As the last embers of the shared fire died, the only thing Zuko could feel was the rough imprints of fingerprints in his tender skin leaving lasting bruising.

He wasn't surprised by the rough handling of him by the guards, between the trouble he was forced to cause in order for them to escape and the fact that he was the former, now disgraced, prince of the Fire Nation.

At the same time, however, the shades of blue and purple around his wrists and back of his neck were starting to ache uncontrollably now that the adrenaline was gone and the papery uniform itched against his skin against all of the hidden wounds that he refused to breathe a word of to Sokka; not when he finally forgave himself for the ambush now that they had succeeded in rescuing Hakoda and Suki.

So, he quietly made his way to the solace of the stone room while the others slept soundly outside before waiting for 'one, two, three,' and slowly peeling the papery uniform over his head and onto the ground.

It occurred to him briefly to burn it, but the smell of smoke could easily wake the others up which was enough of a reason for him to resist and focus on examining the bruising as well as he could between location and the length of his hair.

He knew that there was no chance of seeing the back of his neck, so he turned his attention to his wrists; the colors and designs weren't abnormal, given the fact that they were from rough hands dragging him from room to room, but he couldn't stop himself from pulling in a sharp breath after pressing down on them with his other fingers.

Within the bruising, however, were the white, jagged lines that extended up toward his chest; Zuko hadn't even noticed those lines until he arrived at the Western Air Temple and changed out of the tunic that smelled a bit too much like smoke for his liking.

He hadn't felt anything from them for days, but in the soft glow of moonlight making its way through the one window, now that he wasn't running on a lack of sleep and adrenaline, there was a soft ache that started in his fingertips and followed the current just like the lightning-

"Now I realize that banishment is far too merciful a penalty for treason. Your penalty will be far steeper."

Within a split second, Zuko pulled his hands inward, harnessing the whips of lightning his father had sent right towards his chest before making the split-second decision to shoot them at the bottom of the throne, enough to send his father flying toward the wall before running toward the war balloon with the smell of smoke following every single movement he made.

Zuko couldn't stop the tears from crashing down as he stumbled, his foot catching a stone on the way, knocking his already bruised neck against the wall; he choked on the sobs with a wince before tucking his head onto his shaking knees as the scars sparked like aftershocks against his aching heart when the memories came with the overwhelming realization. 'He has wanted me dead this whole time.'

…

Hakoda stamped out the last few embers with his boot before making his way toward the room that Sokka had shown him earlier that evening; the kids were seemingly content to sleep in the courtyard in their sleeping bags, but his back was simply too old and much preferred the carved stone bed.

As soon as the last spark died, he tiptoed around various sleeping bags that emitted various levels of snoring before making it inside the temple, but as he went to walk into the entrance of his room, a noise hit his ears that he hadn't heard in years.

The sound of a child desperately trying to catch their breath around violent sobs.

He whipped his head around, half expecting to see Katara or Sokka's blue eyes full of tears from the relief that he was alive, or even Aang trying and failing to keep it together as the pressure of defeating the Fire Lord was increasing day by day.

But as far as Hakoda could tell, all three of them were asleep, just like the others; he took a second mental headcount, and it was only then that the connection that made his heart sink came to light.

'Zuko.'

Hakoda had heard the rumors in his years at sea; the ones about a banished prince the same age as his own son, who disrespected the Fire Lord enough to have a permanent mark over his left eye before being sent away with no end in sight.

When the details had been shared over late night drinks below deck, he found his stomach twisting with disgust and guilt over a boy not much older than his own being publicly maimed and banished, but he found himself keeping his mouth shut.

After all, if he cried for every child who had suffered trauma in the war he himself had been born into, his eyes would never be dry; but the sobs weren't coming from an unknown child, or even the child of the enemy.

They were coming from the teenager who had risked his safety and his life to help Sokka after leaving his home on his own accord to help Aang.

Hakoda walked into the stone room that was adjacent to his own with a soft 'rap' on the doorframe with his knuckles before laying eyes on Zuko, who had his face pressed against his knees and made no sign that he heard the knock through the sobs that were shaking against his skin.

He wanted nothing more to get on his knees beside the teenager and pull him into a hug, but he forced his feet to stay firmly planted in the doorway as he found himself calling out, "Zuko?" as softly as he could.

It did nothing to stop him from flinching in response, his hands coming up from where they were tucked between his face and knees to cover his head, the sobbing never stopped as he maneuvered with his darkening wrists on full display.

But it wasn't the bruising or the sobs that caused Hakoda's mouth to fill with the taste of stomach acid and disgust, but the plea that broke through despite the crying.

"D-don't hit me."

Those three words turned his stomach violently in the same way that it had when he had found Katara after the raid that had taken Kya, but like he had back then, he forced it away and crouched on his knees.

"Zuko, I am not going to hurt you," he did his best to assure the teenager despite the fact that there was no signal that he could actually hear him over the gasping from his lungs, "can you take a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds?"

"I-I don't-"

"Can you try?"

His request was followed by a shaky inhale before the sobs went quiet for, "one, two, thre-" before the exhale followed.

But it was the pleas of "I-I'm sorry" interspersed with the renewed tears that only made Hakoda's heart clench tighter in his chest.

"It's okay," he insisted, even though he knew that his assurances were falling on deaf ears, "let's do it again, okay? Take a deep breath and hold it, just like the last one."

Hakoda was able to count to three before the exhale left Zuko, but the tears that followed the second time were less frantic and less in amount. 'It's working.'

He wasn't sure how long he coached the teenager through the slow, calm inhaling that he had used himself more times then he could count, but when they reached five twice and he had to tell Zuko to exhale, which he did without tears, he was able to take his own sigh of relief before finding it in himself to ask, "do you want help with the bruising?"

He expected the boy to send him away, or just tell him no, but even with the flush on his cheeks that could have been from the crying or from embarrassment, Zuko gave Hakoda a wordless nod that had him standing back up to retrieve his limited medical supplies from his room, despite the fact that he didn't want to take his eyes off of the boy.

"I'll be right back."

When he retreated back to his room for the quick reprieve, to pull out the futile pack that he always hid in his boot so he could try his hardest to help out the unfortunate soul who would die without his rudimentary skill set, he couldn't stop the few tears from falling down his face.

To the world, that was the former prince, a young man who had been disgraced by his own family but was growing despite the adversity he had faced; but to Hakoda, all he could see was a child forced to go through too much that made him grow up too fast.

It reminded him all too much of Aang, who had woken up after a hundred years to all of his people being destroyed, too much of Toph, who was forced back against her will and learned so much as a simple rebellion and too much of his own children, who had to lose him shortly after they lost Kya.

And 'fuck', when he thought too much about how much the war had taken from these children, who were still willing and preparing to go against the main perpetrator of this war, his heart ached for his soulmate who would have wrapped all these kids tightly in her arms before going so far to lay down her own life to keep them alive in the hopes of letting them be children for a bit longer.

He grabbed the pack tightly in his hand, only stopping himself when he felt the fabric wain under his hold to calm himself with a deep breath; the last thing he wanted to do was set Zuko off from his air of frustration with the world.

Hakoda loosened his hand on the pack before softly stepping toward the adjacent room, knocking once again on the doorframe before entering.

Zuko looked up this time at the noise, dry tear stains evident on his still-flushed cheeks and knees still pulled to his bare chest but no signs of more tear stains, more grief or more panic; a small relief that made Hakoda's tense shoulders relax as he sat beside him and opened the small pack.

"Now, I'm no healer like Katara," he prefaced as he pulled out the small flask of cool water from his pocket before soaking one of the bandages with it, "but, being on the ocean for years taught me a few things," he held out his empty hand, waiting until Zuko wordlessly placed his left wrist in it before firmly wrapping the gauze around the bruise, waiting for a sign of discomfort to cross over the scarred face that never came.

In fact, Zuko stayed completely motionless and emotionless until he started wrapping the bruises on the other wrist.

"I'm sorry, about…"

"You don't need to apologize, Zuko," Hakoda gently shook his head as he tied off the bandages and made notice of the soft, white scarring on his right hand that looked all too familiar to the ones Aang had running across his tattoos, "no one comes out of war unscathed."

The former prince simply nodded, looking rather intently at the stone floor and it filled Hakoda with an even larger hatred for the man who had cupped his child's face and set it alight.

"I know my daughter doesn't fully trust you yet, but regardless of who you are, she doesn't believe in unnecessary suffering."

"Why are you telling me this?" The boy looked up with two confused, golden eyes meeting his blue ones.

"Lightning wounds can cause permanent damage to your nerves," Hakoda explained, leaving out the part where Zuko was one of two survivors of lightning wounds he had seen and the other had only survived because of his daughter and spirit-blessed water from the north, "would you like me to speak to her about it in the morning?"

Even if every instinct of his told him to do it regardless, he waited for the explicit permission in order not to shatter the trust between himself and the lonely teenager, which he got in the form of a silent nod that he used as his cue to stand and make his leave, but not before stopping and looking over his shoulder, "and Zuko?"

"Yes?"

He so badly wanted to tell him to "wake me up if you need to" or "I'm on your side", but he settled for a simple, low tone as he said, "try and get some rest."

And when he didn't respond again, Hakoda forced his own feet to move so he could do his best to follow his own advice that he knew would be futile with the thoughts of anger towards Ozai and guilt over Zuko swirling in his mind as soon as he laid down on the stone bed.