Oh absolutely bestie. This is so cute!

ooooo jet angst

Jet had many adventures with the Freedom Fighters before they made it to Ba Sing Se. Some of which ended well, and some of which ended very, very badly. 

That takes us to the situation that currently befell him. 

Jet had taken himself up against a tree, leaning against its base and hoping that even sitting upright would keep him awake. He’d been in worse scrapes than this, he told himself, even as he watched his leg bleed, the scarlet liquid staining the dirt around him and turning it into sluggish, russet mud. 

The wound was deep. He’d taken a slice of a sword through the muscle of his inner thigh, where the skin was softer, and the arteries ran closer to the surface. It was bleeding, hard, fast, soaking through his pants. His vision started to get blurry.

He was lucky, he thought, a stupid laugh making its way through his body, that the sword had missed a certain other part of his body. 

His head was swimming. He barely knew where he was- just that his injury let the rest of the Freedom Fighters get away, and they were gone. He’d had hopes of catching up to them, but he couldn’t imagine that now. He couldn’t walk, and their head start was substantial. He knew they’d be fine. Smellerbee could handle Longshot, she knew the mission. They’d make it to Ba Sing Se, and they’d get the fresh start they needed. He knew they’d be okay.

Jet, he just, well, he didn’t want to die. Not here. 

“Are you okay?” said a voice, in a direction Jet could hardly place. His muscles all seemed to want to stay still, and so it was a challenge to move his head toward the sound. 

“Oh, spirits,” you breathed, running to the side of the figure, when you saw the amount of blood they were losing. “My name’s Y/N,” you told him, not even sure he was conscious, “I’m gonna take you home. You’re gonna be fine.” You grabbed his arms, trying to haul him to his feet, or at least one of them. He seemed awake enough to try to help, though how much he truly was helping was... up to debate. 

“Jet,” he murmured, his head limp in front of his chest, eyes barely peeking out from under their lids. 

“Jet, is that your name? Jet?” You kept hold of his wrist, its grip keeping his arm slung over your shoulders, your other arm under his. You didn’t know much first aid, but you knew enough. He wasn’t the first war casualty you’d come across. Keep him talking- that’s what your mother had always told you. Keep them talking. 

You wished there was a waterbender in town. You’d heard, a few towns over, about a sweet woman from the Northern Water Tribe who could heal the injured and sick thanks to waterbending. If that was an option, you knew he would heal much better than he would under your hand. 

“Yeah,” he breathed, eyes closing, his leg dragging between the two of you. His good leg, when his toes didn’t catch in the grass of the path, hopped along, keeping as much weight as he could from his other leg, as the blood still slid down his skin. It was a win, and a loss, in that he was helping you, but the elevation of his heartbeat only served to push more blood out of his body. 

“Where do you come from, Jet?” You asked, trying to keep up a light hearted conversation even through gritted teeth, as you hurried home. Home- how far away were you? You’d only been at the river, that wasn’t far, but you didn’t know how much distance Jet had in him. 

“West,” he murmured, the sound of the latter letters slurring on as he teetered closer to unconsciousness. 

“No, no, Jet,” you growled, forcing him further upright. “You pass out on me, this gets a lot harder, come on.” He groaned, gave another hop on his good foot, and tumbled into you as he lost consciousness. 

“Nope, not today,” you snarled, gritted teeth supporting your strength as you hauled him up. “You’re not going to die on me today.” You pulled both of his arms over your shoulders, collecting most of his mass onto your back, and hauled him home. 

Jet woke up three days later. Three days, in which you stitched up the wound as best you could, changed the bandages a dozen times, forced him to swallow water even as he slept, and being pretty sure it was going to somehow lead to him choking.

Three days, in which he was alive, but you couldn’t be sure he’d stay that way. He’d lost so much blood, what if his body just gave out? What if all of your help had been for nothing? Sure, you knew nothing about him, you’d just met him, but you couldn’t let him die. You’d rescued him- you were supposed to be his rescuer. 

You didn’t think you’d be able to handle it if he died, right here in your home. 

You’d taken up to sleeping, not in your bedroom, but instead in the main room, where he had been sleeping on a low table for the full three days. You’d gotten him a pillow, and tried to make him comfortable, but there was only so much you could do, thanks to his unconscious state. 

This, luckily, was where you were when he woke up. 

He let out a groan, and you heard him shift his head. You lifted your own, gazing across the room, and lifting a hand to rub your eyes to make sure your mind wasn’t playing tricks on you. 

“Jet?” You asked, and you watched as he tried to crane his head toward you. 

“Y/N, right? Do I remember it right?” He asked, and you nodded, standing up with maybe a bit too much excitement. 

“You’re awake,” you said, your smile bright as you cupped his cheek. “I can’t believe you’re awake.” His eyebrows knotted, and he blinked once or twice. 

“What do you mean?” He asked, “how long have I been out?” 

“Three days,” you said, and his eyes went wide. 

“Three days,” he breathed, looking away. “I’m never going to catch up with them now.”

“Who?”

“My friends. I got hurt so that they could escape- they’re headed to Ba Sing Se.” You wouldn’t admit it, but you didn’t want to say goodbye to him so soon. Your next words, however, were entirely true, and not rooted in selfishness whatsoever. 

“Jet, you can’t walk yet, much less travel. It might be a long time before you can.” You saw it in his eyes, when he made the decision to sit up and do it anyway, and so before he could you grabbed his shoulders and forced them back down. 

“Jet, I’m serious. Whatever cut you went straight through some of your muscles. If you try to walk now, you might just reopen it.” He swore, and laid back down, closing his eyes. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, after a moment collecting his thoughts. “You’re doing a lot to help me, and you don’t need to.” You felt a little bit of heat on your cheeks, and smiled. 

“Yeah, well,” you whispered, turning away to get him a cup of water. 

“If you come across bleeding out in the woods, it’s like, well, you probably should help, right?” He chuckled, a smirk pulling on his lips and revealing teeth on one side of his mouth. 

“Yeah, right.” You gave him a cup, and he sat up, taking a long drink, only pulling it from his mouth when it was empty. 

“Y/N,” he said, pulling your attention again. “I’m gonna repay you.”

“You don’t have to, Jet. Like I said, its the right thing to do.” You felt his fingers curl around your wrist, and you turned to him. 

“Y/N,” he said again, keeping eye contact. It was intoxicating, like he knew exactly his effect on you. “I’m alive because of you.” You broke his gaze and looked away, but as you did, his hand brushed back some of your hair. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

The question caught you off guard, and your eyes returned to his, wide, surprised. But you couldn’t- in no world would your answer be anything but:

“Yes.” 

-🦌 Roe