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Iroh decided Zuko was his kid the moment he was brought into the world.
The boy was still red-faced, tears thick on his face as he wailed in the ocean of his mother's robes. Ursa, bless her, looked exhausted on the white of hospital sheets. Still, she looked happier than ever before. Blood was thick below her as she smiled, for possibly the first time, exposing dimples. Before having Lu Ten, he might've wondered how someone could look so enamored when looking at a fire-tomato of a child. Now, he didn't wonder.
It was to try to help, at first. Ursa looked like she needed a break from holding the plump infant. So, with a quick exchange, he carefully brought him into his arms, and fell in love.
A thick curl of black hair swirled on his head, more than any child he'd ever seen had. He squirmed, a whine spilling from red lips at the change of position. Adorable fists tried to hit Iroh's chest. But then those squeezed eyelashes fluttered open, and fondness spilled into him. His eyes were the most golden of gold, but there wasn't a fire in his eyes. No. It was a sun. Not hot, not hurting. It was the soft rays dancing across green fields. It was the one that warmed baby cheeks and drew relieved breaths from mothers. It was life.
Iroh dared to look at Ursa, trying to keep the wonder out of his voice. "What's his name?"
She smiled, "Zuko."
The kid- Zuko, now stared at him like he hung the stars in the sky. Those baby cheeks rubbed against his chest, delighted giggles bouncing across walls, high and light and too pure for the suffocating cold of the palace. Those tiny fists now didn't hit, instead they pulled on his beard. He knew the warmth of fatherhood. He knew fatherhood when Lu Ten ran across glass hallways and when his nights were no longer his own, the feeling of pride- of warmth becoming his being. But this. This was different. This wasn't his boy; he couldn't be his boy. This was Ozai's boy. But his brother wasn't here. If Ozai wasn't here, then maybe, just maybe, he could, just for this moment, be his brother for this beautiful kid
It didn't last for just a moment.
That moment softened the edges as a toddler cried in his arms, not for the first or for the last time. Zuko was red-faced again, his tears thick in the way they always were. His sobs weren't muffled, not yet. Instead, they were loud against Iroh's chest, wobbling and shaky but not clear enough to give Iroh the slightest clue as to what happened.
"My boy," that was how he always greeted him, never consciously realizing that he was claiming the kid as his own "what happened?"
His beautiful eyes landed on him, tears wobbling, making the gold in them glassy. A pout pulled on his features, accentuating the chub that hadn't begun to fade. Zuko was still just five. Burns hadn't begun to trace his wrist and he hadn't learned that, in the ghost house they lived in, personality wasn't an option.
"Lala- Lala was mean!"
'Lala,' was Azula. He didn't know how to feel about her. Yes, she was only four, but the flame that came so easily in her hands reflected in her eyes the same way it did in Ozai's. Still, there were times he could pretend that they were normal kids, when Azula's laugh didn't carry the cruelty that caused whatever this was.
Iroh hummed, making sure to always make him know he was heard. Then, he gently cupped his cheek, forcing those golden eyes to stay on his. "Can we have more words? How was she being mean?"
A whine, high and ear-piercing, tumbled out. Iroh suppressed a wince. Of course, he loved his son, but he did not miss the whining stage. "She- she was making fun!"
Iroh nodded, though he had no idea what 'making fun' meant. "Fun?"
"So much fun! She said Da- Fa'er like her more!"
Now that was a problem. Ozai's gaze had never lingered on Zuko for more then a moment. (He had... Wondered, for just a moment, why the man hadn't been with Ursa at Zuko's birth when he had stayed with Azula for hours. He didn't learn until later how he'd first reacted, when he saw Zuko for the first time. Now, Zuko obviously didn't remember that, but that wound still ached now.) But, for Azula, those cold eyes stayed. The closest thing his brother could get to pride swam in the golden ocean when he looked at the grl. (Or maybe it was just the eagerness to control, for this family could never have such a genuine emotion.)
But he didn't speak a word of that now. Instead, he softly tutted. "Really? That must've hurt, hmm? How about let's get some tea, and we can talk more?"
The boy glared through globy tears, but still followed. Iroh sat heavily, settling Zuko in front of him, and poured tea into their respective glasses. Those teary eyes widened when they saw the glasses of tea. Then, carefully, so carefully, he took it into his hands. He sniffed it, and promptly turned up his nose. "What is this?"
Iroh laughed. "It's tea, my nephew."
He fixed his glare on the offensive drink. "What is it?"
He repeated it like Iroh was dim not to realize the intelligent depth of his words. Despite himself, he chuckled once again. "It's tea. Jasmine specifically."
A pout pulled on the kid's cheeks adorably, setting the cup with impressive control. "It looks and smells weird. Why do you drink it?"
This time, Iroh managed to control himself enough to not laugh. It was just so adorable. Zuko, with his baby cheeks and so wide eyes, staring at a simple cup of jasmine like it murdered all the turtleducks in the pond.
"Well, nothing can calm the soul like a good cup of jasmine. Are you sure you do not want a sip?" He kept staring, not drinking. Iroh coughed. "Only good kids who drink their jasmine grow tall."
That got him out of his daze, jumping and hurriedly grabbing the cup. In a clumsy gesture, he took a sip, so fast that he coughed on the burning liquid. Iroh gently took the glass out of his hands before he could drop it, rubbing deep circles on the small of his back. "Shh. Maybe don't down it that quickly? We wouldn't want a burned nephew, would we?"
Zuko hurriedly nodded, still whining. Iroh carefully brought the silk of his robes to the boy's face, wiping away the droplets of amber lingering on his chin.
"Tastes good. Didn't like burn though."
Iroh hummed, suppressing the smile pulling on his cheeks. "Understandable."
Times like these got less and less frequent as time went on. Visits pattered out as the war effort grew stronger, and with each time he returned the fat on Zuko's cheeks lessened and the cruelty of Azula's words strengthened. Lu Ten grew taller, and soon he was carrying Zuko around instead of complaining about the infant they had to visit. (It was the most adorable thing he'd ever seen.)
The coming of the end, or the last visit, seemed almost surreal looking back on it.
Zuko walked - not toddled - to him. He looked so adult now, though he was only eight. His hair was pulled into an imitation of a top knot, eyes sharp as he looked up at him. For a moment, he could consider him grown. But hair spilled out of the top knot and those eyes were glassy with tears once again, and before he could blink he was colliding into Iroh's chest, arms not-quite wrapping around him, fingers curling into the fabric peeking out of the metal of his armor. "Missed you, Uncle."
Warmth washed over him. Agni, how he missed his kid. Despite how lies so easily came from his sister, Zuko couldn't tell a lie to save his life, honesty pooling out with every interaction. And it was the most endearing thing he'd ever seen. Oh, how he loved him. He was such a good kid.
Holding him came as easy as breathing, one hand coming to rest over the strained hairs of the nape of his neck and the other pressing against his shoulder. "Oh, I missed you too, my nephew." He pulled back enough to cup his face. "How have has my favorite nephew been doing?"
Zuko chuckled, eyes bright. "I'm your only nephew."
Iroh hummed, a teasing tilt gaining on his grin. Smiles came easy with the kid. "But what if I have a secret extra nephew? You can never know, nephew-"
"Uncle!"
He paused, looking down at Zuko. That familiar pout was on his lips, making him look like that five year old once again, whining at a simple jasmine tea. "What? Can a man not tease his favorite nephew?"
The favorite nephew in question bristled, but still leaned into touch he clearly rarely got at home. Small hands clung to his wrists, as if he was afraid his uncle would pull away. He smiled, though his heart ached."Uncle, must you be annoying every-time you visit?"
A grin pulled on Iroh's cheeks."I do, actually. It's my duty." He laid a dramatic hand on his forehead, his grin growing as he heard Zuko's returning dramatic groan.
"Uncle!"
Finally, he stopped, but didn't stop the smile warming his cheeks. Instead of continuing to annoy him, he kissed his forehead. "Should we go back to the palace, Zuko?
His nephew glared, but still leaned into his kiss and nodded. Despite his attitude, he was awfully clingy. "Fine."
The palace itself was fine. With every-time he returned to it, he was reminded of how cold it was. He didn't miss the extravagant, cold statues of dragons twisting and growling every-time he walked by them.
What he did miss though, were the kids.
He'd forgotten how adorable the two were. Well, mainly Zuko. Azula's eyes were even colder than before. Blue flickered in her irises now, instead of the simple red of her father. She was terrifying. She tried to kill a turtleduck on his first day back. But, there was something close to protectiveness in her eyes as she looked at her brother.
He preferred not to think of the toddler with fire in her eyes and an eagerness for blood on her hands. Instead, he focused on the boy in his arms.
Zuko was so sweet. He took every word like it was made of gold. He sat like a turtleduck waiting for bread as Iroh talked of military drama, especially eager for Lu Ten's childhood stories. (He hesitantly admitted one day that he wanted to learn how to be a man like his older cousin. He nearly cried.) Unlike before, he adored the taste of jasmine, and taste-tested every set of the foreign tea that Iroh brought.
Every morning, he would be waken up by familiar servants. Then, he would go down to the kitchen, greet the staff, before getting breakfast and going out to the turtleduck pond where Zuko would usually be. For the rest of the day, he would hang out with his nephew, sometimes accompanied by Ursa and Azula.
It was nice.
And it was the last one, before the Agni Kai.
He had kissed his boy's forehead and distant but soft words to Azula, fully believing that he would come back to them. He visited like every month- why would he be gone for longer?
But then the war got worse. And the tensions got higher. And everything became so much-
And Lu Ten happened.
Grief became his world, eating him out and spitting him out as a changed man. He couldn't really remember those days. He tried not to, most days.
He spent a few years traveling, not caring about the borders separating the nations. He learned a lot, then. He learned that the Water Tribes weren't savage, that the genocide of the Air Nomads were a genocide and not an actual battle, that the people he'd been laying siege on for years weren't monsters- more unlearning than learning, really. He met a nice man named Pakku, joined the White Lotus- he was truly blessed.
For a while, he didn't think about returning home, too busy grieving and later discovering reality. And when he remembered- well, he ignored it. But then those golden eyes showed up in his dreams, haunting and biting shame into his bone.
He had to return to his son.
The palace had somehow gotten even colder when he was gone. The gleaming gold had turned dim. From what he could see, the bright green of the foliage looked dead. He couldn't tell if it was because something had actually changed, or if it was his perspective that had changed.
He walked into the palace alone, the guards letting him without question. He'd expected fighting, not... This. Everyone was strangely apathetic. Azulon hadn't been that interesting, so why was it that it felt like all life died with the old man? Ozai couldn't have done that much.
He swallowed his discomfort and kept on moving. The blood curtains swam in his peripheral vision, it's shadow long in the empty hallway. Servants crept in the edges of his sight, as if afraid to be seen; they had been like that during Azulon's reign, but not to this extent. Had the halls always been this long? They couldn't have been. Sure, the palace had always been uncomfortable, but that discomfort came with busyness. There were always conversations to be had, servant children to play with, just general voices to be found in the lingering ghosts.
Eventually, he found the throne room. He didn't bother knocking - even without being the prince, he was still royalty. Instead, he flung open the doors, walking a couple paces forward before bowing. He didn't look into his brother's eyes.
"Brother, I have returned-"
He was interrupted by a body colliding onto his.
"Uncle!"
He blinked, falling backwards onto hard floors. There, was his son. He had grown, his limbs now knobby and his movements awkward from newfound length as he hugged him. He smiled, ruffling his hair affectionately.
"Zuko! You dare act like this in front of company!"
Iroh dared to look from his son to glare at his brother. He looked even colder with Agni's crown upon him. His face was ugly and angular, looking almost malnourished with how pointed the bones in his face stuck out. Inky hair fell to his back, disgustingly extravagant in its shine and braiding. Even Azulon, for how he was, never went that far with gross extravagance while his people starved. He resisted the urge to punch him in the face. Instead, he grinned. "Let the boy hug his uncle."
Zuko peeked up from his chest. Oh, how he missed his golden eyes. They were glassy with tears, as they often were, but still shined in the way he always did. Unfortunately, his face had started to carry like his father did, but he still looked kinder than the man ever did. "Um. It is nice to see you, Uncle."
His grin grew wider. "As for you, my dear nephew- or should I say prince?"
The prince's face flushed with shame. It seemed in the years he was gone he still hadn't learned to take a compliment. "I guess so, Uncle-"
Ozai cleared his throat. His eyes were sharp with rage. "Though this reunion is touching, it is unfit in front of others. I will talk with you later, Iroh. It is good to see you in one piece."
The lies were touching, truly. Still, he stood, arms full of a barely not crying child, and walked out of the room with a nod to Azula. The girl sneered. He worried for her. Agni, he wanted to bring both of them far away from this place. Zuko-. Maybe he could take Zuko, but, at the moment, he couldn't steal Azula. You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved.
Zuko refused to part from him. They now sat in the boy's room, his tiny pale fingers clinging to Iroh's robes. He stroked his hair soothingly and refused to see Lu Ten's face in his own. They were different people. He couldn't let his grief corrupt him. "How have you been, these past few years?"
Zuko didn't respond for a moment. He gave him it. Then, he swallowed, lanky fingers twiddling nervously. "It's been... Okay. Bit weird, without Mother and Grandfather."
Iroh paused, feeling cold terror flood his stomach. What had happened to Ursa? Though he hadn't had the chance to talk to the woman much, he could tell she had a good soul. Despite her horrible circumstances, she was easily one of the best parents he'd ever seen.
He cleared his throat. "What happened to your mother, Zuko?"
Suddenly, he was crying again. Thick tears flooded his eyes, but now- his crying was quite. Its only tells were hitching breaths and the red creeping onto his face, as if he was ashamed to cry. Iroh's heart ached, and before he could hesitate the kid was in his arms again.
"I-I don't know! That whole day- I- it was so weird. Like a fever dream. I-I Grandfather had called us to the throne room, and I failed - I always fail - and then we were called out. Father said something to disrespect him, and G-Grandfather got angry. Really angry. La- Azula said that Father was going to kill me, but she always lies so I don't know. Then- Mom woke me up. She said that everything she'd done was to protect me, a-and to never forget who I am? I don't know!"
Gasping sobs escaped him, eyes wide with terror. He cried like the young soldiers back at war, so quite, like they were afraid of bothering someone with their own emotion. But he wasn't seventeen like them. No, he was just thirteen. Agni, he was thirteen- not a man, but forced to not be a boy. Oh, how he hurt for him.
It took him a moment to realize what he was saying. Ozai tried to kill his own son.
Iroh was well-acquainted with rage. He'd felt it when he found out his son died, an inferno encasing his entire being as he shrieked and cried and sobbed. (It was quickly followed by terrible emptiness.) He felt it when Ozai broke his favorite tea cup long ago, when his brother still laughed and could still be considered a person. (Because Before, for a while, his brother was still his brother. Azulon's neglect and the crown changed him.) But this, this was different. Tongues of anger licked his throat, consuming every part of him, blood rushing to his ears, and he was frozen. The tongues were cold. His fists shook, nails biting into calloused, old skin.
"That-" But would he want him to focus on that? He doubted that Zuko understood what Ozai wanted to do. And, besides his mother died. Died. He needed comfort, not Iroh's anger. "That's rough, my nephew."
Where the hell had his ettiquete classes gone? But his nephew simply shook his head in agreement, his eyes still glassy with tears, chin pointed downwards. Iroh hummed, cupping his cheeks.
"Baby," he hadn't called him that since he was a boy "that's terrible. But... I'm sure your mother wouldn't want you this distressed, hmm?" After a moment, Zuko nodded. Iroh smiled."Good. Now, chin up. A prince needs to do his duties, yes? Do you want to play Pai Sho? I haven't had a good game in forever."
He still looked confused, but after some ushering, he followed. The game was nice.
The Agni Kai happened a week later.
Iroh was hesitant to let Zuko go to the meeting with him. Despite how wonderful he was, he couldn't keep his mouth shut. If he saw something that was unjust he would scream and cry and kick until whatever irritated him was dealt with him. His kindness made him a good person, but not a good politician. Politics are like a flower, it needs to be treated with carefulness and delicate words, hiding one's true intentions behind masks and masks until you couldn't tell the true self from the charade. And Zuko couldn't do that.
But, he was right. A Fire Lord needed to know how to operate in a meeting. If he was to be a good ruler, he couldn't be trapped in extravagant walls and silk. So, foolishly, he let him come in under the condition that he did not speak.
He did speak.
The general's plan was horrific. Boys, not men, being used as a fresh bait? It made puke burn the already-scorched skin of his throat. But, it was smart. The cruel intelligence of the Art of War didn't disappear just because he left for years. So, he stayed silent. He wasn't a good man. He wasn't Zuko, pure, foolishly kind Zuko who spoke up with just anger. (His anger was never just. It ate and ate until he was beating a man's head in and sacrificing men and only seeing the horror of war when his own son died from it.)
His boy stood, eyes wide and voice trembling. "You can't sacrifice an entire division like that! Those soldiers love and defend our nation! How can you betray them?"
He was right, but a rock was in Iroh's throat. He tried to pull Zuko back down, but the rice was already cooked, and Zuko simply shrugged him off. He could see the fire growing in Ozai's eyes. They were doomed.
He helped prepare Zuko for his Agni Kai. He still foolishly believed that he was going to be fighting the old general; Iroh didn't have the heart to tell him. With careful hands, he laid the tippet around his neck. "Please be careful, Prince Zuko"
The boy scoffed. "It's just the old general, Uncle. A simple harsh gust could make him topple. It will be no trouble."
Iroh sighed, but didn't press. He finished securing the bangles on his arms, voice soft as he spoke, "Appearances are not always as they seem, my nephew."
The ceremony came far too soon. Servants came flooding into the dressing room, grabbing the prince and ushering him out. Iroh mindlessly followed the swarm, settling in next to Zhao and Azula. The thick smells and lights swallowed him, drowning out racing thoughts until all was empty.
Zuko came out confident. He couldn't make out his face, so far up, but could see his confident strides as he shrugged off the tippet.
Ozai entered. Despite the campfires lined through the entirety of the stadium, his face was cast in shadow. He preferred it this way. He didn't want to see his gleaming grin, or those cold eyes. He might not be able to control himself, then. It was already difficult now: not jumping out and strangling his brother as he pranced forward.
The shadowed form of his son stiffened. "Please, Father. I only had the Fire Nation's best interests at heart! I'm sorry I spoke out of turn!"
He was going to be sick. Ozai didn't bristle, only advancing further, like an ostrich-lion stalking his prey. "You will fight for your honor."
Honor. What a silly concept. Ozai had no idea what true honor meant, only the sickened version passed through generations, used to manipulate instead of inspiring people to be better. Zuko had more honor than they ever did.
Zuko bowed. It was a servant's bow, like one used before execution. He knew his brother wouldn't like that. "I meant you no disrespect." He should've. He didn't deserve respect. "I am your loyal son."
And how messed up of a world did they live in that such a brilliant son was loyal to such a monstrous father? He should be burning him. He should've been spitting on him, beating him, causing him the pain that the man gave so easily. But he was a better man than Iroh was at triple his age. But, of course, his brother only saw weakness. He always did.
"Rise and fight, Prince Zuko!"
"I won't fight you!
Because he was too kind. He was too gentle, too loving for the harsh oceans of reality. A boy who fed the turtleducks and cried when he found out that his meals were made of the animals he loved so much couldn't live in this world. He loved and bled for people as terrible as Ozai, and protected his people with barred teeth even as he hurt.
But his brother was blind to the world. He was blind to the sun below him, to his son below him. "You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher."
He looked away, like a coward.
He's observed people burning alive before, obviously. He'd never had time to process it before too. What he certainly wasn't expecting, was the smell. It's sickly sweet and the smell of smoke hits him and then he's barely swallowing down puke at the screams. Oh Agni, the screams. They're high and harsh before they become pleads and then it's just quite soft sobs and whimpering.
He puked over the edge.
He's sure that, at some point, he must've been led out of the ring, but he didn't remember it. He didn't remember anything up until reaching the pristine white of the infirmary, the clean display interrupted by the figure tangled in stained sheets.
He puked again.
He looked so young like this. He was that little boy hissing at jasmine tea again. Except that boy didn't have bandages covering half of his face, and he wasn't pale as a sheet, and he didn't have a permanent furrow in his brow and looked like he was one breath away from death. He didn't hear whatever the nurse said. Agni, how could he let this happen?
Agni's rise and fall melted into each other. Iroh refused to leave. His hand held the kid's tiny one, tiny and scarred and shaking in his.
Him waking up was the worst part.
At least, when he slept, he wasn't in pain. But, when he did, he hissed. His eyes were foggy with fever and confusion, and he cried and begged for mercy- Agni, he thought he was Ozai. Sometimes, he would fight, a traumatized alley cat and would scratch and bite with all the fury of one. But, more, he was paralyzed. High, keening whines would escape him, and he would cry so terribly quietly. He missed the boy who would wail in his arms. More, anger boiled in his stomach, making him nauseous with the effort of suppressing it.
Two weeks went by like this. The boy didn't fully wake up once. When he asked the nurse about it, she said he was lucky to be alive at all. The burn had gone deep, damaging his eye and his ear, and since he'd been inhaling the smoke for a long time, he was at risk of an injured windpipe - which could've been worse than the actual burn. He could've died. Oh Agni, he could've died.
He should feel lucky, but he didn't. How could he, when his boy had been so close to death and Iroh had done nothing to stop it? He was a terrible uncle. He'd failed another kid.
He'd been nearly asleep when he heard it. A deep, wheezing breath, followed by a coughing fit. Iroh startled awake.
"Father-"
Iroh gulped, before smiling. With the softest of touches, he laid his hand on his forehead, feeling the uncomfortable warmth of it. He breathed out, suppressing the thickness on his throat and the tears threatening him. "No Father, dear. Just me."
Zuko whined at the words. Something in him broke. (Or was it already broken?) "No- Father. I'm sorry. Father. No-!" His voice was high and too raspy for such a young boy. His chest came up and down too quickly, wheezing breaths harsh and pained, and it was so hard not to cry at the sound.
Iroh shushed, gently parting Zuko's sweaty curls with an equally gentle hand. "Shh. It's okay. I forgive you. Breathe."
And he did. Each breathe sounded like it hurt, but the boy still did. For the entirety of it, Iroh held him, saying soft nothings and brushing his soaked hair. He kissed the boy's forehead, ignoring the mess. Eventually, the wheezes softened, and the boy's foggy eyes met his. He still looked confused, but at least the ocean of fever had started to ease.
Iroh smiled. "Do you feel better, Prince Zuko?"
The question was a bit much for him, if the squinted eyes and tilted head were anything to go by. After a swallow, he gave a soft nod, leaning into the touch. Iroh's heart ached at the sight. With a sigh, he gently brought a hand to his unscarred face. Instead of leaning it like he did for his hair-stroking, he flinched, eyes suddenly wide again and the breaths were near-wails again and he shaked and he nearly cursed. "Zuko-"
"No-no! I-no. 'm sorry. 'm so sorry- 'ease- no!" He blindly hit, and those charred fingernails hooked into Iroh's wrist. He didn't suppress the curse this time, gently grabbing the frail hand and placing it down on the sheets. The boy didn't stop panicking, lost in his own head, and Iroh couldn't do anything. He couldn't protect him from anything. From delusions to his own father's abuse, he was useless. When has he ever been of use?
He called for the nurse, and the kid was sedated.
Iroh puked again.
He continued to have little fits of consciousness, each one bringing more crying and screaming and pain. But, with each one the fever lessened, and he gained just a bit more awareness, so Iroh put up with it. He would put up with anything to help him.
Ozai came on the third week, and Iroh nearly killed him.
It was the first time he came during his son's entire time unconsciousness, while Iroh - his uncle, not his father - had been by his side with each day. And he dared to come in like he owned the place, head held high, even though he should be on his hands and knees begging for forgiveness from his son. He only glanced at his crippled son, before looking at Iroh. "He's banished."
Iroh blinked stupidly. "What."
Ozai's eyes narrowed, the fire in them gleaming but cold. (Not like Zuko's, who's - though they still swam with fever and were returned dimmed by it - shone like Agni dancing through the infirmary window.) He clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "He's banished. For refusing to fight in the Agni Kai, he showed cowardice unfit for a royal. In turn, he is assigned to find the Avatar. Only then will he be allowed home."
Iroh blinked once again, trying to get himself out of whatever nightmare he'd been put in. "Brother, you are not stupid." He knew he was sentencing him to death. He was trying to kill him again, since he failed in the Agni Kai. His voice shook as he spoke, nails tired and biting into his palms. "You do know that this is a suicide mission, yes? The Avatar hasn't been seen in a hundred years?"
Ozai smiled. It wasn't the grins from the foggy memories of childhood, where he would laugh and Iroh could pretend they were servant boys instead of royals. No, it was thin, one of a snake waiting to bite. "I am aware."
They were placed on that ship a week later. Zuko had begun to start staying awake for more than ten minutes, but he certainly couldn't walk. He was rolled onto the Wani, and he didn't wake up. They took off, and he didn't wake up. Iroh cried for not the first time since the Agni Kai, and Zuko did wake up.
Those sun eyes gleamed with tears and lingering fever, and too small fingers tangled in his own much larger ones, and squeezed. He was still that boy that fed the turtle ducks and cried when he found out how the sausage got made, even 500 miles away from home and with new and old scars. Iroh sobbed and held him, and Zuko didn't fall into unconsciousness.
Things crashed and burned and got better after that. After a week of near-constant consciousness (now Zuko refused to fall asleep, it was almost worse) the nurse, a man with dark hair and indifferent eyes, approved Zuko leaving his bed. When he said that, Iroh doubted he meant Zuko jumping off every ledge and running around, but that's what the boy did. Even with this, he was far from healed. Despite him jumping off anything and everything, his balance had become... Interesting. The nurse told him that the ears were important for balancing, and, with one melted to his skull, it was excruciatingly difficult to balance. His boy squinted constantly, as if trying to compensate for his damaged vision. He yelled, not just because he was angry (though that was also true,) but because he couldn't hear himself. It was heart-wrenching to see.
All of this only increased his frustration. There was an energy deep in his bones, and a fire in his eyes now. That fire filled his lungs, making the boy spit embers and screams. He'd never once thought of describing the kid as aggressive, but now that seemed to be one of the few adjectives he could place on him. He screamed when one was nice to him. He screamed when one wasn't. He screamed at nothing and everything. And it hurt. He'd hoped that now, far away from the Fire Nation, that his brother's influence would finally break - but, it only strengthened with every mile they traveled. He was that cat in the alley again, hissing and scratching but desperately needing care.
One thing that had changed were the nightmares. With every time that Agni settled, Zuko would scream, a terrible thing that woke up everyone. Those post-nightmare times were the only times that Zuko allowed comfort. Iroh would hold him in his lap, saying soothing nonsense until the wheezes would become breaths once again and that little boy would relax and those shoulders would stop shaking. He looked so fragile, then. Eyes- eye would be filled with tears, looking up at Iroh like he could fix everything that led to this point. He would pout and cling with the nails of the alley cat, and Iroh would let him; because who could say no to this beautiful boy? This sad, wet, traumatized boy.
Eventually, the screams became gasps and whimpers, too quiet. To compensate for this, Iroh began sleeping in the room one over from Zuko's, waking with every little, choked noise. When Zuko came to, he would act embarrassed and would fight once again, but he knew he wouldn't be able to handle being alone with those hurting thoughts. So he would continue to hold him, even as the signs of his kid's distress got quieter and quieter.
Like the endless time before, Iroh startled awake at the sound of a hitched breath. He rubbed the lingering sleep out of his eyes, forcing the world to settle as he lazed out of his cot. Every step strengthened the weight on his shoulders and heaviness on his eyelids, but he continued until he was sat outside of the cold metal of Zuko's bedroom. And there, curled into the tiniest of balls, was him. Bloody teeth dug into the white of his pillow, muffling whimpers and other ungodly sounds, pearly fingers making creases. Those suns were now blown wide with terror, the thousand-yard stares of soldiers, not boys. And he shook, trembling overtaking his fingers to his shoulders.
Iroh sighed, and got ready to do the routine he did so many times before. Padding across the room without a sound, he knelt in front of the bed, and laid the gentlest of hand on that bony shoulder. Still, he recoiled, biting down a scream as he cried. He didn't try to fight, not anymore. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut, as if closing out the world would do anything to stop him from getting hurt. Iroh, gently, so gently, took the pillow out of the boy's jaws, before rolling him over. Finally, his eyes fluttered, locking on him. Iroh smiled. His gums must've been bleeding from the effort.
"Hey, Prince Zuko." The words were a gentle murmur, but still too loud in the stifling room. Zuko flinched nonetheless. His chest was still heaving, the thick sound of him swallowing uncomfortable. Despite him finally looking at him, there wasn't a sprinkle of awareness in those dimmed suns. He'd replaced screaming with getting lost in his own head. He preferred the screaming.
They didn't speak for a long time. Zuko continued to cry so quietly. And he continued to curse himself, feeling the frost seep into his bones, the uselessness thick in his throat, the bandages tied around the ivory of the kid's face haunting even as he let his tired eyes close- and he bled. And he bled and bled and didn't do anything as his boy died- when did he do anything? The boy who laughed instead of hissed was dead, and he killed him. The blood would never get out of his nails. The weigh of murder would never lift. He would never see Zuko laugh again, he would never see Lu Ten laugh again-
"I don't want to find the Avatar."
Iroh flinched. Those suns burned again, looking up to him, a crease between his bows like the admission was already dirtying his soul. He could feel something in him flickering, something dangerously close to relief warming his frozen lungs.
"I- really?" He knew he should be more professional, comfort his beloved son from whatever worry caused him to look so scared as he stared at him, but all that emotion was spent trying to keep himself from yelling in excitement. Maybe his father's reach could only go so far, maybe he was finally realizing that he wasn't right-
"I'm not betraying my country!" The boy's voice was a yelp, eyes wide with panic. He didn't know why he would think that he was. "I- I. I just don't want to. Search. For the- For the Avatar. It seems like a lot." He risked another fearful gpance glance up, and his heart ached for him. "But- but I'll do it, of course. I would never disobey Father-"
He sighed. "I know, Prince Zuko. I'm not accusing you of nothing; I would never. You're not in trouble." He cupped the boy's cheek - the uninjured one, of course. The boy looked up at him, eyes still wide and glassy but an ounce of understanding circling in those suns. "I promise."
Finally, the tension in those shoulders eased, the adrenaline and anger and fear that had been holding him up for so long finally leaving him. His head pitched forward, finding its haven on his shoulder. Iroh barely resisted a coo, but sat himself on the boy's cot and brought his head onto his lap. Said boy curled up, burrowing into his new-pillow with a sleepy whine. Iroh hummed, stroking his hair.
"Shh, sleep, Prince Zuko. I'll be here when you wake."
The boy peeked up, though his eyelids were barely staying up now. "Promise?"
He kissed his forehead. "I promise."
Sure, they might've been far, far from the Fire Nation, his boy had a new scar, and Lu Ten's face flickered in mirrors still, but now he had a new kid - another kid. And nothing would ever hurt his kid again.