I meant to have this up almost a week ago but I got busy, I'm in Seattle for my friend's wedding and let me tell you the drive from home to here is twelve hours and across a border, not fun.

I hope you're enjoying this story so far, I'm trying my best to put the irrational thoughts caused by mental illness onto paper, but it's difficult. I hope I'm presenting it well.

TW for self harm


He got to Iroh's house about halfway through the afternoon. Going back to school wasn't an option, not when Jet knew who he was. Not for the first time, Zuko cursed his father's conservative position in politics.

Unlocking the front door, he slipped inside and locked it behind him. He was dizzy and he couldn't breathe. It was like his entire being was telling him to run or fight or rip out his fucking hair. Everything was boiling over until he couldn't think, all he knew was that it was too much.

He pulled off his hoodie, needing to be free of the constricting clothing. He had to calm down. It was just an anxiety attack, he knew he was overreacting, but knowing did nothing. Somewhere in his bag was a bottle of medication for this exact situation, he could take it.

He ripped his fingernails along his arm, needing something - anything - to ground him while his thoughts spun. Medication in his bag - overdose, razor under his mattress - major arteries, bedsheets - hanging. So many options.

Floor. He was on the floor. Where? Bedroom. When did he get here? Didn't matter. He pulled off his shoes, hating the way they felt constricting, everything felt suffocating.

Jet knew. There was no way he didn't know. Jet knew and would tell everybody, they would all know. One quick google search and his name was everywhere, written in articles about how fucked up he was, about his accident, about his father. It was a wonder nobody had figured it out before. They'd call him names - all of them - they'd go after him. It'd happened before, he wasn't safe, never safe. He was alone but felt hands on him. He would never get away, could never outrun his father's hatred, his mother's betrayal. He would never escape.

He dragged his nails down his arms again, desperately trying to rid the feeling of hands across his body, hands that weren't his, that he didn't want. His phone was ringing - ignore it, doesn't matter, nobody cares anyways. He was crying - weak, like a child, something do easily broken, stupid - Stop!

His hands gripped his hair, pulling, pulling, harder. Make it stop please I can't do this please make it stop. Is he pulled any harder, he would rip out chunks of hair.

Razor in his hands, when did he get it? Doesn't matter, never mattered, nothing - fuck. Medication in his bag, medication that could - should - might - stop this.

He shouldn't have gone to school, shouldn't have gone out with Jet, but he'd missed his life. Missed the freedom of no school, of sleeping all day and drinking all night, of a line of something or a drag of something else, never quite knowing what it was. He needed the feeling of nicotine in his blood, needed alcohol in his veins, needed something to ground him.

He was bleeding, too much, way too much. Doesn't matter. He wouldn't die, and even if he did, whatever.

His breathing was evening out again, thoughts returning to normal. He knew he should get up, stop the bleeding before it stained the carpet, but he didn't. He stared at his arm as blood dripped onto the floor, and couldn't find it in himself to care.

It was always like that, really. Anxiety attacks were violent and sudden, made him feel like his blood was boiling, like his very cells were decaying, like he was dying. But as soon as it ended, he was devoid of feeling, left empty.


"Zuko!"

He must have fallen asleep.

Cringing, Zuko pushed himself off the floor, his arm almost giving out under his weight. Iroh was downstairs, fuck.

"O-one minute!" he called and cursed himself for the way his voice cracked and shook. Apparently, Iroh didn't want to wait, only started up the stairs.

There was a small puddle of rust red blood dried on his carpet, his arms were covered in deep scratch marks, and the one was bleeding again. He had no time to cover anything up, no time to think of an excuse. He hadn't even closed the door.

"Zuko the school-" Iroh froze in the doorway as he took in the scene before him.

Zuko cringed as he saw a series of emotions cross Iroh's face: concern, anger, sadness, back to concern, and finally unreadable.

The air in the room changed, tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Let me see," Iroh said, stepping into the room, he reached for Zuko's arm, he flinched. Father was always angry when he - "Zuko," Iroh's voice was stern.

He shifted away from his uncle, shaking his head. "It's fine, I'm sorry, I won't - I'm sorry," he was panicking again.

Iroh glanced at the blood on the carpet before looking back at his nephew. "I have to make sure you aren't in any danger, please-"

Zuko cut him off. "I'm not going back!" he yelled, staggering to his feet. "I'm not going back to the hospital, you can't make me. If you don't want me here, fine, I'll leave. I can live on my own, but I'm not going back."

Iroh took a step towards him again, and he hated the way he flinched. "Please don't hurt me," he begged, suddenly sounding like the child he was so often told he was. "Please, I - I'll -" he was trying to form words, but couldn't.

Something flashed in Iroh's eyes, and Zuko couldn't tell whether it was realization, disappointment, or anger. He wasn't willing to find out. His uncle had been in the military, chances were good that he was still stronger than his father. Why did he ever start to feel comfortable? He should have known better, he should have -

"Zuko," the words were soft, like he was speaking to a frightened animal. "I'm not going to hurt-" he took half a step forward in Zuko's mind blanked.

He lunged for the opening his uncle had left before Iroh could process what had happened. Moving as fast as his shaking limbs would let him, he ran down the stairs and out the front door. Iroh was yelling something after him, but he stop to listen to it.

Only after his mind cleared and his body slowed, did he realize three things at the same moment.

First, It was raining - pouring actually - and had been for awhile if his soaked clothing and the wet pavement was anything to go by.

Second. He had nothing with him. Not his phone or wallet, not even a jacket or hoodie. Hell, he didn't even have shoes.

Third, he had absolutely no fucking idea where he was. He was standing in the middle of a generic street in a generic town with no discernible landmarks other than street signs, which were no help. He wasn't even sure how long he had been running.

Zuko cringed, he knew he'd have to go back to Iroh's, but he was not looking forward to it. He walked down the street, ignoring the rain while he thought.

No doubt Iroh would be furious, as nice as the man seemed to be, he was still his father's brother. Not only that, he had bled on the man's carpet, blood stains were a bitch to get out, and then he ran. When he got back Iroh was going to -

"Hey are you okay?" a voice called from behind him.

He turned to see a woman a few years older than him walking closer. Her short brown hair was dry under her umbrella, as were the groceries she was carrying.

He wasn't sure what to do in that situation. Should he run? She might think he was a criminal and call the cops, or chase after him herself. She looked like she could catch him if she tried, well built as she was.

She was getting closer, he could see her eyebrows crease when he didn't reply. He opened his mouth, trying to form a sentence. He couldn't, everything was too overwhelming.

"Are you bleeding?" she asked when she was only a few feet away. He had to give her credit, if she noticed his scar, she didn't stare.

Zuko stood frozen. For all the running he had done earlier, he couldn't bring himself to move. "I-" he coughed, "I'm fine." It sounded pitiful, even to his own ears. Fuck, he was such a child.

The woman's face shifted into something that looked almost like understanding. "Hey, um," she looked around. "Listen, you're soaking wet and obviously something is wrong. My house is only a block away," she was only a few steps from him, "why don't you come with me? We'll get you into something dry, maybe look at that arm of yours, and figure out where to go from there."

He wanted to refuse, he really did, but where else would he go? The rain didn't seem to be letting up anytime soon, he was still hopelessly lost and alone. What's the worst that could happen? Murder? Wouldn't that be a blessing.

Hesitantly, he nodded.

The woman smiled and took a few more steps until she stood directly in front of him. "My name's Korra," she introduced herself as she held out her hand.

The name sounded familiar. "Aang's sister," it dawned on him where he'd heard it before. He pulled away.

"Yes," she said quickly - pleadingly, but she didn't reach for him. He was thankful for that. "But I won't tell him anything," she answered, and he stopped.

"You - You're married to my English teacher," he whispered, he couldn't decide if it was a good thing or not. He never really trusted adults.

Korra nodded, "yes I am," she looked at him curiously. "I think she told me about you," she explained. "You're new, aren't you?"

Hesitantly, he nodded.

She smiled softly at him. "I'm sorry, Asami told me your name, but I can't remember."

"Zuko," he answered quietly, looking away. He wondered what she'd heard.

"Well Zuko," her voice was soft, something about it pulled at him, but he couldn't place it. It wasn't familiarity persay. "My point still stands, it's freezing out here, you're soaking wet, and I probably have dinner waiting for me," she started walking, "are you coming?"

He wasn't sure why he trusted her. Maybe it was because she was Aang's sister, but he barely knew the kid. Maybe it was because she knew of him, or maybe it was because she was married to the person who was quite possibly his favourite teacher in a decade. No matter the reason, he followed her.


Korra and Asami Sato lived in a small one floor house. Their lawn was covered in perfectly trimmed grass and beautiful flowers.

"Asami," Korra called, stepping across the threshold, Zuko a step behind her.

"Yes love?" Asami called from another room. He could hear the sounds of cooking in the kitchen.

She hung her umbrella on a hook next to the door, and did the same for her coat. "Can you get the first aid kit for me?" she asked, "and some clothes? We have a guest."

"A guest?" Zuko heard Asami ask curiously as she walked towards them. She stood in the archway, illuminated by a soft light, when her eyes settled on Zuko. She paled. "Yes, of course." She was gone in a flash.

Korra smiled at him and motioned for him to follow her. "Don't worry, we'll clean up the water."

He nodded and followed her into the kitchen. It was small and lit by a warm light. The counters were a pale yellow with a green countertop. There was a pot of something simmering on the stove. Korra led him to a small table at the side of the room, half piled with books and what looked like students' assignments. "Here," she said, pulling out a chair for him.

Zuko sat reluctantly and glanced around the room. There were two archways other than the one he'd entered the room through. One, to his left, led into a dark room, probably the livingroom. The other, to his right, was a hallway, a door open at the end of it. From what he could see, it looked like a bedroom.

The wall next to the table was covered in photographs. He recognized Korra and Asami in most of them, but some were up people he hadn't seen before. He shouldn't have been surprised, but Aang was also in a lot of them.

After a moment, Asami appeared in the kitchen again. In her arms she held what looked to be a first aid kit, some clothes, and towels.

"Here," she told him, handing the kit to Korra and the rest to Zuko. "Bathroom is the first door on the right," she pointed to the hallway. "Just leave your clothes on the floor, I'll throw them in the dryer for you." He nodded. "Come out and we'll get you something to eat, okay?"

Until she mentioned it, Zuko hadn't realized how hungry he was. He hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning. Carefully, he took the clothes and towels from her and walked towards the bathroom.

There were more photos in the hallway, but he didn't care to look at them.

The bathroom was small, holding a sink, toilet, and bath/shower. It was decorated with fish imagery and everything was different shades of blue. He guessed his teacher had been the one to decorate. Even though he didn't know Korra, it didn't seem like her taste.

He was careful of his arm as he slipped off his shirt. The one he was given was purple with the letters NYU written on it. He'd know university swag anywhere. The pants were plain black sweatpants, and he was glad. It was awkward enough to be wearing their clothes. Catching his appearance in the mirror, he sighed. He towel dried his hair in an attempt to look less like hell. It didn't do much to help.

He was opening the door when he froze. He could hear Korra and Asami speaking in low voices.

"...don't know. He was just standing in the rain, and then I realize he was bleeding and-" that was Korra.

"You did the right thing," his teacher's soft voice said. "We'll warm him up, feed him, and figure out what happened."

"Okay."

He left his clothes on the floor like he'd been told, and stepped into the hallways.

Korra looked up from the table and smiled again, "hey, come here," she asked, nodding to a chair pulled up next to hers.

Almost like he was in a dream, Zuko walked towards her and took a seat.

On the table was gauze, bandages, a small pair of scissors, a needle and thread, and disinfectant.

"I'm a paramedic," she told him as he looked over the items. She had a pair of latex gloves on. "And I really need to look at your arm.I can take you to the hospital if you prefer-"

He shook his head. It wasn't the first time he'd gotten stitches, it wasn't even the most awkward. That was reserved for a half naked girl under a bridge when an older injury reopened. He had a massive scar on his thigh from that. He didn't need the area numbed like they'd do in an emergency room anyways. Besides, they'd probably readmit him.

He didn't say anything, only held up his arm to her. Korra took it carefully and began to clean the wound. He flinched at the first touch of the antiseptic wipe and looked away.

Asami wasn't in the room anymore, but he heard her moving somewhere down the hall. A moment later, what sounded like a dryer turned on. When she came back, she busied herself in the kitchen. Eventually, she collected three bowls from the cupboard, and started scooping rice from a pot into each of them. Next she scooped what looked to be some kind of stir fry into the bowls. By the time Korra was wrapping his arm up with bandages, Asami was putting the food on the table.

"Thank you," he said softly as she placed a bowl in front of him.

She smiled and sat next to him, opposite Korra.

The air was thick as they ate, silence almost overwhelming before Korra broke it. "Fuck this," she stated looking at Zuko, Asami choked for a moment. "Why were you wandering around in the middle of pouring rain?"

He was caught off guard. Very few people were so blunt with him.

"Korra!" Asami tried to scold, but she shook her head.

"No, we need to know," she replied, not taking her eyes off Zuko. "Those are some old scars you have," she told him, glancing at his arms. "And I'm guessing there's more too. Now I don't know a lot about your situation, nothing if I'm honest, but I know that something is very wrong in your life."

Zuko honestly didn't know what to say.

"Zuko," his teacher's voice was soft as she drew his attention. She smiled softly at him, "I know this is hard, and I know you must be feeling incredibly upset and distressed," she glared before Korra could say anything, "but you can trust us, okay?"

He hated how kind she sounded.

"You can trust us," Korra repeated to him. He turned back to her. "I know the world sucks, but whatever is going on, this isn't the answer."

"How could you possibly know that?" he snapped, "You don't know anything about me!"

He was about to stand up when Korra grabbed his arm gently. "I know because I've been there," she said before he could pull away. Zuko froze and looked between her and his teacher.

Asami had a soft look in her eyes, one that told him her wife wasn't lying. Korra met his eyes and held his gaze until he finally sat down.

She sighed, holding her arm out between them. Bare, he saw it was covered in tattoos. Looking closer, he saw old scars hidden under the ink. "I was a foster kid," she reminded him, as she pulled her arm away, "I understand."


If I'm honest, I'm not a huge fan of Legend of Korra. I think its a great show but I definately don't like it as much as I like ATLA. I do love Korra's character though!