Chapter Text
The more he thought about it, the more Sokka realized it was not only infuriating, but absolutely ridiculous that nobody else seemed bothered by what was happening.
He was the only one who felt like he was choking hiding out in that camp. The only one who hated having to strategize and prepare disguises before they left, even if they were just going to buy some fucking fruit. The only one who despised the fact that they were stuck in the middle of humid-ass nowhere forest and they weren’t able to leave. That they were buried somewhere in the Earth Kingdom so remote he couldn’t even remember where. It didn’t matter that all his loved ones were with him, helping to fight for peace. After everything he grew up in, the idea of another war was too much.
“…and then we’ll find you some berries, and— oh. Hey, Sokka.”
Despite hearing Aang’s voice, Sokka didn’t sit up. He was lying on Appa’s tail, his eyes closed and a hand tucked beneath his head. His mouth was lined with fur and he’d already sneezed half a dozen times but it was worth it for the comfort that big smelly friend gave him. The reminder that, at least once before, he’d made it through war and there was every chance he could do it again. Sokka wasn’t really surprised when Aang walked up regardless of being ignored, still chattering to Momo on his shoulders. He was probably there for a similar reason; just wanting to relax or take a nap with his best friend. That best friend being Appa, of course—Sokka wasn’t good enough for anyone anymore.
“Hey.” Sokka threw one hand in the air to wave when he realized Aang wasn’t going away, not moving his other arm from where it lay over his eyes. He was fine. Totally fine. He was just tired from working so hard to prevent another war from breaking out. “Sorry, I just needed to get away from everything for a bit. I’ll head back to the camp so you and Momo can… what exactly are you and Momo doing?”
“Same thing you’re doing.” Despite knowing full well that Aang and Momo were not fantasizing about throwing themselves off a cliff, Sokka kept his mouth shut. The problem with not moving the arm over his eyes was that he couldn’t see when Aang flopped down on Appa’s tail beside him, only feeling the fur showering his skin and Momo’s tail thumping against his face. He sighed and reached up to scratch Momo’s head, still not shifting his arm. “I was just going to lie down for a bit. I’ve been talking to Katara about the peace treaties for hours.”
“At least you have someone you can talk to.”
The words left his mouth before he had the chance to truly consider them. Before he could stop to think and realize that what he was saying was stupid and selfish because obviously, everyone was there at the camp and fully willing to talk to him. He was the reason he didn’t have anyone to talk to, and blaming it on the people he cared about, even unintentionally, wasn’t fair. Sokka was making things worse when he wasn’t even trying. He was messing everything up when all he wanted was for it all to be okay again.
“You can talk to me,” said Aang. It wasn’t what Sokka was expecting him to say. He felt like he should be told off or called out for saying something stupid. For being an idiot and acting like everyone else was the problem when it was him. He was the broken cog in their machine. “Or Katara, your dad, Toph, Suki, Zuko—we’re all here if you need anything, Sokka. I know it’s not easy being in this position again, believe me, but we have each other’s backs. You’ve been there taking care of all of us this whole time and if you need someone to take care of you, we’re here. We’re always here.”
Sokka only nodded, which was difficult beneath his sliced arm and the tail around his wrist. He understood that everyone was there for him, that they always had been and always would be. He just didn’t understand why. He couldn’t make sense of why he, an insignificant idiot who barely helped in one war and couldn’t stop a second, deserved even one ounce of love. But he wouldn’t say that aloud. He knew how much it would hurt if he questioned his friends’ loyalties, so he didn’t. He kept his mouth shut. He kept the truth locked inside where it couldn’t harm anyone else.
“Thanks, Aang,” Sokka told him, forcing the words out after far too long a silence. “I’ll let you know if I need anything, okay?”
“Okay.” He could hear the faint smile in Aang’s tone, but he still couldn’t get himself to shift his arm to meet his friend’s gaze. “Anyway, I was just thinking of taking Momo out to look for more berries if you want to come for a walk. It might help you clear your head. It’s fine if you don’t want to, but I think Momo’s been getting into the food again and I want to get him something to see if it helps. I’m worried we haven’t been bringing enough for him.”
That was why Sokka hadn’t moved his arm yet. Because the second Aang mentioned the food, he felt like throwing up (again) and the only thing that stopped him were the tears he squeezed from his eyelids (again). His sleeve absorbed all the moisture, hiding it from Aang’s sight and keeping him from realizing that Sokka was falling apart. That Aang and Zuko trusted him with an incredibly important task, arguably one of the most important in the entire world, and he wasn’t mentally fit enough to handle it. He wasn’t mentally fit enough to handle anything.
“No, that’s okay.” For one thing, he couldn’t look at the food without feeling guilty that he was the one who kept binging a fourth of their supplies in one night, and for another, he seriously couldn’t go for a walk regardless of whether he actually wanted to. “Leg hurts. Thanks for the offer, though. Maybe another time.”
“All right.” Thankfully, Aang didn’t seem upset by the rejection. At least one person didn’t mind being pushed away. “When was the last time you had Katara look at it? Maybe there’s something she could—”
It was only when Aang cut himself off so suddenly that Sokka finally pulled his arm from his eyes. The light attacked him in an instant, clouding his vision but not obstructing it so much that he couldn’t see Bato walking toward them. In an instant, Sokka sat up, ignoring the swirling feeling of lightheadedness as he stumbled to his fucked-up feet. There was a serious look in Bato’s eyes, an expression far too grim on his face, and Sokka’s heart raced so quickly he wanted to hurl just thinking about what he had to say. Was it already time for them to get news back from the troops? It hadn’t felt like long enough had passed but on the other hand, Sokka could barely keep track of the days anymore.
Of course, the moment Bato started talking, Sokka wished his daydreaming had been a reality. He wished that he could turn back the clock and walk right off that cliff instead of ever trying a new set of plans again. Instead of ever risking anyone’s lives when he knew he wasn’t clever enough to figure a way out himself. Given that was literally impossible, Sokka chose to settle for listening as Bato explained everything that happened. As he talked about how the plans—Sokka’s plans—took an unexpected turn. There was a fight.
People died.
“Sokka.”
He knew that someone was talking to him, that there was a hand on his back, but it wasn’t helping. Sokka heaved again when the hand squeezed his shoulder, gently rubbing him and trying to be reassuring. In response, the only thing Sokka could do was cough. He couldn’t explain why his stomach hurt so badly. Why his head was pounding and he couldn’t stand back up. It took a several minutes but somehow, Sokka managed to stop gasping for breath long enough to relax. He squeezed his eyes shut as a pair of arms pulled him in, holding him close to their chest. It was a warm embrace. Comforting. Sokka let himself take a deep breath, trying to kill the last of the bubbles in his stomach.
“Take a deep breath.” Bato. It was Bato holding him. Knowing that made him feel a tiny bit better. “Sokka, breathe. You’re all right.”
Except he wasn’t. Despite his effort, Sokka couldn’t get himself to fully relax. His lungs still burned from the heaving, his head throbbing as he leaned into Bato’s chest. Panic attacks weren’t uncommon since the first casualties but he usually did his best not to let anyone see it happen. He hid alone and did what he could to be quiet until it passed. He didn’t stand there in the open, throwing up from the guilt, wheezing because he couldn’t even think enough to fully calm his breaths. He didn’t even know how much time had passed since Bato gave him the news, since he apparently ran off, and that was far from his biggest concern. It wasn’t like telling time was easy those days.
“Sorry,” Sokka grumbled, still refusing to open his eyes. When he did that, it was time for a full reset. Time to stand up and act like nothing happened and he was the strong person he was supposed to be. “I’m fine.”
“You’re having a panic attack.” There was nothing about Bato’s voice that sounded disappointed but Sokka couldn’t stop himself from feeling like that anyway. Like he was pathetic and weak and undeserving of the comforting embrace he was held in. “It’s all right. I know it’s overwhelming. Just keep breathing.”
It wasn’t that easy. Every inhale made Sokka’s throat go drier, and every exhale made his entire chest feel like it was burning. His lungs were tight, his head still pounding, and all he could do was wheeze. The only thing stopping him from spiraling off the edge was Bato’s embrace, grounding him and comforting him as his heart tried to pump out of his skin. Sokka struggled for air, only really making progress when a fresh set of arms pulled him forward and held him close. Still, he couldn’t convince himself to open his eyes, but it was easier to relax with his ear pressed against the gentle heartbeat and his body moving along with the steady breaths.
“It’s not your fault.” His dad’s gentle tone was vastly overshadowed by his words. Sokka didn’t believe it in the least. How could he? It was his idea. The whole thing was his idea. “Sokka, listen to me. It’s okay. It’s not your fault. It’s not. Nobody blames you. You’re okay. You’re fine. Just breathe. Keep breathing.”
“I know.” Sokka was still struggling with every breath, but he felt like he had to defend himself. Like he had no choice but to say something so his family wouldn’t worry. “Not my fault. Just— People— People died. P—Processing it.”
“Okay. That’s good you don’t blame yourself. You…”
Sokka barely registered a word his dad and Bato said after that and didn’t get anything from Aang except what he thought was an offer to join him for mediation to help process everything later. Of course, Sokka only shook his head and trudged off because everything they all said was a lie. It was his fault. Everything was his fault. His friends helped with the plan but at its core, it was his. All of it was his and everyone knew that. They knew he was responsible. They gave him dirty stares when he passed by on the way back to his tent, whispered to each other asking why the fuck he was still allowed to work on plans, and what kind of favoritism was involved in it all. Sokka shielded himself from them and squeezed his eyes and hands shut when the spirits blurred in the crowd.
He didn’t even know how much time passed after that and he couldn’t be bothered to care. Sokka scribbled away at his plans, struggling through each and every movement. He was fine whenever he was napping but the second he got back to work, he cracked again and he didn’t stop. He was the reason people died and he couldn’t stop thinking about it in every word he wrote. Sokka was the brains behind the plan. Sokka was the glue holding the entire operation together. He broke more than one brush in frustration, tore apart more hair ties than he could count, and tugged at his loose strands until they were all tangled, tickling the back of his neck, and he wanted to pull it right out.
Rather than treating himself to a haircut or finding someone to open up to, Sokka let himself suffer. He propped his leg up while he worked but the pillows weren’t enough so he cut his arm to distract from that pain. He cut his arm to keep himself from thinking about how stupid and pathetic he was. He cut his arm to stop every damn little doubt that attacked his mind and told him to stop trying. He cut his arm until it was red and he was doubled over on his stupid table willing himself not to cry because he couldn’t let anyone know. He couldn’t let anyone hear him sobbing and begging for it all to stop.
Not while all he had to show as failure.
Despite how much he hated it, Sokka kept at the same thing day after day after day. He worked on his plans. He worked on his schedules. He did everything he could to keep everyone else on track and even when his leg hurt like shit, he went out and he trained because he needed to. He didn’t have a choice anymore, not while war was imminent. Not while the colonies were burning themselves down. Sokka dragged the covers back over his head. Maybe he had to deal with everything eventually, but he didn’t have to do it yet. He could sleep for a few more minutes.
Except he couldn’t because every time he closed his eyes, he was shocked by an awful dream. Airships crashing around him, small spaces closing him in, villages burning down, people screaming and he couldn’t help them—it didn’t matter what it was, but that it was always something. It always something that hurt, that made him thrash around in his sleep, that woke him up with his face covered in sweat and tears and he could never remember why. Because he barely ever remembered the dreams as more than a blur, much like the days as they went by since the war started up again. All he knew was that it hurt, just like the pathetic attempts at dates he left on the pages of his work.
“Wake up.” The voice was rough but the tone was gentle, a hand shaking his shoulder and gently urging him to turn over. His face was warm and wet, and he could only hope it was all sweat and no tears. The fingers moved to brush it off, carefully stroking the edge of his jawline. “Sokka, hey. Wake up. It’s okay. You’re safe.”
Zuko kept one hand on his cheek, his fingers curling around Sokka’s chin and his thumb brushing away his tears. It was nice. Soft. Sokka wanted to stay where he was, but the urge to move was greater. He liked Zuko. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that he wasn’t good enough. That Zuko was the Fire Lord, arguably one of the greatest benders on the planet, and Sokka was just… Sokka. Broken, pained, useless Sokka. Even his strategies didn’t work anymore. It didn’t matter how many people he spoke to, how many different ways he tried, either the peace was never made or someone ended up dead. None of it was enough and it was only getting them closer to an all-out fucking war.
“Sorry.” Sokka slid away as soon as he was able to register the situation, shoving his own hands over his cheeks. His leg throbbed as he shifted and his arms gave a stabbing pain through each and every mark, but he refused to show it on his face. It might have been easier if he did; if he made Zuko hate him the way he already should’ve. “I’m fine. I— I know I’m safe. Sorry. I don’t even remember what I was dreaming about. Probably something stupid. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Again, Sokka shifted back when Zuko reached out for him, and this time, Zuko’s face fell. He was starting to understand. Good. Sokka didn’t want to say it aloud. “I just came to check on you since you weren’t at breakfast but it’s fine if you need more rest. You’ve been doing a lot for us these past few weeks.”
He blinked. It was really light outside already. “I haven’t done anything yet.”
“Sokka, listen to me. Just because we haven’t managed to resolve the conflict yet doesn’t mean you’ve done nothing. You’re working insanely hard. We never would’ve made the progress we have if it weren’t for your strategies and ideas. I know you’re really hard on yourself, but I’m literally begging you. Please don’t discredit yourself for that.”
“I’m not discrediting myself, I’m just accepting the fact that we’re going to war again because none of my plans have worked.”
“No.” Zuko reached out a hand to take Sokka’s, but Sokka yanked away, dragging his arms into himself despite how much it stung to move them that quickly. “You’re doing the best you can. We all are. This is not your fault. Sokka. Look at me. This is not your fault. Please tell me you know this isn’t your fault.”
“I— I know.” …that it’s all my fault. “Thanks, Zuko.”
“Anytime. Seriously.”
He moved like he wanted to reach out, like he wanted to touch Sokka or hold him close, but he didn’t. Instead, he just forced a smile and rose to his feet, clearly recognizing Sokka’s repeated pulling away and choosing not to engage anymore. Sokka’s heart pounded in his chest as Zuko mumbled some form of an apology and invited him to a late breakfast before walking out of the tent, leaving Sokka on his own again. He told himself he would get right back to work, that everything would be okay, but he knew that wasn’t true and he knew that every word he repeated was just another lie to try and ease his suffering mind.
Sokka indulged a little more as he worked on his next set of plans, ignoring Zuko’s invitation for food. It wasn’t an entirely intentional motion, just an absent habit that scratched at the cloth around his arms and unwrapped them enough for his fingers to get to work. He was bleeding again by the time he finished his outline and he didn’t have it in him to do anything about it. He barely had the energy to crawl back into bed after a long several hours of work and the occasional conversation to have others check in on his plans. It was hard doing the same thing day after day. Each time he woke up, he had to face his old reality. It wasn’t new, it wasn’t fresh, it was the same misery he went through every damn day when he was a kid.
The fact that no one else seemed to care that they’d reverted was one of the things that caused Sokka to struggle the most. That he was the only one who trudged through every day like he might not make it to the next. The only one who cried himself to sleep because he wanted it all to end. The only one who hated himself a little more each day. His friends all kept laughing when they weren’t making plans, his dad and the other adults kept smiling and doing their best to keep the younger ones on track, and Sokka just sat there. He didn’t smile. He rarely joked. He just suffered and cut himself and begged the spirits to let it end.
But apparently the spirits still had something against him because they didn’t listen to a word he said.
Sokka’s relationship with food was not healthy. It had never been healthy. He always had a habit of gorging himself when he could but it was never as bad as that. It was never as bad as sitting on the floor of the tent with all their supplies after everyone else went to sleep and eating anything he could because it made him feel better. Because the jerky tasted like home and the berries reminded him of when spending time with Zuko put happy butterflies in his belly. Now the only butterflies he got were the ones that felt guilty for hurting Zuko because he wasn’t good enough. The ones that swirled with anxiety because he couldn’t leave his tent without everyone staring at him in either disgust or anticipation. The ones that begged him to stop putting food in his mouth because he knew he was going to be sick again but he couldn’t do it.
The only reason Sokka put down his snacks was because he heard it when Aang walked in. He saw it when his friend pushed past the fabric and slowly walked over, sliding down at Sokka’s side. Thankfully, there was no obvious trace that Sokka had eaten half his weight in snacks, so he played it off like the jerky he set beside him was the only thing he’d had. Like he’d just had a late night and he sneaked in there to grab something to keep his energy up. Or because he hadn’t shown up for any meals in the past week. There was every chance Aang had noticed that too, even if neither of them wanted to talk about it.
“Hey, Sokka.” It was stupid how comforting two words could be. How gentle Aang’s tone was and how he always made Sokka feel like everything could be okay. There was a reason the spirits chose him to be the Avatar. There was no one else who could talk people down the way he did. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you eating in like two weeks.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” Sokka shrugged, trying to play it off like it was nothing. He lowered the bag of jerky into his lap, hoping Aang couldn’t see through him too clearly. “I’ve been eating, I have, just… on a weird schedule, I guess. Everything has been thrown off. Think I’m still running on South Pole time.”
He wasn’t running on South Pole time. He was running on an inconsistent, painfully self-destructive schedule that took him further down the road to death every single day. Sokka never ate meals at a regular time, he snacked randomly and binged his brains out when he was stressed. He slept whenever he fell asleep and woke when his body decided he’d had enough rest or someone woke him from a pathetic nightmare. He cut himself as part of his daily routine and it didn’t matter how much it hurt or how lightheaded he got because it was familiar. It was comforting. It made him feel like there was still some kind of structure in his pathetic fucking life.
“That’s okay,” said Aang, reaching a hand out to squeeze Sokka’s shoulder. He resisted the urge to wince. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to cut that high. “We just miss you. The real you, I mean. You know, we see business Sokka all the time when we’re working on things, but you never come hang out with us anymore. We try to joke around at meals and stuff but it’s not the same. I’m not saying you have to come back and spend time with us but if you want to… there’s always a seat at the table for you.”
But there wasn’t. That was the biggest reason Sokka never wanted to eat with them. Because he couldn’t fucking sit down like he was supposed to. Everyone else sat and ate on the floor like they were normal and Sokka had to sit on a chair or a stool at the least because his leg throbbed if he didn’t. Because sitting down to eat with other people always turned into a big event of making sure he was comfortable and staring at him when all he wanted was to feel better. All he wanted was for everyone to leave him alone because it felt worse to have them all staring at him and fussing over him than it did to have to sit on his bad leg.
“I know.” Sokka nodded, tearing his gaze away from his left leg. He didn’t mean to stare at it. Sometimes that was just where his eyes fell. “I’ll try to spend more time with you guys. I just… I have a lot to work on with the strategies and everything, you know? There’s nothing for you guys to help or compare with if I don’t make it in the first place.”
“That’s okay, though. Zuko and I have been working on a lot of things too. And it’s not like we haven’t made big progress already, you know? Like, I know that last plan didn’t go so great, but so many people keep telling us about how well most of the plans are going. We won over that whole village last week, right? That was great, wasn’t it? When everyone was thanking us and all that? I mean, it was a little embarrassing, but I thought it was really nice that they…”
The more Aang talked, the more desperate Sokka became to stuff his face with the last of the jerky. He wanted to relate to what he was saying, to smile and laugh along with him at the goofy anecdotes and kind things that people had said, but he couldn’t. Nobody said anything to him. He got a few weird looks, heard some whispers in the background, but nobody thanked him. Nobody celebrated his successes. Nobody even acknowledged he existed unless they wanted to talk to him about his failures and how to potentially correct them. Maybe that was his fault. Maybe it was because he hid away in his tent. Maybe it was because he didn’t do well with strangers. But that didn’t make it any easier to listen to Aang ramble.
“…you okay? Sokka?” Aang’s voice broke him from his thoughts and he blinked several times, nodding quickly as he pushed his hands over his eyes. Sokka didn’t even know where the tears were coming from anymore. It was another curse from the spirits to make him look as pathetic as possible. “Hey, I know it hasn’t been easy, especially with the casualties, but you just have to try and look on the bright side of things. I hate that we can’t save everyone, it keeps me up more nights than I can count, but we’re so close to— Sokka? Sokka, are you listening?”
Casualties.
The moment he said the word, it was all Sokka could think about. All he could see. Logically, Sokka knew that whatever he was looking at was nothing more than delusions or hallucinations brought on by the fact that he couldn’t tell when the last time he slept as and his stomach was about ready to explode. Emotionally, his heart was pounding faster than he could ever remember it doing before and all he wanted was to get out. To get the fuck away from the dead eyes staring back at him from the other side of the tent. He stumbled to his feet as fast as he could but Aang’s quick reflexes were the only thing that truly stopped him from falling over.
“Sorry.” Sokka’s chest rose and fell painfully, Aang’s hands still clinging to his left arm. More than anything, Sokka wanted to pull away, but he wouldn’t. Not when he knew that would make it too obvious that he’d ripped himself to shreds. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to— I’m sorry. I’m just tired. I’ll talk to you at the meeting tomorrow, okay?”
“Wait, Sokka, you’re still not coming to breakfast?” It was how disappointed Aang sounded that made Sokka stop. That made him shrug as noncommittally as he could because he had no idea how he would be feeling in the morning. “It’s okay if you’re not, just… make sure you’re taking care of yourself, okay? These strategies aren’t more important than you.”
It took every ounce of Sokka’s willpower not to laugh in his face right then and there. Not to roll his eyes and shout back because obviously the plans were more important than Sokka. Sokka was nothing. He was an idiot with annoyingly long hair and arms that almost bled through his shirt. The strategies were meant to save countless lives and end a potential war between two nations. They were everything. He was nothing. To even suggest that Sokka put himself first was one of the most ignorant things that Aang had ever said, as much as it pained Sokka to admit it. There was nobody who should ever put Sokka first, especially above something as big as what they were fighting for.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He was dick. An absolute, unhinged dick. Sokka turned before he made it back to his tent, ducking off into the woods somewhere that he could sit and not be found. Where he could vomit and not be heard. Where he could cut himself and let the blood run dry. It hurt. Everything hurt. But that didn’t mean it was fair to bring anyone else into it. That didn’t mean it was fair to act like Aang was doing something wrong when all he’d done was embrace his successes and try his best to make sure his friend was okay. It hurt too much to admit he was anything but, regardless of how he knew it to be true.