” The ashmaker mutters, crossing his arms. “I’m alive enough to keep dying; it just never stays that way.”
“That’s impossible,” Smellerbee states.
Jet notices that Longshot has lowered his bow.
“Stick another knife in me,” The not-dead stranger invites mockingly. “I’ll catch up with you again tomorrow.”
Smellerbee’s mouth pinches. She looks to Jet for answers, but he doesn’t have any more to offer.
“It doesn’t matter,” The firebender continues into the absence of response. “Just give me back my stuff and we’ll never see each other again.”
“You should stay with us,” Longshot says, startling them all with his quiet voice, the certainty of the most unexpected words.
Knowing Longshot the least, the scarred ashmaker recovers first with a scowl. “Why would I stay with someone who murdered me in my sleep?”
Smellerbee’s mouth opens angrily, then noticeably closes without a sound.
Jet’s temper builds as he looks between his remaining kids, frustrated by their reactions.
Smellerbee’s lost faith in him, confronted by the undeniable proof standing in front of her. The village had been flooded, but no one had died. Jet has murdered someone in his sleep, but that someone came back to life, tracked them, and demanded his stuff back. She doesn’t trust Jet to stop anymore, even concerning an ashmaker.
On the other side, why would Longshot even suggest such a thing? Travel with an ashmaker? After all that they’ve done? What could he be thinking?!
Longshot stares back calmly in the face of Jet’s glare, saying nothing further. In that moment, Jet hates that he understands the archer so well. He doesn’t want to hear it. Keeping around a firebender that Jet can’t kill isn’t going to help anyone or anything, no matter what Longshot thinks.
“I don’t know what the fuck is happening here,” The ashmaker interjects into the silent debate. “But I’m not staying. Move.”
Smellerbee stiffens at the order and Jet inserts himself between her and the firebender at once. All frustration aside, Jet is never going to put one of his kids in a position he wouldn’t go himself.
The deathless boy rolls his eyes at yet another obstacle between him and his pack. “I’m not gonna hurt her. I didn’t even hurt you.”
Jet’s wrist disagrees, but he got up unburnt from under a firebender’s hand. Why?
“Why not?” Jet asks, unwillingly starting to maybe see what Longshot must’ve already seen to suggest staying together.
“You were doing what you thought you had to, and they,” The ashmaker nods at Jet’s fighters. “Have still done me no wrong.”
“It’s that easy to forgive someone who killed you?” Jet sneers, and the ashmaker bristles.
“Who said I forgive you, asshole? You’re still a coward. Just because I don’t stay dead doesn’t erase the fact you murdered me in cold blood.”
“You said you understood why he did it,” Smellerbee points out crossly.
The firebender throws up his arms heatedly, but without any actual heat. “Understood, not agreed! Who wants to die?!”
“Lots of people,” Jet answers without thinking, watching yellow eyes snap to him. “When there’s nothing left to live for, because everything you had burned to ash.”
Jet wishes he didn’t see it, but he’d have to be blind to miss the way the firebender just as quickly averts his eyes. Jet hates the realization that an ashmaker knows what it’s like to lose everything. He sighs heavily.
Longshot never speaks unless it’s important. He hadn’t spoken up against flooding Gaipan. It’d been his arrow that blew the dam. He’s not so willing to be unheard anymore. He and Smellerbee want to start over. Jet had promised that they would, and then murdered a firebender in his sleep at the first opportunity- a firebender who wouldn’t burn Jet even when it’d be understandable to do so.
Where is the line?
“We’re going to Ba Sing Se,” Smellerbee tells the quiet firebender, because she evidently sides with Longshot after Jet has given off undecided signals.
The firebender refocuses, arching his single remaining brow dubiously. “So? I don’t care. I’m not going with you.”
“I think you should,” Jet forces himself to speak, because he has to find the line.
“What? You were the one who killed me! Why are you suddenly for this?” The ashmaker protests incredulously. “Are you all just ignoring me? I Don’t Want To Go.”
As said, Jet ignores each pointedly pronounced word. “How often do you die?”
The firebender clenches his jaw hard enough to make a muscle in his cheek jump, evidently unhappy to have his earlier taunt thrown back at him like this.
“How much is it because you’re alone?” Jet pressures, because if he’s doing this, he’ll do it all the way. “How many were the Earth Kingdom? How many-”
“Enough.” The scarred, deathless boy bares his teeth in an irate hiss. “Just make your damn point already.”
Jet would, but he’s not even wholly sure what is the point. He still doesn’t want an ashmaker around, but… maybe he needs someone to check him.
Smellerbee doesn’t trust him, but she still followed Jet and obeyed his orders. Longshot shadowed him still, but he isn’t loud enough to drown out Jet’s worst impulses. They can’t stop him. He doesn’t know if they even know how.
This ashmaker, however, can't be put down. He won’t let Jet run around unaccounted, as proven.
Is that what Longshot and Smellerbee want? Someone who knows how, with the ability to knock Jet down?
He hates the very idea. He feels betrayed, and he hates knowing that he betrayed them first.
Jet feels sick.
He’s been quiet for too long, and the firebender dismisses him accordingly. Jet’s unused to not knowing what to say. He’s used to people hanging off his words. He hates this.
“Why do you want me to hang around? This was your idea.” The black haired, pale skinned boy demanded of the other, accusing Longshot.
A part of Jet meanly expects Longshot to break his silence again, but the archer holds his tongue. Jet can’t stand to look at him right now to see what he might be saying with his eyes.
“We think it’d be good for us,” Smellerbee answers for them both, rather than divulge that Longshot doesn't really speak ordinarily.
“For you?” The firebender repeats scathingly, scoffing derisively. “Is that supposed to convince me?”
“You didn’t answer Jet’s questions,” Smellerbee shoots back without missing a beat. “We can watch your back.”
“Who’s going to watch my back from you?” The ashmaker retorts. “You guys are the ones who-”
“There’s no point, right?” Jet interrupts, quieter than intended but still capturing attention easily. “You said it yourself. It’d be a waste of time, and now we all know it. We’re trying to start over. Go straight.”
“And? What, you want me to- to hold you in check? Is that what this is about?” The deathless boy speculates incredulously, cutting Jet when he lands the blow with painful accuracy. “That’s it?" He concludes correctly when Jet noticeably doesn’t deny it.
The ashmaker looks between all three of them, looking for something they either can’t give him or don’t even know how to. He runs a hand over his tousled hair, sweeping back long black strands that’d escaped his high tail. It looks matted in some parts, probably because of the blood. He hadn’t stopped to clean up properly before coming after them.
Jet doesn’t know what to do with these observations.
“Fine. You know what? I’ve had worse ideas,” The firebender mutters, dropping his hand back to his side. “But I’m not going to Ba Sing Se without a good forgery. The Earth army torture firebenders they capture.”
Jet very nearly snaps that it’s what all ashmakers deserve, but the scar on this ashmaker’s throat holds his tongue. As a murderer, it’d be the height of hypocrisy to defend torture to the one he’d murdered.
“Okay,” Smellerbee says slowly, clearly not liking what was said either. “We need some too, then. We don’t have any.”
They didn’t know they needed any. Already, the firebender is proving his worth.
Jet itches to hit something, badly.
“We can handle that later,” The firebender decides, like he’s taking charge without needing to think about it. “First, I wanna wash up and then sleep. Can I please get my bag now?”
Jet turns away stiffly and then pointedly does not pick up his tigerheads. He doesn’t trust himself not to hack them all out of shape right now, with no whetstone to fix the mistakes of his temper.
Smellerbee steps to Longshot’s side, and the ashmaker finally gets to kneel by his pack and roots through it.
Jet should get a name at some point, if he could stomach one more concession tonight.
It occurs to him while watching the deathless boy walk away, towards the river, that he trusts them to still be here when he returns. Why wouldn’t he, another part of Jet’s brain points out, they're the ones who want him to stay. It’s more likely the firebender will take the unobserved opportunity to keep walking and not come back. He did take his pack with him, after all, even if it is now lacking of food. He hadn't asked after food though.
Jet decides not to mention his thoughts aloud. He still doesn’t want the ashmaker around, even if he might need it. If the guy doesn’t return, everything will be easier. They can find out how to get papers for Ba Sing Se on their own.
Jet’s wrist throbs in reminder, a parting gift from the scarred boy twice over. He sits down, unwraps it, and splints it again more firmly. Smellerbee sits next to him to wordlessly help him pull the ties tight, while Longshot remains standing and watchful. The long day’s exhaustion pulls at Jet, but he doubts he’ll be able to close his eyes again tonight. He doesn’t want to open them again and find that the should-be-dead boy has gotten the better of him once more.
The ashmaker doesn’t return for a long while; long enough that Jet hopes he won’t at all, and long enough for Smellerbee to suggest they go back to sleeping in shifts. It’s still within her watch, but Jet takes over curtly. He won’t be sleeping anyway. Smellerbee eyes him warily, forcing Jet to bite his tongue not to snap at her for her blatant doubt.
What does she expect him to do? Murder their “guest” again? It’d be pointless and Jet hates wasting time.
Smellerbee and Longshot settle in their bedrolls to rest, leaving Jet to stare in the direction of the river, wishing he had a whetstone for his swords. The routine always helped him think.
He’s lost everything twice over, and he’s still expected to start over again. When Jet refused, the lesson literally revived and held him down by the throat, practically saying, "Try again."
What’re the chances that he’d stumble across the one ashmaker who won’t stay dead, mere days after the Avatar revealed that he still lives? It’s unlikely that Jet will ever see a more likely example of spiritual intervention. The World Spirit had decried Jet’s choices. The first firebender he finds after that is spirit-cursed to resurrect seemingly endlessly. The message is blatant.
Worst of all, rather than take revenge for his murder, the firebender showed mercy and spared Jet’s life. How is Jet supposed to feel anything other than hate for that choice? His life indebted to an ashmaker?
The two kids he’d thought remained loyal to him actually thought Jet needed to be held in check by someone stronger than themselves, someone who can outlive Jet’s mistakes. Jet agreed, because he doesn’t know if he could survive losing them too. He wouldn’t want to. If the price to keep his kids is to also keep around a deathless firebender, then Jet will grind his teeth and concede to be checked.
Maybe they’re even right. They’re too used to following without question, and Jet’s too used to being unquestioned. He's crossed the line. He knows this, but he can barely see it.
All those kids that he took in, sheltered and trained to survive, abandoned him for just one bad call. Were they really weak willed, naïve children or had Sokka been right? Has Jet forgotten what he fought for? Why do Smellerbee and Longshot think that an ashmaker will help Jet remember?
He’d been right. He’d been wrong. He knows how far to go. He needs to be checked.
The conflict runs in circles and Jet despises it. Things had been so much clearer before. There was only one way forward.
Now?
The firebender finally returns before Jet has an answer.
“What took you so long?” He demands, quiet enough not to needlessly wake his fighters. He needs to know if this ashmaker is still an active threat.
“My clothes were soaked with blood,” The scarred teen answers waspishly, but just as quiet as he sets down his pack. He’s changed to clean clothes, and lays out the wet, likely cleaned set to dry out on the grass adjacent to what's left of the campfire. His long dark hair is still damp and has been left loose.
It looks like a weird, unwise choice of luxury for someone living with the barest amount of supplies. It’d be stupidly easy to grab him by that long hair, use it to hurt him.
Jet keeps it in mind, just in case.
“What’s your name anyway?” He forces himself to ask, just to get it out of the way.
The ashmaker came back, which means he’s actually going to stick around. He needs to be called something. However, Jet doesn’t get a definite answer. Instead, the boy shrugs.
“Doesn’t matter. Call me whatever you want. If it’s stupid though, I’ll ignore it.”
“How does your name not matter?” Jet pressures.
Sure, they changed their names, but only because the lives that those names belonged to were nonexistent now. With a jolt, Jet realizes too late that this deathless boy- or rather, death-plagued boy- probably understood that sentiment far better than them. Jet doesn’t want these realizations of their similarities.
“Never mind, I don’t care,” Jet declares before the firebender can confirm that unwanted observation.
The ashmaker snorts softly, and Jet digs his nails into his palms in an attempt not to leap up and punch the other teen in his stupid, distinct face.
“I’m going to sleep, because I assume you don’t trust me to keep watch,” The firebender states, sitting down and then reclining so his head rests on his pack like a pillow.
He’s right, and Jet won’t be telling him such. He’s angry enough as it is already.
“I assumed you didn’t trust me to keep watch.” Jet can’t help but snidely echo the ashmaker’s words back at him.
“I don’t, but I rise at dawn, no matter what you'd do,” The firebender says with his eyes closed, infuriatingly dismissing Jet as a threat. “Besides, you said it was a waste of time. Change your mind?”
Jet doesn’t dignify that with a response, and the scarred teen doesn’t seem to expect one. Unfortunately, he’s right again.
Rise at dawn? Is that when he revives? That’s useful information. Kill him in the morning, and they’d have a full day to get ahead of him before he gets up to follow. Jet’s learned from that mistake already and won’t stick around to be found so easily twice.
He can hear the firebender breathing, and such a simple, inescapable aspect of life infuriates Jet beyond reason. The ashmaker’s either stupid or suicidal to so easily fall asleep next to his own killer.
Why wouldn’t he, Jet’s brain parrots back a second time, he doesn’t stay dead; he’s not afraid of you, you as good as admitted that you won’t waste time killing him twice. Maybe the firebender doesn’t want to die, but he doesn’t fear death. It’d be hard to, if it never sticks and he dies as often as implied.
What’s the point? Why did an ashmaker get every chance to live again when no one else did? What made him so special? Cursed or blessed, it’s equally unfair: undeserved, unwarranted, and even seemingly unwanted by the boy himself.
Jet’s mind refuses to rest, well after exhaustion weighs heavily on his eyelids, hours after the firebender forcefully inserted himself into their lives, and they somehow ended up inviting him to stay there. Jet knows it’s stupid to push himself, to be sloppy and sluggish tomorrow, but he doesn’t know how to sleep. Still, he wakes Longshot to take over watch. He has to try.
Despite being the indirect source of his newfound turmoil, Jet trusts that Longshot will guard the stranger in their midst. Longshot is loyal.
Jet closes his eyes and tries to stop thinking as he lies down in his bedroll. It’s all circular and contradictory anyway. Pointless. He’s already committed to a decision. He has to live with it.
He falls asleep at some point, as impossible as it’d seemed and as restless as it feels to wake up.
Jet wakes up, still breathing, after sleeping next to an ashmaker. Everything feels… misplaced. Shifted to the left when he hadn’t been looking.
No one woke him. At this realization, Jet sits up sharply.
“Hey,” Smellerbee greets, stirring breakfast over the restoked campfire.
Longshot nods as well. They’re both alive and unharmed. Jet doesn’t relax.
“Where is he?”
Longshot looks aside in indication, and Jet gets up to see from the archer’s perspective.
A short walk from the camp, the firebender sits cross legged with his scarred side facing them. There’s fire cupped in his hands. Jet’s pulse kicks up an angry notch. It looks controlled, as in nothing’s been burned, but he hates to see the guy just firebending like it’s natural.
Benders have to bend like they need to breathe. Firebenders burn. This one hasn’t yet. This one has been burned.
Jet doesn’t look away.
“He’s been like that since I woke up,” Smellerbee offers into the silent tension. “He said it was meditation.”
Looking closer, Jet can see the held flame flare and wane in consistent pulses, like a pattern- like breathing.
He looks away.
Smellerbee passes out bowls of barely flavored jook and the firebender eventually joins them of his own volition. He doesn’t help himself to what’s left in the pot. Is he waiting for an invitation, or one of them to serve him? What food he’d had had merged with theirs yesterday, so he can’t have already eaten on his own.
Without asking or telling, Longshot bluntly forces the cooled pot into the surprised firebender’s hands. Jet would’ve let him starve.
“Uh, thanks?” The ashmaker offers awkwardly, resting the pot on his knees when Smellerbee next gives him a spoon.
The two of them would want to keep their new pet ashmaker alive. All the better to keep Jet in check.
Jet forces his fingers to loosen before he cracks the bowl. He focuses on Smellerbee asking for the firebender’s name, only to receive the same answer as Jet had last night.
“That’s Jet,” She introduces them instead. “Longshot. I’m Smellerbee.”
The ashmaker pauses with the spoon in his mouth, bemused by their names. Jet wants to hit him so the spoon’s forced down his throat. The spirit-cursed bender swallows and removes the spoon.
“Alright. Those won’t really work on passports, but to each their own.”
He doesn’t seem judgmental, but Jet can’t see how it’s not. Smellerbee’s scowl seems to think the same.
“It’s our names.”
“I didn’t say otherwise,” The firebender replies, unaffected by the collective tension, or at least pretending to be. “I’m just saying to be prepared to have other names, or any papers we get will definitely be flagged as fake.”
Jet hates him more every time he makes a valid point.
“Then you need a name, too,” He says sharply.
“Try Lee,” The firebender offers nonchalantly, truly uncaring. “There’s a million Lees.”
“No,” Smellerbee rejects flatly. “You’ll be… Sho.”
Jet jerks, distinctly enough that everyone looks at him in alarm.
“Jet?” Smellerbee inquires quietly, but Jet shakes his head.
She doesn’t know, and the name’s not right anyway, just… too close for comfort. He’s never told anyone what he’d discarded and left behind with the rest of the ash. It’s just a coincidence that doesn’t mean anything.
Smellerbee drops it on his command, and Longshot had eased when it wasn’t an injury. The ashmaker lingers longer, as if he expects Jet to forbid him from taking on the offered name. Jet gives him nothing.
“Okay,” The death-plagued teen says slowly, accepting. “I’ll be Sho.”
It’s done then. The ashmaker has a name. Another, again, most probably, but the only one Jet has ever known from the dozens he’s killed over the years. That’s… something. Jet refuses to consider what any further.
“Gaipan is nearby,” Sho says next, missing the immediate reaction to what he just said, distracted by scraping the pot clean. “We can get-”
“Gaipan’s gone. Flooded,” Jet interrupts icily, stiff as the ashmaker glances up in surprise. “We can’t go back there.”
Sho’s brow furrows, looking between Smellerbee and Longshot, but neither will meet his eyes.
“When you say that…” Sho starts, now looking at Jet askance.
Jet’s on his feet before he’s conscious of the choice.
“We blew the dam. It was my plan and my call.” He forces the words through his teeth, wishing inanely for a familiar stalk of wheat grass to ease the grinding.
Sho sets the pot aside without glancing away from Jet. The other two won’t lift their eyes off the ground. Suddenly, Jet hates them with an alarming burst of sincerity for their cowardice. He takes the blame and they do nothing.
“How many casualties?” Sho asks, his raspy voice steady, jerking Jet’s eyes back to him.
When had he looked away?
“None.” Now Smellerbee speaks up, for the so-called good news. “The town evacuated before it flooded. The Fire Nation soldiers survived. They’ll arrest or kill us if we go back.”
“They should’ve died!” Jet bursts out, unable to hold it in any longer. “We would’ve cleared the valley of those leeches!”
“Should’ve, would’ve,” Sho says, seemingly nonsensically. “Could’ve, might’ve. What’s the difference? What matters is what did happen. No one died.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jet spits.
Is that approval, from an ashmaker? Jet doesn’t know if he could tolerate that any more than disapproval.
Sho also stands, shorter than Jet by just barely.
“You would’ve killed civilians, but you didn’t. That’s what it means,” He states flatly. “You killed me because I’m a firebender, no other reason.”
“What’s your point?” Jet demands impatiently. The last thing he wants is a lecture from an ashmaker. The only reason he hasn’t attacked yet is knowing how pointless it’d be.
Sho will outlive him, every time.
“You’re not irredeemable,” Sho declares, yellow eyes intent. “You don’t kill or destroy because it’s fun. You think it’s necessary. You can come back from that.”
“Shut up. Right now,” Jet hisses. He wants blood.
“No,” Sho rejects him unflinchingly. “Why else am I here? For them?”
Smellerbee flinches slightly at Sho’s gesture towards them. Longshot is watching carefully from beneath his hat.
“You don’t want me here. I get that,” Sho continues, driving the nails deeper under Jet’s skin. “But you need to be checked. You’re trying to change-”
“Shut up!” Jet roars, lunging forwards.
He collides with Sho in a grapple, swiftly unbalanced by his recklessly blind, bare handed charge. The ground drives the air out of him before Jet realizes how it happened. Snarling and spitting, he struggles ferociously but Sho seems to be everywhere, pinning down every joint with unerring timing. Jet has never felt so outmatched in his life. He’s so unbelievably angry.
“Stop,” Sho barks, ripping Jet’s face out of the dirt with a hand rough in Jet’s hair. “Look at them, Jet.”
Jet must, unable to resist. Longshot has an arrow nocked, but not loosed. Smellerbee is coiled with her favorite dagger poised, but she too does nothing but watch. Jet’s fury burns in his throat. Traitors. How dare they?! After everything he did for them?
“You’re not looking,” Sho snaps, yanking harder. “Look at your people, Jet! Do you think those weapons are pointed at you?”
Furiously blinking back tears born from his stinging scalp, Jet looks at his freedom fighters.
Both of them are watching Sho with ruthless intensity, waiting for the exact moment best to strike. Exactly as Jet taught them.
The infuriated strength starts to ebb from his limbs.
“You see?” Sho prompts, loosening his grip to ease the strain on Jet’s neck. “They don’t trust me either. They don’t want me here, but you all need it.”
Neither of Jet’s fighters falter at Sho’s proclamation, but Jet knows his kids. How had he missed it? How had he thought that they wanted an ashmaker around any more than he did? They hate it too. They’re trying to find their way back to the line as well, having followed Jet across it without hesitation. He had done that to them.
Jet goes limp with shame, and Sho lets him go. As soon as Sho backs off, Smellerbee races forward to cover Jet. Out of the corner of his blurry vision, he can see Longshot’s arrow still tracking Sho’s path away.
“You can find your way back.” Sho’s voice sounds father away than it should be, addressing all of them with this reiteration. “You just need a few reminders.”
Smellerbee covers Jet’s weakness, and Longshot covers for them both.
For the first time since he was eight years old, Jet lets himself cry.