Masterarrowhead on tumblr drew a piece of fan art for this story. Take out the dots and enjoy! (This is also my tumblr) http:/korralations(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/19581675109/masterarrowhead-im-so-sorry-bol-i-got-you

"Hey, Mako!" Korra laughs, skipping after him. With a laugh, the water shoots out of the brook, and freezes in front of him.

Mako turns to face her. "Where did you hide it?"

Korra giggles, sliding to an abrupt stop in front of him.

"You'll never know," she replies in a sing-song voice.

"Korra…" he warns.

Her smile begins to fade. "Do you really want to know where it is?"

"Yes," he growls. He stops to mollify his tone. "Yes, please."

"Too bad!" she yells, springing away again.

He runs toward her, and he finds that he's faster, and barely holds back a smirk. Of course he's faster, and of course she's too confident. He grabs her arm, and she spins around.

His expression must be more serious than he means it to be, because all traces of a smile fade from her eyes.

"Are you okay? Is the scarf really that important to you?"

Mako dabs his mother's brow with the cold cloth, and her eyes drift open.

"Hey," he chokes out, wiping her forehead as if he could wipe the sick right off.

"Hey," she sighs, smiling lightly, her hand rising a few inches from the bed.

"Don't," he insists, pushing her hand back down.

She coughs feebly, and her head turns to the side. Mako's gaze drifts to outside the window. Bolin is playing with a rock, boosting it up and down with his newfound earthbending. He giggles, and stomps the ground aggressively as the rock volleys back and forth.

"He's happy, isn't he?" his mother asks. Mako nods.

"Yeah. He is."

"He's only nine. You'll tell him, won't you?"

"Of course," Mako assents, pulling the blankets over her waist and to her neck.

She laughs, shivering and sweating at the same time, a haunting sound. He freezes, and her hand grabs his wrist weakly. He turns back to her.

"Mako. Listen to me, okay?"

"No. Don't do this," he begs. "Don't give a speech like you're dying."

"But I am."

It's the simple phrase that jars him most, he decides. Dad's gone. Mom is almost there. His stomach twists, and he swallows a lump in his throat.

"You have to take care of him, you know that."

"Yeah. Mom, relax."

"Relax?" she laughs again, and it is empty this time. Empty, biting. Hateful, even. "I'm dying. I can't relax. The plague is coming. And it came, and it got me. Okay? Me. And I'm trying so hard to fight it because you two need a parent, alright? But I can't."

It's her hysterical laughter, her incessant talking, that slow Mako down. First her laughs. Now this. He takes a shaky breath.

"I know. I'll get Bolin out of here."

Her face softens. "I know you will. We haven't paid our taxes. Take him and leave, alright?"

Of course they haven't paid their taxes. He had heard Mom talk about them, how they'd had no income since Dad died. He's seen what happened to people who didn't pay taxes. Or rather, he hasn't seen, since he never saw them again.

Mako's chin trembles.

"I love you, Mom."

Her chest shudders, and she cries out. Mako rubs her head with the cloth, and swallows the lump in his throat again. He can heal her, if only he tries hard enough. He can. He won't let her die like Dad did.

Be strong.

"I love you so much, Mako," she whispers, rasping in every breath. Her hand struggles to her chest, and Mako shakes his head.

"Please…" she begs, and he doesn't stop her. Her hand jerks slowly, painfully. It's hard to watch, but he forces himself to. Maybe if he stays with her long enough, maybe if he watches, maybe she'll live.

She feebly unwraps her scarf, soaked in sweat, and Mako rushes to help her.

"Take it," she murmurs. "Don't forget me, okay?"

"I won't, Mom," he promises, and in a fleeting moment of weakness, he feels self-pity. He's 11. Barely. He shouldn't have to go through this. He shakes himself, hates himself even. That's not important now. Nothing is.

"Bolin…" she begins, and her chest shudders. Her arm falls from her chest, and the scarf falls to the floor. It's all falling.

He stops wiping her forehead, and he shakes her.

"Mom? Mom!"

Her eyes are dull. Her eyes, the way they'd sparkle when he used his firebending, when Bolin giggled. The way they'd light up every time her family walked through the door. They were dull, a cruel, cruel mockery of their previous life.

A breath tore out of her mouth, and Mako stirred in hope.

Stillness.

It was so silent, then suddenly, "hi-YA!"

He glances out at Bolin, and his strength halts.

Mako begins to cry, and he shoves the scarf in his inside jacket pocket, tearing out of the house in anger. Sobs bubble over, and Bolin skips up to him.

"Is Mommy okay?"

"She's fine," he replies angrily, grabbing his younger brother's hand.

"Mak-Mak?"

"She's FINE!" Mako yells, dragging him away from the house, away from her, away from everything.

"Mako, I wanna go home!" Bolin whines, tugging on Mako's hand.

"We can't! We can't, alright! Stop it, Bolin, we can't! We don't have a home, alright?"

"I wanna go to the house!"

"That house is not a damn home!" he yells. Oh no. Dad had told him not to use that word.

Bolin stops dead in the middle of the street, and his tiny chin trembles.

"I'm s-sorry," he whispers, so quiet that Mako almost doesn't hear him.

Mako kneels to the ground, pulling Bolin into his arms.

Bolin begins to cry, and Mako just holds him. He doesn't know what else to do. There isn't anything else to do.

"I'm so sorry, Bol. I got you, okay? I won't let anything bad happen to you. I promise."

"Okey," Bolin replies, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand as he pulls away from his brother.

Mako grabs his hand again, leading him toward the slums of the city. He feels the pressure of the scarf inside his pocket, and wipes his nose.

No.

He won't forget her. Never.

"No," he replies, turning away from Korra. "No. It's not. Forget about it."

She reaches inside her pocket and pulls out the tattered scarf, holding it up for him.

"Here."

He takes it hesitantly, and drapes it around his neck haphazardly.

"Thank you.