Katara hadn't stopped crying, even after an hour. Aang's arms were wrapped around her; Toph was patting her shoulder; but Sokka felt too weird to join them.
He'd almost killed Aang.
It wasn't his fault, but still. He'd almost killed his friend – practically his brother.
He remembered moving with no control over his limbs, sword outstretched; remembered pure terror as he moved, powerless to change direction or move his arm. He remembered watching his sword approach Aang's chest.
He shuddered, feeling tainted. He understood how Katara felt.
He knew if he'd killed Aang, part of him would have died, too.