Writer's Note: Occurs during Book Two and contains spoilers. Written for Avatar_500.
Zuko knew he was hallucinating. He knew it. There was really no other name to call it, no other word for what he was experiencing.
But that was the logical side of his brain, the side that currently had the softest voice, the side that was buried in fevered dreams and sweat and screams. The hallucinations were so realistic and so haunting that he could be as logical as possible and still be terrified, still be held in place by his fears…
He knew he would get through it. He always did. He always made sure to. He heard Uncle speaking to him, heard Uncle reassure him that everything would be okay and that he would get through this. He felt Uncle's gentle touch and the cold cloth upon his brow, and took comfort from it all.
But the sound of Azula's voice always drowned Uncle out. The sound of his mother begging for his help seemed to make Uncle a liar. The image of himself as Firelord - his face whole and perfect, the son his father really wanted – seemed to get beneath his skin and into his blood and make him truly feel alone and ruined.
And in the midst of the images, the dreams and the nightmares, all he could think was; This is never going to end, and I'm going to die without knowing what is real…