A/N: Not only is this my first written attempt at Zuko/Sukka, this is also my first attempt at something a little darker. It was inspired by me getting sick of all the stories out there for this pairing revolving around Zuko having such a rotten life. I was sick of it, started typing, and this is what you got.
Full Summary: Sokka has the bluest eyes that anyone at Nations High has ever seen. They're clear and pure and they are hiding something much deeper, much worse, than anyone would ever guess. And now, his life is crumbling around him, falling and ending and there's nothing he can do about it. So what happens when Zuko, who had been living a happy life up until then, gets pulled into the Water-Tribe boy's personal Hell? Rated T for blood, abuse, and the occasional curse word.
...Sokka thought to himself as he trudged down the dirt road leading to his house. Only it wasn't really his house, it was his Uncle Rut's house. He had been living there with his little sister Katara for a few years now, ever since their father had passed away in the Four Nations War.
Small, dirty, little houses lined the curved street that he was on. The only people that lived here, on The Boomerang (named for the curved shape of the street), were white-trash and psychos. Or people that were so dirt-poor they couldn't afford anything better. This fact was re-slammed into him as a car-alarm went off near him and a group of tall, lanky looking boys went running in the oppisite direction.
Yep. Just another day living on The Boomerang.
Not that it was where he wanted to live. It was where he had to live. Uncle Rut was the only living relative that the two Mizaki kids had and Sokka wouldn't be eight-teen, old enough to by his own house for Katara to live a happy life in, for another two years. Even then, he wouldn't have the money. Their uncle was a stingy, cruel, abusive man and, if he could help it, the two kids wouldn't be leaving his house for a while longer.
Heck, the only reason that Katara and himself were able to go to school was because the state made them. The rest of their lives were practically spent in the dilapadeted shack that they called a home. It was that or get the crap beaten out of you (in Sokka's case) and your head screamed off (in his sister's) and Sokka much preferred not to be beaten into oblivion more than he had to be.
Which was why, like always, he'd come straight home from school. And, like always, the door was opened by Katara. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a pony-tail and her clothes, jeans with holes that weren't there when they were bought and a faded out green t-shirt, were obviously what she had worn to school. Her eyes, the same shade of blue as the sky on its clearest day, were rimmed with red. She'd been crying.
"Katara? What's wrong? What happened?" His sister always got home earlier than him, due to the fact that her school was much closer than his, and something always ended up happening in the time it took him to get home. None the less, the worry in his voice was still evident.
"I'm sorry, Sokka. I tried to stop him but Uncle completely destroyed it!" Katara sniffed lightly as she stepped aside, opening the door up further so that Sokka could walk into the house.
The moment he did, it was clear what she had been talking about. His science project was completely destroyed. The once tall paper mache volcanoe, complete with dinosaur figures made out of crackers to go with the nacho cheese sauce that the volcanoe erupted, was scattered about the living room floor. And it was due tomorrow. There was no way that he'd be able to re-make it in time.
"My..." His voice trailed off as foot-steps started down the stairs. There was no doubt about who it was; Uncle Rut was the only other person in the house. This wasn't going to end well. He cold just tell.
Straightening himself up from where he'd been kneeling next to the shattered project, Sokka turned his gaze to where Katara was standing. "Hey, 'Tara? Why don't you head to the kitchen? I'll be there in a bit. Okay?"
Of course, Katara didn't buy it. And, of course, Sokka made her go any ways. It was the only good thing about Rut; no matter how much he hit and punched and beat Sokka, the worst he would do to Katara was yell at her. Unless she tried to stop him when he was ticked off at Sokka. So as long as she was out of the way, she would be fine.
"So-kka!" And the next thing he knew, his uncle was back-handing him across the face. A yelp escaped Sokka's throat as he stumbled backwards away from the other man. His face was stinging; a red mark already forming where he'd been slapped.
"What've I told ya 'bout leavin' yer crap layin' 'round here? Huh?" The fact that Sokka had placed his project in the hall closet, where no one would be able to bump into it, evidently didn't matter. Rut was just in one of his 'have-to-go-to-work-so-I'll-beat-up-Sokka' moods. And Sokka had learned a while ago that it was best for him to just be quiet and take it.
And take it he did.
Punch to the gut, the stomache, the chest. Rut was smart enough not to stray too far from the areas that his shirts, long-sleeved of course, would cover. Sokka could already feel the bruises forming, both on his torso and on his arms where Rut was holding him at, but he was smart enough not to scream. Screaming made it worse.
Time passed with out Sokka actually noticing. That happened when you were being beaten, he supposed. All of a sudden, he was hurled to the ground with the order to 'clean that junk up', as Rut stormed out of the house.
For several long and rather pain flled minutes, Sokka let himself lay on the ground. Then the scent of dirt and the realization that Katara was still waiting for him in the kitchen had him pushing himself up. He swayed for a moment, useing the wall to keep himself up, before he put on the best 'fine' face that he had and started to hobble off towards the kitchen.
The moment that he pushed the door open, walking from their small living room into the kitchen that was barely big enough for both teens to be inside of at once, Katara had lunged at him and thrown her arms around his neck. "Oh, Sokka! Are you okay? Let me see you!" The words burbled from her mouth almost quicker than he could understand.
Disentangling her neck arms from his neck, Sokka held his sister at arms length. It was impossible to stop the wince from being on his face when he moved but, seeing as he'd had worse from the older man, he figured that he was fine. It wasn't even like he'd had ribs broken this time.
"Katara, relax. I'm fine. Really!" He gave the younger girl a reassuring smile. It was obvious to both of them that he wasn't fine, he was never fine any more, but she didn't argue. She wanted to believe that he was fine too badly to argue with him. It wasn't like he was going to admit that he wasn't fine any ways. Instead, he gave his sister that still shaky, still pained, smile and asked her, "Think you can help me pick up the pieces to my project?"
When Sokka finally made it up to his room, the first thing he did, right after closing his door, was take off his shirt and toss it onto his bed. Unsurprisingly, it landed perfectly in the center of it. His room wasn't very large, barely big enough for the bed and more then half empty dresser that were there, but he'd gotten used to that fact. The only other substantial thing to note in his room, at least that someone could see, was the large full-body mirror propped up in one corner of the room.
It was to this mirror that Sokka was sulking his way over to. He wanted to see just how bad off his body looked before he crawled into bed for the night. That way, he'd know how dark of a shirt he would have to wear the next morning. If the bruises were too dark, too there, then he'd have to find one of his black turtle-necks to pull on the next day.
And yet he still ended up standing in front of the mirror, eyes locked on his feet, for several moments before Sokka actually looked up and at his reflection. For all the years that he'd been beaten senseless by his uncle, he still couldn't get himself over the hate, the fear, he felt when he actually saw his own injuries. Let alone his own blood. It had taken him months before he was able to even look in the mirror when he had a broken nose!
But he had to do it because he refused to show Katara his injuries. She didn't deserve to see that. To have that image burned into her mind for the rest of her life. Not like he had. No, she deserved to be as happy in this pathetic excuse for a life that they lived as she could be. And if that meant that he had to buck up and force himself not to puke his dinner all over the floor; then so be it.
Taking a deep breath, Sokka lifted his head up so his eyes met the body of his reflection...And felt his stomache clench uncomfortably. Dark bruises, hideous shades of black and purple, marred his stomache and chest. They were mixed in with the mottled shades of yellow, green, blues, and purples; old bruises that hadn't yet healed and probably would never get the chance to fully dissapear.
Marks of similar colors littered his arms. Unlike the thick blotches that covered the majority of his torso though, these were shaped in lines that curved around to the underside of his arm. His uncle had a very tight grip and when he wanted Sokka to be still then, Spirits be forgotten, Sokka was not going to be able to move away.
Other marks of abuse littered his body, making his stomache twist even more as he looked over the older injuries. Half-healed cuts, some from nails, others from glass bottles that had been smashed against him, littered his frame. On one side, the sensitive spot right at the base of his ribcage, held marks of ciggarettes being put out on his skin.
He did his best not to think about the damage that he must have taken internally. But he knew that there must be something wrong there. You didn't go years like he had, with little to no medical attention, being beaten as frequently as he was, and not have something wrong with the inside of you. It just didn't work that way.
Instead, he focused himself to look only at the new bruises. The ones that stood dark against the rest of them. They weren't actually all that bad, at least not compared to some of the others that he had gotten, but they were still pretty dark. Sokka sighed as he stepped away from the mirror, turning instead to crawl into his bed.
Black turtleneck it was.