Chapter Text
It took a lot of convincing for Sokka to be able to work again.
All he really wanted was to keep going, to do whatever he could to end the conflict before it could turn into a brutal, lengthy war, but his family didn’t want him to. They gave up suggesting he go home and laid off him for a while, and then he went and fucked it all up again. He hurt himself in front of his dad, cried in front of Bato, binged in front of Suki; after a certain amount of denial, he had to stop and accept they knew how bad it was. Everyone knew how bad it was and it wasn’t fair to them to have to deal with it. So, Sokka put on a brave face and did what he could to convince them he was okay. He was fine. They helped him and he was feeling better and he needed to go back to work again. So, he did.
Sokka still wasn’t allowed to have any knives or similar sharp objects when he was alone, so he resorted to different methods of self-mutilation. He went for walks and scraped his knuckles against the trees and the rocks, he picked at his nails until they bled and used what was left to dig at his old cuts, but none of it was ever good enough. Not until he was so deep in his delusions that he couldn’t shake the spirits of the dead, couldn’t get the shadows out of his head, and he threw his mirror across the tent. It cracked. There were more than one or two decently sized shards of glass. Sokka didn’t stare at the mess for a full minute before wrapping a jagged triangle in his sleeve and tearing at his bandages.
Against all odds, that did turn out to be the best possible thing that could’ve happened. The moment Sokka was back to self-harming—even if he hadn’t been able to find comfort in binging in days thanks to his family closely monitoring his food intake—and back to dulling the bad thoughts, he acted better. He didn’t feel better but being able to take out the hurt on himself made it easier to put on a good face for his family. They started to believe he was improving, gave him more work, and he was suddenly back at it again despite the fact he only felt worse. He drew on his arms as much as the papers and his friends assumed it was a fidget. He didn’t care to correct them.
“You really think this plan is going to work?” asked Sokka hesitantly. It was the umpteenth one he’d suggested that week, and the first that his friends seemed eager to go along with. “I mean, I’m not trying to sound doubtful, but it’s just that we’ve tried so many things already, and— should we give it a try?”
Honestly, it surprised him when they agreed, and it devastated him when they tried to suggest he shouldn’t come along. Sokka argued with them for as long as he could until they finally gave in, agreeing that he could go to the same village as his dad to present the proposal. He was okay with that. He had no interest in going anywhere on his own and the rest of them were all going in pairs anyway, so he might as well head off with his dad. Hakoda seemed a little hesitant releasing weapons to Sokka after everything that happened, so he forced a smile and convinced his dad it would be okay. He was careful to pull down his gloves and his sleeves so nobody could see how quickly he’d relapsed.
They waited two days to perfect everything before they went off their separate ways. Sokka refused his cane the day they went for travel despite his dad’s arguments, stating that he was having a better day and it would be fine. That was a decision he’d almost come to regret, but not until after they spoke to the leaders of that village. It didn’t go over as well as they wanted it to. Of course, a disagreement came up between the Earth Kingdom leaders and those from the Fire Nation—Sokka thought they were both dumb as fuck but he didn’t say that, obviously—and things only escalated from there. One moment, they were talking. The next, they were arguing. And then, out of nowhere, the whole damn thing exploded and they were trapped in the middle of a fight.
Sokka fought the best he could, careful not to hurt anyone who wasn’t actively attacking him, and he held his ground for a good several minutes. He could only last for so long, however, and at a certain point, everything caught up to him. He could barely stand from walking so far on his bad leg and having to sit on it on the floor during the discussions, his arms were giving out on him from his bad shoulder and how much blood he’d lost, and his general lack of self-care stole so much energy he could barely even breathe. It was when he almost passed out fighting an angry Fire Nation citizen when Sokka was suddenly pulled into the arms of his dad, literally lifting him off his feet and carrying him to safety.
They didn’t stop until they were behind a large tree beside the town, ducked far out of everyone’s sight. Sokka couldn’t talk when his dad set him down but he managed to nod as he confirmed he was okay and wordlessly put the blame on his bad leg and shoulder. Hakoda seemed to buy it, brushing his frizzy hair from his eyes, and pulling Sokka’s hair tie tighter as he knelt down in front of him. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that Sokka was lying about his reasons for almost passing out. It was obvious his entire body was lethargic as much as he wanted to deny it. Hakoda’s hands on his cheeks were almost holding his head up as it drooped, his eyes wanting to close though he begged them to stay open.
“Oh, shit. Stay here!”
Though Sokka wanted to cry out the second his dad rose and ran off back into the village, he still failed to get his mouth to produce any real sound. For a moment, he took deep breaths and tried to convince himself it would be okay, but he stopped when he heard the fire, and the ash drifted through the wind and landed on the ground beside him. He couldn’t stop the tears that burst out of his eyes after that. Couldn’t mute the sobs that broke through his lips and the hands that twitched to hurt himself. It was over. They were done. Because Sokka wasn’t good enough, his dad left him. Because Sokka wasn’t good enough, his dad might be dead.
He felt stupid for crying that way, for begging his dad to come back when he was twenty fucking years old, but it hurt. His dad said he was going to stay and help him, he promised he was never going to leave again, and he did. He walked away. Not only did he leave Sokka in the middle of a war zone, unable to stand up with ash raining down on his head, but he put himself at risk and he did it because of Sokka. Sokka wasn’t strong enough to go out and fight with him so he had to do it alone, just like Sokka wasn’t good enough to save his mother. To save Yue. To protect Suki. He wasn’t good enough for anything and he knew it and he knew that was why everyone left. Why they always, always left.
Sokka wasn’t sobbing so much as wheezing for his breath, pleading for himself to get back under control. There was nothing left of the Sokka that once was. Nothing left of the guy who was always funny and kept up a positive attitude at least so he could cheer up those around him. He turned to face the tree behind him, tearing off his gloves and his bandages before shoving his already shredded knuckles against the bark. It burned when he scraped them, throbbed as left behind trails of red blood, but he couldn’t stop to care about it because the last person who promised to always be there for him was gone. The last person he thought he could unconditionally rely on left and was probably dead just like his mom. Just like he was about to be because he couldn’t move his fucking leg.
The only reassuring part about the situation was that somewhere, deep down, he was still afraid to die. At least one part of him didn’t want to end everything, didn’t want to leave his whole life behind, even if he often thought that he did. Sokka all but choked on his own breaths as he struggled to get past the panic, to get past everything, and he wanted nothing more than to take it all back. Than to go back and refuse to help fight in that awful war because just like Zuko said, it wasn’t his. He didn’t have to help, he chose to do it. He chose to mutilate himself. He chose to be pathetic and hide instead of fighting. Instead of helping his dad and protecting the people that he loved.
“Sokka.”
Any words following that didn’t register at all. He felt like throwing up and the moment the fingers approached his person, his body assumed the worse and he did. Sokka coughed and heaved and it didn’t matter because he didn’t matter. Regardless of what anyone said to him, he was alone. He was alone and abandoned while all his friends and family were being killed in the crossfire. He kept his arms on the ground where he’d doubled over to vomit, his head close to the dirt and his chest heaving aggressively. Someone’s hand was on his back, but all he could hear was his own breath alongside the fire and rocks crashing and burning in the distance.
“Sokka, it’s okay.”
It wasn’t okay. He wasn’t good enough and everyone knew that. That was why they abandoned him again. He was pathetic. Weak. There was every reason for them to leave him behind and yet he still didn’t know how to process it. The sounds coming out of his mouth were intolerable, a disgusting mix of coughing and unintelligible sobs. Sokka clenched the grass between his fingers, willing it all to stop. Begging it to go away. It was too much. He should’ve fallen off the cliff while he still had the chance. At least then he wouldn’t have died feeling like he was alone. Like nothing he did was ever, ever enough.
“Sokka—”
“You said you wouldn’t leave me!” The words barely made it out of his mouth, getting caught in his throat and coming out in a mess of repressed sobs and broken wheezes. “You promised. You said— You said you would never leave me again but you did. You left just like you always do! Like everyone does! You say you care and you do all the shit so it feels like you want to help but you don’t. Nobody does. Nobody ever fucking cared because Katara’s a waterbender and Aang’s the Avatar and Zuko’s the Fire Lord and Toph invented metalbending and Suki leads the Kyoshi Warriors and I’m just fucking stupid, disabled Sokka. I’m not smart, I’m not a warrior, I’m not a people person; I’m fucking nothing.”
The hand shifted from his back to his shoulder to his waist. One arm around him, then two, and suddenly he was wrapped in his dad’s arms, sobbing like an unkempt baby. It wasn’t making anything better. If anything, he was making it all so much worse, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t stop. Hakoda rocked him back and forth gently, resting his chin on the top of Sokka’s head and using one hand to softly urge Sokka to elevate his bleeding fingers. He let out a long, deep breath, but Sokka couldn’t recognize the tone of it and was left to draw his own conclusions. Hakoda thought he was stupid. Pathetic. Weak. A failure. His best guess was that his dad was preparing to tell him he had no business coming back to the camp, let alone home to the tribe.
“I’m so sorry, Sokka.” Hakoda squeezed him tighter, pulled him closer to his chest, but it didn’t make Sokka feel any better. Nothing could make him feel any better. Not anymore. “I just— there were children in danger, and I— I’m so, so sorry we haven’t been there for you and I am so fucking sorry it feels like I lied. I’m— I’m not going to leave you, okay? I’m never, ever going to leave you. I promise.”
“But you’ve said all that before and it never changes anything.” It was awful. He was shaking, sobbing, his words almost screaming through his sobs instead of coming out even halfway coherent. Hakoda didn’t try to stop him, only holding him closer, which was the clearest indication that something was seriously wrong. “You said you weren’t going to leave me and you did. Mom left and then you left and all I had was Katara. And I know Gran Gran was there and everyone else but nobody fucking cared about me, okay?! I’m ‘the big brother’, ‘the man of the tribe’, a fucking non-bender next to my incredible little sister. Nobody fucking cared. Nobody has ever fucking cared.”
Hakoda didn’t even say a word. He just sniffed and pulled Sokka in closer to his chest, squeezing his shoulders tightly and adjusting his chin on his head. If nothing else, he felt guilty. He felt bad about the things Sokka was saying and he knew that because he was crying too. The middle of a fucking battlefield and they were both crying because Sokka was so damn weak. He could barely even process the continued apologies from his dad, unable to listen to it and not hate himself for thinking that he didn’t deserve it. Everything Sokka said about himself was right, but it was wrong to act like he was a victim. Nobody cared because he didn’t give them a reason to. Nobody cared because he was a fucking loser and he didn’t deserve it.
They stayed hidden for a few more minutes, no thanks to Sokka’s uncontrollable sobbing, and the moment they had an opening, Hakoda lifted Sokka’s left arm around his shoulders and helped him to his feet. The tears didn’t stop flowing, especially triggered when he had to put weight on his fucked-up leg, but the repeated reassurance helped a little. It convinced him not to walk into the line of fire. Not to tear away from his dad and disappear off to somewhere they would never find him. It convinced him to stay because it didn’t matter what happened, he couldn’t be that person. He couldn’t be the one who left.
Even if it hurt to stay.
“All right, bud, I need you to look at me, okay? I want to talk before we get back to the camp so you’re not too overwhelmed by everyone.” Hakoda didn’t speak until Sokka was seated on a log three-fourths of the way to the camp. Somehow, Sokka found the strength to meet his dad’s gaze, though his eyes turned down again when Hakoda moved to brush the tears from his cheeks. “I know it’s hard, but I don’t want to have to have this conversation with anyone else listening, all right? It’s just you and me, so I need you to be really honest. Have you been lying to us? Sokka, look at me. Have you been lying to us about your recovery?”
“Does it matter?” mumbled Sokka, pulling away when his dad tried to elevate his hands again.
“Yes, it does. I know it hurts and it’s hard for you to believe and that’s okay, but we care about you so much, bud. Nobody wants to see you hurt, especially by your own hand.”
“I just— I wasn’t trying to— I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t— I kept biting my nails, and picking at— picking at my cuts, and then I— I broke my mirror by accident and I started— I started cutting again because I wanted to binge and you wouldn’t let me. I just— I just want to feel better and you won’t let me and sometimes I think— I think it would be easier if I just died.”
“I—” Hakoda cut himself off before saying anything else, brushing a hand over his face and reaching down to pull Sokka back into his arms. It was hard to accept the embrace, especially when his dad was still trying to keep his hands elevated, but he didn’t pull away and he let that be enough. “Thank you for telling me the truth, Sokka. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner, and I promise we all love you so much.”
Neither of them said another word before Hakoda helped Sokka back to his feet and they walked the rest of the way to the campsite. Everyone else was already back by the time they arrived, either because their meetings had gone better or just because Sokka was so damn slow walking home, and it left them with a whole welcoming party. Katara’s face dropped when she saw them and she immediately ran over to support Sokka’s other side, Toph asking Suki for information on whether Sokka looked better than he moved and Aang offering services that Hakoda politely declined. He requested someone find Bato and bring him to the medical tent, but beyond that, he said almost nothing.
Zuko joined them when they were almost there, immediately running over and refusing to leave Sokka’s side. It didn’t help. He clearly got himself into some other altercation because his chin was bruised and his previously broken arm was in a sling around his waist again. Even when Zuko assured him it was a minor fight and the sling was for comfort and not necessity, Sokka refused to lift his gaze again. It was his fault, all of it. They were his plans that were used. His plans that pissed off whoever it was that hurt Zuko. His plans that started the battle that seemed to have wiped out the entirety of the village he’d gone to with his dad. His plans that got people killed. His plans that triggered the sights of the spirits all around him.
“I’m sorry,” said Sokka, when Zuko reached to hold one of his hands and Katara began to heal the other. A new batch of tears was rolling down his cheeks and he wasn’t even sure when they started. He wasn’t confident they’d ever stopped. “I don’t know why I did it.”
“You were having a panic attack,” Hakoda told him quietly, taking a blanket from Bato and wrapping it around his bare shoulders. They’d had to discard his shirt not because it was in the way, but because it was coated in blood from his hands and soot from the sky. “You weren’t thinking straight. It’s not your fault. Nobody is upset with you.”
“But I did it before too. When you took my knife, I— I did it on the rocks. I wanted to feel better but you wouldn’t let me binge and you wouldn’t let me cut so I went for walks and I scraped my knuckles to make it hurt less and I hid it with my gloves.”
“Did it work?” asked Bato gently, tucking the blanket around one of his arms. Sokka blinked, confused by the question. “Did it make it hurt less?”
It took a long several seconds for him to shake his head. It distracted from the pain, but it didn’t make it go away. It was just different. Everything in his mind ached and he tried to cover it with physical pain but it didn’t make it stop. All it did was give him something equally as painful to focus on. Each time Katara twisted his hand, each time he moved his knuckles even the smallest bit, Sokka’s hands throbbed. He couldn’t put it into words how badly his fingers hurt and it was all because of himself. Because he didn’t know how to cope with his pain and his loss in a way that didn’t involve mutilating himself one way or another.
“We need the bandages.” Katara’s voice was quiet, her gaze never leaving Sokka’s hands. She felt like she failed, he knew it. He recognized her tone and the look in her eyes which accompanied it. “I did everything I could, but there’s just not— there isn’t any skin left on the surface for me to heal.”
Sokka cried the entire time they wrapped up his hands and his arms where he’d cut with the glass, but he couldn’t give a coherent reason why. Everything just hurt and the pressure on the tattered remains of his skin was a reminder of that. As much as he felt like he didn’t deserve it, Sokka allowed everyone to hug him when they finished. He let Bato hug him and tell him he did a good job, he let Hakoda hug him even though they both apologized about a thousand more times, and he let Katara hug him when she said sorry because she couldn’t make the top layer of his skin grow back. He gave her the biggest hug. It wasn’t her fault. She did everything she could. Sokka deserved the pain for his actions anyway.
Bato somehow convinced Hakoda and Katara to leave with him to get some dinner after their long day, but Sokka was meant to rest and they didn’t want to leave him alone, so Zuko stayed at his side. He already ate something before the others got back, he claimed, though Sokka’s mind was too hazy to decipher whether he was telling the truth or lying for an excuse to stay. He tried not to think too hard about it. It was easier to just accept Zuko’s word as fact than to fight with himself over whether or not he deserved the Fire Lord wanting to stay behind to watch over him. As such, he asked for no answers when Zuko helped him into bed and laid down beside him. He was just grateful for the company.
“You want me to get you anything?” asked Zuko quietly. Sokka didn’t resist when he reached up to wrap their hands together, gently squeezing his palm but careful to avoid his hurt knuckles. Quickly, Sokka shook his head, not wanting Zuko to leave nor to feel obligated to do anything for him when his arm was still in pain too. “Okay. Just let me know if you do.”
“No.” Sokka bit down on his lip, hesitating before he slid over and leaned in close to Zuko’s side. He carefully rested his head down on the Fire Lord’s chest, nuzzling in closer when Zuko dragged his fingers through his hair comfortingly. “Just stay. Please.”
Zuko didn’t say a word to agree, he just nodded and turned to kiss Sokka’s temple. Sokka knew that he shouldn’t allow himself to indulge, that he shouldn’t let himself fall asleep in Zuko’s arms, but he didn’t care to stop it. Something about Zuko’s touch so comforting, gentle, warm, and he never wanted to leave it. He let himself nod off there, drifting in and out of a sickly light sleep while Zuko held him close and finger-combed his hair. It was the perfect way to relax. Everything hurt but when he was lying there, the weight felt a little easier to carry. When he was sitting in the arms of someone he cared about, who he trusted, he—
It was that thought which brought his attention to the faint smell of smoke on Zuko’s clothing, to the unnaturally warm temperature of his body, and invaded his dreams and turned them into nightmares. That was how he met Zuko all that time ago, wasn’t it? He was trying to kill them. Aang was the only one he cared to take alive. He’d knocked Sokka in the head several times, captured his sister, almost killed Aang even unintentionally, burned down several villages—the offenses were countless. It didn’t matter how soft Zuko was deep down, how gentle and caring he could be with the people he loved, he was Fire Nation. He was Fire Nation and the Fire Nation was evil. The Fire Nation killed his mom. The Fire Nation took away everything he ever loved.
“Sokka. Hey.” It wasn’t until Zuko started brushing them away when Sokka realized there were tears rolling down his cheeks again. He twisted his fingers around Zuko’s shirt, blinking and shifting his cheek to wipe the spare moisture off. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay, I just—” The fingers on his cheek burned where they brushed his hair back. Zuko was kind, he was caring, but all Sokka could think about was the warmth of his hands. The red of his clothes. The pins on the floor from his entitled topknot. “You— You’d never hurt us, right? I mean, you wouldn’t— you’re past that. We’re friends now.”
At first, Zuko said nothing. His face froze in an unfamiliar expression, his eyes almost sad as one hand lifted to caress Sokka’s face, gently massaging the skin beside Sokka’s ear with his thumb. The longer the silence lasted, the worse the fear in Sokka’s stomach started to get. What if Zuko was about to tell him that he couldn’t make any promises? That it didn’t matter how much time passed, he was still Fire Nation, and Sokka should never trust him? It was a stupid fear. He should’ve understood the look on his face and the way his fingers moved so lovingly.
“We’re more than friends now, Sokka,” whispered Zuko, shifting to press their foreheads together. Sokka let his eyes drift shut again, a deep breath escaping his nose when Zuko pulled back and left a kiss in his place. Their fingers wrapped around each other in a way that fit too perfectly, and Sokka couldn’t resist the urge to squeeze Zuko’s hand back. “I understand if you don’t feel the same way, and I’m sorry if this is too much, but I love you, Sokka. I do. You have every right not to trust me after everything my people did to yours but I promise I will never hurt you again, okay? Never. I know I have a bad temper and I say some seriously stupid shit sometimes but I… I would never willingly hurt you the way I did before I knew you. I couldn’t. And all that said, if you’re uncomfortable with me being here, I’m more than happy to—”
Admittedly, it hurt a little swinging his leg as quickly as he did but Sokka didn’t regret anything when he saw Zuko’s eyes go wide. He reacted faster than Sokka could’ve imagined, his lips moving in perfect motion and his right hand reaching to hold Sokka’s hip. He was clearly trying to make sure he was comfortable straddling him with the way his fingers shifted down Sokka’s thigh, gently massaging it as they moved together. Sokka squeezed his hands around the fabric hugging Zuko’s shoulders, carefully sliding them up to the sides of his face and almost smiling when Zuko moved his own hands to push Sokka’s loose hair back.
“You’re kissing me to make yourself feel better again,” said Zuko quietly, not making any move to try and get Sokka to stop. “You shouldn’t do that.”
“But it works.” Sokka leaned down and kissed him again, twice right in the center of his lips. “Why shouldn’t I do it if it makes me feel good?”
“Because that’s not a healthy coping mechanism.” He tilted his head when Sokka tried to ignore him, stealing a kiss on the tip of his nose, and gently running a finger down his jawline. “You cut to feel better. You binge to feel better. You’re doing the same thing right now, it’s just— Sokka, stop.”
He rolled off of Zuko suddenly, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as he dropped his head in front of him. Sokka swatted Zuko’s hands away the second he tried to move close again, shaking his head and biting down on his lip. That was it. That was the last person in the entire world he wanted to trust and it was pointless because Zuko lied. He said he loved him, he said that he would never hurt him, and then he pushed him away. Then he told Sokka that being together was wrong. That kissing Zuko only hurt himself in the same way that he’d done with cutting and binging and every other fucked-up method of self-harm he’d ever tried. Sokka squeezed his eyes shut, tears dropping onto his lap and a sob escaping his lips when Zuko pulled him back into his arms.
It was better when they were close, and as they stayed there, Sokka sliding into Zuko’s lap and burying his head in his shoulder, he realized Zuko had a point. He was being stupid trying to push things too far when all he really wanted was the closeness and the comfort that came with it. They didn’t have to be kissing, didn’t have to be doing that, they just had to be there for each other. Sokka just needed someone to be there for him because it didn’t matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t convince his brain anyone ever would be if they weren’t right in front of him for proof.
“I’m sorry.” Zuko wrapped a hand around Sokka’s head, pulling his hair back behind his ear again before pressing a kiss to his temple. Rather than responding, Sokka said nothing, just wrapping his arms around Zuko’s stomach and twisting the cloth in his hands. “You know it’s not because I don’t like you, right? It’s because I do. I care about you so, so much. I just want you to be okay and coping like that won’t help.”
“I know.” It was pathetic how quiet and sad his words came out, not to mention the fresh tears that came with them. “I— I want to be okay too.”
Zuko nodded, gently pressing one more kiss to his cheek. “Get some rest, okay? I got you. You’re safe.”
And though his scent and his colors both said it couldn’t be true, Sokka chose to believe him.