Chapter Text
Everyone in the southern water tribe knew what the black snow meant. They knew the pain that followed. They had lived it. Every raid and the months of misery in the aftermath. They watched as their numbers dwindled. Taken, or killed. Until solstice ceremonies made it clear how many had left them, and the few remaining had no joy left for celebration. Prayers and thanks to Tui and La became pleas and curses. How could they let this happen? The once proud tribes of the Southern Water Tribe turned to a mere whisper of what they once were. History was destroyed, taken away with the last tribe members who remembered the old stories.
History in the water tribe was passed down from mouth to ear; parchment can hardly be made with ice and snow. In fact, hardly anyone in the southern tribe could write. Skills like hunting or sewing took precedence over such things.
Now there are hardly any mouths left to pass the stories on, thanks to the Fire Nation raids.
Sokka had seen the black snow before, but he was so young that as soon as it began to fall, his mother tucked him and an infant Katara under her arms and huddled to the back of their igloo, a hand over both of their mouths.
When Dad had returned with the all-clear, and they were able to leave the igloo, Sokka noticed how empty the village felt. Igloos had been melted down or filled with holes. Tanning and curing racks laid blackened in the snow, nothing more than char and smoke.
When he saw the crumpled, sobbing faces of his fellow clan members, his heart dropped.
The entire village stood before him, and all Sokka could think was, That's it? Faces were missing from the crowd: Sana and Koto. Only two were missing, but to Sokka it seemed as though half the village had vanished.
So when the black smoke fell again, seven years later, Sokka’s only thought was that he couldn’t lose anyone else. At twelve years old, he grabbed his Dad's deer-elk antler knife and hurried outside. When the sun hit his eyes, he found it more unbearable than usual, but after a moment to adjust, he discovered the light was not from the sun. Plooms of flame erupted around him, blinding him, catching on anything flammable in sight. He flinched back before steeling himself and ducking into the fray. Screams fill the air around him, and he turned frantically towards them, but had to duck suddenly when the wooden mast from a water tribe ship let out a low creak and fell towards him. He just barely avoided getting flattened by the charred wood when he spotted a figure stuck beneath another beam, the sail caught aflame and covered their lower half. They flailed under the dancing flame, keening in pain as they tried desperately to rid themselves of the weight holding them down.
No. Not again, he thought.
Sokka let out a ragged gasp and rushed to their side. His hands floundered over the burning wood, grasping at the charred surface. He let out a sharp hiss, staring down at his now red and soot-stained palms. It was no good; he wouldn't be able to lift it even if he could withstand the heat. Cursing his scrawny arms, he glanced desperately around, and his eyes caught on the soldier’s moose-mammoth tusk sword. There! He rushed over, slipping on the melting snow, before grasping the handle and dragging it over. He wedged it under the beam, kicking the end a few times to push it firmly under, before pulling the sword handle up. His skinny arms shook under the weight of the beam, but he managed to lever it up enough to allow the soldier to roll out from underneath. With a sharp gasp, he let the beam drop to the ground with a heavy thud and blinked the black spots from his vision before tumbling to the ground next to the soldier, half from relief and half from dizziness.
“Sokka?” The soldier whispered, his voice hoarse from screaming.
Sokka’s eyes darted up to meet the soldier’s, chest heaving from gasping breaths.
“Bato?” Soka responded, breathless. Before his eyes widened in horror at the blistering burns decorating the man's torso. Sokka gathered piles of snow in his bare hands, which had begun to turn a bright red on his palms, and pressed them against Bato’s burns.
The man’s skin was bright pink and looked like the texture of frozen sap. When the acrid smell of burnt flesh reached Sokka’s nose, he gagged. He tried breathing through his mouth instead, but he could taste it, and that only made it worse. So he resorted to biting his tongue to keep from throwing up.
Bato hissed before tilting his head back to thunk against the snowy ground, staring star-eyed into the soot-filled sky.
“What- what are you doing here?” Bato managed to get out through panting breaths.
“I’m looking for Dad,” Sokka replied, not able to tear his eyes away from the burns as he packed them with snow.
“He’s- He told me to find Katara and your mother. They are looking for waterbenders.” Bato barely managed to get the words out.
Waterbenders? Aren't they always here for waterbenders?
Sokka’s brows furrowed as he looked down at Bato, before-
Oh. Katara.
Suddenly, he was up on his feet, picking up his dagger from where he dropped it, and hightailing it for their family’s igloo, only feeling slightly bad for ditching Bato. But he couldn't risk waiting. If they found Katara, that would be it. They would take her, and he would never see her again. She would be gone, and there would be nothing he could do about it.
He dodged blasts from nearby Fire Nation soldiers as his tribe desperately fought back with what little forces they had. One such blast got so close it almost took his eyebrows off. But just managed to hit the ground in time for it to fly overhead. Pulling himself up out of the snow, he took off again, taking a corner so fast he almost slipped on the ice. He was so consumed with panic that he almost missed a small ball of blue and white crashing into his chest.
“Oof!” The air was knocked out of Sokka’s chest by the impact, and his arms instinctively cradled the small figure to his chest. When he glanced down, his eyes met the tear-filled ones of his seven-year-old sister. “Katara!” he exclaimed, “Are you okay?!”
She let out a shuddering sob, frame shaking against his chest as she clutched at his parka. She ducked her head into his chest and pointed back towards their igloo, “Mom’s in trouble!”
Sokka’s eyes widened in panic, and he gripped her shoulders, pulling her back to meet his eyes. “Go find Dad! I’m going to help Mom.”
Katara barely had time to nod before Sokka bolted off towards their igloo, his grip tightened around the dagger still clenched in his fist.
As he crashed through the entrance, the first thing that hit him was the smell. Like cooked meat and burnt hair. Similar to Bato’s wounds, but stronger. It was acrid and stuck to the moisture in his mouth and nose, so strong he could taste it on his tongue.
Then his eyes caught up, and he took in the scene before him. Directly before him stood a Fire Nation soldier; his uniform looked slightly different than the other soldiers’. His shoulders were more spiky, broader. The captain, maybe?
In front of the soldier was a pile of char and soot, like a fire left overnight without any new wood. Or-
Oh.
Oh. No.
“Mom.” He whispered, eyes locked on what he now knew to be the charred corpse of his mother. What’s left of her lay sideways on the floor, arms outstretched towards him, mouth agape. Her skin, once a warm brown, was stained with soot… what's left of it, at least. Her eye sockets were blackened and hollow as they stared past him.
She looked nothing like how she had that morning, when she pressed a loving kiss to his forehead to wake him up. He had grumbled and wiped at it, much to her amusement.
He was twelve, much too old for good morning kisses.
Now, as he stared at her corpse, the regret felt like a punch to the gut. He had wiped off the last kiss she would ever give him.
He wrenched his gaze away from his mother to glare at the soldier, who had turned to face him.
“Well,” the man started, a cruel grin on his lips, “What do we have here?”
This man had burned his mother, and now he had the nerve to smile about it?!
Before Sokka’s mind could catch up, he was throwing himself at the soldier with a feral scream. The knife in his hand was poised to strike, aiming for the man's exposed throat.
But the soldier merely laughed and caught his wrist, pulling Sokka closer.
“You’ve ought to learn some respect, boy.” The soldier spat, eyes glinting as he stared down at Sokka. He brought his free hand to hover over Sokka’s bare neck. “This can be your first lesson.” With those final words, his hand closed around him, and Sokka’s vision whited out.
Pain. All he could feel was searing, withering pain.
White. Hot. So unbearably hot.
Sokka could hear, beyond the high-pitched ringing in his ears, screams of agony. For a few moments, he thought it was his father, or Katara, before it hit him…
Oh, that's me. I'm screaming.
It seemed to go on forever, lava seeping through his throat, dissolving his vocal cords and fusing his esophagus.
He couldn't breathe; he couldn't think beyond the never-ending mantra of ‘Pain, Pain, Pain.’
When the hand finally released, Sokka felt as though layers of his skin had gone with it. His throat felt raw, and even the cool air felt like acid against his skin. He thought that once the hand had released him, it wouldn't feel so bad, but it still felt like someone was holding a flame near it. Or like the fire was under his skin, clawing to get out.
His vision blackened around the edges, and he stumbled back to hit the icy side of the igloo.
The combination of burning heat and searing cold lit his skin up, and he began to shake. His teeth chattered even though he felt hotter than he ever thought possible.
Sokka blinked away spots as his vision swayed, and he stared down at his hands as they vibrated violently, now empty of the dagger, which he spotted on the ground beneath his feet.
“I hope this serves as a reminder of the power of the Fire Nation.” The man sneered, and Sokka, who had completely forgotten about his presence, flinched at the sound of his voice. “If not, I'll be back soon for another… show of might.” The man laughed cruelly and turned towards the exit.
Sokka’s eyes locked onto the back of the man’s neck, and he clenched his jaw to quell the chattering. The sharp blade at his feet called to him as he watched the man leave.
As his vision darkened and blurred, his eyes drifted towards his mother's figure, still lying prone on the ground.
The soldier was a fool if he thought Sokka would just let him leave after what he had done. After the pain he had caused.
Without a second thought, Sokka dipped down to scoop up the dagger, his vision swaying precariously. His feet felt disconnected from the rest of his body, but somehow he managed to keep them beneath him as he rushed the soldier from behind.
The man turned, hands outstretched, but it was too late. Sokka’s dagger lodged right through the middle of the man's throat before he yanked it out cruelly, accompanied by a spurt of blood that speckled Sokka’s face.
He stared into the soldier’s eyes as they filled with panic. He watched his face turn purple, and his eyes bulge. He looked down at the bright blood seeping into the snow at their feet and couldn't find a single ounce of regret.
This man got what he deserved.
He heard the man hit the ground, an echoing thud, and let out one last choking gasp, before all went quiet. The ringing in his ears droned on, and through panting breaths, he could taste blood on his tongue. Sokka’s hands grew slack, and with the shaking of his limbs, the knife jumped out of his grip and joined the soldier on the ground.
Mom.
His eyes squeezed tightly shut. He prayed to Tui that he would turn around and his mother would sit up, laugh, and pull him into a tight embrace.
When he turned towards the corpse of his mother, his eyes opened, and immediately filled with tears.
He should've prayed to La.
His legs shook as he stepped towards her, before they gave out. His knees hit the hard ice next to her corpse. The walls and floor around her were scorched and melted. The water soaked through his pants, but he didn't care. He practically collapsed into what was left of his Mom. Wrapping his arms around her as bits of her burnt skin flaked off and stuck to his tear-streaked face.
“Mom,” He sobbed, burying his face into what once was her warm parka. “Mama, I’m sorry.” She was still warm, but not because of her own body heat. “Wake up, please.”
His arms clutched tighter around her, and he pressed his ear desperately against her chest, hoping to hear the beating of her heart. But instead, he flinched violently when he heard the loud snap of her brittle ribs breaking beneath the pressure.
As if that sound snapped him back to reality, it seems to click. She’s dead. She’s not coming back. No more good night stories. No more motherly hugs. No more forehead kisses.
A harsh sob tore from his lips, and then he just couldn't stop. His chest ached so badly, and he couldn't seem to draw in any air as he choked out sob after sob. He howled his agony into her unmoving chest, fingers clawing for purchase on her frame, but her body seemed to just keep crumbling to dust beneath his fingers.
Soon, a distraught gasp sounded from behind him, but he could hardly hear it between his own gasping sobs and the ringing in his ears.
But when two warm arms wrapped around him, he flinched back, almost expecting his mother's smiling face.
“Sokka.” He heard the familiar rumble of his dad’s voice. No, it’s not Mom. Of course not. What a silly thought.
Stupid…
“Sokka,” The voice tried again, “Is that…?”
Sokka nodded, still gasping for air.
Dad hauled him away and into his warm chest, arms wrapping firmly around Sokka’s small frame. Sokka’s nose burrowed into the fur collar around his Dad’s neck, muffling his cries into the fur. The smell of the snow fox fur did little to drown out the stench of blood and burned flesh.
It was all his fault. He should've been faster.