Hit N Run

Summary – [AU] Zuko, the troubled firstborn of a ruthless gangster. Aang, the mischievous young vigilante. They meet on a rainy night, and their story opens the clouds.

Warning – This story includes violence, gang crime, rape, and homosexual relations.

Disclaimer – Nothing of ATLA belongs to me.

A/N – Zuko is 18 and Aang is 15 in this series. This is a complete AU that will parallel many things from ATLA, but at the same time add a sort of Batman charm to it. It also has an outline of 18 chapters. We'll see how that turns out. -.-

Sweat, grime, and the faint perfume of a wet night. These are all the flavors that burst like fireworks in Zuko's mouth as he downs yet another shot of rum. Bile is but a necessary side effect, so he swallows the urge to grimace as well. That, he urgently reminds himself, would be distinctly unmanly.

Zuko is sitting hunched over, alone at the bar. While there is underaged written all over his face, his ID, a real one, is actually useful for something. One look at his last name, and there is a distinct change over any probing individual; a look of resignation, shock, maybe even fear. The nominal attachment is something he is fiercely proud of. And likewise, he takes advantage of it. "'nother one," he calls to the bartender.

"Hey sweetie," a velvety voice interrupts, sliding smoothly next to him and snatching his glass out of his hands just as smoothly. Squinting through the darkness and the flashing lights, Zuko seems some semblance of a young woman not far from his own age, leaning against the bar in a skimpy waitress uniform and frowning at him, as if concerned. "Don'tcha think that's enough for one night?"

The curves of her breast, the slim muscles that run through her arms and legs, the braid falling down her back. "Do I know you?" Because, Zuko thinks, he swears he does.

At that, she giggles. "Is that your pick-up line?" No, unless it's worth it. And seeing her body through the haze of alcohol, it's definitely worth it. "Alright, here's the deal. I give you a treat for the eyes, and you lay off the booze. Yeah?"

Zuko does nothing but nod. No use complaining about taking orders from a stripper. And besides, this has just made his night all the more eventful. The girl smiles, sets her tray down, and in one graceful leap she swoops herself onto the pole. That's when Zuko hears the laugh of the last person he wants to hear.

"Oh Zuzu, trying to be all grown up?"

Deflating a little, Zuko does not bother to turn around as he snaps, "Leave me alone." His eyes are on his prey.

A crisp snap of movement sounds behind him. Zuko groans. He should've expected this; his sister eleven months his junior leaps over his head with hardly any difficulty, landing on the bar with her legs crossed. Seeing him drunk, deflated, deprecated, Azula's lips slide smoothly into a smirk. "Well, fancy seeing you here at this time of night."

"Me?" Zuko says incredulously. "What about you?"

Azula raises an eyebrow. "Business," she says, as if it's obvious, but before Zuko could respond, Azula turns and orders, "Ty Lee, get off that silly pole now."

This is something he did not expect. The girl, the skimpy waitress dancer velvety-voiced girl, blinks and obeys his sister like a puppy. "You know her?" Zuko asks, slightly shocked, slightly enraged by her behavior.

"Of course," Azula raises an eyebrow. "She's the Contortionist."

"You're the Contortionist?"

"That's what I just said. She's the Contortionist."

Ty Lee cringes visibly. "Please, please quiet down. We're banned from revealing code names in such public places."

Zuko, however, couldn't seem to let it go. "You're the one who uprooted Teo TEC from the inside! You even took down that S.W.A.T. team that invaded—"

"Zuko," Azula warns in a hiss.

"—last week!" Zuko finishes without giving away any names, nor giving a shit about the death glare Azula is sending him. "You're the Contortionist?"

Ty Lee covers her eyes from hearing the considerable abuse of freedom of speech, while Azula rolls her eyes from her throne of a bar. "Yes, and she's also leaving"—Zuko gives a squawk of protest "—so why don't you go convince another girl to slap up some cheap sex for you?"

"She—"

"has better things to do than play with your cock all night," Azula interrupts smoothly.

A rush of rage hits him in the gut. Zuko bites his tongue testily at this insult to his dignity. Restraint. Calm, Think.

There are consequences for acting out of terms.

"Father?"

Zuko waits, but he is met with no answer other than the back of Ozai's head. The silence is only broken by the slow, ugly sound of saw blades in the other room; Zuko doesn't want to know what's happening there. Finally, the solidarity of the word becomes too much. Zuko continues. "Father, excuse me…I can't help but notice—"

"What." He deadpans.

Zuko bites his tongue testily. Restraint. Calm. Think.

But then he breaks. "Who the fuck are you to order me around?"

"Order you around?" Azula snorts incredulously. It's as if her tongue snaps into action, and it can't resist showing just how much smarter it is. "I'm simply giving orders to someone with whom you've gotten yourself tangled up. So untangle yourself, and soon, because she has a job to do. I have a job to do."

Of course, Zuko thinks sulkily. Because Azula gets all the power.

He takes a deep breath. "I heard you gave Azula a job."

Finally, a reaction. Ozai tenses noticeably, even lets the urgency show through the gruffness of his voice. "Where did you hear this?"

"Just around—"

"What do you know?"

"Nothing! That's all, that's literally all I know! You gave Azula a job!" Zuko says as quicklya s he can. He sees all too clearly that this is something confidential enough that not even he can know. Or, he thinks grimly, this is something important enough that he shouldn't be bothered with.

He wonders if he should ask his next question: What about me?

Maybe it's the alcohol, or the estrogen built up from watching Ty Lee that his body is now confusing with adrenaline, maybe it's the tense bit of fear Zuko feels every time he has to face his father's henchmen, knowing that they have sworn loyalty to Ozai, Azula, but not him. Whatever it is, after listening to Azula talk down to him for the umpteenth time, it's telling him—Let's shoot this bitch.

"Zuko, no!" Ty Lee screeches before Zuko knows what he's doing. She grabs the bottle from his hands before he can strike, but it's too late. Azula has already chosen to strike back.

Everyone gathers 'round, not exactly to see two stupid kids get in a bar fight, but Ozai's children turn a bar fight into a deadly contest of martial arts. Mix in more spilt beer and a couple of screaming go-go dancers, and they have the best night of the week. But Zuko has yet to land a hit.

"Don't think you can step out of your boundaries, Zuko—"

"Why do I have different boundaries than her?" Zuko can't help but ask snidely out of the corner of his mouth.

"I've had enough of this."

Zuko punches with a fist of pure rage, but dear, sweet Azula twists it back in and nearly dislocates his elbow.

"Leave. Now. And think about your place in this world."

"Father—"

He kicks out from under her and manages to get out of her grip. She regains her form. Of course; she never seems to lose it.

"Perhaps when you've finished, you'll have realized…"

Don't say it.

"…why Azula is better suited for this than you."

"NO!" Zuko nearly kills his little sister with a chair raised high above his head when the bouncers come in to fold his arms around his back. Azula remains, lying as still as a statue on the tiled floor, eyes teasing him with that infuriating look. You wouldn't have been able to do it anyway, they are saying.

"Alright, out you go."

"Do you know who I am?" He fights mindlessly, thinking of every possible terrible thing he could do to these men for kicking him out in such an undignified manner. But something in him stops, as if he suddenly understands something, and he goes limp in their arms. His powerless position? Or the pointlessness in this entire night? Whatever it is, Zuko stops. He surrenders.

Grateful that he's finally ceased in threatening to make them eat their balls, they say kindly but gruffly, "Even so, out you go." Then they hand him a wad of bills in the hopes that Ozai won't track them down and have their bowels for dinner. Before he knows it, he's out in the middle of the streets, in the middle of the night. And it's raining.

Sweat, grime, and plenty of garbage rotting in the wetness of it all.

It's times like these when you regret wearing a t-shirt.

Zuko staggers down concrete roads with all the effects of alcohol hitting him like a train. What time is it? Who cares? Maybe all people should walk this way. It makes moving in the rain considerably harder, takes considerably longer, and everyone needs to get wet once in a while. It allows him to think. Sort of.

There are sounds behind him, disquieting little footsteps, but they don't bother him. He can't really hear them anyway, so maybe they don't really exist. "So…fucking stupid…"

More footsteps. He knows he should feel worry from the prickles running down into his heart. He doesn't even turn around.

"Goddamn worthless…"

They're coming closer.

The moment Zuko turns to puke into the dumpster, four pairs of hands grab his limbs and sprint down the rest of the alleyway as fast as they can.

"What the—let me go!" Zuko lashes out, kicking and punching wherever he can. Except he can't, really. A drunken teenager doesn't stand a chance against four determined and sober men. "Get off me!"

Shit, where are their faces? They have none, just black night in their eyes. "Get off me!"

They knee him in the gut before he has a chance to get a good look at them, and also to shut him up for good measure. Zuko groans and feels puke rise up his throat again, just in time to mix in with the blood. It's fucked up and he's had enough, but when he tries to escape again, they knee him square in the chest. He closes his eyes and wishes for nothing more than for this night to end.

When Zuko opens his eyes, he's shocked to see his wish granted.

They are sitting tied together in the strangest of ways, hidden in the alleyway crevice with amusing gags at their mouths. It's odd, but whatever extravagant means it takes to get them off him, he's more than happy with. Zuko stands up groggily. The rain pours down harder than ever. He can barely see. But he wants to get up close and find out who they hell they are…

A light touch stops him. Zuko turns. His eyes pop out.

A lean figure in black, wearing the brightest of masks next to the worst of days. The mask is half-covered with pristine orange paint, somehow reminding him of the fired torches he uses when he fights. This character seems to be immune to the depressing touch of the rain; maybe even younger than Zuko, and far more stable. Whoever he is, he's pointing at the four tied men and saying with a repetitive nod: Let them go.

"…What?" Zuko whispers hoarsely, swearing he must've heard those words out loud. Nothing but rain patters in the silence. He waits, though.

Let them go. Go home.

"Who are you?" Zuko asks, wanting to get a closer look, the rain acting like a window between him, a dismal interior, and a beautiful wonderland of a person. "Did you do this?" The masked figure just seems to stare at him imploringly. Finally, he gives up and obeys.

Zuko takes a step in the right direction at the mask's encouraging nod, and then he goes on with his feet in one direction and the head facing the other, wondering how long he could go without losing sight of the happy orange mask. It stays with him until he must turn away, and then he can almost hear the sounds of a young boy leaping over buildings, like dreams he used to have when he thought he could fly.

"I am way too fucking drunk."