Work Text:
Vāyu loved watching her people. Some of the spirits scorned the humans or simply ignored them. A few still lived in the mortal realm, hiding in plain sight. Some, like Agni and Tui, looked from afar and kept an eye on the ones they had blessed eons ago. But Vāyu lived with them. She breathed with them. She laughed and mourned and rejoiced with them. She spread her gales and extended her breeze to aid them—even the ones who were still too young to work in tandem with her.
And in return, they loved her. They cherished her. They respected her values, her wants, her wishes for the future. They grew to learn of her, of her presence and nature and merits, and they accepted her as she was, just as she had accepted them as they were such a long time ago. They lived up high, their breathed her air, they spread their wings and let her engulf them with her chilly embrace.
But among every group, there were always exceptions. Every few generations, a person would come who would steal her breath away. They would lean into her touch a little more; would devote themselves to her even more completely than the others. They would reach up high to touch the sky, stretching their fingers in an attempt to finally, finally, finally make contact with the one they loved who loved them back.
When they were forced away from her—when their time ultimately came—it always cut deep. Vāyu loved them and hated letting them go. But they were nothing but flesh and blood, and that always meant their births would be followed by loss. And she knew how to let go. She knew how to release her hold and watch them fly away and out of her eternal hug.
And a new one came along, and Vāyu quickly learned that letting this one go would surely prove to be the hardest thing she’d ever done.
She surrounded him the second he came into the world, such a small thing, flailing and crying the way all newborns did. She aided him when he started waddling about on unsteady feet, attempting to keep up with ones much older and practiced than him. When he stumbled, she caught him. When he jumped, she directed him. When he cried, she chimed through bells and leaves to comfort him. And when he laughed, she spread his joy with her currents so more would be blessed by this young one’s cheer.
In turn, he showed her boundless love even before he knew who she was. He didn’t lean into her touch—he threw himself into it with arms wide open, trusting her entirely. He didn’t devote himself to her, but instead embraced her like an old friend. And when he reached up high to touch the sky, he laughed at the feeling of her brushing against his fingers. Because he knew he didn’t need to look for her—she was already right there. And he didn’t try to grip her or hold her captive between his hands, instead allowing her to flow around him freely.
He was her best friend, her most cherished acolyte. He understood her so deeply, that even the adult people surrounding him were astonished by how quickly he was catching on to her element; to her. Soon enough he no longer required her aid, his senses and soul so in tune with her that he figured out what to do faster than any other human she’d ever nurtured. And despite that—despite no longer needing her assistance—he never pulled away from her touch.
And every now and then, he would climb up high, close his eyes and let her lead him in a dance he didn’t know the steps of. It never seemed to bother him. He followed her lead with all the faith in the world, stormy eyes closed and lips tugging up in a smile aimed at no one else but her. And she made sure he never faltered, never lost his footing, never stepped off the ledge. They danced together under Tui or Agni; just the two of them existing for a moment in time.
Until he was pulled down, straight into La’s domain. And the deeper he sank, the further he got from Vāyu. She raged outside, distressed and alarmed at the premature departure from her loved one. Her winds beat against the ocean and her currents swirled out of control, disturbing La’s water as his own currents engulfed and suffocated her precious friend.
But then he called out to her, from the depths of the ocean, aided by Raava. So Vāyu rushed down, below the raging waters, and once more embraced him the best she could, keeping him safely in a sphere of protection and love and care. Without Raava, it would not have been possible. But together, the two of them managed to keep him safe—at least for now.
Vāyu’s young one was no longer capable of hugging her back. He could not reach out to her, laugh with her gales or dance among her breeze. But he was alive. And since she was not ready to let him perish just yet, she was going to keep him this way for as long as she could, as long as it took, as long as he needed.
But in the meantime, the rest of the people were slaughtered. She watched in horror as Agni’s acolytes marched forward, with their comet strengthening them, aiding them in their mission to massacre all of her beloved humans. Her breeze knocked them off their feet, her gales shoving them back and away from what was hers. But they kept on coming and they kept on attacking. And her people… her people…
She wailed so loudly, it was as if the entire world shook along with her. On the ground, Agni’s men and women celebrated. In the air, she mourned.
Her people were all gone, their homes burnt down. The sky, once so full of cheer, liveliness and joy, was now empty like a void. Humans cast their eyes up high, as if searching for the ones who used to roam freely among her currents. But they were gone, wiped off the earth, with only their decaying bodies left as a reminder of the atrocity that had befallen this world.
There is still hope, Raava would remind her every time the unbearable sorrow grew. He is still here.
And despite the war and despite the pain and despite the horrendous act these foul humans had performed, Vāyu managed to push through. Because Raava was right. He was still there, suspended under the sea, cradled gently between La’s currents and embraced lovingly within Vāyu’s cold gales. And burning within him was Raava, preserving his body and his spirit and his life for as long as was necessary.
Because he belonged to La as well. And he was Raava’s one and only. And he was Vāyu’s. He was her best friend, her light at the end of the tunnel and her last one.
Her last one.
So Agni’s acolytes could rage all they want. They could turn every stone and scour every mountain and sail across every sea. They could look everywhere under the sun and under the moon. They could fight her currents and cut through her with their metal blades. They could spend every day and every night—every second of every minute of every day—searching for the one who’d escaped their slaughter.
But she was going to make sure they never found, hurt or extinguished his light. For he was the only one she had left, and she was not going to lose any more.
༄.° ༄.° ༄.°
When Aang was much younger, he remembered Monk Gyatso catching up to him once. It had been a sunny day, sporadic clouds visible here and there. Lemurs chattered from all around, children laughed while playing airball and monks rested in the shadows of trees to meditate. Aang himself had been walking without his friends, wandering about the temple with a skip in his step. He’d been around five at most back then.
“Aang,” Monk Gyatso had asked, “where are you going?”
And his reply had been a simple, “I don’t know. Wherever the wind takes me.”
He’d drifted away, the air so clearly pulling him in a certain direction that he’d had no doubt it had some kind of destination in mind. And from the corner of his eye he’d been able to see Gyatso following him. But he could tell his guardian wasn’t adhering to the wind the way he was doing. It didn’t matter. No air current was trying to keep the man behind, so Aang had happily led the way.
They’d ended up surrounded by Juniper trees that were weighed down by dark blue and purple berries. That afternoon had been spent collecting as many berries as they could, the two of them eating so much that they nearly ended up sick.
It took Aang years to realize most people—even airbenders like him—could not feel the pulls and tugs of the air. To him it felt so familiar, like something that had always accompanied him wherever he went. But no one else followed gusts of air the way he did. No one else ever trusted the wind in the same way—his friends and teachers all seemed much more inclined to bend the air as they saw fit instead of working with it.
And now…
It’s been a while since he’d last let the currents guide him so completely. Because he had his friends—his new family—to keep up with. He couldn’t just abandon them in favor of following what felt like an old friend. He couldn’t leave them behind like that, no matter how tempting it sometimes was to turn back to the one who had always been there for him—before Momo, before Appa, before Gyatso.
“Soon,” he’d promise, words swallowed by the wind. “Soon.”
Maybe it was just in his head, but he could almost feel the air responding. Caressing his cheek, ruffling his clothes, chiming a similar promise in his ears.
The air was his oldest companion. It surrounded him and aided him and embraced him so tightly, it nearly knocked his breath right out. And it never faltered or abandoned him, no matter what choices he made or what mistakes he couldn’t take back. It consoled him when he discovered what had happened to his people. It enveloped him even while he was working with La to fight off against the Fire Nation. It mourned Appa’s loss in the desert right along with him.
And after he was shot with lightning, encountering death and yet coming back thanks to Katara, the air’s embrace had tightened, almost digging into him possessively. It felt scared and concerned and relieved and loving. And once his emotions had settled back down, Aang murmured reassurances to it. Had his friends heard him, they would have thought he’d gone insane. But his element loosened up, calming down at his words and the fact that he was okay despite the close call.
But now he felt out of sorts. He was nervous and irritated and pensive. He’d just watched a play where his own character died grandly on stage. And the audience surrounding him had cheered. Katara felt like she was worlds away, Toph drilled him with earthbending practices, Sokka kept on planning for the final battle, changing his plans every other day, and Zuko… Zuko wanted Aang to kill his father.
The world felt like it was closing in on him. The trust people had in him felt like shackles around his wrists and ankles. Their hope was rope bound all around his body. He was being crushed under the weight of the world’s necessities, its despair and longing for a better future. All of it was resting on his shoulders, which he knew already, but he’d just watched an actress dressed like him dying and the crowd had celebrated and—
What if he failed again?
His friends were chatting and laughing all around him, discussing the horrid play they’d just been subjected to. Their eyes were crinkled mirthfully, their mouths full of food. Sokka told a joke and everyone’s laughter renewed. Katara met Aang’s eyes for a moment and then averted her gaze to her bowl. Toph burped loudly and Zuko wrinkled his nose at her and rolled his eyes.
Aang needed to breathe.
He sucked in air through his nose, released it through his mouth. The humidity surrounding him eased up at once as the air itself did its best to assist him. It slipped into his lungs, familiar and cool and comforting, and then came back out to make room for more. He focused on its familiarity, its calming effect on him, the way it tugged at him, tugged at him, tugged at him—
Without a word, he set his untouched food on the ground and let the currents lead him.
“Aang?” his friends called after him. “What’s wrong? Where are you going?”
And just like he’d done years ago—over a century ago—Aang replied, “Wherever the wind takes me.”
Their bemused voices followed him, but Aang let the breeze in his ears drown them out as he stepped further and further away. He had no desire to abandon them or travel too far. But that wasn’t the wind’s intention anyway—it told him so, whispering to him in a language made of no words at all; one he figured only he knew, especially now that he was the only airbender left.
The currents brushed against his feet and pulled upward. So Aang used a swift gust of wind to leap onto the roof of the Fire Lord’s old beach house. He landed softly on the tiles, finding his balance without a second thought. Even if he didn’t, he knew the air would catch him and break his fall. It chimed around him softly, as if welcoming him back to its realm, even if he wasn’t as high up as he used to be in the Southern Air Temple.
Like this—with his eyes closed and his element filling his lungs and ruffling his clothes—Aang felt a little lighter. The heavy burden that came with being the Avatar fell away momentarily, allowing him to remember his roots. Because before he’d ever even heard the word ‘Avatar’ uttered by the elders, he’d been an Air Nomad, an airbender. It had been his identity far before the title of the Avatar was applied to him.
A tranquil smile tugged at his lips. And even though he was certain his friends could—and probably did—see him from their place on the courtyard floor, he found himself reverting back to old habits. It hardly even registered in his brain when he started moving his legs, one foot at a time swirling across the tiles and along the ridge. With the breeze guiding him, he waved his hands about and twirled lightly on his feet.
He’d forced himself to show the Fire Nation kids only dances from the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation during the secret dance party. But the urge to give up pretenses and let himself get swept up in the moment so he could dance with the air around him had been strong. He’d wanted to allow his element to lead and guide him like he used to do what felt like an eternity ago. He’d wanted his old, familiar partner again.
Well, now he had no reason to hold back. His friends wouldn’t stop him—couldn’t stop him. He was present here and now, with the rest of the world falling away just enough to let him enjoy this. He didn’t need to know its name to recognize it. He didn’t need to see it to feel it. He didn’t need anything to trust it. He could feel its love in every stroke against his skin and every gentle gust it used to lead him. That was enough.
They were two friends, dancing together under the stars; just the two of them existing for a moment in time.