Chapter Text
Zuko let his arms drop to his sides, or as close as they could get with the shackles, as soon as the airship touched down. He had held out as long as he was able, fanning the flames of the coal and directing the airflow so that they didn't burn up too quickly and fall from the sky. It had been enough, and the sight of the small wooden ship bobbing defiantly on the shoreline made the water tribesmen on deck to cheer wearily, a sound born more of relief than celebration. It had been a mad, desperate scramble to get to the airship and out of the lava-filled hellhole. Not everyone had made it. Zuko himself was at the end of his reserves, relieved that their survival no longer depended on the last sputterings of his chi.
Already, rowers stood ready to carry them out. He wanted to spend more time looking for something that might be able to cut through his shackles, but he supposed the tribesmen would have a chisel or something, as several of their members were also manacled and didn't seem to be too desperate. He twisted one of his wrists inside the steel, a mistake, and the chafed skin rubbed and sent a jolt of pain through his arm. They were sore, along with the rest of him, in ways he didn’t care to remember right now. He tried not to think about his body, the physical toll of what had been done to him. If he focused too clearly on the aches and pains, he would remember how he got them. He sucked in a lungful of salt air and it helped ground him. This place did not smell like sulfur and misery. He had escaped Zhao. He wasn't there .
A hand pushed his shoulder, not unkindly, but on his left side, making him startle under the touch. Zuko stepped forward and joined the other men disembarking. He didn't want to be left behind. Not on a Fire Nation island in a stolen Fire Nation airship. By this time tomorrow, news of the escape would reach Caldera and the response would be swift. Zuko’s boots sank into the sand as he imagined his father’s rage. He would keep himself composed while he ordered a search for the prisoners, but afterwards his wrath would fall on those responsible. He wouldn’t shed a tear for Zhao, but the thought of Azula, of Mai , kneeling at his father’s feet was too much. He sucked in a lungful of air to hold back the panic, wincing slightly as his bruised back protested. He hoped Azula pinned the blame on Zhao.
The rowers wasted no time, although the grins they traded back and fourth suggested they’d rather like to spend a few moments on a reunion. Barely anyone spared him a glance, except to make sure he was loaded into a boat with the others. He heard a man next to him ask in a whispered voice “What’s with the ashmaker?” before being hushed by a man who’d escaped with them and putting his back into rowing them to the ship.
By happenstance, Zuko ended up in the last rowboat to unload, so by the time he managed to shimmy up the rope ladder with his hands bound, the tribe had formed a loose circle around their leader, eager to hear the tale of their escape. Zuko had come to know Hakoda in those cells a bit, had known him to be a man of cheerful disposition even in the darkest of times, a man much like his son. He'd lay on the stone and listened to him keep his men from despair. But the man that stood in the center of his own ship looked like a wraith, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow. Nearby, an older man who must be his lieutenant had joy in his eyes, bright from the successful rescue. He immediately picked upon the difference in his captain, and looked askance.
“My son is dead.” He said it badly. He said it without preamble, but Zuko saw the news hit the ship’s crew like a physical blow. Any trace of revelry was blown out like candle flame with four words.
“ Sokka ? Sokka is dead?” One of the men asked, and Hakoda nodded tightly. “He was there, in the prison. He and that boy .”
Zuko felt every single eye on the ship turn toward him, and forced his spine straight. He couldn’t quite bring himself to meet any of the gazes settled on him, pinning him in place.
“Fire nation.” Someone to his right said icely.
“Why is he here?”
“Shouldn’t we toss him over?”
Zuko took in a sharp breath. He’d spent so much of the last few days so desperate to escape Zhao, he’d never considered the position he would put himself in with the water tribe. Sokka was supposed to be here. He could explain that they’d come to rescue them . He needed to speak. Needed to tell Hakoda that he had to rejoin the Avatar, rejoin Katara, that they hadn’t told their friends where they were going, that the news of Sokka’s death needed to be conveyed so Aang wouldn’t waste precious time looking for them, needed to tell him how sorry he was that the boy with the bright blue eyes would never offer him a cut of jerky again, would never spar with him again, wouldnever-
Zuko shook himself out of his stupor. “Chief Hakoda, I-”
Zuko heard several long, heavy steps coming directly toward him, and looked up just in time to see the chief of the water tribe make his way toward him with all of the force of a hurricane, his massive form striding across his ship with the surety of a man secure in his station. It was a movement Zuko was familiar with, and part of him knew what was coming even if his mind took a moment to catch up. His body remembered.
The force of the backhand caught him across the good side of his face, the knuckles crashing into his brow and the force of the blow sending him sprawling several feet on the sodden wood. His vision swam, his head rang, but he knew laying on the ground was the wrong thing to do. He knew what was expected and what was not. Crying was unacceptable, as was staying down. It was always worse if he stayed down . Without his mind telling it to, his legs gathered beneath him and shakily brought him to his feet. His eyes remained on his own boots. For a moment, the blood that dripped down from his face splattered on delicately painted ceramic tile, not the deck of a ship.
A large hand grabbed his chin and jerked his eyes up, and he found that Hakoda was leaning down over him, his nose inches from his face .Zuko fought through the cloud of faintness and his mind telling him to float away to somewhere safe-this was important. He would be told what he’d done wrong now and he needed to pay attention.
“I am not your chief .” The rich growl reverberated over the crashing waves and Zuko’s knees nearly buckled under its force. ”As far as I am concerned, you’re the reason my son is dead.”
“Y-yes sir.” Zuko managed to get out softly, between his clenched teeth. The force on his jaw was crushing. He didn’t dare break eye contact now that Hakoda had forced it. His eyes were the same color as his son’s, but held a fury Sokka’s had never known. Zuko was used to that look. He’d known it all his life. His gut clenched. This man was the same as his father, and Zuko had spoken without direction. Agni, he was a slow learner. He didn’t know he’d let out any noise until Hakoda let his jaw go with disgust, cutting off the soft keening noise that had somehow escaped his throat. He wanted to go to his knees, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t .
Whatever Hakoda had seen in Zuko’s eyes had apparently satisfied him. He made a noise of disgust and turned his back to him, headed toward the stairs that led below.
“Set a course for the Earth Kingdom.” He told his lieutenant, not breaking stride.
“What do you want us to do with the ashmaker?” someone called.
“I don’t care.”
Zuko had maybe a second or two to realize how wrong things were about to go. His eyes flicked to the rail where the shoreline sat a swimmable distance away, but rough hands grabbed his shoulders in the same instant. Zuko ripped out of the hands holding him and out of sheer desperation shot flames from his palms in the direction of his attackers, but the sparks that came from his flickering, exhausted chi would have made Azula cackle. In fact, a couple of chuckles came from some of the closer crewmen, who had barely retreated a step. Zuko was exhausted, damaged from his time in Zhao’s cells; he’d used up nearly all of his chi- and the crew knew it. But he couldn’t let them get him into open water, this would be his only chance of escape. As if they knew his plan, several tribesmen moved to block the rail from his sightline, herding him like an escaped tigerdillo toward the mast.
Zuko kept a small amount of space, puffing small amounts of sparks any time someone got a hand too close to him, waiting for his moment to make a run for the rail, but his right eye was starting to swell from Hakoda’s hit and his vision was dimming rapidly.
“Let me go.” He wished it had some force behind it, but his lip was swelling and the words were slurred. A hand reached out for him, and Zuko kicked, his boot catching the knee of his attacker and sending them cursing to the deck. After that, it was a scramble, hands reaching, grabbing for his body, bruising fingers digging into already bruised flesh, and desperate, panicked strikes at whatever he could reach. He spat sparks and heard howls of pain, even bit down on flesh pressed too close to his face, but there were enough hands on him to let him know his efforts were futile.
“Don’t touch me!” He snarled, but it was weaker than the last request. In times when Zuko was afraid, truly afraid , his body had a habit of forgetting where he was. He felt like he was underwater, slow to respond, legs heavy, and when someone pressed his body against his back, he was suddenly on fire, back in the cells below the Boiling Rock.
His hands were so far above his head that his toes barely brushed the ground, but they hadn’t shackled his ankles. Zuko snarled and twisted like an angry fish on the line, his body twisting to keep the man in his sights. They weren’t in any rush, the doors had barely swung shut on the cells keeping the rest of the escapees in place, the air heavy with the sound of keys turning. They were at the bottom of the pit, closest to the magma, and the heat was oppressive even for those with fire in their veins. Zuko couldn’t see the rest of them, but he could see Sokka, directly across the hall and struggling to keep his shaking knees underneath him. He was panting, having trouble getting enough of the searing air into his lungs to keep conscious. His blue eyes were wide and afraid as they tracked Zhao, circling Zuko like a shark. Zhao would take his time, but the water tribe didn’t have time. Heat exhaustion would kill them just as quickly as anything else.
Without warning, Zhao grabbed his throat and pressed his full body against Zuko’s back, hips settling firmly against his, and Zuko stopped worrying about the water tribe.
Zuko swung from his wrists while he came back to the present, exactly as he had been in the cell. The crashing of waves and murmur of men pulled him back into his skin, the world only a dull haze of shadows and shapes from his right eye. He fought down nausea as he realized he couldn’t see. He was tied up somewhere and couldn’t see. No hands were touching him currently, but he felt the bruises on him where they’d been. Revulsion crawled up his spine, they could have done anything to him while he was under, trapped in memories he didn’t want, unable to protect himself. He didn’t know why his body did that to him, but he’d had it his entire life and it had cost him manya beating. It wasn’t something Zhao had caused him, but he had the sinking feeling that the cell would be another place his mind forced him back to when he least wanted. Gritting his teeth, he focused on his pain, but thought that the more intimate injuries he’d sustained were the same as they had been this morning, no better, no worse. Angi’s light was still overhead, it hadn’t been long. They hadn’t had time to fuck him, then.
He thought they might. Why else had he been spared a slit throat and a place of rest at the bottom of the ocean? He certainly had no friends here. He tried to force his eye wider and looked up at his bindings, but could only make out the vague shape of a thick knot of rope.
He didn’t think anyone was paying attention to him, because no one hit him for looking up. It sounded like the men were at oars, putting distance between themselves and the fire nation. They had no time to play with their prisoner then, until the boat was well away from his homeland. Which meant Zuko had time to prepare.
Strategically, keeping a firebender prisoner on a wooden boat was a risky proposal. He thought he was probably suspended from the main mast; if he got enough of his chi back to bring it down, the crew would die. He would too, though. They might be banking on his self preservation being strong enough to not consider that option. He forced down the hollow feeling that told him he might consider it, given enough motivation. He remembered the horrible feeling of hopelessness that had overcome him, after Zhao had left him broken in his cell, and how consuming the feeling had been, the wish to be anywhere else, even nowhere at all. He told himself he wouldn’t make that choice, but a part of him was already trying to push away that cold, dead feeling, and failing.
He couldn’t live through it. If they fucked him, he would shatter. The minute the thought entered his mind, he knew it was the truth. He might be able to talk them out of it. He was in no condition to fight, but Sokka…Sokka had been so unbearably good . He’d helped Zuko fit into their small group, had been so gentle with him, had helped them to understand each other. The men who raised him must have had a hand in shaping that. Maybe if he begged them, they wouldn’-.
When has that ever worked?
By the time Agni’s light had settled against the horizon, Zuko’s body was shivering with nerves and exhaustion. No one had spoken to him all day, they’d left him alone to hang, blind and waiting for the inevitable moment his captors decided to do something with him. He wondered if they had done it on purpose, or if they’d simply been too busy to bother with him. He knew his reprieve was over when the silence took over. There were no more shouted commands or murmurs of the crew speaking to each other from opposite rails. He might not have been able to see the gathering crowd, but he could sense it in the same way a penguin seal felt the gaze of a predator on the ice.
There was a hand on his jaw, and he jerked back out of the grip of a man he hadn’t known was there, toes ineffectively scrambling on the wood beneath him. He jerked his leg up and kicked, but it was batted aside.
“Your name is Zuko, right?” The name in front of him asked, and Zuko let his jaw slide forward in defiance. He was one of the men who’d been interred with them beneath the volcano, Zuko could still smell the ash on him. “Yeah, I heard you talking with your countrymen, screaming in the cells.”
“Then you know I’m not on their side. I’m not your enemy.” Zuko told him. He wouldn’t beg. He wouldn’t . But he could ask.
“But you see, we don’t know that.” The man’s voice was close, so close he barely had to raise his voice to be heard over the sounds of the sea. “You ashmakers are insidious. Little demons, who rip apart anything they can get their hands on, including their own kind. Just because the admiral and you don’t get along, or” he broke off to scoff “get along too well-” his hand trailed down Zuko’s chest and his heart skipped a beat. “Doesn't mean you’re any friend of ours.”
“Sokka-” He had to break off his words and tense his stomach, because even blind he sensed the hit coming. The man’s fist caught him in the solar plexus, forcing the air from his lungs.
“If you’re smart, you’ll never say that name again.” His captor advised. “Every man on this ship is more than ready to rip you apart. Sokka was like a son to us all.”
He was still trying to force air past his spasming muscles when the rope holding him up suddenly lost tension, and he fell to the dock in an ungainly heap. He tried to regain his feet quickly, but two people grabbed his arms and wrenched him back up before he had the chance. A hand buried itself in his hair and wrenched his head upward. Maybe they thought they were making eye contact, but Zuko couldn’t see anything.
“If it were up to me, you’d die right here.” The man in front of him said, before his head was released. Zuko opened his mouth to ask what they were going to do with him, but before he could, the hands on his biceps jerked him backwards. He felt his tailbone hit the rail of the ship before his body flipped over the side, a short rush of air, and then the shock of cold as his body sank below the waves.
He sank like a stone, his shock and exhaustion making him slow. Clutching his manacled hands to his chest, he kicked upward, breaking the surface long enough to suck in a lungful of air before a wave crashed over his head. He surfaced three more times before he felt a pull on his arms, tugging him through the water faster than he could swim. There was a dizzying sense of relief-he was still attached to the ship. They weren’t going to leave him here to fight the ocean and drown all alone, unable to see, unable to keep above the waves until his lungs or his legs gave out. The water near the ship was choppy, it was hard to fight for air and he was only succeeding once in every three tries. His lungs burned with desperation, and that was probably why, at first, he didn’t realize when the rope began pulling down .
Zuko fought, of course, ripping his wrists to shreds as the manacles dragged him further from the surface. A bubble of precious air escaped while he struggled and fought. Something hard and slippery slammed into his hands, and he realized he was being pulled underneath the ship. His fingers caught something sharp, and even in the extreme cold of the water he felt searing pain. Helpless, he twisted and tried to push off from the surface with his legs, but it was too vast, the pull on the rope too strong, and soon the pain was everywhere, cutting into him, burning him, shredding him alive. He cried out, too afraid to keep his mouth shut. He was drawing and being torn apart in complete darkness.
It didn’t stop for a very long time.