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Violence is everywhere on this planet, which is why it’s not surprising to wake up on any given day to the sound of it. It’s usually full of gunshots, though, which is why the earsplitting, screeching impact of metal on metal instantly jolts Vash’s mind awake as something different.
It sounds more like when the ships fell.
You don’t have to go after it right away, he imagines Wolfwood half-joking, even though he’s not here, instead gone for a few days to that suspected place Vash has yet to address. They’ll probably still be making trouble in an hour.
Already out of bed, Vash doesn’t dignify imaginary-Wolfwood with a response and bolts out the door, still dressing. Even if this has nothing to do with him, he needs to see what’s going on to stop what’s going on.
“How’re you DOING THAT WITH THE AIR!” a man is shouting as he crashes down the rickety staircase.
“What do you mean, how?” returns a young, confused voice. “It’s bending!”
Speeding up at the sound of a child, Vash bursts outside and glances around wildly. His eyes adjust quickly to the suns’ dawn light, but he doesn’t see anyone. Still, they have to be nearby.
Sure enough, he spots some sort of bent metal poking out of one of the abandoned houses near the junkyard. That wasn’t there last night.
He heads for it, keeping a hand on his gun.
“Bending what?” the man snaps. “Ah, forget it and quit stalling. You’re just some kid—what are you, thirteen? No way you’re working alone.”
“I’m a hundred and thirteen years old, actually,” the child says brightly, and Vash’s mind stalls in surprise, almost sending him tripping to the ground in a pile of his own limbs. “But you got the thirteen part right!”
This quip seems to use up the last of the man’s tolerance. He looses an incoherent bellow of utter rage, and Vash hears the deafening noise again. This time it corresponds with another projectile crashing into the part already in the house.
“Hey, watch it!” the child says as Vash finally rounds the corner. “You could kill someone!”
At first, it’s hard to make sense of what he’s seeing. On the opposite side of the makeshift junkyard towers an unnaturally tall, burly man who wouldn’t be out of place amongst his brother’s gang of enhanced assassins. On the other, atop the remnants of a ruined steamer hull, staring down at him without an ounce of fear in his eyes, is a skinny bald boy clad in a bright orange and yellow outfit and clutching a wooden staff.
He isn’t balancing on the edge of the junk, but rather…floating on something, in midair. In fact, it almost looks like the air itself is swirling around underneath him.
Strange. But he’ll think about it later. More important is stopping the guy targeting a kid.
“Quit playing around and tell me who you’re with!” the guy in question says now. Some sort of unfamiliar ranged weapon on his shoulder is beginning to glow as it powers up, and it’s pointed in the boy’s direction.
Ah, somebody’s been messing with tech again. Vash will have to put a stop to all that after he’s done with this. But first…
“Well, well, well,” he drawls, sauntering out from the shadows theatrically with his hands held up high. Not his best entrance, but he doesn’t have time for a better one. “What’s all this noise, then?”
Both heads whip around toward him, the boy’s in surprise and the man’s in anger as he swings around at the new threat. Vash keeps going even as the weapon tracks him instead, and only stops once he’s put himself between them.
Vash knows the moment the man recognizes him. It’s all pretty predictable. He takes in the red coat, the hair, the gun, and the glasses, and mentally matches it up to a wanted poster he saw somewhere. He pales, his armed grip tightens, and his jaw sets.
Humans are fascinatingly varied of course, but it’s not hard to instantly peg this one, in broad strokes, as a coward at heart. If it involves children, that’s often the case.
“Recognize me?” Vash asks, tone airy.
You’d never know that thinking about what caused his infamy aches.
“Yeah, I know who you are,” the man grunts, but the wind has gone out of his sails now that a far more dangerous adult is staring him down. Funny, that. “But you should leave. It don’t concern you.”
Vash shrugs. “It always concerns me.”
“Not unless you want to foot the bill for damages your little friend caused. Or die for them.” There’s a dangerous glint creeping back into his eyes. “Blew up our entire operation, he did!”
“And I’d do it again!” the boy suddenly pipes up from behind him.
There’s a whooshing noise, and the eyes in front of him narrow and trail downward, but Vash doesn’t turn his head, not wanting to let the dangerous variable out of his sight. A moment later, faster than should be possible, the boy is bounding up to his side, his clothes rippling then settling around him.
“How about you tell him what you were doing?” he demands of the man, before Vash can finish working out how to get this spitfire child behind him again.
And, not waiting for an answer, he says to Vash directly, “I saw them making things like that,” and here he points at the man’s weapon, “but worse. It was like the war balloons all over again, but I could stop it this time. So I did.”
Vash’s mind races. Clearly, somehow, the boy handled the tech issue already, but what does he mean about “war balloons”? And did the man just imply something about this child and explosives?
It’s all distractingly random and alarming enough that he almost doesn’t notice it in time.
But the suns are both over the horizon at this point, and their combined blindingly bright light reflects off the knife abruptly in the man’s free hand just as he draws back to throw it directly into the boy’s heart.
The next seconds are quick. By design, Vash is just far enough away to draw—and by chance, just fast enough to clip him in the wrist and send him, howling in pain, to the ground. The noise is wrenching.
And the boy…the boy is just as fast. The air around him twists, like a mirage without the heat. Then a gust of wind and dust swirls around him that he…catches and climbs onto, aided by the wooden staff, which expands into some sort of gliding device.
In the next blink, he’s behind the man, closing his staff in midair to seamlessly knock him out with the end of it before landing a moment later. With his clothes already naturally loose, he looks completely unruffled.
The knife pokes out of the sand, harmless, not far from where he stood seconds before. Vash didn’t knock it very far off its trajectory. Possibly, if not for the kid himself—
“Are you human?” he blurts out, unable to let the sudden thought go. Even accounting for those like the Gung-Ho Guns’ unusual abilities, it’s possible that what he saw was something beyond. More like him.
And then there’s his alleged age.
But the boy only frowns in confusion. “Well, I’m not a lemur…?” he offers as he glances up from the man now prostrate in the sand, his shoulder going up along with his voice.
Vash blinks at him.
“Or do you mean like spirits? I’m not a spirit, but I know a lot of them.”
“No, I don’t mean spirits,” Vash says. He doesn’t know anything about those. At least, not really, if he considers Wolfwood’s whole deal. And Knives’, in a way.
He throws a cautious look around them. There’s only the unconscious man at their feet, even after all the chaos, which isn’t too surprising. This town is small and ordinary, and in general, ordinary people tend to avoid sticking their necks out a lot of the time. They’re alone.
He begins carefully, “I meant that…what you just did, it was similar to some…Plants.”
“But what I did is—” the boy starts, but seems to realize something. “You know, that’s about the fourth time someone hasn’t recognized my bending.”
That word again. “Bending?” Vash repeats, at the same time the boy adds, “And what do you mean about plants?”
As they stare at each other, a suspicion, half-formed, starts to trickle through Vash’s brain. If this kid genuinely doesn’t know what Plants are, and if Vash has done something equally unusual by not knowing what “bending” means, then there is something very wrong here. He just isn’t sure what.
The only thing that is for sure is that they’ve been out here too long. Some people may avoid conflict, but a man bleeding in the sands won’t be ignored for much longer in the light of day now that things have gone quiet. At bare minimum, there will be scavengers soon.
And, as sneaky and unpleasant as the man is, Vash can’t leave him like this anyway.
“We can’t be out in the open. I’m going to head back to the inn I was at,” he decides with a sigh. “There’s something off about all this, and I think you could help me figure it out, but it’s up to you.”
Vash heads for the crumpled body, holstering his gun as he goes, and is almost there when there’s another flash of orange and yellow and wind and sand and dust in front of him.
He coughs, waving it out of his face.
“Wait, don’t kill him!” the boy is saying. He’s tugging on Vash’s sleeve a bit desperately, and when Vash looks down at him, his eyes are wide with panic.
That’s an unusual twist. In a good way, though. This kind of person is a bit of a rarity around here.
“I’m not,” Vash croaks, then clears his throat. “I’m not. I’m just going to take him back and wrap a bandage around the wound before I get out of this place.”
“Oh.” All of the anxiety drops off his frame in an instant, and he says in that same bright tone he’d used to talk back to the man, “I’ll help!”
“Uh—” Vash starts, but the boy is already bending down to loop the man’s good arm around his shoulder.
Well, what the hell. Vash wraps his arm around the man’s waist, both to avoid the wound and take most of the weight on for himself. It’s not really worth telling the kid he could easily do it on his own. More difficult is to then try to pull the unfamiliar weapon onto his other arm from this angle, but he manages it.
It’s only then that he remembers the knife, too.
“I’ve got it,” the boy says, clearly noticing when his eyes land on it. He grabs the sheath off the man’s side, slides the knife in, and tucks it into a small brown bag he’d dropped on the ground. He hangs it around his shoulder and clutches the staff in his remaining hand, looking for all the world like a kid headed to school. “Okay, ready.”
As they make the first turn out of the junkyard, the boy glances at him. “I’m Aang, by the way,” he says.
Vash recognizes that expression, even though it’s been a while since Lina.
It’s the look of a child who trusts him.
“I’m Vash,” he answers honestly, despite knowing it’s a bad idea.
The inn’s proprietor is giving Vash a familiar dirty look as he, Aang, and their companion stumble through the doorway. It’s the kind that means he’s overstayed his welcome, and things might go sideways if he sticks around much longer.
“I’ll be gone before you know it,” he assures her.
Aang pokes his head around to add, “He’s not dead, I promise.”
Vash hustles him along, grimacing. There’s not much blood; she might have overlooked it if not for that.
Getting up the stairs is a bit of a hassle with three of them, but they manage it. On the way, Aang tells him earnestly that he would do it all himself, but there’s no rocks in this place and he can’t airlift dead weight without more space to work with.
Vash lets him chatter, not understanding much besides the general confirmation that this is no ordinary child beside him.
The room is a bit of a mess, but not so much that it can’t be packed up quickly in an emergency. He swipes the clutter off the side he didn’t sleep in, and they get the man settled on the bed.
Aang perches on the small table in the corner while Vash bends down to pull out the bandages he normally uses on himself. They’re made of valuable material, but they’re worth using.
“Just a graze,” he says once he finally gets a look at the wound. “That’s good.” It makes things easier; at least there will be no minor surgery or Plant-assisted healing required today.
There’s a brief lull of silence before Aang seems unable to stand it. “Those weapons are weird,” he says.
Vash frowns. “Which?”
Aang shifts, resting his chin on his knees. “Yours. His. That whole factory’s worth I blew up. It’s mechanical, almost like the Fire Nation, but…not.”
There it is again, the strangeness that surrounds everything Aang says.
Because who doesn’t recognize a gun?
He says he’s human, so maybe he’s another experiment of the more cultish, reclusive settlements, and he’s been isolated from the rest of the world…?
“I think you’re going to have to explain a little more,” Vash says. “How about which town you’re from?”
Aang’s face falls, and he glances away. “Well, I’m from the Southern Air Temple, but it’s not a town, exactly. And I’m the only one left now.”
The drawn, haunted look can only mean one thing. Vash hopes it wasn’t his brother or his gang that did it, but that’s an increasingly futile hope nowadays.
At the same time, though, there’s another name he doesn’t recognize at all, which shouldn’t be possible. Vash is over a century old; he has been to nearly every corner of this place. He likes to watch how the humans have grown in spite of their hardships, and that means checking up on them.
“I’ve never heard of it, but I’m sorry anyway,” he says as he finishes dressing the wound. He needs to leave soon—preferably before their friend wakes up—but he’s trying to be gentle enough to get Aang to volunteer some more information, because something is still missing here.
Aang rubs his eyes; when he looks back, they are red-rimmed but steady. “That’s the thing. You should have heard about it, which really only confirms what I’ve been thinking for a few days now. This place is not my home.”
He starts to get it then. “You mean, this planet,” he says carefully, not really daring to believe it. The other humans are supposed to have all died, or at best, been so far away so as to be unreachable.
On the other hand, it makes some sense. If he was on another ship, another fleet, that went to another planet, that would explain the age.
“Yeah,” Aang says, and then the story begins to burst out of him, giving Vash no time to think about more humans and other places. “I’m not sure where this place is, either. A couple days ago, I woke up after some sort of nightmare, I can’t really remember what about, except that it had something to do with the spirits again. At first I thought I was back in the Si Wong Desert, but then I realized there’s no way it’s the same desert. I mean, there are two suns!”
At this, he gestures wildly at the open window, where they can see the suns continuing to rise.
Vash blinks at them, so used to the sight that it takes him a moment to realize the implication: there should only be one.
“But I did get lost in a desert before, when we lost Appa, so I knew I had to find people before my water ran out. I picked a direction and started walking, and that’s when I found that stupid mini-factory.” He scowls fiercely. “You don’t need to be a genius to figure out that stuff wasn’t going to be used for anything good, so I rigged their own explosives to blow it up and triggered it with my firebending—that’s like the air control you saw me do some of earlier, but with fire.”
The cavalier way he mentions fire manipulation as if it’s a fact of life almost makes Vash interrupt, but Aang is already barrelling on, “I had made sure the guards were outside when I did it, but it obviously made them really mad when they realized. I ditched the others in another town, but this guy just kept after me. He was convinced I wasn’t working alone, although I guess he believed me at the end there.”
Vash thinks of the close call that was the attempted stabbing and winces. “I should’ve knocked that knife further. If you hadn’t been able to defend yourself—”
“It’s a good thing I can, then,” Aang says. He pats Vash’s arm consolingly. “Don’t worry, Vash. That guy has, like, nothing on some of the people who have gone after me and my friends.”
“That’s bad in a different way,” Vash mutters.
Aang shrugs, unconcerned. “Anyway, I think this whole thing is meant to be some kind of Avatar lesson? I’ve already mastered all of the elements, though, so I’m not really sure what this is about. I just hope I can get back home soon, because a lot of people here are…not nice, even compared to when I was a fugitive. And I already miss everyone.”
More references Vash doesn’t understand, but at least he has some sense now of what is going on.
He’s also, unfortunately, growing more and more endeared in a way that doesn’t bode well. It’s the delightful childishnes mixed with a distinct moral compass, he thinks. And it’s hardly like he can just leave Aang alone here, either, knowing he’s both from an entirely different world and completely by himself.
Vash ponders all of the people he knows, and the solution comes to mind immediately. Brad and company should still have the equipment to broadcast into deep space, even if it’s hardly been used in a hundred and fifty years. The real problem will be making sure the journey doesn’t take too long, since he has a knack for getting into situations with dangerous people, and a child, however well-trained, will still be vulnerable to targeting.
“You can come with me if you want,” he offers aloud. “I’m on the move a lot, but I can take you to my friends who might have a way to contact another world. I’m not sure it’ll work, but it could.”
Aang visibly considers this. There’s the whole stranger danger element, surely, which is why Vash keeps giving him the choice, but he would probably still monitor him no matter what, all things considered.
Luckily, Aang comes to his decision without much dithering. “Okay. I have a feeling you’re related to my lesson, anyway.”
Vash isn’t sure what to say to this, so he stands up and throws a cursory look at the man on the bed. “Let’s get out of here then. Although, you said you were out there a while. Are you hungry?”
“A little hungry,” Aang admits, then flushes as his stomach growls. “Okay, a lot hungry. I snuck some stuff in the other town, but most of it turned out to be meat, and I don’t eat meat. I’m not sure what they have here.”
“I’m sure we’ll find something,” Vash assures him. He wonders if Aang likes sweets.
It’s quick work to gather their belongings and head downstairs. They take the man’s weapons, which Vash resolves to dismantle, then scatter to the winds and let the sands take them.
Aang’s attention seems to be wandering again, because he asks, “I just realized, I mostly rambled about myself up there. What about you, Vash? What’s your story?”
As a general rule, Vash keeps his cards very close to his chest. And how to even begin explaining the entire thing, especially to a child? But asked point-blank, he does feel the need to answer with something.
“I have a brother,” he begins. “And he’s very dangerous—deadly, really. He and I disagree about how things should be around here. I’m always moving, because I feel it’s my purpose to make sure he doesn’t succeed, to save people where I can. It’s…difficult, because I know a confrontation is coming eventually.”
It’s more than he usually says, but still very bare-bones.
Aang seems to accept it, however, nodding along. “I don’t have siblings, but my friend Zuko has an evil sister,” he says. “She was locked up after the war, but I convinced my friends to let her out on a kind of temporary magical tether, because she’s, well, not really stable...but an asylum was only going to make that worse. She’s a lot better now, really. She threatens to kill us and stuff again, but it’s almost funny now. Well, mostly. She’s still Azula. Maybe one day you guys can be a bit like that?”
For a moment, after processing the wild sandsteamer ride that is another thing Aang’s said, Vash lets himself imagine putting Knives on a tether like that. Of course, it wouldn’t work, but it would be nice to not have to worry about whatever he’s up to, he thinks wistfully.
“Maybe,” he says, noncommittal. Despite everything, he doesn’t want to kill him—will never kill him. A resolution does seem impossible most of the time, though.
Both of them could probably benefit from a bit of youthful idealism like Aang’s.
Still chewing on that thought, Vash watches as Aang orders cheerily from the woman behind the bar. She’s still glaring at Vash, but can hardly turn down paying customers, and so far they’re the only ones down here. When he puts down some more to cover a night’s stay for the man upstairs, she finally relents.
While she heads off into the small kitchen to make the food, Aang pulls a small flask-like container from his bag.
He holds the opening up to his right eye, tongue poking out as he squints down at its contents, before groaning. “Ugh, I should have asked her for more water.”
“I’ll pay for that too,” Vash says. He starts picking out the bills.
Aang tilts his head. “Does it cost money here? It doesn’t always, where I’m from.”
“Yes,” Vash says, suddenly imagining a world where water is so plentiful that people could take it for granted. Where they could give it out for free.
It sounds wonderful.
“Oh. Well, you don’t need to do that, you’re already paying for the food. Actually, now that I’m not dehydrating in those suns, I might be able to—” he holds his hand out into open air and curls his fingers in a practiced, almost artful sort of motion. “There.” He grins, self-satisfied, and waves at Vash.
Water is glistening at the edge of his fingertips.
“How,” Vash says, dumbstruck. How is this kid human, at least, because none of them are able to do that, least of all with air, fire, and water.
Not to mention, pulling water out of the very air on a starving desert planet, without using a Plant? It’s the solution to every problem anyone has ever had since the crash. Which is why any number of people might seek to use him.
Despite himself, Vash can’t help but feel hope, too. He’s always finding hope in the strangest of places. But Aang is just one child, and he can’t use him like that. He has to stick to the original plan.
He might still ask Aang for a way to his planet, though.
“Oh, right, I never actually explained that,” Aang says, bringing Vash’s attention back to him. He’s scratching his head sheepishly. “Well, see, where I’m from, I’m kinda-sorta this being called the Avatar…”