Prompt: stabbing
This was originally supposed to *just* be a drabble (haha... hahahaha), but my brain ran away from me (CLEARLY).
Anyways, this is the prequel to "where we're meant to be" so once you're done with this fic, be sure to check out that one!
The rough sackcloth was suddenly ripped from his head, and Aang found himself in a dungeon.
Well, he assumed it was a dungeon, what with the small, dank enclosure, the brick walls that pressed down on them, the flickering orange-red flames that danced on the slim torchwood, the glint of chains attached to the walls.
He grunted as someone was shoved in right next to him, and the clank of armor sounded as two feet appeared in his vision. Moments later, the sackcloth was ripped from the person's head. Aang turned to see a dark mane of hair framing ice-cold eyes and lips twisted in a snarl.
His heart sank.
Katara.
Katara's eyes flicked wildly about, as though trying to take in everything. When her eyes landed on him, they immediately widened. "Aang," she gasped. A flurry of emotions flashed on her face—relief, regret, worry, fear, horror, and more, too many for him to count.
Aang leaned in, lowering his voice so the guards wouldn't overhear. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"
Katara slowly shook her head, although there was still that look of fear and horror on her face as she looked at him.
Aang snapped back to attention when the clanking of armor stopped in front of him this time. He looked up to see someone staring down at him.
From the commanding air around him, he must be a leader, or at least high up the chain of command; he wore the standard Fire Nation army uniform, except for the fact that he had the insignia of a bird painted over his heart—a Phoenix. His topknot only framed the sallowness of his face and the cruelty of his eyes.
Instantly, Aang knew who he was: one of the insurgents who believed in Ozai's cause, the rebels who tried to undermine Zuko's rule at every turn.
His sharp brown eyes narrowed as they swept over them, his scarred mouth twisting into a sneer. "The Avatar and his waterbending master. How nice of you to join us."
Katara growled, a sound deep and low in her throat. "What do you want from us?"
He flicked his eyes towards her casually, like she wasn't worth his time. "Fiesty one, aren't you." He turned towards Aang, and Aang couldn't help but flinch. There was something… unsettling about those eyes. Unsettling in a strangely familiar way, but he couldn't quite place it…
The leader bent down to Aang's face. "You're here to tell us all about that whelp who overthrew the rightful ruler of the Fire Nation. You will tell us everything about him—his strategies, his policies, but most of all"—he grinned, showing off yellow teeth—"his weaknesses."
Aang forced himself not to turn away from the stench of his breath. "And if we don't?" he challenged.
The rebel leader straightened and turned away, taking a few steps away before turning back to them. His hand drifted towards his belt, and Aang suddenly realized that he had a hilt attached.
He drew the knife. It was a strange-looking knife, not one Aang had ever seen before in combat. Its blade was rather broad and long for a knife, with knuckle-guards and an extended hook on the back of the guard.
Even so, Aang had spent enough time around the Fire Nation's scrolls to know what it was.
"You ever seen a butterfly sword before?" The leader swung the blade around with ease, almost as if the sword was a part of his body. "It's usually used in pairs, of course. But for this"—he turned predatory eyes on Aang—"I think only one would suffice for the job."
Katara scoffed, blue eyes flashing. "We're not telling you anything."
Normally, Aang would feel a sense of awe and admiration for his girlfriend's defiance. But this time, as the rebel leader turned towards her, his face twisted with a sadistic grin, all he knew was the ice-cold fear trickling down his back.
"I guess," he said in a low voice, "you volunteer yourself, then."
And then suddenly Katara wasn't next to him, she was being dragged towards him and he was stepping towards her with his sword in his hand and Aang needed time to think but there was no time he's going to kill her—!
Aang thrashed against the guards that suddenly appeared all around him. "Stop!"
"I'm sorry it had to come to this, Avatar," he mocked, a sick, twisted delightedness in his voice that made Aang's blood go cold. "But when you refuse to cooperate, we can do what we want to get what we need. After all"—he licked his blade—"the ends justify the means, do they not?"
And Aang doesn't know what to do, but he has to do something because he's walking right up to Katara with such a twisted grin on his face and Katara's eyes are widening in fear and he has to do something, something, anything—
And suddenly he knows what he needs to do.
"Don't hurt her! Hurt me instead!"
He stopped. Slowly, he turned around.
"Aang!" Katara struggled against the men holding her. "Aang, no!"
He ignored her, eyeing Aang with a piercing, almost hungry look that made chills run down his spine. "So you offer yourself up in her place?"
Aang kept his eyes fixed on him, trying to ignore the thrashing, spitting frenzy that was Katara. He steeled his voice to sound confident, unwavering. "I do."
The rebel looked at Aang for a long moment. Aang hoped his face only showed defiance, but he knew it was more likely that it was desperation and fear.
"Well, this'll be interesting." Their captor chuckled and wiped the sword against his armguard. He strolled towards Aang, the metal blade flashing in the torchlight. "I've heard that the Avatar is supposed to be a god." He sneered. "But gods don't bleed."
He stopped in front of Aang and bent down again, forcing Aang to look straight in his cruel, sadistic eyes. "Do you?"
Aang could hear Katara's muffled protests as she fought with the guards pinning her down, and he prayed that this would help divert the rebels' attention from her.
The leader shrugged when Aang didn't respond, and he placed the sharp edge of his blade on Aang's chest. "One way to find out."
Aang tried to hold back any sound at all as the knife was drawn slowly across his chest. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the meditation techniques Gyatso had taught him a lifetime ago, to center himself and block out the outside world.
Breathe.
Aang felt warm droplets dribbling down his skin, the dull ache in the shallow cut that was growing sharper by the moment. He exhaled slowly, trying to maintain control.
"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" The rebel's voice was soft yet mocking. Aang looked up to see him wiping (his) blood off the blade. He adopted an almost reasonable tone. "But if you tell us everything we need to know about that disgraceful boy, it can all stop."
Aang glanced over to see Katara shaking her head violently, pleading, begging. But somehow, seeing her so frantic only hardened Aang's resolve.
He wasn't going to put any of his friends in danger.
Aang turned back to the rebel and lifted his chin, letting his fear wash away into defiance.
The rebel shrugged, placing the sharp edge of the blade against Aang's collarbone. "Suit yourself."
Question after question was only received with the same treatment from Aang, and it always ended the same way. Soon enough, Aang could feel his blood pooling all around him, soaking his pants. Exhaustion weighed deep on his bones, pain racking every muscle in him, and still every time he looked over to see Katara, defiance flared deep in his chest, giving him the strength to go on.
Finally, the insurgent leader glowered at him, his patience rapidly fading and the blade all but completely stained red. "Tell me about the disgraced Fire Prince!" he roared.
Aang gritted his teeth and turned away, refusing to meet his or Katara's eyes. "You'll have to kill me first," he said.
There was a pause. "So that's how it's gonna be, isn't it?" The sudden shift from hot anger to cold fury sent chills down Aang's spine. He glanced over to see that the rebel leader had switched to a reverse grip, the top of the blade now resting against his forearm. He stepped around so he was right behind Aang, who was able to spot him from the peripheral of his vision.
Suddenly, Aang knew what he was about to do.
And he was completely helpless to stop it.
"Then I'll make sure you wish I had."
He raised the knife.
Aang looked up and locked gazes with wide, horrified blue eyes.
Katara. I'm so, so sorry.
Forgive me.
Stars exploded in his vision as the metal blade buried itself into his shoulder blade, agony streaking through his body like lightning and setting fire to every nerve and muscle and vein and he distantly heard himself screaming but he couldn't think of anything except make it stop make it stop MAKE IT STOP—
And then he was tumbling into darkness, the sound of someone screaming his name an echo fading into nothingness.
He drifted through a void.
He saw flashes every now and again, but he couldn't tell the difference between what was real and what was a memory. They all had a dream-like quality to them that didn't feel quite real but also not quite fake at the same time.
One moment, he was laying flat on his stomach, his cheek pressed against stone slick with copper-scented liquid as he gasped for air.
The next, he was soaring through the skies on a smaller Appa, with Gyatso looking over him with a proud smile.
He felt himself being dragged over rough stone, every jolt of his body shooting bolts of agony through his body that made him nearly black out.
Then he was in the sun's warm light, playing airball with his friends and laughing as freely and carelessly as the breeze on a windy day.
Tumbling head over heels as he hit the brick ground.
Plunging into a dark ocean.
The searing pain of fire as it grazed his skin.
The crackle of lightning that shot through his back.
Screaming.
Crying.
Yelling.
Begging.
Faster and faster, the images whirled through his mind, with increasing intensity. Love, hope, grief, rage, fear horror acceptance numbness anger reluctance painpainpain—
And then everything was gone, and he was drifting once more, a speck in a swirling sea of emptiness and silence.
(all alone)
But then he felt something calling to him, like the ocean calls to the shore. He felt a tug, deep in his chest, and a bright blue thread snaked through his mind, reaching out towards him. Comforting. Familiar.
He reached out and grasped the thread.
Aang resurfaced back to consciousness with a gasp and a sputter.
There was a clatter of metal against rock nearby, and then he found himself being crushed against a warm body, his head being cradled into someone's neck by one hand and the other clutching at his back like her life depended on it.
"Thank the Spirits you're alive," Katara sobbed. "What were you thinking?!" Her voice rose in volume, but Aang thought he could hear a waver in her voice. "Don't you know what would happen if you—if—"
Her voice broke, and he felt her swallow hard. Her hand drifted towards the center of his spine, and then he couldn't feel her touch at all.
(streak of light)
(white hot pain)
(falling, falling, falling)
"I… 'm sorry," Aang rasped out. He wanted to say more, wanted to tell her why he did it, but Katara rapidly shook her head, cutting him off.
"No, I'm sorry. I couldn't protect you when they… when—" She gave a shuddering exhale that brushed his skin and pressed her cheek against his.
"You can't—" Aang paused for breath (why was it so hard to breathe?). "You can't blame yourself. It was my choice. I did it to protect you."
Katara's shoulders began shaking again, and immediately Aang knew he said the wrong thing. "Don't you understand?" she angrily demanded, tears thick in her voice. "I almost lost you, Aang! You nearly died!" Her voice wavered. "I would never forgive myself if—if you—"
She broke down sobbing, and this time it was Aang who reached up to cradle her face against him, letting her tears stain his skin and soak his robes.
They stayed that way for what felt like a long, long time—clinging to each other with the desperate hope of survival, praying that they would make it out alive together.
"I'll get us out of here." Katara pressed her lips to his temple, and he could feel the remnants of her tears against his skin. "I promise."
Despite his stinging wounds, despite his aching muscles and exhaustion that seeped into his bones, despite the deep stab that throbbed in his back and the agony that shot through him with every movement, Aang couldn't help but smile.
If there was anyone who had the will and strength to break them out, it was Katara.
Some additional notes:
- The butterfly sword (蝴蝶刀) is a Chinese weapon that was developed in the mid-19th century. It was designed to be as long as a person's forearm, so assassins could conceal it in their sleeves. It's usually utilized as a pair, so they were designed so that two can fit in one scabbard.
- This story takes heavy inspiration from Invaderk's "The Interrogation," so check that out if you want more Aang-torturing content.
- Again, this is the precursor to "where we're meant to be," so if you want a happy, fluffy end to the story, be sure to check that fic out too!
Thanks for reading!
