Promise and Protection

"They were mugged, by a firebender. He cut them down right in front of me. I was eight." - Mako, The Revelation (episode 3)

Bolin did not remember much about his parents, but Mako did, and Mako was there the day that they died.

It had been just an average day. A cold day in the middle of winter, with a thin blanket of snow on the ground from the light snowfall that morning. Mako had gone with his parents to the downtown shops, while Bolin had stayed with a playmate in the apartment across the hall. Mako didn't mind going to the shops with his parents; actually, he quite enjoyed it. Sure, it was just looking for necessities, food and the likes, but eight-year-old Mako thought that it was cool to look at all of the stuff that he could have bought if his family had more money.

Since it was so cold and Mako was shivering halfway to downtown, making small, off-hand comments about how cold his face and ears were, his father had taken off his own red scarf and wrapped it around Mako's neck and lower face, promising that it would keep him warm and safe from the cold. The scarf was the one that his father had worn all the time for the past few falls, winters, and early springs, ever since he had gotten it new. It was almost like a signature trait of him, and it reminded Mako a lot of his father. It almost, even, like his father said, made him feel safe.

Mako, his mother, and his father had just walked out of a small, cheap grocery store when they started walking back towards their house. Mako was carrying two of the lightest bags, while his parents were carrying some of the heavier ones. As they walked, they talked idly, the kind of talks that Mako usually enjoyed; "how has your day been" and "have you done anything fun lately" even though they should have known both things.

As usual, the three took "shortcuts" home. This mainly just consisted of cutting through the alleyways of the city, something that Mako's parents had done quite often. He had heard of awful things happening in the alleyways, such as muggings and robberies, but his parents had always assured him that there was nothing to worry about as long as he was with them. After all, they were both benders. His mother an earth-bender, and his father a firebender, just like him (though Mako's own skills were very underdeveloped). If necessary, they could protect themselves, and him. He never doubted their skills, nor their determination.

Mako admired the wealthier buildings as they passed them and walked into the poorer part of Republic City, wishing silently that he and his family could live in one of them. His parents were hard-working, and he knew that, so he never said anything about wanting more than he already had, because he knew that they weren't the poorest people in the city. Not even close. But unlike a lot of benders, they were not wealthy in any way.

Suddenly, there was a flash of fire, and Mako heard his mother scream. She had been walking next to him, carrying a few bags in her hands. Now, however, those bags had dropped, some of their contents spilling out onto the dirty ground. His mother was falling, too, and before Mako could do anything about it, she had collapsed to the ground, her head hitting the concrete.

"Mother!" Mako shouted. He bent down to check on her, but a large hand roughly pushed him back. He stumbled for a few steps, then tripped backwards and landed on the ground, his head spinning slightly from the force of impact.

"Mako, stay back!" He heard his father shout. A warning. Why . . . ?

Mako's head shot up as he realized what was happening. They had been attacked. But by who? As the fog in his head cleared, he was finally able to acknowledge the firebender that was now battling his father. He could tell that the other firebender was poor, just like them, but maybe even more so with his shoddy clothes and dirt-stricken face and greasy dark hair that looked like it needed a good wash.

"Give me your money!" The man exclaimed, his voice edgy. "Give me what you have!"

"We have nothing!" Mako's father shouted back. At this reply, the attacker threw a few more fireballs toward Mako's father, who caught and extinguished them. Now Mako understood who this man truly was: a mugger. A mugger like he had heard about in terrible stories from his peers at school. Stories about muggers who had robbed, hurt, and in some cases, even killed people. A wave of terror ran through Mako's body as he stood up on shaky legs. The thought that this man could hurt him or his parents was horrifying.

"I swear to you, we just spent all our money at the shops," Mako's father said, his voice suddenly calmer despite the situation. "We have none left. We've spent it all for the week."

"No, of course you-" Suddenly, a section of jagged rock burst from the ground where the man was standing. It was titled at a slightly angle when it had jutted out of the ground, and so sent the man flying backwards. Mako heard shouts from his father, shouts telling him and his mother to run away.

Mako noticed that his mother was having difficulty standing up from the ground, and when she had finally managed to struggle her way into a sitting position, she had clutched her head in her hands and winced in pain. Mako ran toward her and kneeled next to her, then grabbed her arm and helped her to her feet.

"Thank you, swe-" Her voice cut off with a scream, and her arm was ripped out of Mako's own. He staggered backwards and watched in utter horror as his mother's body was engulfed in flames. She shrieked again, a terrible sound to Mako's ears, and fell backwards to the ground, her head colliding upon it with a sickening crack. The fire was soon put out, by his own father. By now, tears had formed in Mako's eyes.

Mako's father rushed to his wife and gingerly raised her back onto his lap, then began checking her burned body. Her clothes were now slightly tattered and charred, seeming to hang more loosely from her body than they had before, and her skin was burned from head to foot, barely a section left bare. Mako watched, frozen, noticing only subconsciously that the mugger was starting to rifle through their grocery bags.

Mako's father gently placed his wife's body back on the ground, then stood up slowly and turned toward the mugger. He sent a fleeting glance Mako's way as he did so, but otherwise ignored the boy as he turned his head, almost mechanically, to look at their attacker.

"You . . . you killed my wife," Mako's father said, his voice slow and disbelieving. Mako heart started to beat faster and felt like it was getting heavier at the same time. His mother, his beautiful, strong, earthbending mother . . . how in the name of anything could she be dead? Mako's amber eyes welled up with more tears, which soon spilled out and trekked down his cheeks.

"You. Killed. My. Wife!" Mako's father accused harshly. He punctuated each word with a sharp thrust of his arm. Each jab sent a long stream of fire towards the mugger, who just barely managed to throw all four off to the sides.

"How could you, you bastard!" Mako's father shouted. He began to run toward the man, throwing more streams and balls of fire at him. The mugger dodged each one of these, and Mako was the only one to notice when he pulled something sharp out of his pocket.

"Father!" He tried to warn, but as his father's head turned to look back, the man made a sudden run and stabbed Mako's father in the stomach. Mako was speechless as his father crumpled to the ground, but after he overcame a brief shock in silence, he started to scream "father", as well as "mother", at the top of his lungs. He was screaming for them to come back, screaming for them to protect him, because he was afraid that their murderer would kill him next. And, despite the fact that both of his parents had died in front of him (for he already knew that his father was dead), his mind kept flashing to his little six-year-old brother. Who would take care of Bolin if all three of them were dead?

The mugger had stopped searching his father's body and was moving to check his mother's when Mako finally stopped screaming for them. He stared at the mugger as he searched his mother's pockets, finally finding a small pouch of money. The man placed the pouch in his own pocket just as Mako sent a small stream of fire toward him, the first time that he had used firebending outside of the small training sessions he had had with his father. The man dodged it, and there was a smirk on his face as he turned toward the eight-year-old.

"Ah, so you're a little firebender, eh?" He asked, a slight sneer to his voice. He rushed to Mako and brought out another knife, different from the one that had been stabbed into Mako's father, and held it to the little boy's neck.

"You won't tell anybody about this," the man hissed. Somehow, though, his voice seemed softer than when he was talking to Mako's parents. "You won't tell anybody about this unless you want to die, because I will find you if you do. Alright?" When Mako did not reply, the man pressed the matter, with both his voice and the knife. "Alright?"

"Y-yes," Mako whispered, his voice and body trembling. The man let him go by pushing him forcefully. When Mako turned around, the man was just turning around the corner of the alleyway in a sprint.

In a last vain effort to believe that his father was alive, Mako stumbled over to his body and checked to see if he was breathing, which, like he had expected, although it was still terrible, he wasn't.

For a while afterwards, all Mako could do was slide down to the ground and cry. He hugged himself across the chest as the sobs came out. They were loud at first, but slowly lost momentum and grew quiet.

He did not know how long he sat there, crying into his arms, whispering for his parents to come back in a shattered voice. Eventually, he looked up and saw that the sun was setting, giving off vivid lights of pink and orange. He had not noticed before that snow had started to fall in light flurries, which surprised him slightly because he was usually so distressed by the cold.

When Mako looked towards his mother's body, he took in a sharp breath. However, as it always did, seeing his mother always reminded him of Bolin. Bolin. He had to protect Bolin.

Mako stood up on wobbly legs, and, once he had his footing, began to walk off toward home, the cold nipping at his face and ears. Mako adjusted the red scarf that his father gave him, his last relic of the man, around his neck, as it had unwound itself a little during the struggle.

He exited the alleyways and took the long way home, not wanting to risk anything more in them. The alleys were dangerous. Too dangerous. The stories about vicious muggers had been true.

When Mako finally made his way back to his home, an apartment building, he went up to the fifth story to find Bolin. He was relieved and glad to find his younger brother in the hallway, waiting by the door of their apartment, and didn't even ask why he wasn't with his friend; the boy's mother had probably told him to wait for his parents to return since it was getting late.

To wait for parents that would never come.

"Mako!" The little boy shouted, happy as he got to his feet to hug his older brother. "You're back! You took forever." There was silence between them for several minutes. The whole time, Mako was holding onto his brother in a tight hug. Bolin was finally the one to wrestle himself away.

"So what's the big deal, Mako?" He asked, still blissfully unaware of what had happened. "Where are Mama and Papa?"

Mako froze at the words, and stared into his brother's large green eyes before he shook his head.

"We have to go, Bolin."

"What? Why? Where?" Bolin asked. His smile had fallen and allowed for his expression to turn into one of confusion as he cocked his head to the side.

"Somewhere else," Mako replied. He grabbed his brother's hand and began dragging him toward the staircase.

"Mako, where are we going?" Bolin asked in bewilderment. "Where are Mama and Papa?"

"Bolin, just shut up and follow me!" Mako shouted. His voice trembled slightly, but it was also forceful; almost like a younger version of their father's voice when he was scolding them (if it hadn't had the waver to it). Mako glanced back at his brother to see that Bolin's face had contorted into one of hurt. He felt bad and almost like crying again, but he turned back around as he tugged his brother by the hand down several sets of stairs and out of the apartment building.

They continued on down a few blocks in silence. Barely any people passed them on the way. Mako suspected that most people were probably seeking refuge from the cold and snow inside their houses and shops.

Four blocks away from their apartment building, Mako heard the soft sounds of Bolin crying. He ignored it for a few minutes, but when it did not stop and only became louder, he turned around to face his little brother.

"Why are you crying?" The question had come out harsher than Mako had intended it to, and he felt even worse when Bolin burst into an even worse series of sobs.

"I'm c-cold . . . and I j-just . . . d-don't understand," Bolin stuttered, sniffling. He bit his lip before he asked the same questions that he had before, "Where are we going? Where are Mama and Papa?"

Mako stared at him after the small inquiry for so long that Bolin had started to apologize for asking again. However, before the younger boy could get the whole way through with his apology, Mako started to cry. He was only eight, but he felt almost foolishly weak crying in front of his six-year-old brother when he was supposed to be being strong for him.

Bolin's already large eyes widened after Mako started crying, and ceded in his own sobbing to try and comfort his older brother.

"Hey, Mako, it's okay, I won't ask again . . ." Bolin said softly. "It's okay . . ."

"No, it's not," Mako mumbled. His breath stopped short before he continued. "Mom and Dad are gone, Bolin . . . they're never coming back."

Bolin stared at him for the longest time, his eyes at their widest. The green in them, the green that had come from their mother, turned brighter as large tears started to well up in his eyes.

"What . . . ?" There really was no question to ask, but Bolin felt like he couldn't just keep himself silent.

"Bolin, I'm so sorry . . . but they're dead."

The tears that were on the edges of Bolin's eyes leaked out, and began to soak his chubby cheeks.

"Mako . . . no . . ." Bolin whispered weakly, before collapsing into sobs. Mako took up the role of comforter this time and hugged him, holding him close to his chest the whole time. Bolin sobbed almost the same way that Mako did, saying 'Mama' and 'Papa' and begging for them to come back while almost endless tears sprung from his eyes. The tears and loud sobs stopped sometime later, but Bolin still produced sniffles as Mako pulled away from him and held him by the shoulders. He looked into the younger boy's eyes, narrow, brilliant amber eyes staring into large, startling green ones.

"I will protect you," Mako proclaimed, his voice serious and determined. Bolin stared at him for a few more seconds, before hugging him tightly again and burying his head into Mako's chest.

"I will protect you," Mako repeated, this time in more of a whisper. "I promise."

Yeah, I don't know what it is with me and children with sad pasts.

Sooo . . . this obviously just fanfiction, because really, literally tons of things are possible with Mako and Bolin's pasts. XD We'll probably find out more about their pasts later (I hope), and maybe even their parents' names (le gasp). I felt odd giving them names so I didn't. More realistic that way, I think, since I at least hope they'll get names later . . . XD

But anyway, I hope you enjoyed my first Legend of Korra fanfic! =) Reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated! =)