Hello! Thank you so much for the reviews, follows and favourites, it means a lot to see! Also, the year this is equivalent to 2016. I'm not sure why I didn't just say 2016 in the first place, but here we are. I hope you enjoy this chapter!


Zuko stared out the car window as they drove down the highway. The sun shone brightly, but it didn't lift his mood. The past two weeks had been hell. He was admitted to the adolescent psychiatric ward three days after waking up. It was an endless routine of doctors and therapists, always asking the same pointless questions, only to hear the same pointless answers. A constant stream of useless phrases, and tired people pretending to care. He knew better. They were there because they had to be, just like him. Nobody cared, especially not about some worthless kid like him.

The ward was small, only eleven kids, all between the ages of thirteen to eighteen. Seven girls and four boys. He hated all of them. A few had tried to befriend him, with varying results. He ignored them, opting instead to read whatever shitty book his uncle had brought him. Zuko didn't think he had read that much since seventh grade, when school was something he still slightly enjoyed. Thankfully, most of the other kids simply avoided him, a reaction he was used to. People ignored him, it had long since stopped hurting. In fact, he had grown accustomed to the looks and general uncomfortable feeling most received around him. It allowed him the peace he craved. However, one girl, he didn't care to remember her name, still tried to break through his walls, he told her to fuck off. Iroh had visited him everyday, spending the evenings talking about nothing. Didn't he have anything else to do? His answer came the day of his release, when, true to his word, it was Iroh who picked him up, instead of his father.

The meeting with his doctor was short, not that he cared for anything the man said anyways. Apparently, Zuko was still considered high risk, and was being referred to a therapist, to help him 'work through' his problems, as if he could be helped. They also brought Iroh up to speed on his medications, of which there was three. He didn't bother to remember the names, they were nothing but pointless bullshit.

And so here they were, riding in a car along the highway to Iroh's home. His bags were packed and placed in the back seat, and Zuko couldn't help but wonder who packed them. He knew better than to even consider that it had been Azula or his father, which left him wondering. Had it been Mai? Or Ty Lee? Or had Iroh himself ventured into his bedroom and packed his luggage? In the end, he supposed it didn't matter. It wasn't like anything he wanted would be found in the black suit cases, as he doubted anybody would have packed his collections of alcohol or cigarettes.

He watched the trees and powerlines fly by, it had only been about twenty minutes, but Zuko was already bored out of his mind. How Iroh had managed to drive the forty-minute trip twice a day for the past four weeks was beyond him.

"My home isn't much" Iroh finally said. "I don't spend much time there, but I made up the bed in the spare bedroom for you."

Zuko nodded, remembering the things his father had said about the man. Iroh had served in the military, and was the favourite child of his politician father, almost guaranteed a spot in the Senate Ozai now held. He had given up on politics when his son, Lu Ten, died. Zuko didn't know the details, he had been too young at the time, and his father never cared to talk about it. The only one who valued family had been his mother, but she had long since left. In the end, she must not have cared as much as he originally though. Distracting himself, he wondered what kind of place a retired war veteran would call home, probably some run down apartment.

Twenty minutes later, Zuko found himself proven wrong. Iroh lived in a mid - sized town, the streets were filled with locally owned shops, and children playing on sidewalks. He couldn't help but feel irritated. Everybody just looked so fucking happy, as if nothing was wrong. But Zuko knew that was bullshit, everybody has secrets. Just look at his own family. His mother left when he was only eleven, his father hated him and saw him as worthless, while his sister was a manipulative bitch hell bent on ruining his life.

Iroh pulled the car in front of a small, white, two story house before cutting the engine. Leading to the house was a cracked stone path, overgrown grass edging its sides. The building itself was old, probably built 50 years before. The walls were covered in what looked to be a permanent layer of dirt, hiding years of sun damage.

"This is it," Iroh said, unbuckling his seatbelt. Zuko rolled his eyes, ignoring the worried look on his uncle's face. Why did he have to be there? "Are you okay nephew?" he asked after a moment.

"Yes," he spat, "I'm perfectly fine, I mean why the fuck wouldn't I be? I'm in the middle of god knows where because I couldn't fucking die and my father doesn't want me anymore, I'm totally fine!"

Iroh frowned at his outburst, but Zuko couldn't find it in him to feel sorry. He was too angry, at his father, at the world, and at himself. His uncle simply opened the door and removed Zuko's two suitcases. "Come on, I'll show you around."

Zuko followed his uncle along the broken path, listening to the way the stairs creaked beneath his weight and the door shrieked as it opened.

The interior of the house was nothing like the outside. It smelled strongly of candles and incense. Great, so his uncle really was a fucking hippie. The entry hall was small, and led to stairs opposite the front door. To the left was a living room, which seemed to contain colourful furniture and trinkets of different origins. The right side of the hall led to the kitchen/dining room. Iroh didn't give Zuko time to get a good look, only removed his shoes and walked up the stairs, lugging his nephew's bags. He followed. The sides of the stairs held family photos, most of which were of Lu Ten, although there was still enough of Zuko and his sister to make him cringe.

"Bathroom is here" he pointed to the door adjacent the stairs. "And your room, across from mine," he said, waiting for Zuko to followhim before opening a door to the left.

The room was small. A large window in the center of the left exterior wall provided a bright source a light. In front of the window, was a small wooden desk. A single bed with blue sheets took up most of the right wall, while the door took up the rest. The only other furnishing in the room was a bedside table, and dresser. The closet was on the wall left of the door, however it was barely big enough to be classified as such. Zuko walked in, allowing Iroh to place his bags at the foot of the bed.

"Dinner will be ready in about an hour , " he heard his uncle tell him. Zuko just nodded. "Let me know if you need anything." He was about to leave before he looked back, "Oh and nephew, the wifi password is jasmine." With that, he left, closing the door behind him.

Zuko was thankful, he wasn't sure how much more fake worry he could handle being subjected to in one day. The past two weeks had been hell enough as it was. Sighing, he picked up the larger of his two bags, not surprised in the slightest that all his belongings were so easily packed away. He was never somebody to carry around pointless things.

He unzipped it, and his nose was immediately assaulted with the smell of clean laundry. He opened the dresser and began throwing his clothes into it, not bothering to keep it organized. If he had it his way, he'd be dead within the month anyways.

As the bag became less and less full, Zuko began to realize that he didn't have that many clothes. Certainly not enough to fill an entire second bag. Ignoring the remainder of his clothing, Zuko opened the second, smaller, suitcase. It was then that he knew Iroh must have stopped by his house.

The bag contained his essentials. His cellphone, laptop, headphones, and all his chargers. Zuko groaned when he found his old backpack. It had been over a year since he had last attended school. It hadn't ended well. The media had a riot the first time he got expelled. He remembered the headlines, "Senator Ozai Sozin's son was expelled after drugs were found hidden in his locker". His father had been less than thrilled about that, as proven by the black eye he had been forced to cover up in the following weeks. It didn't take long for Zuko to fall into a less that ideal lifestyle; party all night and sleep all day. Always free ammo for his father opponents.

Unpacking his electronics, he found himself wondering what the new headlines for the past two weeks had read. Did the entire city know about his failed suicide attempt? Or had his father somehow kept it under wraps? Zuko couldn't imagine Mai keeping her mouth shut, she was always ready to trash him in the media, but he kinda deserved that. Mai was the daughter of Ukano, the CEO of a multi - billion dollar company, she could play the people as well as any young, pretty girl. Of course, she and his sister became friends. God, he really fucked up with her. Funny how the media had no problems harassing a teenage couple, especially when one was the resident family entire breakup was broadcasted across tabloids and newspapers. "Cutest Couple in New York City Shattered by Betrayal." Maybe that was why she called an ambulance for him, revenge. She hated him after all, why would she ever want to save his life? He fucked up so badly.

Angry, he pulled his phone charger from the tangle of wires and plugged it into the nearest outlet, right under the desk. If his face was splattered across front pages, stories written about how much of an ungrateful fuckup he was, he wanted to know before starting school. He really fucking hated high school. While he waited for the device to charge enough to turn on, he finished unpacking, throwing his school supplies into his small closet. Not like he'd be doing anything with it anyways. Iroh may make him go, but he couldn't make him try. Not when there was no point behind the action, it wasn't like he was going anywhere in life anyways. Four years, and Zuko would probably be some homeless drunk, begging for money from snobby people, too self-absorbed to care.

Out of the corner of his eye, Zuko spotted his phone light up. Finally, it was charged enough to turn on. He held the power button and waited. The screen went black before lighting up once again. Almost immediately, it began to buzz with messages. He cringed.

The first message was from his dealer, the day after he failed to kill himself.

U weren't serious about the suicide thing, rite?

God he hated chatspeak. The Next message surprised him. It was from Ty Lee.

Mai told me what happened :( I hope you're okay. You scared us all really badly. If you need anything, give me a call, or at least, call the suicide hotline, okay?

Just like Ty Lee, she was always the concerned one of the three. Also, more than a little odd, but at least she was nice. Or pretended to be. The next few messages were the same as usual. Party plans, invites, and advertising of free liquor. The following must have been when people started to notice his disappearance. He almost found it funny, not a single person texted him more than once, as if he was nothing but a passing thought.

Where were you last night?

Hey, haven't seen you lately, your dad didn't kill you, did he?

Yo bro u dead

I heard u tried to off yourself. Is it true?

U done drinking or smt? Whos gonna buy?

Looking at his latest message, he felt sick. Azula.

Hey Zuzu, heard you're out of the hospital. Good. Dad says go be the family fuck up somewhere else.

Okay, that hurt more than he'd like to admit. Of course, he knew his father would have said something like that, it came as no surprise; but it still stung. He put his phone down and sat on the bed, his anger dissipated to nothing.

Everybody always bugged him about being so angry all the time, but anger was better than this. The feeling of nothing. Empty, and sad; alone. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and die, or drink, that'd be good too. He fell onto his back before finally curling into a ball, ignoring the twinge of pain radiating from the still healing injuries on his hips.

Partying always made him feel better, everybody was too drunk to judge him, and before long, he always was too. He could lose himself in the burning warmth of vodka as it trailed its way down his throat. Forget his name in the beat of whatever music was playing. He was no longer Zuko Sozin, failed son of a senator; he was just Zuko. Nobody cared if he took off his sweater, revealing scar laced arms, most of them had it too. Nobody judged him, called him spoiled and ungrateful, they understood. Death was nothing to them, they were party kids, snorting cocaine off aphone screens to chase away their thoughts and forget their lives. They all knew, one day they could try to forget too hard, and then it'd be over, but that was okay, it's just part of the life. God he wished he was dead.

Everything swirled through his mind like a tornado. He felt sick. The world was too overwhelming. He found himself curling into a tighter ball, trying to get his now erratic breathing under control. This, this was why he partied and drank. Thinking was too hard, too dangerous. He wanted to die, why didn't they just let him die? His arms itched, burning with the need to feel pain, to relieve the hurricane in his head. He was crying. Why did he always cry? He had to stop, crying was weakness, his father would not stand for weakness. Everything hurt. He needed to, fuck he really needed to. They didn't pack his knife, fuck, didn't they know it was the only thing that worked? He hated this, he hated himself. Fuck. He was such a child, what was he? Thirteen? He bit his hand, knowing it wasn't the same, but it was better than nothing. He hated this, hated himself, hated needing this. He was such a fucking child. Stupid, worthless. No wonder his father didn't want him anymore. How long until Iroh felt the same? How long until he fucked up again? After all, that's all he ever did, fuck up.

He didn't know how long he lay there, shaking. When had he started crying? Zuko couldn't say. Everything was too much, he didn't even notice his bedroom door open, nor did he notice a presence next to him, until a hand reached out to his back.

Zuko stiffened, going completely silent, but the hand moved in circles. It was a calming motion, one his mother had used so long ago. "Shhh, it's okay nephew," Iroh told him, rubbing his back while he gasped for air. "Just breathe Zuko, it will be okay. Deep breaths." Surprisingly, he listened. He felt his breath shakily leave his lungs, only to be slowly replaced. After a few minutes, his shaking had mostly subsided. "Are you alright nephew?" his uncle asked in a patient tone. Zuko only nodded, not trusting his voice. He hated to admit it, but his uncle had helped. Fuck, he was such a goddamn child. "Dinner is ready," Iroh told him, "please try to come down and eat something." With that, the older man left.

Zuko still lay, curl up, on his bed, ignoring his newly forming headache. After what felt like forever, he finally sat up. His face was damp with tears that he quickly wiped off. He felt sick, as was usual. An unfortunate side effect of his near constant anxiety was horrible nausea, it made eating difficult, especially when even the smell or sight of food could make him vomit. Regardless, his uncle was downstairs, and he had made dinner. If Zuko wanted to grasp even some of his dignity, he would have to face the man, pretend the entire situation never occurred. Despite knowing this, Zuko still wanted nothing more than to screw his pride, curl underneath his covers, and fall asleep.

Begrudgingly, the teenager crawled off the bed and trudged towards his bedroom door. If he didn't go down, his uncle would worry, or at least pretend to. Maybe even throw him back in the psych ward, which was another two weeks of hell Zuko would rather not repeat. Like the stairs outside, these creaked under his weight as well. Which surprised him, not being able to hold down food didn't do much for one's size.

Once downstairs, Zuko had more time to take in his surroundings. His shoes had been moved into line with Iroh's by the front door, and a stack of mail sat on a shelf nearby. He heard Iroh in the kitchen and opted to procrastinate the conversation further.

Quietly, he walked into the living room. The walls were covered in red and gold wallpaper, and there were plants all around the room, both real and fake. A cream coloured sofa sat in the middle of the room, facing a big screen TV, surrounded by more photos. Some of these he had seen before. He picked up a photo that caught his attention. It was a family photo taken when he was nine, it included not only he, his father, and sister, but also his mother, uncle, and cousin. He remembered the day. It was just before Lu Ten's fourth deployment. He died two years later, only a month before his mother left. He put it down and continued looking. The room had many other oddities. On the coffee table between the sofa and TV was a pai sho board, it looked like a game had been half played. Along the back wall of the room was a bookshelf, he walked over and glanced at the titles. They were organized alphabetically, and covered a wide range of topics. Many of the books were historical, about navy vessels and world wars, but a large subset seemed to be of the spiritual sort. Many were written on topics such as crystal healing, aromatherapy, energy, and spirits. No wonder Zuko's father didn't like this man, he believed in bullshit, like feng shui and the powers of crystals. Other than books, the shelves were piled with boxes of incense sticks and clutter. One shelf in particular drew his attention. It held multiple figurines or different mythical creatures, such as fairies and dragons, along with crystals surrounding them. They were beautifully made and painted. They seemed to be placed purposefully, enough that Zuko didn't want to pick them up to look more closely, for fear of disturbing whatever order his uncle had them. He turned his back on the shelf to inspect the room as a whole. It surprised him. Zuko had expected either the organization of a military man, or the mess of an elder. Certainly not a living room that looked like some fucking new age hippie store.

The noises in the kitchen calmed as Zuko heard the sound of a wooden chair being scraped across the floor. Finally, knowing he could not procrastinate further, Zuko left the room and walked into the kitchen.

The smell of pasta drifted through the room, leaving his stomach churning. The kitchen was larger than Zuko thought it would be, and almost all the appliances were stainless steel. Apparently, his father had understated how much money his brother had received after their father's death. Iroh himself sat at the table, reading through a large stack of paper, a half-eaten bowl of pasta in front of him.

"You came down," he said, putting the paper he was reading down. "Do you want something to eat?"

Zuko bit his lip and shook his head. "Just-uh" he cleared his throat. "Just water."

Iroh nodded and stood up, he walked over to a cupboard left of the fridge and took out a glass. "Ice maker and water filter are part of the fridge," he informed his nephew before filling the glass with cold water. "Care to sit with me?" he asked, walking back towards the table. "We have some important things to discuss."

He felt his stomach tighten, as it always did in anticipation. He knew he shouldn't have let his uncle see him so weak. Stupid. Iroh was probably so disappointed. Not wanting to irritate the man further than he assumed he already had, Zuko sat opposite him.

"Firstly, are you alright?" he asked, catching his nephew off guard. Nobody ever asked him if he was okay, but then again, nobody ever tried to comfort him either. He nodded. "I'm glad. Now Zuko," he began, picking up the paper he had been reading. Zuko felt as if he was going to throw it. It appeared that Iroh caught onto his distress. "I'm not angry at you nephew, I just want to speak with you about some of the things the hospital talked to me about." Zuko nodded, hoping he looked calmer than he felt, judging by Iroh's face, he didn't. The older man sighed, "Firstly, I was told you're hesitant to take the medication prescribed to you. Zuko, it is important that you do."

"I'm not some fucked up child," Zuko spat, immediately regretting it. "I just... I don't need medication, especially not the ones they have me on now."

Iroh nodded, "well, if you're really uncomfortable with it, perhaps we can compromise. Would you consider taking one of the medications instead of all three?" he looked at the paper again. "You were prescribed 1mg of clonazepam as needed to treat anxiety attacks . " Zuko fidgeted, of course he would choose to bring that up. "Would you be willing to try taking that one when you're having an anxiety or panic attack?"

"Sure, I guess," he shrugged, with no intention of ever taking the medication. Still, Iroh smiled.

"I'm glad." Iroh shuffled around through his pile of documents. "Also, I must state this now. There will be no alcohol, drugs, or cigarettes in the house." Zuko almost groaned before catching himself, it would do him no good to complain. "I've made an appointment with a therapist for tomorrow, if you like her, you'll see her weekly."

At that, Zuko did groan. "I told you uncle , " he snapped, "therapy doesn't do shit. I don't need to talk about my feelings, I just need them to go away!"

Iroh sighed sadly and rubbed his temples, "That may be true Zuko," he said after a moment, "but it almost may be wrong, you said it yourself, you haven't been through therapy in years, you're different now." Iroh continued before Zuko would protest. "You also start school the day after tomorrow. No arguing."

Anger rushed through him. School? Didn't Iroh know anything? There was a reason he stopped going in the first place, and it wasn't that he was lazy. High school was fucking hell. Nothing but bitchy girls and stupid guys bullying one another on their way to the top, doing whatever it takes to be the best, even if it means ripping down everybody else. All teachers cared about was their grades, and how it made them look. "No," he spat, letting his rage out. "I fucking refuse. Enroll me all you want, I'm not fucking going."

"Zuko-" Iroh began.

"No! School is nothing but a hellish torture and I fucking hate it!" he pushed his chair back from the table, knocking it over in the process.

"Nephew!" his uncle called after him as he stormed up the stairs before slamming the door shut. Iroh could not make him, he wouldn't go.


Hope you liked it. Feel free to leave a comment!