Chapter Text
It’s the Day of Black Sun, and Sokka has never felt more helpless.
The savage heat of the Fire Nation sun, no longer shielded by the eclipse, scorches his feet as he rushes out to where the others are gathered. Toph and Aang flank his side, faces grim. They all know what this retreat will cost them.
The invasion was a failure.
His plans were a failure, and everyone else will pay for his mistakes. He doesn’t even want to think about the look on his Dad’s face when he tells him he failed. They never even got close to the Fire Lord.
Sokka rages with futile misery. Azula’s cruel laughter rings in his ears, his mind a constant chant of Suki Suki Suki. He can feel his heart in his throat, choking him.
They reach the point where the others have regrouped, and suddenly it isn’t just Suki he has failed. Their ships are being destroyed by the Fire Nation troops, leaving them with no choice but to escape on Appa.
Objectively, Sokka knows that this is for the greater good. It gives Aang a chance to escape; it gives their last and only hope the opportunity to get stronger, to get better. To live and fight another day.
But—and here Sokka’s brain stutters to a painful halt— this means they have to abandon all the adults in enemy territory.
They have to leave Hakoda behind.
The look on Katara’s face shatters him. Not again, he thinks desperately, not him too, oh Spirits, we’ve lost too much already—
The Duke is bawling, and Teo and Haru are clutching at their own fathers, babbling promises through wet eyes—promises of reunions that are hopeful at best and delusional at worst, and Sokka can’t bear it.
He turns away.
Tui and La, they’re all just children, they should never have thought they could accomplish this. What were they thinking? What was he thinking?
He closes his eyes against the sudden burn of tears, and then—
And then—
“—three days, Sokka, I can’t—” the voice breaks off, choked with emotion. “The healer said the wound is completely healed, but you just won’t wake up.”
A shaky sigh, so close that Sokka feels the warm breath blow across his face. “Agni knows I’ve never been so— I need you to be alright. Come back to me."
Fingertips, brushed light as a feather across his cheekbone. "Please wake up, Sokka. Please.”
Sokka’s head is spinning. He is lying on something soft— a bed? Smooth cotton shifts under his hand as his fingers twitch imperceptibly.
Where is he?
There is a heavy rustling of fabric next to him, as whoever was sat there slowly stands up. Sokka tenses where he lays, awareness sluggishly flooding his limbs.
Slowly, he clenches one fist.
“This is all my fault,” the person continues, unaware. He (and it is a he, voice raspy and distinctly male, almost…familiar?) sounds further away than he did a minute ago. Sokka narrowly cracks open one eye, trying to take stock of his surroundings.
He is almost blinded by the red and gold that adorn the room, his heart suddenly hammering against his ribs.
He’s still in the Fire Nation.
Was he captured? The last thing he remembers was—was—
The invasion. Running. Azula. Lightning. Screaming. Fire. Suki. Dad. Dad. Dad.
His breath hitches. He struggles to control it, trying not to alert his captors to the fact that he’s awake; if he wants to escape from wherever the hell this is, the element of surprise is all he has.
Even now, having barely reached consciousness, his mind has started working overtime to compensate. A quick glance confirms that the raspy-voiced man is the only person in the room. He has his back to Sokka, shoulders hunched. His regal-looking red robes look rumpled, as if he has slept in them, and half of his hair is held up in a messy topknot.
The light from the windows catches on something on his head, shining amidst the black. Sokka squints, trying to get his blurry vision to co-operate.
The golden prongs in his hair look almost like—
Oh, Spirits above, thinks Sokka a little hysterically as he casts his eyes around the room, desperately looking for a weapon. I’ve been captured by the Fire Lord himself.
He tunes out the Fire Lord’s voice as he quickly takes stock. Now that his vision is clearing up, he realises he is in what seems to be the infirmary. Rolls of bandages and a water jug are the only things within arm’s reach of his bed. At least he hasn’t been tied down, which seems…odd.
What happened? If he’s been captured, why isn’t he currently on his way to some dingy Fire Nation prison, or worse, being executed? Why hasn’t he been restrained?
Where are the others?
His fingers, which had been surreptitiously reaching for the glass jug at his bedside for need of a weapon, freeze as the Fire Lord’s words interrupt his rambling thoughts.
“—she finally replied, thank heavens, so at least Katara will be here soo—”
Time passes oddly. Between one second and the next, Sokka has the Fire Lord pinned to the wall with his hands around the bastard’s throat. Golden eyes (one gold eye, his mind whispers) widen in shock.
“Sokka?” he chokes out. And then he smiles.
What the fuck?
“Sokka, I—”
Sokka slams his head against the wall, once, twice, and the smile wipes off his face. Good.
“What,” Sokka bites out, “have you done to my sister?”
The Fire Lord shakes his head, tries to say something. Sokka abruptly realises he’s gripping the man’s throat hard enough to strangle him, which is slightly counterproductive to his goal of getting answers. He reluctantly loosens his hold.
(He doesn’t register the confusion in the Fire Lord’s eyes, or the way the man grips Sokka’s biceps in a gentle grasp, more in an attempt to hold Sokka up than to free himself.
The Fire Lord is said to be a master firebender. His hands are cool against Sokka’s skin.)
Fire Lord Ozai coughs weakly. His eyes flick between Sokka’s, as if he is the one looking for answers.
“Katara’s fine, she’ll be here in three days,” he rasps, rubbing at his throat. “She’s taking the nearest balloon here. When I told her what happened, she was really worried. She—”
He stops at whatever he must see on Sokka’s face.
“Sokka,” he breathes, reaching out a hand to Sokka’s face. Sokka flinches, and Ozai jerks his hand back as if burned. “What— what do you remember?”
But Sokka is no longer listening. His eyes have finally registered the man’s face.
Or, rather, the scar that mars half of it.
It is a distinctive scar, and as alarm bells begin adding to the cacophony inside Sokka’s head, he vaguely thinks that Zuko’s hair couldn’t have grown this long since the last time he faced the prince in the catacombs below Ba Sing Se.
Because it is Zuko, not Ozai, standing before him. Somehow, he looks older— his jaw is sharper, shoulders broader. But he also looks terrible. His skin is stretched sallow across his face, his unscarred eye red-rimmed and shadowed with tiredness as he stares at Sokka. The distinctive scar permanently pulls half his face into a grimace, mocking and derisory.
“You,” Sokka starts, unsure of where he’s going with this sentence. And then abandons it completely. One hand comes up to grip his own throat.
Either he swallowed a bunch of badger-frogs while being unconscious, or the Spirits decided to mess with him by dropkicking him through the final stages of puberty all in the space of a few hours, because there is no other reason his voice should be that deep.
Tui and La, he sounds like Hakoda.
Sokka blinks, fighting against the sudden urge to lay down and pass the fuck back out. Or maybe wake the fuck up.
This has to be a dream. There is no other way this, any of this, is real.
Zuko is watching him warily. They mirror each other, both with one hand at their necks, but now Zuko drops his to tentatively reach out once more towards Sokka. Sokka doesn’t stop him, and Zuko gently cradles Sokka’s arm. “Let’s get you back in bed,” he says, and isn’t that the craziest thing. That he sounds like he cares about Sokka.
Sokka jerks his arm out of Zuko’s grasp, growing more confused by the second. The sudden motion jolts something at the firebender’s collar.
The light glints off something tied to his neck. Something blue.
Sokka doesn’t even know what he’s doing until his fingers are already clawing at Zuko’s throat, ripping off the ribbon in one sharp movement.
He stares at the betrothal necklace in his hand. The keening loss of the last few hours hits him like a boulder.
Losing the invasion. Failing Suki and his Dad. Getting captured by the Fire Nation.
And now—
Sokka looks at the betrothal necklace in his palm, and sees his sister crying out for the loss of her mother’s last memory. He looks at Zuko and remembers a time not long ago when he held this same necklace hostage, taunting them with a cruel golden gaze and even crueller words. He looks at Zuko, and imagines him plucking this necklace off his sister’s unresisting body, only to flaunt it like a trophy on his own neck.
Something in him snaps. He sees red.
Katara.
Once again, he loses time.
His forearm pressed against Zuko’s neck, throwing him against the wall.
The firebender choking something out, eyes wild like a rabaroo led to the slaughter.
Sokka’s other hand, swinging out wildly.
Someone is screaming.
“You liar! You took this from her! What did you do to her? What did you do!”
Zuko doesn’t even attempt to fight back as Sokka rains blow upon blow on him, hunching into himself defensively.
“Tell me, you coward!”
There is shouting, and the sound of doors being flung open. Hands are pulling him off Zuko, and Sokka knows he’s screeching like a banshee but he can’t stop himself, he can’t, not until he finds out what’s happened to his baby sister.
Oh Spirits, Katara, what did they do to you?
Writhing and twisting and screaming, he is dragged back to the bed. His arms are restrained next to his head—took them long enough, the strategist in his mind whispers— and multiple guards press on his legs to stop their thrashing.
He thinks he hears someone yell don’t hurt him in a choked, ruined voice, but then hands are pressing his mouth open and a foul-tasting liquid is forced into his throat, and he quickly stops paying attention to anything other than his own futile struggles. He chokes and tries to spit the liquid out, but they hold his nose closed and he swallows against his will, coughing and retching and blinking away tears.
His ears are ringing and his head hurts and fuck, he’s so tired, but still he clutches Katara’s necklace in his fist and utters a prayer to whoever’s listening: please save my sister.
His body gives a weak shudder, exhausted limbs finally giving up on him, and his head lolls to the side. The last thing he sees before the greyness turns to black is Zuko’s bloodied face from where he’s sprawled out on the floor.
The sheer devastation in his eyes follows Sokka into the darkness.