Hi everybody! This is my first Avatar fic, but I'm really hyped for it. There's never enough angsty Zuko in my life, and definitely not enough of Iroh and the Gaang comforting him. I also love high school AUs, so here we are! This has also been cross posted on ao3 under the username isnt-it-pretty, so feel free to follow here or there!
I'd also like to let you know that there are several trigger warnings for this story, and at some points it can get pretty graphic, as that is my writing style. It includes (obviously) elements of severe depression, anxiety, and many other mental illnesses. Zuko is severally insomniac, and has a problem with alcohol, cigarettes, and recreational drug use. So here is your list of triggers, please pay attention.
TW: Suicide attempts, self harm, alcohol abuse, drug abuse, smoking, PTSD, child abuse (both physical and emotional), and bullying. Also, as a side note, there is a few more tags that will be updated as the story goes on, but I will put them at the beginning of the chapter. If you have anything you'd like me to warn you about, hit me up in the reviews!
It was black. The darkness cradled him, like his mother's arms did so long ago. It snaked away his fears and anxiety. He felt at peace. How long had it been since he last felt this calm? Zuko didn't know, but he didn't need to. Soon, it wouldn't matter; nothing would. He would be nothing but a name in the papers, disappearing into obscurity, a name forgotten in the rush of new information. He didn't matter. He would never matter.
Again, the darkness lulled him, pulling the thoughts away, only to be replaced once more. He was dying, that much he knew, but that was his goal all along. Zuko wondered what would happen, who would find his lifeless body, the bottle of Fentanyl pills spilled out in front of him. No doubt his father would turn it into a political campaign, playing the part of the grieving parent. He could practically hear the man's solemn speech. Senator Ozai would talk about the loss of his eldest child, and only son. How if only they kept drugs off the street, if only he could have done something. Azula would be close by, dabbing her eyes and hiding her smile, filling the role of heart broken sister. Together, they would reach out to every mother and father, pull on their heartstrings. Even in the darkness, Zuko wanted to laugh. The world would be fooled, just like they always were, and his father would get his votes. Who knows, maybe Zuko would be good for something after all.
Suddenly, there was something in the distance, was there even distance in this void? The darkness answered for him, a ripple. He heard noises, voices.
No
There was yelling.
God, please no.
The darkness started to fade.
Please, please I can't do this. Please don't make me wake up.
The dark nothingness disappeared, replaced by a blinding pain, and a sickly awareness.
Everything hurt. It was the opposite of the darkness. It was bright. His body ached, reminding him that he was, unfortunately, alive.
Why.
He had felt this way too many times, each growing further away from life. It didn't take long before Zuko realized that he still heard voices. They were softer, less violent, and far more clear.
"How long?" he knew that voice.
"We don't know, we've done all we can. It's up to him now."
"If it were up to him, he would never wake up." Why couldn't he place its owner?
"You're a good man Iroh."
Iroh? Why was his uncle there?
Before he could find a coherent answer, his consciousness disappeared once again.
The pain was less; other sensations had begun to drift into his mind. Scratchy sheets, cold room, a pinch in his right arm, beeping from somewhere nearby. Most of all, a hand holding his, another combing through his hair, and a voice, whispering encouraging words.
"Please nephew. Please wake up," it was Iroh again. Still, Zuko could not think of a reason for him to be there. "Please come back to me Zuko." He sounded sad, why would he be sad? "I love you Zuko," he whispered, was he crying?
He groaned, Christ he was sore. His muscles ached and his throat was dry. Where was he?
"Zuko?"
Again, he groaned, letting his eyes flutter open, only to be blinded by bright lights. He blinked, waiting for his irises to adjust.
When they finally did, Zuko looked around. His uncle was next to him, somehow looking both worried and relieved simultaneously. He licked his lips, noticing the IV in his arm, and the dying flowers in a vase next to his bed. A hospital, of course.
"H-Hi Uncle," he whispered, suddenly feeling very ashamed. He had lived, and now everybody knew. His uncle's hand tightened, holding onto Zuko's own.
"How are you feeling?" Iroh asked, looking around anxiously.
"Thirsty," he simply answered, hating the situation, why couldn't he had just not woken up? It would have been so much simpler.
Iroh nodded and stood. He opened the door to Zuko's room, causing the boy to actually take in his surroundings.
The room was plain. A pale beige colour covered the walls and Zuko couldn't help but think how it was better than white. To his right there was a large window, the blinds pulled up to allow the sunlight to stream in. The right side of his bed had different machines, he couldn't even guess what they did. To his left, the chair where his uncle sat was now empty. Books and magazines were piled next to it, and the nearby trashcan was overflowing with empty coffee cups.
Zuko looked down at himself, he was still laying on the bed, having barely moved anything past his head. He simply felt too exhausted, both physically and emotionally. A quick check revealed that his arms were bandaged. The nurses probably wanted to keep his uncle from seeing how fucked they were.
Before he could continue a catalogue of his surroundings, Iroh walking back into the room, followed by a smiling black haired woman, carrying a paper cup and a clip board.
"Hello Zuko," she greeted. "My name is Nutha. I'm your nurse for the day shift. I'm glad to see you awake."
Zuko didn't say anything, he just nodded and looked away.
She pressed a button on the side of his bed, causing the back to move up, before handing him a cup of water.
Carefully, the nurse handed him the cup, which he took with shaking hands.
"The doctor will be here in a few minutes, but first, I have a few questions I need to ask you. Is that okay?"
Zuko groaned. Why did they always have to ask him a barrage of stupid questions? It's not like they cared about the answers.
"Would you like your uncle to step out?"
He looked towards the man. Iroh stood by the door, looking uncomfortable. Eventually, he sighed; resigning to his fate "Yes please." He didn't look at the man as he left.
The door closed and the nurse took his seat, her face unreadable.
"What's your full name?" she asked, taking a pen clipped to the paper.
"Zuko-" he cringed, "Sozin."
She nodded, "What year is it?"
To his surprise, Zuko had to think about that one. "643ag" he answered, again, she nodded.
"Good, now Zuko," her voice took a more serious turn. "Why are you here?"
He bit his lip, and looked away. He was silent for a moment, trying to think of a kinder way to put it. There was none. "I tried to kill myself." Azula could have been more tactful, but at that point, he didn't care.
"Do you want to hurt yourself right now?" she asked, watching him intently.
He shrugged and lied through his teeth, "I don't know, haven't really thought about it."
"You took fentanyl; do you use it often?"
He shook his head, but at least was honest. "No, never have before. I got it from a friend" if by friend you mean occasional dealer.
"Do you abuse any other substances?"
He shrugged. "Occasionally."
"Can you be more specific?"
He thought about it, "Weed mostly, some ecstasy, party stuff, you know?" he bit his lip, "Nothing hard."
"How often?"
"I don't know." He sighed before she could ask him to elaborate.
"Do you drink?"
"Yes."
"How often?"
He groaned, "A lot, okay? I drink a lot. Excessively in fact. Just ask my dad, or my sister, or hell, half the goddamn city."
She nodded, taking notes. "How long have you been cutting?"
That caught him off guard, nobody had ever asked him before. Anybody who knew was to stoned to remember, or care, and his family had no idea, not that they would've cared anyways. "Four years," he said finally.
"How many times have you tried to end your life?"
"Fuck, I don't know," he said with more force than he meant to. "I don't exactly keep count of my failures."
He knew he shouldn't have said it, but it was too late. The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them, and well, the cat was out of the bag. At least the nurse didn't say anything about it.
"How has your mood been in the past six weeks?"
"Shit."
"Scale of one to ten?"
Did she have to be so fucking instant? "try -30"
"Have you been feeling anxious lately?"
Anxious? He could have laughed. "That's like asking a Canadian if their winter is cold."
The nurse sighed softly and put her clip board down. "We only want to help you Zuko, we can't do that without your co-operation."
"You want to help me?" he raised his eyebrows. "Get in line. Everybody always says they want to help, but they never do. You're paid to be here!" he was getting angrier, "Don't fucking pretend you care about a worthless kid like me! I don't need more people pretending I matter."
"I hope you will learn to see differently," she replied calmly, "and discover that there are lots of people who care about you, and want to help you. I'll be back to check on you in a few minutes." With that, she left.
A moment later, Iroh walked back in and sat down. He put his head in his hands, letting his exhaustion show.
Zuko tried to think of something to say, but he couldn't find any words. He was tired. All he wanted to do was sleep. No, not sleep, die; but it was looking like that wasn't an option, for now at least. Besides, its not like it's the first time he woke up in the hospital. It was, however, the first time he woke up to a family member with him.
Finally, Iroh looked at him, a pleading look in his eyes. "Why nephew?" he asked after a moment.
The question blind sided him. Why? Was he really asking that? "I-I…" he didn't know what to say. How do you answer that question? Why does somebody want to die? The answer seemed obvious, he didn't want to live anymore.
The older man let out a shaky sigh, "I could have helped you Zuko, if I had known-"
"Known?!" Zuko cut him off, suddenly angry. "You're going to pretend you didn't know?! Bullshit!"
"Nephew please," Iroh pleaded, "I just want to help you."
God knows how Zuko kept it together as long as he did, but in that moment, it all fell apart. "Help me?! Fuck off Iroh! I don't need your help, I don't need anyone's. I don't want it! I'm doing just fine on my own."
"Look at yourself Zuko!" Iroh shouted back, "Nephew, you're in a hospital bed! You could have died. You would have if Mai didn't call an ambulance! This-" he motioned to the boy, "is not fine Zuko!" he took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. "You need help. Please. This isn't the answer, none of this. Not the drugs, or the alcohol, or the cutting-"
"Stop calling it that!" Zuko yelled back, interrupting him. "Fuck, the only people who call it 'cutting' are angsty preteens and therapists trying to convince me to trust them! It makes it sound like I'm some kind of over emotional teenage girl, slitting their wrists because their boyfriend dumped them again!"
"What would you prefer it be called then?" Iroh asked calmly.
"Fuck I don't know! Just not that! Just- just call it self harm or something! Anything but fucking that."
"Okay." Iroh changed topics back to their original conversation. "I just want to help you Zuko," he said softly, as if speaking to a scared child, or coaxing a wounded animal from hiding.
Zuko looked away, allowing himself to calm down as well. "You can't. Nobody can."
Iroh watched him, before speaking. "You're starting therapy when you leave here."
He scoffed. "Tried, didn't fucking do shit." He turned back to his uncle. "Besides, dad will never let me go," he spat venomously. "Wouldn't want to ruin his image more than I already have."
Again, Iroh waited before speaking, instead letting himself think. "Your father doesn't get an opinion anymore."
That caught his attention. "What?" Zuko asked, an edge to his voice.
"You are no longer living with your father," Iroh explain delicately. "Ozai has asked me to be your guardian."
That stunned him into silence. "He doesn't want me anymore?" it hurt to hear how broken his own voice sounded.
"He wants what's best for you," Iroh said instead. "He thinks that a change of scenery will be good for you."
Zuko hated how much it hurt. He hated a lot of things. He hated his father, how even now he still craved his praise. Hated who he was, who he used to be. He fucking hated everything.
"You should have let me die," he finally said.
"You don't get to make that choice. You're moving in with me." His uncle answered.
He felt like he was going to cry. He was unwanted. Stupid, worthless. Fuck, he really needed a drink.
"And you'll be going back to high school, I will not allow you to drop out."
Make that an entire bottle.
I really hope you liked this! Like I said, this s cross posted. Please leave a review, follow, and favourite. Unfortunately, Zuko doesn't meet the gaang until chapter 4, but hey, next chapter has more Iroh in it, and a lot more angst. Zuko gets his life together eventually. Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you liked, what you didn't, and what you think or hope may happen!