I'd like to think some time after the series canon Sokka and Katara went home for a special festival, probably one that couldn't be properly celebrated for a while out of fear that the Fire Nation navy would take notice and raid them while their guard was down. And at one point Katara asks Sokka if they can talk alone. He says yes and follows her away from the crowd.
"I know he's not a little kid like in Gran Gran's stories," she says, "but.... Actually, nevermind, it's stupid."
"It might be," Sokka says in that almost callous older brother way, which earns him a dirty look from Katara. "Tell me anyway."
She's tentative to gather her thoughts. "Do you," she falters, "do you think Jet's in the lights?"
And he follows her skyward gaze and sees them. The milky ribbon of lights he grew up with, soft green in color, with touches of white and purple, dancing before the stars. He remembers the stories of children who never grew up, who passed on before they got the chance.
The tears in Katara's eyes tell him exactly what she's thinking. Sokka knows his sister. He knows her compassion and anguish as if it was his own. He knows she's thinking of the boy who couldn't use his legs with a blackmailed father and the girl sent to a maximum security prison and what Zuko told them of his travels, the scarred refugee girl and the farmer's son almost taken away by the local military. She burns for them and everything the world put them through, but more painful than that is she knows they're the lucky ones. They were the ones that survived.
And Sokka sees this and can't find it in his hear to be snarky. Instead, the smile he cracks is genuine and his answer is unironic. "Yeah, Jet's in the lights," he says, watching them move like glowing water in the sky. "And he's playing ball with all the Air Nomad kids."
And Katara dries her tears and smiles herself as she says "I like that," just loud enough for him to hear.
Something about it takes Sokka back to when he was little and still saw magic in everything. "Katara, put your hood up!" he orders as he begins to whistle and the lights jolt around even more wildly than before. She giggles like she did when she was still only as tall as their father's knee and whistles with him as he holds her hood in place on her head.
And they go back to rejoin the celebrations. Aang is full of wonder around so many masked dancers and Toph is delighted to hear the drums like a heartbeat and the unfamilar singing so full of energy and excitement. Katara looks back at the lights and swears she can see the messy-haired boy who lived in the trees. He looks different. His armor has long since been cast away from him and his hands look like they've never held a sword in his life. He looks happy and carefree and seems to be kicking a ball to bald children jumping higher than children should be able to jump.
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