Archive of Our Own

130 AG

Bumi has never found the eight years between him and Tenzin to be significant. Sometimes it feels like no time at all, and he has an eleven year old brother with a sarcastic sense of humour dryer than the Si Wong Desert, who thinks the funniest thing to do is blow air up Bumi’s shirts in public and muss up his hair.

And sometimes, it feels like decades span between them. Sometimes Bumi has to remind himself that Tenzin is still a child who does immature and childish things, like being a smart ass about some historical fact or another, or how he likes to cheat during their sparring practice using his bending. 

Sometimes, Tenzin will look down his nose–somehow, given the fact he barely comes to Bumi’s chest, but everyone knows he’ll be as tall as Dad someday–and say something so smug and so condescending, Bumi will wonder how Tenzin is not only capable of acting like such a little shit, he also wonders how his parents are happy to ignore him.

“He’s a lot younger than you, Boom.” Mom will say, rubbing his cheek with her hand. “I know it isn’t easy, but you’re his big brother. He just wants to impress you.”

Having a bitch fit about Bumi knowing some air-nomad historical fact that Tenzin didn’t know was a strange way of trying to impress him.

“Tenzin isn’t… like you.” Dad says, and even as he says it, Bumi can see that he regrets how he’s phrased it.

Bumi can’t tell what’s worse; the fact he didn’t even think Dad was referring to the whole ‘Tenzin is the second airbender in the world and he’s dealing with a lot, okay?’ or the fact that Dad assumes, after eight of having an airbender for a brother, that Bumi is bothered by that.

“What I mean is,” Dad clarifies, and just to be sure, he shifts his foot to sense who might be lurking around their conversation. “Tenzin is less… people-savvy than you. He’s not… cool like you were at his age. He doesn’t know when he’s putting his foot in his mouth, and he’s not good at reading the room.”

“You can say that again.” Bumi exhales, and admittedly, it is a slight balm to hear Dad say something critical about his golden child.

“He struggles with… contradictions.” Dad says, and Bumi does feel slightly offended that the idea of him, the first son of the Avatar Aang, the Last Airbender, knowing more about Air Nomad history, could be considered a contradiction. “He hears all this stuff about the rules of being an Air Nomad in theory that he doesn’t understand how it might work in practice.” With a wink, Dad sends Bumi a sweet, if not conspiratorial smile, before clapping him on the shoulder. “With your help, maybe he’ll loosen up a bit.”

It falls flat after a few minutes, when Dad leaves to find Kya and Tenzin for their daily training. 

“At least you get to escape.” Kya grumbles as she pushes past him, dressed in the usual orange training fatigues the acolytes and Tenzin wear. Kya manages to make it look less like a uniform, and more like an outfit a fourteen year old girl would wear. Her brown hair is thick and messy, as she fumbles with a blue ribbon to pile it on top of her head.

Bumi makes a face as she slips out of the house.

“You should go with them, Bumi.” Mom says, untying her apron. She let him avoid cleaning up after breakfast to cool down after his bust-up with Tenzin, aware of how Bumi feels when all the acolytes in the dining hall seem to stare at him whenever he does anything remotely Bumi-like. “Your form is getting sloppy.” Her tone is teasing, but there is an undercurrent of worry.

Subconsciously, Bumi straightens his posture. As he’s aged, he’s been faced with the impossible reality that Dad is becoming the strict one out of his parents. Where Mom used to nag at Bumi to get ready for school, do his homework, practice his drills, Dad is now the one who keeps his children on a militant schedule that cannot be skipped unless impacted by injury, illness or when it's someone’s birthday. Bumi can’t tell if he’s excluded from this on account of the fact he can’t bend, or because he’s nineteen and no one has ever had to convince him to get serious about his warrior training since he was younger than Tenzin.

Reluctantly, Bumi heads out from his family’s home on Air Temple Island towards the training arena. Dad and Kya are preparing two gigantic water barrels for waterbending practice, while Tenzin is a slow blur of orange and yellow as he works through his stretches. Instead of joining in as he usually would, Bumi takes a seat along the edge of the arena, squinting against the sun hitting the white tiles and stone below him. He closes his eyes for a second, soaking up the warmth of the early morning, listening to the light breeze that carries the gentle sounds of his home beginning its day; the wind chimes are twinkling, acolytes are laughing and chatting, and there’s a faint din of snores from those in the dormitories still not awake.

His peace is disturbed by the intentionally heavy footfalls of Tenzin approaching him. He cracks one eye open to see his brother practically stomping over to him, shoulders hunched and scowling. 

Bumi once joked that Tenzin and their dad should come with a bell tied around their neck, given how quiet their steps were, and how prone they were to accidentally scaring anyone not paying attention to their approach. For a split second, Bumi feels an ounce of guilt, seeing how deeply his brother internalised what he said.

“Hi Bumi.” Tenzin says, and out of courtesy, stands in front of Bumi, blocking the sun from shining in his eyes. Tenzin is short, however he’s tall for an eleven year old, Bumi wagers. He has a thick head of black hair that grows out and up. According to his parents, when Dad lets his hair grow out, it’s the same texture.

“Hi Tenzin.” He replies, looking up at his brother. “Whaddya want?”

“Um, I just want to say, uh, that,” He fidgets, pulling at his cuffs.

“Yes?”

Tenzin gulps in some air, and Bumi can feel it ruffle through his hair. He’s nervous, but Bumi doesn’t feel in the mood to be sympathetic. Not yet, anyway.

“If Mom and Dad sent you over here to talk to me, shove it.”

“Bumi-” Tenzin tries.

“Just go away and quit being a brat, okay. I’m sure you have some airbending move to learn or something.”

Tenzin’s face falls, and almost on purpose, Dad’s voice carries across the pavilion.

“Tenzin! Come on! We don’t have all day!”

“I actually do have a new airbending move to learn.” Where Tenzin would normally be laced with sarcastic and some contempt, it just sounds sulky, as if strained.

As always, Bumi finds himself cooling off once he watches his parents and siblings pair up. He knows he’s welcome to join either of them, but there’s a thought stirring in Bumi’s stomach that always chooses the worst time to rear its head. 

He’s not sure if it's the nature of being freshly nineteen, finishing education and looking at the rest of his life, but he can’t help but feel like he’s beginning to outgrow his humble home on Air Temple Island. All of his friends are in Republic City anyway, and it's not unheard of for people of Water Tribe descent to return to either the North or South Poles to get a flavour of life outside of the United Republic. His cousins Kaito and Lusa did that, returning to the South Pole and Kyoshi Island when they got the call to go beyond the city’s borders. Grandpa Hakoda wouldn’t mind hosting him, and his family would absolutely visit and he’d only be gone for a year or two. 

Bumi feels guilty for the fact his mind has been made up for some time. Though, some decisions don’t have to be rushed when he has the rest of the summer to work up to telling his parents. He’ll need a plan, maybe a bit of money, and some sort of… path in life, but these are things he can figure out as he goes.

He’ll definitely miss mornings like this, however. There’s a misconception that Bumi feels neglected, or overlooked, for the fact he isn’t a bender, but that couldn’t be further from the truth when he watches his family so wholly in their elements.

“Hey, Bumi!” Dad yells out, using airbending to make his voice boom across the arena. He must’ve been calling him for a while. “Check this out!”

“Aang,” Bumi hears Mom say, an oddly tight edge to her voice. “What did I say about–”

“Don’t worry sweetie, Tenz’ll be fine. I’ve got him, he’s safe.”

Perplexed by the conversation unfolding, Bumi looks at his siblings, observing their stances. Kya is bored, leaning against one of the large vats of water as she looks at her nails. Tenzin, on the other hand, seems to be holding himself taut, nervously looking up at the clear sky above. Just as Bumi is about to call out to him, pulling his attention over, Dad is back in Tenzin’s space, grabbing his shoulders in an excited, Dad-like way. When he was younger, Bumi loved having a Dad who was more of a kid than an adult, but that always left Bumi with whiplash when he was accidentally exposed to his father, Avatar Aang.

Training with Kya essentially abandoned, Mom makes her way over to them, a serious stride in her step. Kya and Bumi follow, used to this routine where Dad and Tenzin try something new and Dad wants to show it off, but there’s a tense air floating over the island. He can see it here very plainly, as Dad and him scale the roof of the airbending pavilion that peers over the cliff.

“Is it just me, or are you picking up a weird vibe?” Kya says to him as they fall in step behind Mom. Bumi is sure Mom heard that, however he’s too busy straining his ears to hear Dad explain the motions of what’s about to happen to Tenzin. His brother has his brows furrowed, deep in concentration, and the very overt similarities between him and Mom are pronounced with the small frown on his face. 

By the time they arrive at the meditation pavilion, Tenzin and Dad are up and over the side of the cliff, a sight that should typically make any normal human fall to their feet in shock, is just a normal sight for Air Temple Island. They fall into the valley on the right side of the island, where the clear lagoon is cradled by a rocky mountain range.

“I don’t like this…” Mom says under her breath.

With a gasp, Bumi’s eyes bulge at the sight of Tenzin suspended below them in the valley, a lasso-like stream of air encasing him as he moves his arms forward and back. It looks as if he’s running, the air tendrils creating a cocoon around him. Bumi has only ever seen illustrations and heard descriptions of Dad using the full strength of the Avatar State, but he does wonder if this is what the history books meant by harnessing air as a force of strength, of power. He moves in a circular trajectory, climbing higher and higher.

On the ground next to him, Bumi registers Air Acolytes cheering at the sight, and even Kya lets out a shrill whistle to encourage him. Distantly, in the whipping winds, Bumi swears Tenzin has a broad, big smile on his face.

Looking closer, Bumi can see that Tenzin is being propelled into the air by Dad, who in turn, is being held by the same stream of air, as Tenzin bends it back to him. It creates a spiral shape, as they climb higher and higher into the sky, and the two of them dip in and out of sync. It’s nothing like Bumi has ever seen before, but that might be because whenever he’s seen Dad and Tenzin bend together, it’s never been in tandem like this, nor is it ever as fluid and free. For a second, it’s as if they embody Mom and Kya in their training, working off each other in a push and pull motion, giving and taking energy from one another.

Bumi–and the world, really–has never seen two airbenders work together like this, because the world never had the chance to.

(Their joy turns to fear very quickly.)

“Okay, my turn!” Bumi can hear Dad yell, and suddenly a second airbender shoots into the air, more polished in his form.

Their push and pull continues, spiraling horizontally across the valley, over the rocky cliff of Air Temple Island, and further into the sky. The sound of Dad’s laughter disappears into the clouds.

There’s a brief moment where Dad, higher than she should be, moves out of reach of Tenzin’s range, and Tenzin can't bend enough air back to keep Dad secure. Bumi realises this at the same time as Mom, his heart dropping into his stomach. With no hesitation, Mom runs to the edge of the cliff at the same time Dad does one last gliding spiral upwards, accidentally untethering himself from Tenzin completely.

Bumi’s younger brother fallsfallsfalls faster than he thinks would ever be possible for someone so in tune with the air around him. Tenzin lets out a strangled cry as Bumi feels the urge to scream at his brother to catch himself, bend himself out of trouble and away from the mountain’s jagged edges, but then Bumi remembers his brother is eleven, still a kid, and still desperately trying to keep hold of Dad in the air–unaware of the terror below–rather than save himself.

Dad is an airbending Master, however, with three other elements to navigate with, and a lifetime of experience of falling and getting back with a smile on his face. Tenzin is younger, he’ll regain control, sooner or later, Bumi reassures himself–

Then Tenzin hits one of the craggy ledges of the mountain and Bumi’s breath stops in his chest. Tenzin’s body goes limp in the air as he plummets down the valley, like a leaf being blown by a strong gale. Bumi watches in real time as Mom chooses her son over her husband, summoning all the water in the barrels from the training arena to her. Kya is quick to help, guiding the water at a faster pace and into their mother’s hold, like a tremulous tidal wave as it curves over the heads of the crowd that has gathered. 

“Tenzin!” Mom screams, descending into the valley with a raw force of water bending that tries to reach Tenzin before he lands in the lagoon with a harsh crash. 

Bumi feels like everything is happening in slow-motion, or as if he’s stuck to the ground, unable to move. His parents are no strangers to life-or-death situations, he reminds himself. War heroes who saved the world, ended wars. Rescuing Tenzin from a bad knock to the head should be fine.

Distantly, Dad realises he’s free falling too, but it’s no concern for him, correcting himself mid-air, embraced by the wind with a gentle cradle. He still hasn’t seen Tenzin, Bumi realises with horror. He cups his hand over his mouth, praying the air will carry his words across.

“Dad! Look out!”

Above them, in a speed quicker than Bumi can comprehend, his dad whirls past them in a blur of glowing arrows and blazing eyes, a sudden heat rising. 

“Tenzin!” Dad’s voice is booming, a thousand voices shouting all at once.

Next to him, Kya gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. “Holy shit!”

Barely breaching the water below, Tenzin is caught by Mom. Not even a second later, Dad is there and cradles them fiercely, using his enhanced powers to ricochet off the surface. The acolytes around them are beginning to spin into chaos as they land at the edge of the cliff, and with a sobering breath, because no one else is in a fit state to organise the masses, Bumi starts herding them away.

“Alright, show’s over everyone! If we need any help, we know who to call.”

“Oh fuck–I mean, jeez–this is really bad.” Kya says from behind him.

For a second, Bumi doesn’t want to turn around, in fear of what he’ll see. He can hear the tell-tale sound of his mom’s healing coming to life, a shiny, silky sound that’s always been soothing to Bumi. 

He turns, slowly, flinching at the sight of Tenzin draped across Dad’s chest, blood pouring from a wound on his head. Bumi knows from his medic training and years of watching Mom mend little cuts and scrapes, that head wounds always bleed more excessively, however the speed and force at which Tenzin collided with the mountain ledge certainly didn’t do him any favours. In an instance, everything Bumi knows about brain injuries, life threatening conditions, vanishes from his head.

“Bumi, your knife.” Mom asks, her voice strained and clean of all emotion. “Kya, take over for me.”

Without hesitating, Bumi unclips the jawbone dagger from his belt and hands it to her, crouching down as she begins to hack off pieces of Tenzin’s thick black hair. With a grim wince, Bumi helps by throwing the discarded chunks on the ground, or into the wind. It was only a matter of time before Tenzin starts shaving his head like Dad, Bumi just wishes he had more say in the matter. 

Beside them, Kya’s brow is furrowed as her hands move in tandem with Mom’s, a sickening recreation of whatever Dad and Tenzin were trying to do in the sky. But unlike their display, this is practiced and rehearsed, and most importantly, well within Kya’s skill set.

Dad’s arrows are flickering like a candle, small bursts of light between each haggard breath.

“Aang,” Mom practically snaps. Bumi is surprised at the cold, unfeeling tone she takes. “I need you here, with me. Do you understand?”

Despite that, it does the trick, as Dad takes in a shaky inhale, his arrows dimming until he looks like Dad again. He’s gentle as he adjusts his hold on Tenzin, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Talk to him, Aang, let him know he’s okay.” Mom orders, but her concentration never wanes, even as her voice wavers.

Head bowed, Dad heeds her words.“It’s okay Tenz, we’ve got you, Momma’s got you. It’ll be okay.” Dad repeats, nearly like a mantra. Bumi’s never heard his dad sound so frightened before, even after years and years of eavesdropping. “I’m so sorry, Tenzin. I’m so, so sorry.”

Bumi feels useless just standing there, stuck shielding his family from anyone that might feel they know them too well, keeping hair out of the gaping wound in his brother’s head. The acolytes are their community, family even, but sometimes they can encroach. Mom looks as she’s about to speak again, another harsh reminder for his father to keep it together, but Bumi sees a place to intercept.

“Dad, it’s okay.” Bumi says instead, squeezing his dad’s shoulder. “Tenzin isn’t like most people. He’s good at bouncing back.” Noticing how his words don’t have much of an effect, he persists, as always, because Bumi doesn’t know what else to do. “Besides, he needed a haircut anyway.”

This does crack a slight huff of amusement from his parents, who seem to unfurl their tension as Tenzin responds to the healing. With his hair out of the way, Mom has a clearer idea of what she’s looking at, a slight expression of relief wafting over her face as the skin and muscle begin to sew back together. It’ll be a harsh recovery, Bumi guesses, but he’s out of severe danger.

After a few strained minutes, Bumi hears a small whimper that turns, very quickly, into loud, heaving sobs. Hands weakly push at Dad’s shoulders, uncoordinated as Mom gently takes Tenzin into her arms, her own cries small and stifled.

“I’ve got you baby, it’s okay.” Mom soothes, the tears finally falling.

Next to her, Kya’s brow is furrowed in concentration as she picks up where Mom stopped, and Bumi knows once this ordeal is done, she’ll take this moment with her for the rest of her life as a waterbender. When the dust has settled, Bumi will tell her exactly that, and how she should be proud of herself for staying calm and consistent during such a scary moment. Next to her, Tenzin continues to sob.

It must hurt a lot, Bumi thinks, watching as his stoic and stiff little brother cries and cries and cries, and even in pain, his body tenses as he fights to resist it. Tenzin always runs off to some tall tree or empty alcove when he needs to cry, in case someone might see his tears, but there’s nowhere for him to hide here.

-

Bumi knows he shouldn’t be sneaking around, but there’s a restless feeling in his legs that carries him from Tenzin’s bedside in the Air Temple infirmary to his family’s home. 

Kya practically sits vigil, her orange training gear swapped for an old pair of Mom’s healing robes that are clearly too big for her. Through the power of modern medicine, Tenzin is lured into a dreamless sleep to keep the pain at bay.

Despite Mom being a healer, she doesn’t do it for a living. Her role on the Council is adjacent to healing, but not in the practical sense. During the early years of Republic City, she was a pioneer in consolidating the way the nations healed and mended one another, beyond the remits of waterbending. Now, over twenty years on, Republic City is the centre of the world for health advancements, but it incorporates how Earth Kingdom herbology and pharmacology must go hand in hand with Fire Nation chi-blocking and physiotherapy, along with Northern Water Tribe healing practices and Southern Water Tribe blood bending.

Bumi has heard Uncle Sokka say on many occasions that Mom isn’t even a healer by the standards of the Northern Water Tribe, closer to a field medic.

(“If you ever find yourself getting healed by Katara for anything more than a grazed knee, maybe request your last rites.”

“Sokka! Don’t joke about that!”

Bumi can’t remember how old he was when this happened, but Dad had smiled, pulling Mom against him while she looked vaguely distressed. 

“He has a point, sweetie. I mean, remember that–Hey! Boom! You really snuck up on me there!”)

And now his house is silent, despite the sunlight stretching around them. The morning’s activity seems to linger around the island, classes cancelled and meditation sessions rescheduled. The ferry stays docked, meaning no tourists from the mainland can amble around and gawk at the temple. 

In the middle of his house, Bumi finds that he doesn’t need to sneak around anymore, as his parents’ voices find him from the kitchen. He can see his dad sitting at the kitchen table, shoulders shrunk inwards, as Mom paces, body hunched and fingers curling into the air. 

Mom’s wrath, like his Father’s true Avatar power, is another thing he thinks has been talked around, rather than about. Yes, he grew up with her on his case about brushing his teeth and combing his hair, her short temper on one side of the coin, his father’s playfulness always on the other, but she was never truly angry. Not at her children at least.

But now Bumi sees it.

“... I mean… how could you, Aang? How could you be so reckless!”

“I can’t believe I did that. I pushed him–”

“Yes, yes you did.” Mom hisses, and from the way her shoulders sag afterwards, it’s clear it’s brought her some relief to say that. “He told you he wasn’t ready and still you pushed him!”

“I’m sure you have some airbending move to learn or something.”

Guilt pools in Bumi’s chest. If only Tenzin had said he was feeling stressed, that he didn’t want to do it, Bumi could’ve helped! It isn’t Bumi’s fault he was hurt–it’s not really anyone’s, except his dad’s, and even then, it’s evident how awful he feels. He does feel some responsibility for dismissing his brother, for being unkind, and forgetting that Tenzin is still just a kid, under all of their Dad’s expectations for him.

“Katara–”

“Save it, Aang. I can’t believe you thought he was ready for something like this. He’s eleven years old! You were barely able to do this at twenty two! He’s not a master of airbending like Tagah–”

Wait, what?

This seems to agitate Dad, who rises to his full height. Bumi always thought Dad has an unassuming air to him, that no matter his height or his strength, it’s always unexpected. Here, he can see a fraction of the formidable Avatar he’s supposed to be when outside the home. “Now hold on a second, you’re the one bringing Tagah up. What does he have to do with it?!”

“Because he taught you that stupid move! And now our son is hurt–”

“I know our son is hurt! I feel awful about it.” Dad, for the first time in Bumi’s life, shouts at Mom, but it sounds more like he’s shouting at himself.. “It’s my fault he got hurt, but there are more stupid airbending forms I have to teach him, more dangerous than that, more complicated than that.” Dad says, his fists clenching and unclenching. Bumi flinches at the harsh words. “He has to learn how to stay up in the air.”

“You’re too hard on him.” Mom says, her voice suddenly very quiet. “I’ve held my tongue since you began training him, it wasn’t my place to say, but I don’t agree with how you teach him. You throw things at him and expect him to just understand it–”

“Coddling him does him no favors. This is the way it’s done. ‘Throwing it at him’ is how Airbenders learn, Katara, how many times have I told you this?!”

A frequent argument, Bumi realises. 

“Don’t talk to me like that, of course I understand, I just think you’re wrong!”

Bumi is too old to be stuck quivering in the hallway as his parents argue. He knew his parents argued, but it was always over mundane things, and it was always resolved with a very public, very kind apology in front of their children. As Bumi got older, he noticed more and more how sometimes spats would begin and then disappear, as if they were never there, floating into the aether. Standing here, hidden away, Bumi can see they just went elsewhere, to a more private place. He musters some appreciation for the fact his parents were considerate enough to keep their tensions away from their family, but suddenly Bumi feels like an overgrown child. 

Bumi makes himself known with a dramatic slam of the front door. Then he stomps over to the kitchen, his natural gait, and pokes his head in. “Hey, is anyone home–oh, hey mom and dad.”

He has to acknowledge the tension in the room, partly because he thinks he’ll die if he doesn’t, and partly because if he doesn’t, his parents will be suspicious that he’s not alarmed. Dad’s fists are still clenched, and Mom is still standing tall, nearly defiantly. “Is everything… okay?”

He’s disturbed the stillness, he notes, as his parents force themselves to relax. Dad speaks first, wringing his hands out loosely.

“We’re okay, Bumi, don’t worry about us.” Dad says, and he gives a slightly forced smile.

“Is Tenzin okay?” Mom asks instead, moving around until she’s directly in front of Bumi. There’s a deep red stain on her shoulder and crusted, dried blood on her neck and hair. Blood typically unphases Mom, and she washes it away like it’s nothing, but maybe the fact it’s Tenzin’s blood has shaken her. “Does he need me?”

Dad’s eyes flash with hurt. Bumi decides to ignore it.

“Oh, Tenzin? Yeah, he’s fine. Kya’s with him.” 

Mom seems to deflate with this news, bringing her hand up to her forehead with a shaking hand. Mom is keeping it so tightly together, the evidence written all over her neutral expression.

“Can I… do anything to help?” Bumi asks, flickering between the two of them.

Slowly, steadily, Mom reaches her hand out to rest on Dad’s shoulder. It’s a small thing, a brief acknowledgement, but Bumi knows that his parents–at least to him and his siblings–are a united front.

“Tenzin will be fine.” Bumi says, a last-ditch attempt to lighten spirits. At the same time, his mind replays the sickening sight of his brother hitting the cliff.

Bumi isn’t even an airbender, but he’s always had this natural trust that the wind will always catch him, in the same way he knows water will keep him afloat. He can’t imagine how that might feel for a bender for their element to abandon them as soon as their hold relaxed.

“He’ll be fine.” Bumi says again, not just to reassure his parents, but himself too.

-

A few days later, Bumi helps move Tenzin from the room in the infirmary back to his own bedroom. In the main house, Tenzin’s room is on the same corridor as Bumi’s and Kya’s, but on the other side of the cloistered courtyard where their parents quarters are. When they were babies, they slept in a little nursery next to their parents room, and Bumi has fond memories of creeping in at all hours of the night, sneaking off his younger siblings, only to be found in his bedroom in the morning.

Despite how often it is for Bumi to run in and out of Tenzin’s bedroom–flitting in and out to let him know dinner was ready, or that they were waiting for him to head to the ferry, or that Dad was looking for him for training–it’s only when he’s holding his brother in his arms, does he get a better look the place he comes to rest.

For starters, Tenzin sleeps on a raised bed, with an arrangement of furs from the Southern Water Tribe and bison-fur pillows as long as the mattress. There doesn’t seem to be a blanket, and with a bemused smile, Bumi realises his brother has less of a bed and more of a nest, hence the furs and the pillows. His walls are a soothing yellow, but it’s hard to tell, given the pages and posters stuck to them. Every birthday card Tenzin has ever received, every theatre ticket, drawings from six years ago and drawings from six months ago, adorn the walls.

Compared to his and Kya’s rooms, Tenzin looks like a hoarder. Every air glider he’s ever used and grown out of is tucked under the bed or stuffed into the closet.

An airbender whose room seems to be dedicated to his worldly attachments and possessions. Bumi might laugh, if not for his brother resting in his arms.

“I always tell him he should try clear some stuff out, but he’s a bit like me, I guess.” Mom shrugs, and out of habit, her hand touches his Grandmother’s necklace. If Tenzin keeps his whole life in his room by the time he’s eleven, Bumi wonders what it’ll look like by the time he’s fifty.

Bumi helps Mom set Tenzin down gently in as comfortable a position as possible, before tucking him in with a blanket Mom seems to conjure from the air. Day by day, the tension has dissipated from his family like a pressure valve releasing. Tenzin won’t have any long-lasting issues after his accident, but for now, he has to stay in bed and get plenty of rest. He was adamant that he’d walk from the infirmary to his bedroom, so Bumi and Mom waited until he was sound asleep before carrying him over. Dad hasn’t left the island in nearly five days, which for him is practically eons and eons.

“I think I’ll go find your father. Let him know Tenzin is back in his room.”

“He’s in the Temple.” Bumi says before Mom can ask, even though Bumi is acutely aware that Mom has her own seismic sense on how to perceive where and what Dad is doing at any given time. “Kya went in with him.”

Mom smiles at the thought, as if her anger somehow can’t extend to her daughter’s devout interest in her father’s culture. For a second, she looks as if she’s about to speak, mouth opening slightly, and Bumi crosses all his fingers and toes and prays she doesn’t try to talk to him about whatever is happening between her and Dad. His father is the Avatar, Kya is the more spiritual sibling, and Tenzin desperately tries to be better at containing his emotions; his family has an abundance of mediators and peacekeepers, Bumi wants no part in that.

(Flash forward a month from now, and Bumi will find himself on a peacekeeping ship on a peacekeeping operation, and won’t be able to find the irony funny.)

When Mom leaves, Bumi lingers in the doorway, drawn to the pictures on the wall. There’s postcards from Dad, scribbles from Lin and other classmates, a crude sketch of Uncle Sokka holding a boomerang.

“Quit looking at my stuff.” Tenzin says, bringing Bumi out of his reverie. “It’s personal.”

Bumi finds the emotion that wells up in his chest somewhat strange as he looks at his brother sitting up sluggishly. Like he did throughout his confinement in the infirmary, Tenzin will only slap his hands away if he tries. To Bumi’s relief, Tenzin actually does look more comfortable in his own bed, even if he kicks the blanket off with lazy legs.

“If it’s so personal, why is it on display then?” Bumi asks, only half-heartedly baiting his brother. “I think it’s nice, actually. I didn’t realise you still kept this.” The sole framed object is a drawing, with ‘WELCOME TO OUR FAMILY BABY BROTHER!!!’ written in the best handwriting an eight year old could be capable of, and a best attempt scribble from a three year old. 

“I don’t want stuff to get lost, that’s all.” Tenzin mutters, turning his head just a tad too sharply. If he winces, Bumi pretends to ignore. 

Tenzin crosses his arms. Bumi prepares for whatever snooty lecture, whatever grown and haughty statement his brother wants to say, but to Bumi’s surprise, he just deflates, his grey eyes meeting his. “Mom and Dad are mad.” Tenzin says quietly, 

Bumi takes a seat at the end of the bed, his fingers curling into the soft furs. “No Tenzin, they’re not mad at you.”

Tenzin, despite still looking pale and wrapped in a bandage across his head, rolls his eyes. He’s mostly back to normal, at least. “Obviously not at me. At each other.”

Bumi thinks of the argument he accidentally overheard. “No they’re not.” He says quickly, cursing his parents for entangling him in their 

“Yes, they are.” Tenzin says with a sigh. He doesn’t even sound upset, only exasperated, or fed up. “They always fight about me. They never stop these days.”

This takes Bumi aback, struggling to absorb the new information. “How do you know that?”

With another huffing, heaving sigh, Tenzin closes his eyes. Bumi notices one of his comically large ears twitch, then the other, and then with one last breath, opens them again, expression neutral.

“You can hear them fighting?!” Bumi asks, incredulously. He’s not sure what’s more shocking to him; the fact this is an ability Tenzin can do, or the fact his little brother is willing to share that with him.

“Sound is just vibrations that travel through air. Sometimes if they’re close by and I really, really concentrate, I can hear what they say. They fight a lot.”

“You shouldn’t be doing that.” Bumi frowns, well-aware of how hypocritical he sounds. Something in him breaks at the idea that his brother has been dealing with a secret Bumi only just found out, not even five days ago. “You’re just a kid, Tenz, you’re not supposed to know that stuff.”

“Well how else am I gonna find out what they really think? I’m supposed to be better.” Tenzin says, his temper set off. “They wouldn’t fight so much if I was better. I want to be better.” A small tear slips from his brother’s eye, wiped away as soon as it escaped. “What lousy airbender drops their master? The first one in over 100 years and I can’t even do that.”

“He’s not your master, Tenzin, he’s Dad. Our dad.” Bumi’s reminder comes out more harsh than he means to, but it’s fueled partly by the image of his dad’s expression, hearing Tenzin address him as such. “He was in the wrong, he said it himself–”

“Not to me.” Tenzin mumbles, casting his eyes to the window. Opposite Tenzin’s bedroom is their parents room, and the grassy area around the cloister is full of drooping willows and tea olive bushes, a small babbling pond. Peaceful and serene, but Bumi imagines Tenzin ignores the beautiful nature and wonders if his parents are talking about him. “They never talk to me about anything.”

Bumi is torn with what to say next. What is natural to him is to laugh it off, maybe crack a joke at his brother’s expense to break the tension, but there’s a sense of discomfort settling in his stomach, a need to reach out and help his brother. He wants to tell him that if things feel too much with everything, that Bumi is always there for him. He wants to tell him that if Tenzin wants, he’ll talk to Mom and Dad and sort the whole mess out. He wants to tell him that Tenzin can talk to him, when the weight of being the second Airbender in the world gets too much.

But he doesn’t say any of that. Not as Tenzin’s eyes narrow for a second, ears twitching. Bumi then registers the footsteps against the stone path in the garden. Dad’s head pops up in the window frame, his head covered in a thin layer of hair. The longest Bumi has seen in years.

“Tenzin,” He says, voice flooded with an apprehensive relief. “You’re in here now.”

“I was kidnapped in my sleep.” Tenzin says bluntly. Dad and Bumi have matching smiles. He’s definitely on his way to recovery.

Bumi thinks his dad is none the wiser about what they spoke about, but he’s not in the mood to get into it. Patting Tenzin’s leg, Bumi stands, pretending to stretch out an invisible, imaginary injury. “Y’know, some people say thank you when they’re returned to their beds, safe and sound. You’re getting heavy, kid.”

“I’m not heavy, and I’m not a kid.” Tenzin sulks, but the fight isn’t there. In normal circumstances, he’d either toss a ball of air his way, or throw whatever object is nearest.

“You don’t wanna stay, Boom?” Dad asks, climbing into Tenzin’s window with an impossible amount of agility for a man in his mid-forties.

Bumi shakes his head, needing a bit of air from the cryptic tension following everyone in his house from room to room, like a veil only Bumi can see through. “Nah, I gotta catch a ferry.” He salutes his brother and father before leaving. “Seeya round”

Bumi doesn’t linger in the doorway this time.

–

171 AG

Watching Jinora and Ikki spiral each other in the sky brings back the memory with a sharp jolt and the sound of Tenzin hitting the cliffside. There’s a practiced ease to the way they weave in and out of each other’s orbits, a stream of air tethering them to one another. Where Jinora dives, Ikki is a stable force. Where Ikki ascends, Jinora is the sturdy anchor.

“It’s like they’re actually flying.” Kai says next to him, awe and wonder in his voice.

The wonder in his voice is a borrowed thing. It makes Bumi smile. He forgets sometimes that it was a rare, privileged thing to see airbenders in their element so freely.

Returning to Air Temple Island after the pain of the last few months is both a curse and a blessing. The memories of watching Tenzin come into his airbending abilities, watching Kya learn to waterbend from their mother, are suddenly warping in front of him, shifting through a different lens as he stops being the observer and becomes the student.

When Jinora and Ikki finally return to solid ground, Bumi finds himself oddly grateful.

Emerging from thin air, Tenzin is pinching the bridge of his nose, extremely reminiscent of the way their mother would. For Tenzin, this might lead to a spectacular dressing down, or a few exasperated words, depending on who he’s speaking to.

“Jinora, Ikki, what have I said about going above 50 metres without telling an adult first?” He says. The rule is so… Tenzin-like, freedom within limits, carelessness with boundaries. Bumi snorts into his fist.

Since acquiring airbending, Bumi has been more aware of his brother as a teacher than ever before. He operates in contradictions, patient but with a short fuse, agreeable and open-minded, but also stubborn. A perfect blend of how their parents were at odds with their teaching styles, and the thought brings a small smile to Bumi’s face.

“We had an adult! Uncle Bumi was there, right Uncle Bumi!” Ikki says, nodding at Bumi with a frighteningly fast hinge of her neck. “And besides! Jinora is a Master now, Daddy. It totally cramps her style if she has to ‘let an adult know’ if she’s flying too high.”

Next to them, in a world of their own, is Jinora and Kai, having an animated conversation about the technique just executed. Jinora’s scalp is covered in a thin layer of dark hair, barely obstructing the view of her arrows. To allow for better healing, Jinora can’t shave her scalp for the first few months after getting her tattoos, if she decides to shave again. She has a light blush on her face that seems to grow across her head and ears and neck, a true Tenzin-mannerism if there ever was one.

In just a short few sentences, Ikki has managed to unravel the stern, serious stance. His frown is more open, Bumi notes. “Well, you might have a point there, Ikki.” As if all angles have already been considered, he nods sagely. “Maybe we can revisit that, but only for Jinora, you’re still too young, Ikki.”

Undeterred, Ikki simply tilts her head. “What if I let Jinora know? Because if she’s an airbending master but say, Uncle Bumi isn’t or Mom isn’t or the White Lotus guys, then whose best to ask? Just wanna double check so I know exaaaactly what you mean.” Ikki blinks brightly, 

With a long, suffering sigh, Tenzin doesn’t bother answering, only pressing a kiss to the top of Ikki’s head and letting her run back towards Jinora and Kai.

Tenzin walks a better line between ‘father’ and ‘airbending master’ than most would give him credit for. Over the past year, Bumi’s relationship with his father has been somewhat transformed, and he’s not sure what to make of what’s left. He always assumed that Tenzin was a stern, serious father, like the little boy who scoffed and scolded. It doesn’t help that during his active service over the last ten years, he only saw his brother’s expanding family a few weeks of the year and whenever he did, there was a frazzled, chaotic energy, as Tenzin was either changing diapers, wrangling toddlers or keeping fiercely independent children in his constant eyeline.

With a little more time spent with his family, Bumi now understands this is just simply how Tenzin’s life is, and he clearly doesn’t want it any other way.

“When’dya teach the girls that?” Bumi asks, as casual as ever, now that it’s just the two of them. They watch as Jinora takes Kai through the movement, Ikki acting as her diligent assistant, chirping alongside her. 

“Oh, that? Maybe a year ago.” Tenzin says, the pride seeping into his voice at a rapid pace. “At the time, they were roughly the same skill level, so it was easier to pair them off.”

Inhaling, Bumi rocks on his heels. “It reminded me of when Dad tried to teach you. Remember, when you whacked your head?”

Tenzin’s laugh is a small huff, nodding his head with a grin. “My first battle scar.” He pauses, shrugging his shoulders. “And my only battle scar, you could say.”

Bumi barks, slapping Tenzin on the shoulder with a bit too much force. There’s that dry humour Bumi loves about his brother.

Kai gives it a cursory go, first on the ground, practicing his hand movements and placement of his feet as Jinora walks him through it. For a second, Bumi thinks of the scant preparation Tenzin got, overshadowed by their dad’s excitement. Bumi loved having a father that was playful and childish, and his interactions with the fabled Avatar Aang were few and far between. Only now, in his older age, does Bumi notice that Tenzin got a lot more of Avatar Aang than he and Kya did, and he wonders if that made the whiplash between them any worse.

“Did you ever try that again? With him, I mean?” Dad lingers in every interaction Bumi has with his siblings, always sitting there in the background, or staring at them from across Yue Bay.

Tenzin doesn’t answer immediately, instead his gaze is trained on Ikki and Jinora taking to the skies once again, an intricate dance of air spiraling around them.

“No, we never did.” He says, finally, but he still won’t look at Bumi. His tone is warm. “The only reason why I taught Jinora and Ikki is because they asked to learn something I’m unable to do.” Bumi snorts, imagining how it must’ve felt for Tenzin to get a taste of what his attitude was like as a child. “This was… all I could land on.”

“They’re very good at it.” Bumi notes, watching as Jinora and Ikki land with a graceful motion. “I’m barely able to get off the ground.”

Bumi expects his brother to agree, make a joke at his expense. All he does is nudge Bumi slightly, his voice soft. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re only at the beginning.”

Bumi doesn’t have a retort, so he just nods, returning to watch his nieces.

It’s no wonder Jinora gained her arrows so young. There’s an innate, effortless talent to her, as if she absorbed all of the passion that made her mother an acolyte and all of her father’s bending skill. She’s absurdly patient, and despite seeming like the more mature sibling, she is exactly like the rest of her siblings, always cracking crass jokes and plotting extravagant pranks. She also has a tendency to get lost in her focus on things and getting her to be enthusiastic about something other than airbending is a challenge and a half. For a split second, Bumi is a child in the Southern Air Temple, or some quaint shrine or another, sighing dramatically at the fact Dad couldn’t pull himself reading scrolls and documenting artifacts. 

As for Ikki and Meelo… Bumi has lost count of how often he sits with his niece and nephew and sees his father in their strange little antics. If Jinora is inattentive, Ikki and Meelo are hyperactive, ignoring the craft of airbending in favour of seeing the fun it can bring. Bumi is fairly certain Ikki learned to use an airscooter before learning to walk properly, but like their sister, they have an effortless grasp, one that Bumi fears doesn’t come as easy to him. They’re strangely spiritual too, in tune with the world around them, even more so now that the spirit portal is open.

“Obviously, I wish Dad were here so he could meet them, be in their lives.” Tenzin says, nearly absentmindedly. He inhales and exhales in a steady rhythm, the same way he does when he’s meditating, and Bumi feels a strong sense of connection with his brother, as they align on the same thought pattern of grief. It’s nice to externalise these things, Bumi realises, releasing the lump in his throat with a long exhale.

I wish Dad were here so he could see you is what Tenzin doesn’t say, and Bumi is glad for it.

“But I also wish he were here to teach them. I think they would’ve… thrived with him teaching them airbending. They just… have such an understanding of it, it’s fascinating to watch.”

“Tenzin-”

“No, I know what you’ll say, but this isn’t me wallowing or anything." He explains, and to his credit, his face is open and relaxed. “The truth of it is that my children prefer to leap first, look later, much like Dad, and I’ve never been one for that.”

“Really? I wouldn’t say that.”

Tenzin’s smile is nearly an exact replica of the snotty expressions he had as a child. “I did not get called a momma’s boy my entire life just for you to disagree now.”

Bumi’s laugh is unexpected, but it’s warm, and ripples through his chest. “Well okay, you’re a lot like Mom, but that’s not a bad thing.”

“Pema says I’m more Water Tribe than people realise.” Tenzin rolls his eyes, but there’s a fondness in his words, as if he appreciates his wife’s observation. It is true, and for a brief second, Bumi thinks of his brother’s shrine in a bedroom, wondering where he puts all of his attachments now. 

He finds the answer moments later, as Jinora and Ikki spiral up once again, their giggles floating through the air like snow falling from the sky.

“Maybe that’ll be us someday.” Tenzin says, tilting his head up to watch his girls.

Something tightens in Bumi’s chest, but he can hardly let Tenzin know that.

He settles on pinching the back of Tenzin’s bald neck, making his shoulders hunch on reflex. “At least I know you won’t fling me into a cliff.”

“I was not flung–”