Work Text:
A noise attracted Zuko’s attention, a sound of soft footsteps. It was the dead of night, and they were pretty isolated and hidden at the Western Air Temple—but he quickly sat up and turned to see who it was.
In the thin moonlight, he made out the figure of Aang stealing away from the camp deeper into the temple. A sense of relief washed over Zuko that the noise didn’t come from an enemy, but he frowned. “Aang!” he hissed in a whisper. “What are you doing?”
Aang gave no answer, no sign that he heard.
“Aang!”
He vanished into the shadows of the temple without a sound.
Zuko groaned and pushed a hand through his hair. It wasn’t like he had to keep tabs on the Avatar at all times, but there was also no guarantee this temple would stay hidden. On the other hand, Aang was a capable warrior, and it was hard to take him by surprise. Zuko debated with himself for a second. But some instinct told him something was wrong. He couldn’t say what. He sighed and pushed the blankets away and stood, hurrying to the doorway where he’d seen his friend go.
The temple was deadly quiet, except for the odd rustle of leaf or the occasional wind moaning through the stones. Shivers ran up his spine at these sounds, and after a few minutes of hunting fruitlessly in the dull moonlight, he held up a hand and created a flame that sent flickering light and deeper shadows over the broken stones.
He’d never noticed before how badly the interior of temple was ruined. Pillars lay in long piles of tumbled stones. Empty archways yawned black, their doors long since torn or burned out, and drifts of cold air or moans of wind echoed in the depths beyond. Cracks spread through flagstones and walls like spiderwebs, and mosses and lichens grew silently over the ruins, spreading, devouring. Staring at it all, Zuko felt a quiet sadness that had been missing the first time he arrived three years ago, full of twisted rage and hurt and fever from his burned eye.
He hunted behind the piles of stone and ventured through the black archways, calling for Aang in a whisper. But there was no answer save the echo of his own voice. At last, Zuko stopped in a room that was only half-roofed; the tiles or wooden beams had collapsed in pile on the floor. He had a feeling somehow that Aang wasn’t hiding, and that he would be found a pretty obvious place if he could only think where it might be.
After a moment’s reflection, he headed for the balconies that afforded a few of the land. The wind was fresher there, and the night was clearer, and the moonlight brighter. And his guess paid off—he spotted Aang sitting on a pile of broken rock in front of a stone railing that had crumbled away, leaving a jagged gap to the depths beyond. Zuko hurried forward in relief. But his call died on his lips, and he halted.
Aang’s head was bowed; his shoulders were hunched. He held his staff across his knees, but even in the darkness, Zuko could see the boy’s hands only loosely curled around the handle. Zuko extinguished his flame and approached with quiet steps. “Hey.”
Aang stirred but didn’t look up. “Hey,” he murmured. His voice was heavy. He sounded nothing like the bright, energetic kid Zuko knew.
Zuko sat beside him on the rock pile. “You okay?”
Aang gave a deep sigh. He didn’t look up, but he spoke in a low tone. “I just…I remember when this temple wasn’t in ruins. When the monks and the other kids lived here, and-and the sky bison and lemurs. I remember what it looked like…and sounded like.” Now he did look up a little and stared at the black chasm beneath the broken stones where they sat. His voice remained a heavy murmur. “You could hear the kids playing and the monks talking and sometimes pairs of them having lessons outside under the trees. I remember the sounds of wind and rushing and whooshing during the airbending practice. And there were lemurs everywhere, getting into trouble and stealing food.” He gave a chuckle, but it had no mirth.
Zuko frowned.
“I mean, it’s kinda nice to be in a place I remember so well, but…everything’s different.” Aang’s voice sank even lower somehow, and he bowed his head again. “And all the other temples are ruined too. Except the northern air temple. Refugees live there, but it’s still not the same.” After a brief pause, “Katara says she and Sokka and all you guys are my family now—and home is where your family is. But sometimes…sometimes I miss knowing there’s a place I can return to.”
Zuko put a hand on Aang’s shoulder. Aang gave a heavy sigh, hesitated, and continued, “And sometimes—no offense, Zuko—but sometimes it feels wrong to practice firebending here. I mean, I know I’ll be using it for good, but then I remember…what happened a hundred years ago…and-and at the other temples…” He pulled up his knees and rested his arms on them and set his chin on his arms. “It sometimes feels like I’m betraying them—the monks and the kids… all my people. It just feels wrong.”
Zuko nodded slowly. “I understand,” he murmured. After a moment of silence, he said quietly, “But you’re right: you’re using firebending for good. You have to learn it, or you can’t fulfill your destiny as the Avatar.”
Aang buried his face in his arms.
“And…your people would understand that. Right?”
Aang said nothing, didn’t move. Zuko hesitated; he didn’t know what to say. Particularly since it was his people that wiped out Aang’s. After a moment’s frantic thought, he ventured, “They would have wanted you to fulfill your destiny. Wouldn’t they?”
Aang gave an angry grunt. It was so sudden, so unlike him, that Zuko jumped and blinked. Aang’s huddled posture looked tight and defensive now. One fist clenched. His voice was small and muffled and sharp. “I never wanted to be the Avatar!”
Zuko froze. Stared at his friend, and his hand dropped off Aang’s shoulder. “What? Why not?”
“Because…” Aang raised his head and stared at nothing with a stricken expression. “Because everybody started treating me differently!”
Zuko stared at him. Aang sighed heavily. “The monks told me I was the Avatar before they were supposed to—most Avatars find out when they’re sixteen. But they thought a war was coming, and I would be needed to help…” He grimaced and shook his head. “They started putting me through all this extra training. The kids—other Air Nomads—didn’t want to play with me anymore—they said it wasn’t fair because I was the Avatar and had the advantage. I hadn’t changed at all, Zuko! Or learned any other kind of bending. But they still acted like I was this big, important person who was too powerful for our old games. They all treated me different. Except for Monk Gyatso.”
“Who was he?”
“My guardian.” Aang’s voice softened a little. “I guess…he was like what a father would be to me. He still let me play Pai Sho and said I didn’t have to train all the time, and he made me laugh—around him, I could still be me.”
A pause. Aang’s expression darkened, and his voice sank. “The other monks didn’t agree. They thought I should keep training hard and not be distracted. Then I heard…they were going to send me away from Gyatso to one of the other air temples…” He hesitated, his face drawn with grief and guilt. He gave a sharp sigh. “So I ran away.”
“You…what?” Zuko’s voice was sharper than he intended, but he couldn’t believe his ears. Aang was a young kid, had way too much responsibility on his shoulders, and yet he bore the hopes of all four nations. And he was mature enough to embrace his duties. Zuko could not imagine his friend running away from home.
Aang huddled in on himself. “Yeah. That’s why…that’s why I wasn’t at the Southern Air Temple when the Fire Nation attacked.” His voice sank to a whisper. “I never saw Gyatso again…alive. And I never got to tell him I was sorry and-and that I was just confused and…” his voice broke.
Zuko put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Aang rested his forehead on his arms again so that his voice was muffled. “Everyone I knew from my old life is dead, Zuko. Except Bumi. And everyone here either loves me for the being the Avatar—or hates me for it. I do want to help people and end this war, but…but sometimes I just want to be myself. My old self.” He shivered. “And I just wish the air temples weren’t destroyed and…and-and everything I look at didn’t remind me…”
Zuko’s expression softened. In a flash, he remembered wandering across Ember Island, seeing the hills and the beaches where he once spent happier times. Times that were now gone forever. He shifted closer to his friend. “I’m sorry, Aang.”
Aang sniffed. He lifted his head and turned and flung his arms around Zuko, burying his face in the older boy’s shoulder. Zuko froze for a second but quickly slipped his arms around his friend. The trust that Aang had in him after he’d spent the better part of a year hunting the kid never failed to take him by surprise.
The kid. Aang was still a kid, a hopeful, helpful, kind, optimistic kid, who didn’t deserve such heavy responsibility, didn’t deserve this hate or blind worship or to be made a warrior so young. There was no help for it, not with the war, not with the way the Firelord was—but along with these thoughts, a surge of anger rose in Zuko, a kind of anger he’d never felt before. Clean and pure and burning on behalf his friend. At the same moment, a memory flashed through his mind of his shooting fire at Aang mere seconds after Aang made an offer of friendship all those months ago. Zuko grimaced. He wrapped his arms more tightly around his friend. “Hey. It’s okay.”
Aang gave a muffled sob, his shoulders shaking. Zuko patted his back and said nothing for a few minutes. Aang seemed to be trying to get control of himself, gulping back his sobs. “It’s okay,” Zuko murmured again.
“I-I know what—need to…it’s just-just so much to…”
“I get it. You’ve got a lot of responsibility on your shoulders. You’ve been through a lot, and a lot of it alone. And…a good deal of it was my fault,” he added ruefully. He hesitated and murmured, “I’m-I’m sorry my people wiped out yours.”
Aang sniffed and swallowed, but his voice was a little calmer. “That wasn’t your fault. I know that.”
“I know, but…” He sighed. There was so much wrong with the world and not enough people who wanted to fix it. Except Aang. And their friends. And a few people like his uncle. “I’m sorry for what happened to you. You’ve been through more than any kid your age should have to be.” He paused. “But I think…I think if anyone else were the Avatar, it wouldn’t be good for the world.”
Aang pulled back and looked at him curiously, his eyes still wet. Zuko went on, “Most people in the nations hate each other—it’s all they’ve known, and it’s all the war has encouraged. But you see the best in people. And you’re willing to find the good where other people just don’t want to see it or even look for it. I mean…you saw good in me. Or you saw what I could be. And you gave me a second chance when almost no one else would.”
Aang gave a small smile. Zuko continued firmly, “You’re willing to see the good and not the bad, not first. And with the world so divided right now, I think that’s what people need.”
Aang studied him for a moment. His smile grew, and the light seemed to return to his eyes. “Thanks, Zuko. I really do want to help. And Katara said everything that’s happened has happened for a reason. It was meant to be.” He hesitated and gave a short sigh. “I still sometimes wish…”
“I get it.” Zuko nodded and put his hand on Aang’s shoulder again. “I-I mean, not like I really know what you’ve been through, but—”
Aang flashed half a grin suddenly and elbowed him gently. Zuko chuckled, and relief washed over him at seeing Aang act like his normal self. Even though he could not begrudge the kid his grief. “Yeah, okay. But my point is you’re not alone anymore. Neither of us are,” he added quietly. “And you don’t have to deal with this alone.”
Aang nodded. He turned and looked over the ruined stones and dark chasms again, the wind whistling through the cracks and hollows. His shoulders sank a little, and his hand tightened around his staff. “I-I’m not ready to go back just yet, but…could you stick around?”
“Yeah, of course,” Zuko said. He scooted a little closer to his friend. “As long as you need.”