Chapter Text
Choosing the blade was a bad idea. It was always a bad idea, but Sokka was in a place where he didn’t care anymore. Where absently digging at his scabs and tracing along old scars was more of a fidget than anything else. Did it leave trails of blood along his skin? Was it something he wanted and kept doing again regardless of rational thought? Yes. It distracted him from his failures. It kept him from beating himself up whenever he made another mistake. It kept the adrenaline flowing through his veins so he could keep moving, keep working, never stop when he wanted to break.
There were a lot of sacrifices made in the creation of Sokka’s next plan but it wasn’t anything that a few drops of blood couldn’t heal. He binged when he said he didn’t, he stayed up all night when he said he slept, and he kept the old blood draining whenever he could despite what he’d promised Toph. As long as there was something new coursing through his veins, he could keep going. He could keep moving and breathing and holding himself in one piece even when it felt as if a single mistake might shatter him like a vase. Sokka kept himself focused on what he was doing, refusing to let anyone in, and didn’t stop to think about himself until the day he didn’t wake up. The night he had that dream.
It didn’t end. He could barely remember what it was, but what he did know was that it didn’t end. Sokka couldn’t breathe, he kept thrashing around and sobbing in his sleep, and sweat dripped off his person even more heavily than the blood he’d released before passing out in his makeshift bed. The lights in the sky were blinding him, the crashing in the distance deafening his senses. He didn’t know where he was or what was happening but he hated it. He hated life, himself, everything. All he wanted was to wake up and see that it was a bad dream. That it was over. That he was safe. But it wasn’t all that easy.
“Sokka. Sokka, wake up. Please. Sokka. Sokka. You’re okay. It’s just a dream.”
He blinked several times before he looked up to meet Suki’s gaze. He couldn’t remember having fallen asleep or even if he decided to go to bed in the first place, and it was disorienting. Suki’s brown eyes were wide with concern, one hand gripping his tightly. He was holding back. He couldn’t remember doing that. Sokka took a deep breath, blinking again as he tried to calm himself down. He couldn’t recall what was happening, just that it hurt. Everything hurt. His head hurt, his arms hurt, and he was covered in a layer of what he hoped was nothing but sweat. Suki didn’t look upset with him, thankfully, but she had every right to be. She had every right to hate him for how many times he’d failed.
“Hey, are you okay? What happened?” Suki slid one hand on Sokka’s face but he pulled away. He didn’t want her to have to touch his disgusting sweat. To brush away his disgraceful tears. He shook his head, shifting back into the pillows. The cloth could do the job. It was better that way. “I came to make sure you got breakfast and you were thrashing around in the blankets.”
“I’m fine,” Sokka mumbled, though his throat was dry and his head was pounding. He wanted nothing more than for everything to stop, for him to get the fuck out of that situation and finish the work he was meant to be doing, but he couldn’t say that. Not without scaring Suki. Not without admitting he was just as much of a failure as everyone thought. “I don’t need breakfast, I need to get back to work. I’m almost finished with this thing.”
But then he sat up, saw the open, unwrapped cuts along his left arm beside the shredded remains of his knuckles, and the entire world spun around. Suki’s quick reflexes were all that stopped him from falling right over again, his breathing too heavy and his stomach churning like he were about to throw up all the nothing and coffee he’d managed to keep down. Suki pulled him into her shoulder, her arm brushing against his and causing him to wince. It wasn’t even just the pain. It was the fact that Suki’s arms were so much bigger than his. That he’d lost so much muscle definition since he messed up his shoulder, he couldn’t even match hers anymore.
“Shit, Sokka, when was the last time you ate something?” He shook his head. He didn’t know how to answer after lying to his dad and Bato, and if he were being honest with himself, he really didn’t want to. Suki slid her arm around Sokka’s waist, trying to lift him to his feet. He resisted, and the look in her eyes was pained though she hadn’t even seemed to notice the dried blood yet. “Sokka, please. I’m not joking. I know you want to get right to work but you are not doing well at all right now. Just let us take care of this for you, okay? You have to be there for yourself first.”
“No.” It was the only word he could get out without vomiting. His head was still pounding, and all he could think was that he couldn’t let her do that. He couldn’t let her tell everyone that he was a failure when he’d barely convinced them he wasn’t. “I don’t need to eat, I need to finish this. I— I need to— I need—”
In all honesty, he couldn’t remember passing out but he knew when he woke up because Katara was at his left arm with her hands wrapped in glowing water, and Suki was clinging to his right hand careful to avoid his torn knuckles. He barely blinked back to reality, not quite processing that his blood-stained shirt had been taken, his blanket replaced with a fresh one, and Katara was healing his self-inflicted wounds. It hurt too much. Sokka knew he needed to get up, he needed to get back to work before everything got even worse, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t get himself to open his eyes let alone sit up, and it was too much. All of it was too much.
Waking up was a slow process. At first, the girls didn’t seem to notice that he’d awoken, and it took him several minutes to get his eyes to stay propped up. Suki stroked his hair back when he finally looked at her, his fingers tickling the back of her hand as he struggled to regain control over his weakened body. Not one of them said a word, and Sokka knew it was because they were trying to figure out how to scold him without making it worse. How to point out the fact that he was weak and pathetic without scaring him. Sokka let out a soft moan and pulled back when Katara shifted her positioning, the pain and magic sensation tingling through his veins.
“Relax.” Suki’s hand was on his face again, and he finally found it in him to let his eyes close. It ached too much to force them open. It burned too much where Katara touched. “I am so sorry we weren’t here for you, Sokka, but we’re here now, okay? Your dad just went to get some gauze for when Katara finishes. We’ve been doing our best to— Katara, she— she’s doing her best, but she can’t heal them all the way. You cut too deep.”
That was when he realized that Katara was crying. When she sniffed and he looked over to find the tears dripping down her chin. That was exactly what he was afraid of. Sokka wasn’t just hurting himself anymore, he was hurting his family too. He was hurting everyone he cared about and that was what pushed him over the edge. That was what made him think that falling down the cliff when he had the chance would’ve been a good idea. Part of Sokka wanted to run back over to that cliff and dive right off but a larger, more physical part of him couldn’t move from bed because no one would let him. Because they were treating him just like the baby he’d behaved as.
Sokka was alert enough to realize that his dad came back at some point and that Toph was in there for a bit, but not alert enough to talk to them. Not alert enough to keep his eyes open or even appear awake to Suki and Katara who told their dad that he’d been drifting in and out of consciousness for a while. Maybe that was true. He could see the tan coloring of the tent above him and it was definitely changing shades, but he didn’t know if that was because of the clouds or because so much time was really passing. All he knew was that it hurt. It hurt when they pulled the gauze over his arms. When Hakoda quietly revealed to Katara and Suki that he believed it was his fault because Sokka admitted to binging again and he didn’t think it was anything too serious.
“Hey, bud.” When he was finally conscious enough to keep his eyes open, the first thing he registered was his dad’s hand on his head, gently pulling the hair out of face. Sokka blinked, unable to hold his gaze for long. “How you feeling?”
“Tired,” was the only thing Sokka could say without it sounding like a disgusting lie or a verbal weapon. The look on his dad’s face already stung and he knew it was his fault. He shouldn’t have been so impulsive and sloppy. He shouldn’t have cut so deep they’d all find out. “Sorry. Stupid.”
“No, no, no, hey. Sokka, it’s okay. Nobody thinks you’re stupid. We’re just worried, all right? We all want you to be okay.”
“Mm. Focus.”
Hakoda frowned. “What?”
“The— The war.” Sokka swallowed hard, trying to find the breath to speak, but it all hurt too much. It took energy he no longer had. “Focus.”
“Oh, no. Sokka, you are my priority right now, okay? And there is nothing wrong with that. Katara, can you go get him a fresh cloth, please? I want to try and keep his fever down.”
It wasn’t until he made the request that Sokka realized his temperature felt so off nor that he noticed his sister and Suki were still in there with them. He watched as Katara hesitated before standing, running out of the tent in a flash. Suki stayed where she was at his bedside, biting her thumbnail and blinking back what he knew weren’t her first tears. It was his fault. He did that. He hurt her. It was horrible that Sokka’s first instinct was to grab his blade again but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting it. He deserved it. His family was hurting, scared, and it was all because of him. Because he gave into the urges. Because he wasn’t good enough.
“S—Sorry,” Sokka started, his voice drier and quieter than he wanted it to be. The moment he started talking, his eyes began to drift shut, but not before he felt Hakoda pulling his loose hair back again or saw Suki shifting closer. “I didn’t— didn’t mean to— it hurt, and I was— it felt like I deserved— I— I was sick, felt sick, and I— didn’t wanna eat but I— I kept— I kept binging when you were— when you were asleep— and the— the spirits, they— they just— everything hurts. It hurts and I don’t— I don’t wanna hurt anymore.”
“I know.” There was no way anything Sokka said made the slightest bit of sense. He was too out of it, his thoughts beyond scattered and indecipherable as anything more than self-deprecating babbles. Regardless, Hakoda gave his shoulder a little squeeze, prompting him to open his eyes again at least a little. “Okay, I need you to tell me when the last time you ate was, bud, and you have to be honest, all right? Sokka? You awake?”
“Mm. It was— I— I think— last night? Blurs. Binged. Hurt.”
Hakoda nodded, taking a deep breath, and glancing over to Suki before he said another word. “Do you think you can try and have something now?”
He regretted saying yes. He regretted agreeing because it got him into a pathetic situation where he was leaning against his dad for support at the same time Katara wiped his forehead like he was a sick child. Sokka was depressed and he was willing to admit that but the fact that everyone immediately started coddling him when they figured it out was ridiculous. He was not doing well, but he was doing well enough to not have to have his meals brought to him. Would he have done anything but binge if they weren’t? No, but that was irrelevant. It was stupid how close an eye they kept on him, allowing him to keep working but only with the brushes they’d cleared because they ransacked his tent for anything he could hurt himself with, and they checked on him twenty-two times a day to make sure he wasn’t getting overwhelmed.
The ironic part was, in doing that, they became the ones overwhelming him.
Sokka understood that everyone wanted him to be okay but he couldn’t understand the why of it. He couldn’t understand why anyone would care about weak, insignificant little Sokka. It was so stupid, he wouldn’t even talk to them about the truth of why he did it. He wouldn’t tell them about the spirits or the guilt because that wasn’t something he could easily explain. That wasn’t something he could talk about without them thinking he was absolutely crazy or he was so far gone mentally that he needed to step back from everything. Not that nobody thought he needed to take a step back, of course. They asked him to every day. His dad, Katara, Suki, Toph, Zuko.
“You don’t have to do this.”
The words made him snort because they implied he had a choice. As if he wanted to be sitting there in the middle of a war zone, working on his plans at any hour he could. Like he wasn’t desperate to go back to the tribe and hide out in his igloo with all his meaningless inventions and ridiculous doodles. As if he chose this life and somehow had a way out of it that didn’t involve diving straight off that cliff. He raised an eyebrow when he glanced behind his shoulder to look at Zuko, slowly shaking his head and hoping his point would come across.
“I’m serious,” Zuko went on, kneeling beside Sokka. He reached out for his hand, and for one reason, Sokka didn’t pull away. His arm wasn’t in a sling anymore. When the fuck did that happen? “I know that Aang and I asked you to come here but if this is too much for you, you don’t have to do this. The Water Tribe is not a part of this war. You are under absolutely no obligation to stay here with us if it’s too much to handle.”
“What, because you think I’m going to leave you here?” The statement was too specific. He wasn’t supposed to say things like that about Zuko anymore. Not when he was trying to get over those feelings. “You think I’m going to leave any of you here? Katara won’t go, my dad won’t go, and I’m not going to just abandon everyone. We made a commitment when we chose to come here with you and I’m not going to break that now. I’m not going to let this start another war.”
“But what if there already is one and it’s happening inside your head?” He made a face, quickly frowning and letting out a breath. “Okay, I know that sounded stupid but you know what I mean, right? I know you want to help and I appreciate it so much but I don’t know if you’re mentally capable of handling this right now. You’ve been hurting yourself, Sokka, and I don’t know if you’re going to keep doing that or if you weren’t just sitting on this cliff to—”
“Stop. Seriously, Zuko, just stop. I’m fine. I’m over it. I had a momentary relapse but I worked through it and it’s fine now. I’m fine.”
“Then why haven’t you made any jokes since we’ve been here? Why haven’t you really smiled since they tried to kill me? It’s not just about what’s happening right this second. I know you’re not okay and I know you’re lying to us when you say that you are. You can’t handle another war. I understand that. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay.” Sokka shook his head more furiously, his eyes going wide. “I need to help you guys. I need to do this. I—”
“You need to take care of yourself.” Zuko’s hands gripped around one of Sokka’s, squeezing his fingers tight and pressing against his torn knuckles. He looked up into Zuko’s eyes—those beautiful, beautiful amber eyes—and let himself hold back for a few seconds before he pulled away. “Sokka, please. I’m serious. This is not okay.”
“You’re right, it’s not. We grew up in a war, we ended a war, and now that we’re adults and we’re supposed to be past that, we’re back in it, trying to stop another fucking war again. So, no, it’s not fucking fair but it’s not like there’s anything we can do about it, is there? Thanks for worrying about me, Zuko, honestly, but I’m going to keep fighting. That’s what I’m good at. That’s what I care about more than myself.”
“I know, I understand that, but I care about you more than I care about myself, Sokka, and I can’t watch you—”
Sokka didn’t know what the fuck compelled him to do what he did next but it happened and he didn’t try to stop it. He reached forward and grabbed the collar of Zuko’s shirt, pulling him forward and bringing their lips together. They touched for only the briefest moment before Zuko slid back, his eyes wide as he looked to Sokka in disbelief, and Sokka wasted no time in pressing their lips back together again. It was rough, passionate, sloppy as Sokka’s open hand moved to Zuko’s cheek and Zuko’s fingers slid to grip Sokka’s thighs. Zuko tasted sweet like the candy he binged every night, sour like the drugs he used to dull his pain, salty like the tears streaming from his eyes.
“Hey. Stop. Sokka.” Suddenly, Zuko moved his hands to Sokka’s face, gently pushing him back and urging him to meet his gaze. He softly stroked Sokka’s chin with his thumb, blinking a few times before he went on. “You’re only kissing me because it hurts. I don’t want you to do that to yourself. Come here.”
The only reason Sokka accepted the embrace was because Zuko’s hands were so warm, so soft, and they eased him into his shoulder. Sokka wrapped his arms around Zuko’s stomach, pressing his forehead against his shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut as the tears soaked into Zuko’s shirt. Zuko pressed a kiss to Sokka’s temple, rubbing his upper arm reassuringly and pulling him in close. It was stupid. They weren’t together. They couldn’t be together. If anything, Zuko was comforting him because he was acting like a stupid child. He let himself keep crying anyway. He let Zuko hold him because he knew the moment he left, everything would start to hurt again. And it did, because it always did.
Zuko didn’t let Sokka out of his sight until he was safe back with Suki and Katara, and they didn’t leave him until it was late at night and he was well over half asleep. Everything kept going the same way after that, his friends and family watching him like he was a baby, and Zuko stopped with his advances. They looked to each other now and then, let their gazes linger a little too long, but that was it. They didn’t talk. They didn’t go back to what they’d begun to develop. They let the feelings fizzle and fade until there was practically nothing left of them. Until they were so damn strong Sokka had to deny them to pretend they weren’t real. To stop it from adding even more pain to his state.
It got harder to keep going with every passing minute. Once his friends and family all knew that he’d been cutting again, that he’d been binging again, they never let him be alone. They were constantly on top of him to make sure that he was okay, and it only ever made things worse. There was a difference between caring for him and overwhelming him and they well over crossed that line. Sokka wanted to say something about it, to ask them to leave him alone, but it always came out wrong. It never convinced them to do anything but keep a closer eye on him, even if they wouldn’t always admit that was why they were suddenly spending so much time with his stupid ass.
Every day, the urge to cut got stronger. Sokka picked at his scabs, chewed on his nails, scraped his knuckles whenever he was alone with the rocks, but it wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be the same. He craved the blade and at a certain point, he couldn’t stand it anymore. Sokka pretended to be asleep to get everyone away from him, cried into and squeezed his pillow until he couldn’t breathe anymore, and he needed an escape. He leapt out of bed, not bothering with a shirt, shoes, or even a hair tie before he ducked out of his tent. It wasn’t going to be easy to get the knife, but he needed it. He craved it. He sneaked across the campsite, slid inside the weapons tent, and found the first knife he could. Just holding it was a relief. He pressed it down against his skin, watched as the familiar red liquid started to bubble up around it, and let out a gasp when another hand landed on top of his.
“Stop it, Sokka, you— let go!” One of Hakoda’s arms was wrapped around his son’s stomach, the other wrestling until he managed to steal the knife wrapped between his fingers. Immediately, Sokka tried to take it back again, but Hakoda threw it across the tent where he couldn’t get it. He opened his mouth to say something, to beg for it back, but snapped his mouth shut when his left knee caved and his dad lowered him to the ground. Hakoda pulled him close to his chest, squeezing his arms around his stomach and resting his chin on top of Sokka’s head. “Relax, Sokka. It’s okay. Just breathe, all right? Breathe. You’re okay. It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry,” said Sokka, his loose hair burning his eyes as he squeezed them shut tighter. Hakoda didn’t move his arms, holding Sokka close and refusing to let him move toward any of the sharp weapons around the room. “I’m— I’m so fucking sorry. I— I just— it makes me feel better. Please.”
“No. I’m not letting you do this to yourself anymore. I know it makes you feel better but that’s not because it’s a good thing, that’s because it’s an addiction. You are not okay, and letting you keep doing this isn’t going to do anything but make it worse. Come on. Let’s get you back to bed, okay?”
“Mm. I can’t sleep, I can’t— I can’t stop thinking about— I just— I want the— I want the knife. Please. I can’t sleep without it. I deserve it, and I can’t— I can’t sleep if I don’t have it. That’s how I sleep.”
“Sokka, that’s not how you sleep, that’s how you pass out. Come here.” The only reason Sokka didn’t resist when his dad lifted him back to his feet was because he was so stuck in his own head. Maybe Hakoda was right. That was how Suki and Katara figured it out, wasn’t it? He passed out on them because he lost too much blood. “You don’t have to sleep, okay? You just sit with me and relax.”
He agreed because his dad’s tent was unnaturally calm. Because when Bato wrapped a blanket around his cold, bare shoulders, he started to feel a little safer. Neither him nor Hakoda asked Sokka to actually go to sleep, but they did ask him lie on the ground between them and made sure he was comfortable from his head to his bad leg. Sokka didn’t say much aside from scattered apologies for things he couldn’t explain, including his urges to cut several times over, but he listened. He listened as Bato and Hakoda quietly talked to him about home and other relaxing things. He listened when Bato fell back asleep and his quiet breaths momentarily took over the talk. He listened to his dad’s heartbeat when Hakoda pulled him into his arms and promised he would be okay.
It didn’t work, but Sokka appreciated the effort more than he could say.
Against all odds, Sokka did manage to fall asleep that night. It only happened when he was wrapped in Bato’s blanket and snuggled up close to his dad, but it happened, and that was what mattered. He didn’t have any bad dreams that night. He didn’t wake up feeling like he wanted the knife. But he did wake up alone and that was enough to scare him all over again. Sokka was shaking by the time Bato and Hakoda walked back into the tent, breakfast in their hands. He accepted the hug from his dad but refused the dish that Bato put down in front of him. If he wasn’t allowed to cut, then he wasn’t allowed to binge either, and eating always led to binging.
“Come on, bud, please.” Sokka refused to even lift his gaze, knowing that if he looked up to meet his dad’s eyes, he’d probably end up giving in. Still, Hakoda’s tone was so calm, so pleading, he almost wanted to do it. He almost wanted to just give in and at least try. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the temptation. “Sokka, you can’t not eat anything; you have to get your strength back up. Just try it. Please.”
“No.” He squeezed his eyes shut, twisting the blanket around in his hands. Sokka hesitated before choosing to explain, hoping his dad would understand and not freak out even more over it. “Eating ends in binging. Don’t want to binge anymore.”
“Okay, listen.” The only reason Sokka looked up was because of the way his dad’s tone changed and his face softened. He looked saddened by Sokka’s words and immediately, he felt guilty for causing that reaction. “I know you’re scared of relapsing again, but I’m here for you now, all right? I’m here, Bato is here, and we’re not going to let you do anything bad to yourself. Just try and have something, please. We got you.”
Choosing to listen was one of the worst decisions Sokka had made in ages. While he was sitting there in the tent, he was fine. He ate, he drank, he took care of himself, and Bato and Hakoda talked to him until the urges started to fade. But the moment he was on his own again, they came back. He felt better when he was eating, when that familiar sense of home was inside him and if he couldn’t cut, he wanted that. The entire time he worked on his plans, all he thought about was eating again, so he did the opposite. He missed out on lunch, conveniently disappeared around dinner, and as soon as everyone else was asleep, begged himself not to give into the urges.
He did it anyway.
It wasn’t that he wanted to make himself sick or even that he wanted to eat anything, it was that it brought him an inexplicable amount of comfort. It helped him feel grounded, safe, and when he closed his eyes, it was like he was right back at home again. The cold night air, the taste of the Water Tribe on his tongue, reminding him of everything he had before the conflict stole his life again. So, instead of stopping when he knew he should, Sokka just held his eyes shut, let the tears roll down his cheeks, and let his hands indulge him in as many snacks as they wanted. As many snacks as he could manage before the hand wrapped around his and carefully took them away from him.
“I’m sorry,” babbled Sokka, the words running out of his lips the second Suki’s arms pulled him into an embrace. His inhale was wheezy and painful, drying his throat and preceding a pathetic sob. “I tried to stop myself, but I— I couldn’t—”
“Shh.” Suki slid a hand up to the back of Sokka’s head, pulling him in closer and leaning into his shoulder. He swallowed hard when the fresh salty waves washed over his cheeks, struggling to keep himself from completely losing it. “It’s okay. I’m not mad at you.”
“You’re disappointed.”
“I’m not disappointed in you either.”
He sniffed, squeezing his knuckles tight and letting his gaze drop when he felt the blood escaping the scabs and soaking into his bandages. A short silence followed before he mumbled out another apology, to which Suki did nothing but hold him closer. He hated putting his family through that pain. He hated sharing his suffering and forcing them to struggle more than they already were. But he had to admit it felt really nice to have a shoulder to cry on when he was scared it would never stop.