Chapter Text
Zuko comes back to himself slowly, one sense at a time.
All he hears is ringing. A continuous, droning note fills his head, just half an inch short of being a real sound. It's one he feels more often than not. One that he knows isn't a real noise but makes him want to cover his ears to drown it out anyway. It hurts.
His vision doesn't fare much better, wobbly as it is. Colors seem blown out and far too bright, even though he can barely make out the figures in front of him. The world is fractured and blurry. There's movement, streaks of light and shades of blue and orange, but nothing defined. His eyes sting.
He's forced back into feeling by an urgent pain in his chest. His whole body aches, but his lungs are burning. It takes him a second to figure out why—he's not breathing.
The realization has him sucking in a lung full of sea water before he can register it's a bad idea. What was previously a dull throb erupts into a stinging agony across his chest, and recognition breaks through. He's under water. He's drowning.
His body reacts before his brain, lurching towards the muddled streaks of color above him. Not a great idea. Something in his chest protests and burns through him in retribution.
The pain freezes him up. He's always found pain to be a good motivator, but not this time. This time, it locks him in place, pulling any sense from his mind and leaving it empty. All he can do is wait for his limbs to finally start cooperating again.
And sink.
As the pain recedes, so do the colors above him. His grip on reality is loosening without air. Darkness dances across his field of view, narrowing it to a pinprick. The ringing in his ears fades out.
It's quiet.
All too suddenly, his head breaks the surface, bringing with it the sounds of people and yelling and fire and air. He's gulping for it before he even has room in his lungs. Someone's heaved him up onto land, but through the blur of colors and sounds, he can't figure out who. All he can do is choke on a salty combination of brine and sea breeze.
Every cough sends spikes of pain across his chest. The sting of the air doesn't stop his desperate gasping, and the sea water rips up his throat with each hack. But this isn't right. He's choked on sea water before, he knows that burn. This is—this is different.
Something is very wrong.
The chaos around him hasn't ceased. Were he less preoccupied with drowning, he would be more concerned with answering whoever it is that's calling his name. He loses consciousness before he can find out who it is.
"Don't move," is the first thing Zuko hears upon waking. "Katara's already exhausted from keeping you from bleeding out. I won't wake her up if you reopen something."
It takes his brain far too long to process what's been said, but he's good at waking up in pain with someone telling him not to move, not to panic. He's done it before. So he listens and waits for the fog in his mind to clear.
"Sokka," comes a soft scolding to his left. It sounds tired.
"What? I'm being honest."
He knows that voice. He knows them both.
"We shouldn’t..."
Zuko's breath stutters. The irregular movement causes a flare of pain in his chest, and the adrenaline that comes with it launches him into awareness.
He's on his back, vaguely sore all over, and his chest is twinging painfully. Above him, the night sky rushes past. He can hear the ocean, but doesn't feel the waves.
This is not his ship. His ship blew up. Those damn pirates tried to kill him, but it didn’t work. Where is Uncle? And where—
His breath stutters again. Well, more like it never recovered in the first place. For a second, it feels like he's choking on his own tongue, then his lungs fill up again.
"Sorry!"
That's the Avatar.
He’s on his feet before he’s even fully thought about it, instinctively falling into a defensive stance. Unfortunately, his body protests. Whatever discomfort he felt before is nothing compared to the pulsing heat radiating from his chest now. His vision rocks off center, practiced footwork the only thing keeping him from toppling over.
What is wrong with him? Well, explosion, yes, but more specifically. A cursory glance down gives him a vague idea; there’s a sloppy wad of bandages covering the lower left side of his chest, secured by a winding string of them around his torso. That would do it.
He’s able to protect that side with only minor modifications to his stance, but it does little to ease his discomfort. Every beat of his heart sends a throb of pain through him, its epicenter just beneath those makeshift bandages.
But he can handle it, he’s no weakling. He centers himself with a deep breath and—
He can’t breathe deeply enough. No, it’s something else... He can’t...
“What are you doing?” the Water Tribe boy sputters, stealing Zuko’s attention. “How is that ‘not moving’?!”
The Water Tribe boy is crouched, an arm poised behind his back to grab that damned boomerang. Dressed as he is, Zuko does not want to be on the receiving end of that thing again. Where is his armor? Was he wearing it when the ship blew? He was definitely wearing a shirt, but that's gone.
The Avatar cuts in, sitting with his legs crossed and fists together, like he's meditating, to Zuko’s left. It’s entirely inappropriate for the current situation, in Zuko’s opinion. “Guys, stop! We shouldn’t fight up here; there’s no room!”
No room? Oh.
It only takes a second for Zuko to register exactly where he is: the back of the Avatar's flying bison. He's standing on the oversized saddle with nothing to keep him from flying off the edge at a stray gust of wind.
Zuko immediately drops into a crouch and whips a hand out to hold the lip of the saddle behind him. His defensive stance is ruined, but he’s not about to let his cause of death be “Fought an airbender four hundred feet in the air.” Azula would have a field day with that.
The Water Tribe boy has the gall to snort at him. In turn, Zuko offers the most withering glare he can muster.
Stupid. Assessing his environment should have been his first step, but once again, he’s found himself stuck at the tail end of acting before thinking.
“Put me down!” he demands.
Or at least, he tries to. Despite his panic, his breath is steady and even, and he can't stop breathing long enough to speak. All he can manage is a breathy whisper. His breath keeps coming without any regard for what Zuko actually wants.
He can't control his own breathing at all.
A dread he's never felt before settles in his veins. The lack of control is so foreign he feels sick with it.
He can't not be in control. He can't. No breath control means no flame control, and that means Zuko's main defense is as dangerous to him as it is to his foes.
Shit.
There's no outlet for his rising panic, not when he can't even choose if he wants to breathe through it. Instead, the panic thrums through his blood, through his heart, which pumps sickeningly out of sync with his breathing. His breath continues, constantly aggravating his wound, even as his body fights against it. The rise and fall gives him no break.
Going off of their expressions, his enemies are surprised by his strained attempt at speech too. Then, the Avatar's mouth drops open in a small O, like he's realized why.
Zuko's about to demand an answer from him, but another voice beats him to it.
“What’s going on?” At the head of the saddle, the waterbender is kicking off a blanket, awoken by the commotion.
“Zuko’s awake,” is her brother’s answer. A smile creeps onto his face. “And he can’t talk.”
Zuko has never seriously considered murder more than in this moment.
The waterbender’s eyebrows jump to her hairline. “What? Why— You’re bleeding!”
When she looks at him, her stare is far more anxious than Zuko thinks it has any right to be. It’s not her that’s injured and being held captive by her enemies. He looks down, and sure enough, his bandages are slowly staining a bright red. That’s not good.
The Water Tribe boy scoffs. "See, I told you you'd tear something!"
"Sokka, not now. I need to..."
The waterbender is pulling her waterskin forward, and Zuko reacts accordingly, shifting his shoddy, crouched stance to target her.
She stills. Concern still dominates her gaze, but it's now backed by caution. Good.
Her brother sounds outright offended as he shouts, "Don't point your bending at my sister!"
Lurching between them, the Avatar puts his hands up in a placating gesture. “Okay, let’s just calm down!”
It only takes a couple ragged, uneven breaths before Zuko realizes his lungs aren't expanding against his will anymore. In fact, they're barely expanding at all. There's a pressure that wasn't there before. Every breath is a chore, barely giving him the oxygen he so desperately needs. But at least they're breaths he can control.
(He can't bend like this either, he realizes. He can already imagine how the flames would sputter with his shallow breaths. He can talk, but he can't bend.)
Zuko doesn’t let the Avatar continue. “Put me down.” The words are weak, but still heard.
“Love to. We’ll just drop you in the middle of the ocean, mmkay?” the Water Tribe boy responds. “Look around you! There’s no land in sight.”
“Then find some,” Zuko spits.
The Avatar is already shaking his head. The worry plastered over his face just makes Zuko want to punch him. “We’re going to the North Pole. We need—”
“I don’t care!”
“You’re in no position to make demands!” the Water Tribe boy yells.
Zuko growls. "I could burn you right now."
The Avatar's brow pinches as he fixes Zuko with a challenging stare. "Do it, then."
It would sound childish in any other context. Now, Zuko feels like the Avatar just called his bluff. A gust of wind reminds him of how far in the air he actually is, and he doesn't dare move. They have the advantage here, and The Avatar knows it.
Zuko almost lets loose a flame just to spite him. Almost.
He's not entirely defenseless. He can feel the pressure of his pearl handled dagger, its sheath sewn into the outside of his boot. (Did they not check him for weapons?) But the knife would only help in a pinch. Between the bending of the Avatar and his waterbending friend, and the much longer club the Water Tribe boy favors, the dagger would only work to get people out of his face fast. Maybe it's better than just his fists, but the odds are not in his favor if a fight was really to break out.
Still, he doesn't lower the defensive hand he has raised between them.
The waterbender, with the damn Avatar on her side, has little reason to fear him. She bends the water from her waterskin and moves forward. She only stops when he stiffens.
"Don't you touch me," he gasps. He can feel the blood starting to dribble down his abdomen, soaking into the hem of his pants.
Her gaze hardens. "I need to stop the bleeding."
"No."
Then, the Water Tribe boy charges him.
In his panic, Zuko’s too frazzled to be properly embarrassed over how easily he’s overpowered. He’s already hyperventilating, and it’s all over when his opponent jams his hand into his bandaged chest. A low blow, if you ask him.
“Sokka! Be gentle!”
“What?! How can I be gentle with this?!”
The tousle ends with Zuko pressed up against the lip of the saddle and the Water Tribe boy bracing his hands against the bandages on Zuko’s chest. It hurts.
Zuko chokes on the pain (or maybe that's just his fucked up breathing). "W—What are you... Stop!"
He grips the boy's wrists and tries to push the hands away, but the Water Tribe boy doesn't budge. In fact, he seems to press harder in response. Zuko feels light-headed.
"I'm being an excellent medical assistant here," the Water Tribe boy grouses, "and you're being a nuisance."
Zuko can't do anything to stop him, strength faltering under his shallow breaths. He can barely breathe enough to respond. Instead he settles for a murderous scowl, though he knows it won't phase them. Not with the ragged pants that tear from his throat.
"Oh, right!" The Avatar folds back into his meditative stance from before, but the Water Tribe boy stops him.
“Hold on, Aang.”
The Avatar looks uncertain, but he drops his arms.
The Water Tribe boy fixes his gaze on Zuko, his eyes cold. Pinned to the lip of the saddle with the world starting to sway, Zuko is trapped. His right hand twitches from where it grasps the other boy's wrist. If there was ever a time to use that knife, this is it. (And get flung off the bison in the resulting fight.)
“Your lungs have collapsed. You can barely breathe on your own. Aang’s been keeping you alive with airbending.”
Oh. That explains a lot. Zuko can’t do anything but choke in response.
Thankfully, the Water Tribe boy isn’t looking for a response. “Not even four hours ago, Katara was the only thing keeping you from bleeding out on the pier. You’re probably just minutes away from being back where you were then.” He accentuates his point by gently applying more pressure to Zuko’s injury. Fucking ow. “You need them. If you want to stay alive, you don’t try anything. Okay?”
Shit.
He’s right. Zuko hates it so much, but he’s right. A collapsed lung isn't something you can just walk off, despite how much he wants to. Dangling the Avatar's help over him is an effective tactic, even if it's one that makes his blood boil. He doesn't have time to deliberate, not when he's already wheezing for air.
Pinned and injured as he is, Zuko thinks it's unfair. It's basically a war crime, right? Threatening an incapacitated combatant. Not that he's incapacitated, he's just...
"Sokka..." Both his companions seem reluctant, the Avatar mumbling his short protest, but the Water Tribe boy ignores them. The look on his face is expectant.
Oh, how Zuko wishes he could dig his heels into the ground and say no. Watch that self assured look melt off the Water Tribe boy's face when he realizes that Zuko would rather suffocate than be at their mercy.
He's only vaguely aware of how his hands tremble against the Water Tribe boy's wrists. His vision is starting to fade, the world taking on a dull, grainy appearance. It doesn't matter how hard he breathes, he can't get enough air. He needs help. He needs...
It's a game of chicken, both waiting for the other to flinch. The Water Tribe boy stares him down.
"Okay?"
If there's one thing Zuko can rely on, it's his ability to make stupid decisions out of spite.
With a last burst of energy, he snatches the dagger from his boot and—
A blast of air knocks it from his hand.
He doesn't even think when he twists out from under the Water Tribe boy's hands and lunges for the blade. That's his last defense, and he can't lose it, not in a situation like this, not when he can't even breathe on his own.
He swears he can hear the world fracture.
The sudden motion has his vision swimming, and the force of the frenzied grab topples him onto his side. Any other information struggles to make it through the haze of adrenaline, suffocation, and dizziness.
With the pressure on his bandages gone, he very suddenly feels like his entire chest is spilling out onto the saddle, and shit, that was probably the stupidest thing he could've done in this situation. Panic grips him as he presses his own hands to the wound. They're slick with blood in a second.
His consciousness wobbles. Maybe if he wasn't about to pass out, he'd take a moment to marvel at his own rashness. Instead, he finds that he can't feel his own body anymore.
There's a flurry of voices above him, but he can't seem to hear it. More and more, all he hears is his own pulse, racing as his heart tries to keep him conscious with the meager supply of oxygen it's getting, and simultaneously pumps his life out onto the saddle. The world fades, and Zuko can't tell if it's the suffocation or the blood loss that's winning.
Then there's a rush of air, and he's breathing again. His lungs aren't being crushed under the weight of his own rib cage. His breaths are even and strong and not his own.
But the pace is not fast enough to make up for the lost air in the way his body demands. He feels his lungs straining, trying to suck in more air faster than the airbending will let it. It tugs at his wound. Despite the fact that he's breathing, the metered breaths leave him feeling like he's still suffocating, but without the mercy of passing out.
He drifts, not quite present but not quite unconscious as his lungs slowly, agonizingly, stabilize. As his thoughts fall back into focus, he's reacquainted with things he was already aware of in the shadows of his mind.
He's on his back, staring up at the stars. His arms and legs are tingling, which is more than a little concerning considering the fact that he's been losing blood. There's a heavy weight on his chest, steadily dipping towards painful as his brain catches up. In the same spot, there's something cool pressed against the wound, wicking the pain away as it comes.
Squabbling voices filter in next.
"—so stupid!"
"You shouldn't have pushed it!"
"Oh, so it's my fault? I didn't think he had a knife!"
"Just shut up and let me heal!"
Then there's quiet, only interrupted by the white noise of the wind and sea.
A wave of exhaustion hits hard enough that he's worried he actually loses consciousness for a second. Is that the blood loss, too? That's not good. Maybe he should actually take the advice he'd been given and stay still for a moment.
He's not sure how much time passes before his sluggish brain thinks to actually look around him. The Water Tribe siblings are at his side, leaning against each other as the boy presses down on his wound and the girl bends water to it. Against his bloodied bandages, the water around the bender's hands is glowing. Not just glittering in the moonlight, but proper glowing. It takes him a second to connect what he's seeing to what he's feeling, but eventually he gets there. The freaky glowing water is healing him.
Well. That's new.
Why the fuck is she healing him? That attack should've been the end of it. He should be drowning in the middle of the open ocean, not getting stitched back together by waterbending magic.
These people make no sense.
The Water Tribe boy catches his wandering gaze with a glare. "You back, sir stabs-a-lot?"
Zuko tries to answer with a scowl of his own, but it feels like it falls short of anything more than a grimace.
He gets a huff in response. "Yeah, you're back. So, now that we've established that attacking us is a bad idea, let's get this straight."
Maybe Zuko's just addled from the blood loss, but the Water Tribe boy is doing a much better job at looking intimidating this time around. He's pissed.
"I made it sound like you get a choice in what happens here. That's my bad," he snaps, words far more casual than his tone. "You don't hurt anyone. And you don't get a choice in the matter. I'll throw you off Appa's back myself, if I have to."
"We're calling a truce."
The Avatar's voice filters in somewhere beyond his immediate view. Zuko cranes his neck to see him seated closer to his legs, back in the same meditative pose as earlier. When their eyes meet, Zuko glares instinctively. The Avatar doesn't, just holds that same worried and hesitant look as before.
The funny thing about truces is both parties have to agree, and he's not itching to do that. He drops his head back onto the saddle, and it's purely because he's frustrated with the situation, and nothing to do with the tingling in his limbs or the sudden exhaustion.
"Zuko, please," the Avatar continues. "I know all of this is probably really scary, but you need help. We won't hurt you if you don't hurt us. I swear, you're safe!"
Zuko narrows his eyes and curls his lip. He's not fucking scared, he's just in probably one of the most vulnerable positions in his life: surrounded by enemies, hours from shore, and seriously injured. They expect him not to defend himself?
He's about to protest the Avatar's choice of words, but the wisp of forced air from his mouth reminds him of his situation. Great. He screws his eyes shut for a moment before glaring up at the stars.
Above him, the waterbender scoffs. "He's safe? What about us?"
"We have every advantage here," the Avatar reasons.
Zuko is absolutely not a fan of him using that as a point in his defense.
"Someone could've been hurt! And for what?!" the waterbender snaps. Her gaze is fixed on her bending, brows twitching with how tightly they're knit together. "There was no reason to do that! It's like he wants to bleed to death!"
There were plenty of reasons, even if none of them were very good ones. Not when he's so clearly at their mercy.
"That was too close," she continues, and her blue eyes finally shift to his. She looks equal parts exhausted and enraged. "I won't let you hurt my family, Zuko! One more dumb knife trick, and that's it."
Zuko feels a pinch of cold in the water covering his injury, but against the throbbing heat of an open wound, it doesn't feel all that bad. It's the anxiety of a waterbender's weapon against his chest that has him squirming, not the cold.
The Water Tribe boy, with his hands dipped in the water to keep Zuko from bleeding out while he's being healed, is not so content with the chill. "Aah, cold! Katara!"
"Sorry." The water instantly warms. "You can let go now, actually. I've got it."
Zuko very pointedly does not react when the pressure finally pulls away, despite the instinctive panic that floods his system. There's no rush of blood from his chest like last time, so that's good.
The Avatar takes a slow breath. "Katara, we kind of have him cornered. Not that the knife thing was okay, but..."
The Avatar defending him against his friends is not something Zuko ever expected to hear. And it's not doing his mood any favors, because he has absolutely no idea why he's defending him in the first place.
"He broke your truce," the waterbender hisses.
"Technically, he didn't know about it yet."
She grunts in annoyance. "He still hasn't agreed to it."
She's clearly looking for a response. Zuko doesn't give her one, but the Avatar does.
"He hasn't tried to stop you again either."
Does he really have to point that out? Zuko grits his teeth and continues his hateful stargazing.
"That's not a promise," the Water Tribe boy grumbles.
The Avatar hums. "I think it's the best we're going to get."
Damn right it is.
He doesn't know if the siblings agree with the Avatar's assessment, but they don't say anything.
The quiet that follows is anything but peaceful. Eventually, Zuko's too uncomfortable to let it continue. He tries to speak, maybe to cuss them all out, but mostly to ask what happened. All he can do is mouth the words.
The Water Tribe boy gets the hint. With his bending companions busy, he takes charge of explaining.
"Your ship blew up," he supplies, like Zuko doesn't already know that part.
An exasperated glare keeps the boy talking.
"Some metal lodged itself in your chest. Most of it's gone, but Katara doesn't know how to fish shrapnel out of someone's chest without killing them."
Zuko won't thank them for not digging around in his chest. It feels like common decency to him.
"Your lungs got sliced open. Definitely your left, maybe also your right. Some of the cuts were healed before we really knew what was going on, so we don't know how deep all the shrapnel went. Katara thinks you've got like, a fourth of your normal lung capacity right now."
Oh. Great.
"And you were drowning on ocean water like four hours ago, so that can't help. Breathing is a little hard for you right now. Sooo, kinda creepy airbending medicine."
Kinda creepy, indeed. It's borrowed time, provided by the Avatar and his waterbender friend.
The Water Tribe boy continues. "We're headed to the North Pole. Mostly because we were already going there anyway, but also cuz you need healers. Plural. And good ones. Katara's magic water can only do so much when there's metal shards still lodged in your lungs."
Zuko feels a sliver of ice enter his bloodstream. From the port he was docked at, the North Pole is three days away. Maybe two, if the currents are favorable and the weather holds. Does the Avatar intend to keep bending for three days straight? No, that can't be the plan. There's no way it would work.
Even if it was the plan, which it can't be, why are they helping him? He's been chasing them around the globe since they met. It's not like he's garnered any goodwill from that. Zuko's gaze slides back over to the Water Tribe boy. He holds the glare, and the boy bristles.
"You could at least pretend to be grateful."
Zuko ignores him, instead exaggerating his lip movements to mouth: Why?
The Water Tribe boy's eyes almost pop out of his head. "Why be grateful?!"
Rolling his eyes, Zuko clarifies. Why help?
"Oh. Good question." The boy crosses his arms, looking none too pleased. "We were close to the port, so we saw the explosion. Honestly, we didn't know it was you when we hauled you out of the ocean, and by then it would've been too awkward to just leave you. Also, Aang begged us."
That makes sense. The Avatar has already proven time and time again that he's a bleeding heart. Why would that change for Zuko?
"Then," the Water Tribe boy continues, "When we found out how bad it was, that you couldn't breathe on your own... Yeah." The faraway look in his eyes isn't easily missed. "The North Pole is the best chance we have at getting the shrapnel out without killing you."
Zuko doesn't have any memory of what happened after he was dredged up. Was it that bad? He tries not to think about how differently things would have gone had the Avatar's group not been so nearby when his ship blew.
Had he really caused that much ire in the pirates? Sure, they didn't part on great terms, but it was the Avatar that caused their problems, not him. Mostly. Was it really enough to try to kill him?
He doesn't get much time to ponder that. The waterbender, content with her healing, pulls back with a sigh. She bends the water with her, draining it from the bandages and leaving them only lightly stained with blood. His blood, mixed into the water between her hands. It's unnerving. After a moment's consideration, she discards the murky bubble over the edge of the saddle.
"That should be fine, provided you stay put this time." There's a warning in her tone, but it's undermined by a waver. She's clearly exhausted. "We still need to look out for infection though. Does anything else hurt?"
Zuko recoils at the question. The worst of it is in his chest, obviously, but he isn't free from a full-body ache. Explosions aren't gentle affairs, after all. He's got more than a few cuts and bruises, but it's trivial compared to his chest.
More importantly, why is she so concerned? The life-threatening stuff is dealt with. He's not about to let the waterbender fuss over a headache and a split lip. He has too much pride for that. So instead of answering, he glowers at her.
At his expression, her gaze sharpens. "I'm not exactly happy about this situation either, you know. But I'm not going to leave you suffering just because you're a complete asshole."
Zuko takes offense to that, even if it's not entirely wrong.
Glaring back at the sky, he shifts his arms underneath him to try and sit up. No such luck. His hands are trembling before he's even trying to push off the saddle.
The waterbender huffs. "That's the blood loss," she observes, coldly clinical.
No shit. He defaults to his favorite tactic of late: glaring. She holds his gaze with one of her own. If she thinks he's just going to roll over for her because she's "here to help," she's sorely mistaken.
But apparently, the glaring match wasn't quite the battle of wills Zuko thought it was. The waterbender leans back, satisfied. "You don't have a concussion, so that's good. How's your hearing? The explosion can't have been good—"
The waterbender shifts her hands towards his head, fingers poised to snap. Reflexively, Zuko clamps a hand around her wrist to stop her. The grip is pathetically weak, but it freezes her in her tracks.
The stalemate has everyone holding their breaths. Except for Zuko, that is, who couldn't if he wanted to. After a second more, the waterbender forcefully yanks her arm back.
"Fine," she grumbles. "If you've got hearing loss, don't come whining to me."
Zuko's just glad she's responding with the appropriate hostility again. He can barely deal with the Avatar's blatant friend making behaviors, nevermind his companion's.
The Water Tribe boy cuts in, his voice gentle. "Go back to bed, Katara. I'll clean everything up."
With a tired sigh, she nods. "Thanks." She moves to crawl back to her pile of bedding at the head of the saddle, but stops halfway, turning to the Avatar. "Are you sure you'll be alright, Aang?"
The Avatar smiles far too brightly. "I've done overnight meditations before! It'll be fine."
"While bending?"
"Well, no." He pauses, and something about that makes Zuko's heart drop. "But how different can it be?"
Zuko swallows against the lump in his throat. It's a three day journey.
The waterbender doesn't sound convinced either. "Just... Wake me up if anything happens, okay?"
"I will."
The Water Tribe boy gives her a half hug. "Don't worry, I'm still staying up with him. You sleep."
"I'll try. Don't kill each other."
Her brother hums. "No promises."
The joke (because it was obviously a joke) seems to calm her nerves. She settles back onto her bedroll, but not before shooting Zuko a warning look.
Zuko's too busy puzzling over the logistics of his situation to react.
It could work, right? They wouldn't really be sticking to a plan that's bound to fail. Zuko's stayed up for three sunrises before. (Not voluntarily.) Surely the Avatar can manage it. While bending. Because he's the Avatar.
A twelve year old, untrained Avatar.
Zuko shuts down that thread of doubt as fast as it comes. It will be fine. He's just got to suffer through the indignities of being saved by the very person he's hunting. Because they wouldn't really put someone in this situation if they didn't think their plan would work. So it must work.
He thinks of the alternative, of the possibility that maybe they're just kids with hearts too hopeful for their own good, and he wants to strangle them for it. If this really is a stab in the dark, he might just lose it. He does not do well with uncertainty.
And they made a threat out of it. They forced a truce, like they know for certain they'll get to the North Pole, that Zuko's attitude is the only possible obstacle. He can't bring himself to call their bluff.
A cold, wet rag slaps onto his stomach so suddenly that Zuko can't stop his flinch.
"Unless you want to sit around in your own blood," the Water Tribe boy says in way of an explanation. Then he turns back to their stash of packs.
Zuko bares his teeth in a breathless growl and takes the rag.
His hands aren't tingling anymore, but he's not exactly coordinated. There is a concerning amount of blood to wipe away, and in his state, it takes far longer than it normally would to clean. For once, he doesn't need to envision Uncle yelling at him to see why his impulsiveness had been a bad idea.
There's blood on the saddle, too. Should he clean that up? It might stain. Would they try to scrub it out, or would the Avatar just live with his enemy's blood discoloring his bison's saddle?
The Water Tribe boy snatching the bloodied rag back startles him from his thoughts.
"Okay, come on. Those bandages need to be changed, and it's easier when you're sitting up."
With a surprising amount of certainty, he grabs Zuko's arm and bends down to tug it over his shoulder. Zuko tries to pull away, but he's still concerningly weak, and the other boy has a strong grip. The Water Tribe boy pulls him into a sitting position before he can protest. The movement is slow, maybe even gentle, but that doesn't stop the world from tilting dangerously with the elevation shift.
By the time he's leaned against the lip of the saddle, the dizziness has fully taken over his senses. His ears are ringing loud enough that it drowns out everything else, so he really has no idea if anyone is speaking. Unable to focus on anything swimming in front of him, his stomach rolls dangerously. He squeezes his eyes shut and wills it to calm.
He can feel himself being maneuvered as the Water Tribe boy goes about replacing the bandages on his chest. Normally he'd be mortified by how pliant he's become, but in the moment, it's all he can do to swallow against the nausea. He's not going to be sick in front of the Avatar and his companions. Of all the indignities he's suffered, he won't let that be one of them.
Eventually, the nausea fades. The new bandages are secured and the movement stops, and the Water Tribe boy speaks again. "You good?"
What a stupidly vague question in his situation. He's probably not going to vomit all over the place, if that's what he's asking. In place of a response, Zuko pries his eyes open and glares.
The Water Tribe boy raises an eyebrow, then proceeds to smother him with a blanket. (Really, he just tosses the blanket over his head, but it's close enough.)
"You should rest, too," the Avatar suggests, uncaring of Zuko's blanket-drowning. "It's still a while to the North Pole."
Once he's wrestled the maze of a blanket over his shoulders and away from his face, Zuko directs the full force of his scowling onto him. The last thing he wants to do right now is rest.
The Avatar shrinks into himself. "Or not..."
To his right, the Water Tribe boy scoffs. "Stop being such a dick. We're only trying to help."
Zuko feels half inclined to listen, given the circumstances. Surrounded by enemies, he's not doing himself any favors by angering them. But, well, he's got to put his rage somewhere. The entire situation has his emotions almost boiling over.
This time, the look he offers the boy isn't so much of a glare as it is an exasperated stare.
"It's fine, Sokka," the Avatar responds.
The Water Tribe boy just shakes his head. "It wouldn't hurt him to be just a little polite."
They seem intent on taking away any control he has over the situation. First his bending, then his dagger, now his anger.
Fuck them. He isn't giving that up.
The Avatar shrugs. "He hasn't spit fire at us yet. That's good!"
If only.
His companion doesn't agree. "He tried to stab me."
"But he didn't! Think positively, Sokka!"
To Zuko's dismay, the Water Tribe boy's face relaxes, then he pulls Zuko's dagger from his pocket and considers it. That's where it disappeared to.
"I guess I got a free knife out of it."
Zuko blinks. A free knife.
"There you go!" The Avatar shares a hesitant grin. "I guess."
Oh, fuck that.
Zuko throws his hand out to snatch his dagger back. Sluggish and uncoordinated as he is, the Water Tribe boy dodges without much effort.
"Hey, no! You lost your knife privileges!"
Without the breath to argue, Zuko just makes another grab for it, much more coordinated than the last, and with much more injury tugging than he'd planned. He tries not to visibly wince.
The Avatar lets out a startled squawk, and the Water Tribe boy clamps a hand down on his shoulder. The grip is uncomfortably tight.
"Dude, stop," he barks. "Can you just sit still? You'll get the damn knife back when this is all over."
When this is all over. What does that even mean in this context?
There's no guarantee he's ever getting his dagger back, especially not after everything that's happened. He'll just have to steal it back when he can, or else take their word for it.
Content that he's stopped grabbing for it, the Water Tribe boy flips the knife over, inspecting the blade before reading the inscription Zuko knows by heart. "It's fancy. 'Never give up without a fight.'" He hums. "And suddenly everything I know about you makes sense."
The Avatar has a dopey grin on his face. "That's inspiring."
"It's cheesy. And inconvenient for us."
The grin doesn't leave the Avatar's face, even as he shrugs.
With a pondering look on his face, the Water Tribe boy says, "Think if I give him a dagger that says 'Be calm and easy to deal with,' he'll do it?"
Zuko glowers, and the Water Tribe boy returns the look, pocketing the dagger again.
"Don't worry," the Avatar says, like he's trying to reassure Zuko even though Zuko does not need reassuring. "I'll make sure he gives it back."
Zuko doesn't know what to do with that.
As the conversation takes a turn for the unremarkable, Zuko tunes it out. He's hardly got the energy to pay attention to small talk right now. He's loath to admit it, but he's tired.
Under the night sky, Zuko feels the tug of exhaustion behind his eyes, but he refuses to acknowledge it. The shaky truce he has with the Avatar's group still has him on edge. Every breath he's forced through via the Avatar's bending reinforces his anxiety.
This truce is built on kindness. As much as he hates to admit it, Zuko has no leverage in this situation. The only reason he's alive is because the Avatar and his friends can't turn their backs on someone in need. His only bargaining chip is his own life, and that's not a chip he's willing to use. Not to mention, there's only so far he can push before they decide he's not worth it. So it's not much of a bargaining chip.
He's not stupid. Impulsive, maybe, but he isn't so idiotic as to throw his life away. He can cooperate, or at least meet the barest definition of it.
Doesn't mean he's not fucking pissed at his situation.
Zuko can't say he's not grateful to be breathing, but it feels so utterly wrong like this. Unable to speak, unable to yell and shout, unable to even panic properly, he's been robbed of a type of freedom he didn't even know he had. By the Avatar, no less.
How low he's fallen. He won't fall any lower, not by dropping his guard around them.
So he stays awake, despite the rest he needs to properly recover. It's one of the only choices he can make right now. His body will just have to take what it's given.
The Avatar and his companion chat, and Zuko stares at the horizon.
There are a couple of times when the Avatar gets a little too distracted by his conversation. Those are the times that Zuko startles to attention by choking. Each time, he spends far too long trying to hide it before jabbing his foot into the Avatar's thigh.
The first time it happens, the Water Tribe boy looks ready to bite his leg off before the Avatar cuts in.
"It's okay! That was my fault."
Zuko probably doesn't have to stare the Water Tribe boy down, but he does anyway. The boy doesn't hold out long, shifting his gaze to the Avatar instead.
"You can't keep going like this."
The Avatar doesn't waver. He sounds uncharacteristically serious. Duty bound. "I have to."
Zuko feels sick.
With a sigh, the Water Tribe boy glances back at him. "You're really gonna owe us after this, Prince Ponytail."
No kidding. Zuko avoids meeting his gaze this time.
