Chapter Text
“I don’t like him.”
Sokka looked up from the omelette he’d been shoveling into his mouth, chewing slowly as he followed Katara’s line of sight. His eyes took a second to catch on who she meant.
“Zuko?” He said through a mouthful of egg and mushroom.
“Yes. He has no respect for this campus’ principles.”
Sokka flattened his features, repressing the sidelong glance he wanted to give her and swallowing his food before speaking again.
“How dare he.”
He glanced back at Zuko. He’d only transferred to their school a few months ago, but the number of unfavorable interactions Sokka had already had with him was shockingly high. There was the time he’d burst into their political theory lecture late, interrupting what Sokka had– up until that point– deemed his best presentation yet. Then the instance at the tea house. Suki was the one who chose it, so it seemed a collective shock when Zuko was their server. He’d been walking stiffly towards the table, steaming teapot balanced precariously on the tray, only to trip and send it hurtling toward the table. Sokka could vividly remember the explosion of boiling water and ceramic. This was all to say nothing of the rock wall scene, which Sokka still prickled thinking about.
“Responsibility, hard work, respect–” Katara’s voice filtered through his thoughts.
“Okay, okay. I think I get it,” he said, his hands flying up in mock surrender. Katara smiled.
Zuko had stood from the bench he was studying at, his black hair flopping wildly against his face. Sokka didn’t understand why he was out there with the wind, but it wasn’t his place to care.
“Why do you care so much anyway?”
She sighed, “I don’t. Not really. I think sometimes I just need a scapegoat to spend my energy on.”
Sokka nodded like he understood, but he didn’t, not really. Most of his emotions tended to stay inside. That was where he preferred them because that was where they were easiest to get a handle on.
“I should go. I’ve got to get to my psych lecture.”
Katara stood, fumbling with her wallet to pull out thirty dollars before flipping her dark hair over her shoulder and walking out. Sokka felt slightly guilty letting her pay, but they both knew he wasn’t making nearly as much as her at his internship.
He scraped together the last bits of his omelette, still chewing as he pushed out of the diner’s glass doors– then almost biting his own tongue off as he collided with someone.
The words came out before he could stop them, as if by instinct.
“It’s fine.”
He paused, tense silence filling the gap between him and Zuko. The other boy’s brows were bunched together in confusion.
“I’m…sorry?” Zuko said, the words sounding foreign in his oh-so-identifiable rasp.
Sokka backed away, trying his best to not let his eyes stick to the scar mottling half of Zuko’s face. The heat languidly dissipated from where they’d collided. Suddenly, Sokka was much more aware of the painfully cold bite of late autumn.
Deciding not to dignify that with a response– unless you count a half-hearted scoff, he shuffled away, crossing his arms in a sad attempt to warm himself up.
Later, in a random elective about ecosystems and fire, he realized how much of a strange delight it was to add ‘diner collision’ to a growing list of happenstance and slightly awful encounters.
Sokka stepped out of his last class for the week– and his favorite, by far, but sometimes he had to remind himself of that to get through how late it ran– and into the campus’ parking lot.
He could hear distant car alarms, bangs and voices, jumbled by the distance and fading away. It was New York and most definitely some type of street-level crime, but what else was new?
He was thumbing through his key ring, the one Katara said was much too jumbled to be functional, when he heard it. A screech of metal, shouts, and– a car, mangled and groaning flying towards the air.
Sokka could feel panic trying to rocket through his body, but he shoved it down and ran. The effort of moving made him want to shout, but the growing lump in his throat stopped him. His feet– in sandals– were slapping against the gravel so loudly he winced.
He couldn’t– wouldn’t look back, just in case the car was right behind him, which dimly registered as slightly silly. It’s a car, not a human chasing you. His feet skimmed the grassy hill on the edge of the lot and he tumbled toward the ground gratefully.
His breath was loud and quick in his ears, his heartbeat in his fingertips and the car was– silent?
Sokka summoned the courage to look back.
The car was settled calmly on the ground, webs hanging from it limply. Sokka sighed, frustration overtaking any remaining fear. Seriously? He wanted to scream it. This guy? And he couldn’t even tell me it was fine to stop running?
“Are you okay?”
Sokka whirled around, dew drops soaking into his sweatpants. He huffed, “Fine, yeah. Thanks.”
Spiderman just nodded, the deep blue of his suit almost black in the retreating light.
“Your feet?”
“What?”
Sokka snapped, not unintentionally. Spiderman reeled back, the white eyes
on his mask squinting in what Sokka guessed was hurt. He felt only slightly guilty.
“They’re fine,” he managed, the bitterness in voice replaced with exhaustion he now felt in his bones.
“Good.” Spiderman shuffled on one foot. It occurred to Sokka that he was just as awkward as the tv made him look, only confident when he had a foe to vanquish.
Then he was gone, webs catapulting him on top of the streetlights and over the buildings. Sokka ground and fell back against the grass, the cool dampness of it barely touching the overwhelming– what was it? Embarrassment, he figured.
The door to Sokka’s apartment slammed shut behind him. He jumped, the low buzz of emotion he’d been harboring the whole drive home suddenly spiking.
“Sokka!” Katara exclaimed from the couch, her head resting at an unnatural angle so she could look at him and a grin spreading across her face.
“Sokka’s here?” His gaze drifted towards the figure sitting silently on the floor. Toph’s ebony hair was gathered up in her usual bun and her guide dog, Padme, was resting idly in her lap.
Sokka greeted the gaggle of people in his and Katara’s apartment– Aang and Suki were there too– before shutting himself in his room. He was conscious of every breath he took in, never quite satisfying the simmer in his chest. He stripped off his still sweaty hoodie, shivering as his bare, clammy skin came into contact with the air conditioning.
He’d always been a bit hooked on the idea of powers– ones that made you important and unique and strong in a way nobody else was, even if he never really cared for the real superheroes scattered around the city. But now, he felt indebted. He hated it, hated the weight that had settled on his chest, hated knowing he would have to carry it around, but most of all hated that it was Spiderman he felt he owed something to. It wasn’t like he was leisurely walking around campus and would need to be spotted cash or covered for when he was late. It was a debt Sokka could never pay back, and that made him particularly bitter.