May I please request a Zagreus and fem!s/o where s/o is a river nymph of Styx? I really don't know where to go with that but I think it's an interesting prompt. Please and Thank you.
Where We Will Begin Again
Zagreus x Female!reader
Warnings: kissing, no beta.
Word count: 1.6
Notes: Hey Anon, thanks for the fun prompt! I really hope you like it! ❤️ ❤️
Sometimes it was impossible to know when you started and the Styx ended.
You learned the rhyme of the river, and how it hid your mother’s heart away in its depth. Of the mortal blood that flowed and of Charon, his boat was ever steady among the wailing.
You followed him sometimes, tracing his path from behind. You never got close to the land though, you just watched from afar as shades talked to the looming god.
One time you got close enough to touch his boat, the wood smooth against your fingertips. You gasped when you heard a groan from above and yanked your hand away, your guilty hand curling against your chest. You looked up to see his eye staring down at you and you froze, staring back at him.
Then he reached down, placing a gentle hand on your head, uncaring of the blood that surrounded you. He groaned, and maybe it would have been nonsense to anyone else but you heard his words. ‘Be good, little one. Return to your mother and sisters.’
Then his hand left your head, fingers marked by blood. You nodded and with one last look back toward the boatman who tipped his hat at you, you returned to the embrace of the Styx.
~
You have been content.
You had been more than happy to attend to the river and to your mother's heart, to wave Charon on after he let the mortals off. You liked the mortals, their stories and the quiet way they rebuild their lives.
You have your sisters to care for, weaving the same tales your mother told you as you guide them along the river.
But…
You knew of the prince, how could you not?
Even his attempts to break his ties to the underworld had reached your ears. You knew every time the Styx had claimed the young god, the power of a god filling the river in a way no mortal could.
“What a fool, just dying over and over again. And for what?” Your little sisters muttered as the prince floated down the river, watching him with confused eyes.
They were young, their hearts still whole. Unlike your mother’s. Unlike yours.
You said nothing as the river had sent him your way, the water calm as it carried his form.
You thought about your mother’s tales, of Achilles’ mother placing him in the river to try to save him from his fate, her lips muttering prayers, tears spilling from her eyes.
Of when Hypnos had made Hera swear to give him Pasithea’s hand in marriage, his golden eyes were hard and desperate, not a warrior but willing to be one for her.
Of when Lord Hades and his queen had taken their wedding vows, different souls but whole when together, their voices low and tender.
You stopped him for a moment when he drifted past you with gentle hands on his face. You studied the prince of the underworld, at the line of his jaw, the fan of his dark lashes and his messy black hair.
“I think.” You said carefully. “He might have his reasons.”
And with a caress on his forehead, you let Zagreus go.
~
“An oathkeeper.” A voice said behind you, low and reverential.
You whirled around with a gasp, still knee-deep in the river. You haven’t heard someone call you that name in a long time.
You blinked when you saw the prince standing at the shore, his sword in hand. He looked just as surprised as you did. He had been fighting, his bottom lip busted open and you saw the bruises all over his body. Even far away as you were, you saw the strength in his form.
You said nothing. What could you say to this god before you?
Even beaten and worn down, he looked like a prince. Straight back and proud, he stepped into the shallow water with you, water lapping up his knees but he stopped there. His mismatched eyes - and how odd, you’ve never seen eyes like those before even among gods- held your stare and only then were you able to find the words.
“Your Highness.” You said, and you cursed at how weak your voice sounded.“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“My apologies for scaring you.” Prince Zagreus gave you a boyishly sweet grin, and you forgot for a moment that he was a prince, and not just an excited boy. “I never thought I would see, let alone meet one of the river Styx’s daughters.”
You tilted your head, watching the god before you. “Well, your highness. Here I am. I must say it doesn’t look like it will be long before you will join the river once more.”
Prince Zagreus gave a rueful laugh, “I look that rough, huh?” Then he gave a cheerful grin, “At least I don’t look as bad as the other guy does.”
You laughed quietly. “I suppose not, your highness.” Your eyes swept his form, and you thought of how he looked before. His face peaceful in his rest, made whole once more. You thought how hsi skin felt against your hands. Of the smile he graces you with now.
You picked up your skirt, bunching the fabric between your fingers and moved closer to him. He almost reached for you, as if fearing you would trip but the river held you steady.
His fingers curled back, and he said nothing. You offered a grin, a small one. Then you cupped his cheek with one hand then leaned close. You brushed your lips against his other cheek. “A second chance, your highness.”
He gasped at your soft kiss, at the power of the styx. His hand found your wrist, his hold was gentle even with his rough fingertips.
You pulled back with a smile, took several steps back into the river and before he could call you back, you were claimed by the river again.
~
Your sisters gathered around you when you returned home.
The prince had made his way past the Hydra, a feat no one else had done before.
Yet he had.
They whispered among themselves, eyes bright and soft giggling between words but you stayed quiet, your fingers curling into your tunic. You waited for the call of the river to come for you, to attend to the prince once more.
You did not tell your sisters of the blessing you granted him.
~
He found you again, somehow.
You stared at him as he joined you in the river again. You shoved away the warmth you felt bloom inside your gut and clasped your hands as you waited for him to get closer.
“I don’t think you know how much I owe you my gratitude, daughter of Styx.” Prince Zagreus said in a low tone, words only for you and him.
You only nodded with a curl of a smile. “It is no trouble, your highness.” You almost turned away when he held out a hand. “Wait, I got you something.”
You blinked at the bottle he held, round and golden. Nectar. You didn’t reach out for it, unsure what to even say.
You have never been given such a thing before.
“Please. I know it’s not much of a gift.” Prince Zagreus said but you shook your head, your hands curling over his. And your cheeks warmed when you realized how smaller your hands were against his, at how different you and him were.
“It’s perfect, your highness.” You whispered as you took the weight of the bottle into your hands. You ran a finger over the bow, smiling even at the doubtful look he gave you. “Truly, it is. Thank you, Prince Zagreus.”
“Zagreus. Please. Just Zagreus.” He grinned at you, and you couldn’t help but blush at it.
“Zagreus.” You agreed quietly.
~
Your mother whispered to you when you returned to her. Styx was ancient, even among gods and her mere presence carried weight.
“Are you sure about this, child? He may not stay. Such as a bird, trying to be free.” She said. It wasn’t meant to be cruel but you flinched at her words.
You curled around the bottle of nectar, biting on your bottom lip. It was foolish. It was nothing to a god like him but you never even saw something like this before.
Nor anyone like Zagreus.
Your mother sighed, and placed a gentle hand on your head.
“Remember you can always return to me, to the river, to the flow of mortal life.” She whispered and with that she was gone.
~
You were alone this time when the river sent Zagreus your way. You hurried over to him, his body carried by the river.
He looked like he was asleep, almost childlike in how sweet he looked. You smiled as you held his face between your hands. You brushed his black hair out his face as you whispered a prayer for him.
“Oh. It’s you.” He slurred. His voice was warm and fond. Your eyes snapped to his and he was staring at you. Like you were the one to save him. Like there was no one else but you. His hand reached up and cupped the back of your head. You gave in to the gentle pressure and leaned down.
He kissed you, a soft and chaste kiss. It only lasted for a moment before his hand dropped back into the river.
“I will come and find you.” He promised as he fought to stay awake. You shushed him gently, like a mother would a child “And I will be here waiting for you, Zagreus. Never doubt that.”
He smiled before darkness claimed him.
This time you didn’t let go, you guided him down the river yourself, only letting go when you got close to his home.
You watched the river claim him and you knew you would wait centuries for him.
~
Later when it was you and him, his hands covering yours, he swore an oath. His forehead against yours as he spoke low and sweet, his eyes never leaving yours.
Some is better than none. Some is better than none. Some is better than none. Walking for three minutes, is better than nothing. Drinking a glass of water and eating a snack, is better than nothing. Wiping down the counter, is better than nothing. Small things are not nothing. Small things are not nothing. Small things are not nothing. You don’t have to achieve grand things if all you’re capable of right now is the smaller things. They are still achievements. Don’t do nothing just because you don’t think you’re capable of doing bigger things, just do something you’re capable of today. 
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A/n: The beginning of this chapter involves a dream/flashback that contains themes that some readers may find unsettling, as it portrays emotional and psychological child abuse. This opening highlights a large part of how [Y/n]'s uncle "trained" him for the strategist role and offers an insight into a lot of [Y/n]'s experiences around the role and thoughts regarding his uncle, but if you feel like it will be too uncomfortable to read, please skip to the ~*~ page breaker and start from where he wakes up.
The dream began wrong. Not obviously. Not at first.
At first, it felt familiar.
Warm lanternlight spilt softly across polished floors while distant evening rain tapped gently against the windows of the estate. The strategist's study looked exactly as [Y/n] remembered it from childhood; dark shelves lined with military texts, maps hanging from the walls, and incense burning somewhere nearby with that same faint scent of cedar and smoke.
For one brief moment, it even felt comforting.
Then [Y/n] looked down.
Ten years old again.
Small hands. Small shoulders. Small enough that his feet didn't properly touch the floor while sitting atop the chair positioned before the strategy table.
And immediately, something deep in his chest twisted.
Because he remembered this.
Not exactly, but enough.
The large map stretched across the table before him, painted with rivers and mountains and city markers, while small carved pieces sat arranged across its surface. Tiny soldiers. Battalion markers. Supply lines. Red pieces and black pieces.
A battlefield.
A lesson.
And behind him, someone stood.
He couldn't see him, not properly. He never once turned around, never saw a face.
But he knew. Of course, he knew.
A hand rested lightly against his shoulder. Another guided his wrist gently over the map. His uncle's voice came from somewhere behind him. Calm, measured and patient in a way that sounded almost inhuman.
The same voice that used to explain Pai Sho strategies and war theory in exactly the same tone.
"If the eastern battalion advances first, enemy attention shifts immediately." A piece moved. Small carved soldiers sliding across the map. "Then the second division cuts through the flank here."
Another movement.
Another line.
Another strategy.
Another battle.
"And by the time reinforcements arrive..." His uncle's voice softened slightly. "...the enemy has already lost."
[Y/n] remained silent, his eyes scanning the map as he studied the tiny battalion markers that sat across the painted terrain.
And slowly, very slowly, [Y/n] frowned. Because even at ten, something felt wrong. His eyes drifted downward toward the pieces, fixating on the markers his uncle moved so casually. His gaze fell on the groups positioned directly in the enemy's path.
Small fingers hesitated above the battlefield map.
"...Uncle?"
For a few moments, only the sound of rain tapping softly against palace windows answered him. The room felt strangely warm now. Too warm. Incense still burned somewhere nearby, lanternlight still flickered across maps and bookshelves, and his uncle's hand still rested calmly against his shoulder from behind.
Then, flatly:
"Yes?"
[Y/n] kept his eyes on the battlefield spread beneath him. At first, it was still just pieces: tiny carved soldiers, tiny battalions, tiny formations arranged carefully across painted mountains and rivers.
But the longer he stared, the more uncomfortable he felt. Because his uncle kept talking about them so easily.
Move this division here.
Sacrifice this flank.
Delay reinforcements there.
Like the pieces vanished once they were moved away from victory.
Like they stopped existing after serving their purpose.
"...A lot of these strategies..." [Y/n]'s small voice hesitated uncertainly. "...they lose soldiers."
Silence followed.
He looked harder at the battlefield beneath him, tiny brows slowly pulling together. The formations suddenly felt wrong somehow. Too many pieces positioned directly in danger. Too many soldiers left behind. Too many markers his uncle moved aside without even slowing down.
"...A lot."
And suddenly [Y/n] felt something unpleasant twist in his stomach.
Because he tried to imagine them. Not pieces. People. Actual soldiers. People standing in formation waiting for orders. People looking toward commanders and strategists because they believed someone older and smarter knew what they were doing. Because they trusted them. Because they followed.
And suddenly the idea made his chest feel tight. Made him feel strangely sick.
Because if they listened, if they followed him, then that meant they were relying on him. Trusting him. And the thought of looking at someone and knowingly sending them somewhere they wouldn't come back from felt horrible.
It felt wrong.
Beside him, the hand on his shoulder didn't move. He could almost feel the ambivalence radiating off of the older man.
"They trust us, don't they?" [Y/n] asked quietly. No answer came immediately. So he kept looking down at the map. Kept staring at the little carved soldiers lined neatly across the battlefield. "They follow orders because they think we're supposed to protect them..."
His voice grew quieter because suddenly his stomach twisted harder. Because suddenly he imagined what happened after he made his decision;
Families praying.
Children waiting.
People expecting someone to come home.
And maybe they never did because of a decision made by someone sitting safely beside a strategy board.
[Y/n]'s gaze lowered further.
"...Isn't it wrong to throw them away?"
Behind him, his uncle never shifted, never hesitated, never tightened his hand around [Y/n]'s shoulder. Nothing. And somehow, that frightened him more than if he'd gotten angry.
"They are honoured."
Flat.
Calm.
Certain.
The voice behind him remained perfectly level.
"They die serving the Fire Nation." The hand on his shoulder tightened slightly. "They die for a noble cause."
[Y/n] frowned.
"But-"
"It does not matter what happens to them."
And suddenly, something felt wrong. Not just the words, but the whole room itself. Because suddenly the study felt darker somehow. The lanternlight dimmer. The corners longer. And slowly [Y/n] looked down at the pieces again.
Then carefully... hesitantly... reached forward...
One soldier.
Just one.
He nudged it sideways.
Out of danger.
Away from the formation.
Because maybe...
If he moved them...
Maybe-
A hand suddenly covered his mouth.
Instantly.
Firm.
Cold.
[Y/n] froze.
His eyes widened so fast it hurt, and for one horrible second, his body simply locked. He didn't understand. Didn't process it. Something was wrong. Deeply, horribly wrong.
Then another hand wrapped tightly around his wrist.
Not guiding.
Not teaching.
Holding.
Stopping.
Behind him, his uncle leaned closer.
Still unseen.
Still impossible to look at.
[Y/n] still could see him, but now he could feel him there. Feel the weight of him standing over his shoulder and hear his breathing somewhere close behind his ear.
And suddenly [Y/n] felt very, very small.
"The lives of soldiers mean nothing in the grand scheme of things." The voice came quietly beside his ear. Calmly. Patiently. Like explaining something obvious.
[Y/n] shook immediately.
No.
No no no-
Small hands grabbed desperately at the wrist around his own, trying to pry it away. Pulling. Twisting. Fighting.
Nothing.
Couldn't move it.
Couldn't move anything.
"If you think of pawns like people..." His uncle whispered softly. "...you'll drive yourself mad." The grip around his wrist tightened. Not painfully. Just enough to remind him that he couldn't pull away. Couldn't stop it. Couldn't leave. "Because they will die anyway."
The light flickering around the room felt dimmer. The walls felt farther away. The strategy table beneath his hands felt larger somehow.
"By your orders."
[Y/n]'s breathing quickened immediately. His chest tightened. His stomach twisted. Because suddenly he could see them.
Not pieces.
Not soldiers.
People.
Children laughing.
People smiling.
Hands waving goodbye.
Someone promising they'd come back home.
"Children orphaned." The hand over his mouth pressed tighter. "Wives widowed."
And suddenly... voices...
Somewhere far away, echoing in the distance.
"...Please..."
[Y/n] froze instantly. His eyes widened.
Not his uncle. Someone else.
"...Please..."
Another voice.
Then another.
Then another.
All around him.
Whispering.
Begging.
Crying.
"Please don't!"
"Please let me go home!"
"I don't want to die!"
"Please!"
"Please!"
"PLEASE!"
Panic slammed into him immediately. Real panic. Violent panic.
[Y/n] fought harder. He twisted violently in the chair. Tried to pull his wrist free. Tried to rip away from the hand over his mouth. Tried to scream.
Couldn't.
Couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
Couldn't-
Tears blurred his vision immediately. They spilt down his face as panic surged harder and harder in his chest.
He tried to cry out. Tried to beg. But the hand over his mouth smothered every sound before it could escape, caught every tear before it could reach the soldiers. He could feel himself crying, feel his chest shaking, feel tears sliding down his cheeks.
But he couldn't even speak. Couldn't tell them he didn't want this. Couldn't tell the voices he was sorry. Couldn't tell them he was trying.
His uncle's hand still held his wrist.
Still guided him.
Still forced his fingers downward.
Back toward the battlefield.
Toward the soldiers.
Toward the formation.
Toward the place he wanted.
"No-"
Muffled. Tiny. Barely even a sound.
And beside his ear:
"Just listen to your uncle..." He forced his hand toward the blockage. "I know best." The hand tightened. "You want to be good, don't you?"
[Y/n] shook harder.
No no no no-
"You want to be useful?"
The voices grew louder.
Closer.
So much closer.
"Please..."
"Please don't let us die..."
"Please..."
[Y/n] sobbed against the hand covering his mouth. Pulled. Twisted. Begged silently.
Nothing worked.
And slowly... horribly... his hand moved.
Not his choice.
Not his.
Forced.
Guided.
The battlefield blurred completely beneath tears. The soldiers cried, begged and screamed. And suddenly one voice tore through all the others.
Close.
Right beside him.
Desperate.
Terrified.
"I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"
~*~
[Y/n] woke with a violent gasp.
Air tore painfully into his lungs as he bolted upright immediately, panic still gripping him hard enough that for one terrible second, he couldn't tell where he was. His heart hammered violently against his ribs. The room blurred. Darkness and lanternlight twisted together. The nightmare still clung stubbornly to the edges of his vision.
For one horrible, disjointed second, his mind never left the dream.
Hands... Someone touching him... Someone holding him down...
No.
[Y/n] jerked violently before thought could catch up, breath catching hard in his throat as adrenaline slammed through his body all over again. Every muscle locked immediately. His chest seized. His lungs forgot how to work.
The nightmare still clung stubbornly to him. He could still hear voices. Still feel hands. Still feel fingers around his wrist.
His heart hammered wildly against his ribs as panic surged straight through him, and suddenly the pain in his shoulder and ribs barely even registered beneath it. Instinct took over completely. Move. Fight. Get away.
For one terrible second, he genuinely didn't know where he was. Didn't know who was touching him. Didn't know if he'd actually escaped.
Then, slowly, his eyes adjusted.
The world around him stopped blurring. Shapes sharpened. Lanternlight flickered softly against white walls. Medicine shelves sat lined neatly along the room's edges. Cool night air drifted faintly through partially open windows.
Not a strategy room.
Not a battlefield.
Not the dream.
And leaning over him stood Ty Lee and Zuko, both staring down at him, both extremely worried.
For several long seconds, [Y/n] simply stared, breathing hard, blinking, trying to force reality back into place while panic slowly, painfully loosened its grip around his chest.
And only then did he realise... he was safe.
Ty Lee looked alarmed enough that he could tell she had clearly been panicking herself moments earlier, both hands still resting lightly against his shoulders like she wasn't sure whether to let go yet.
Zuko looked worse. Much worse. Because concern sat plainly across his face. Real concern. But beneath it, sat something else. Something much, much more dangerous.
Anger.
Not at him.
Hopefully.
[Y/n] blinked once. Twice. The room settled around him slowly. The nightmare loosened its grip. Reality returned piece by piece.
No battlefield.
No voices.
No hands.
Just... Ty Lee and Zuko.
After several long seconds, his breathing finally slowed.
"...Sorry." He muttered quietly, dragging one hand across his face. "...I-" His voice caught slightly.
Ty Lee immediately smiled, not her usual huge smile, a small one of genuine relief.
"You're okay."
[Y/n] let his eyes adjust as he looked around properly this time. He was in one of the smaller treatment offices of the northern palace medical wing. A narrow cot sat beneath him instead of a proper bed, while medical shelves lined the nearby walls. Bandages and herbs sat arranged across nearby tables beneath softly burning lanternlight.
Slowly, [Y/n] looked down. And immediately regretted it.
Bandages wrapped tightly around his ribs beneath the loose medical robes. More crossed over his shoulder, disappearing beneath layers of white cloth. Smaller strips rested against his cheek where Renji's blade had caught him, and when he shifted slightly against the cot, a dull ache immediately flared along his back, too.
Dear Agni, that hurt...
For a few seconds, he simply stared blankly. Then memory hit all at once. Not gradually. Not gently. Everything.
The meeting. The hallway. Renji. The shed. The scrolls. The fight.
And immediately [Y/n] froze. Because suddenly one final memory arrived directly:
Zuko.
Very slowly... very, very slowly... his eyes lifted.
Silence settled instantly.
Because Zuko looked... concerned. Very concerned.
But somehow that wasn't the problem.
No.
The problem was that he also looked completely ready to commit murder.
Not metaphorical murder.
Not emotional murder.
Real murder.
His arms remained folded tightly across his simple, casual robes instead of his usual formal Fire Lord attire, his hair sat messily tied back rather than arranged properly, and he looked like someone who had absolutely not slept since yesterday.
Not even slightly.
But more importantly, his expression was horrifying. Because somehow Zuko had accomplished something deeply unnatural. He looked relieved and furious at exactly the same time.
Not one after the other.
Simultaneously.
Like he wanted to either hug [Y/n] or physically launch him through a wall and genuinely had not decided which.
[Y/n] stared.
Zuko stared back.
Silence stretched.
Long enough to become deeply uncomfortable. Long enough for [Y/n] to start wishing Ty Lee would say literally anything. Anything at all. Unfortunately, Ty Lee looked between them. Paused. Looked again. And immediately raised both hands.
"...Oh wow." Her voice shook nervously. Another glance between them. "...You seem okay now." [Y/n] blinked. Ty Lee took one step backwards. Then another. Then smiled much, much too brightly. "Suki needed help with investigation things!" Another step back. "I should go do that." Ty Lee looked between them one final time before dramatically pointing at both of them. "...Good luck!"
Then she vanished. Actually vanished. Not walked. Not excused herself politely. Vanished.
The door slid shut behind her, and silence immediately reclaimed the room. And suddenly, [Y/n] realised he had been abandoned. Completely betrayed by someone he had considered a friend.
[Y/n] felt his heartbeat climb directly into his throat the moment the door shut. Because suddenly he was alone. Completely alone.
Alone with Zuko.
Who still looked like he hadn't fully decided whether he wanted to hug him or strangle him.
[Y/n] sat propped awkwardly against the medical cot while Zuko remained standing a few steps away, arms still folded tightly across his chest. Soft lanternlight flickered between them, stretching shadows across the pale walls while cool night air drifted faintly through the open windows nearby.
Neither moved.
Neither spoke.
They just stared at each other.
And somehow, [Y/n] was becoming increasingly certain this felt worse than getting stabbed. Because Zuko wasn't doing anything.
Wasn't pacing.
Wasn't yelling.
Wasn't lecturing him.
Wasn't even scowling properly.
Just staring.
And now that Ty Lee had fled the room and taken every possible distraction with her, [Y/n] could see everything much more clearly.
The concern still sat plainly on Zuko's face.
But beneath that, beneath all of it, sat exhaustion. Worry. And, Spirits... the anger.
Not explosive anger. Not loud anger. Worse. The quiet kind. The kind that sat beneath someone's skin after hours of fear and panic and imagining everything that could have gone wrong.
And after several increasingly horrible seconds of silence, [Y/n] reached a very important conclusion:
He physically could not survive this.
So naturally, he made a terrible decision.
"...Can I trust that you believe I had a good reason?"
Silence.
Zuko blinked once.
Just once.
Then immediately:
"Can I trust myself not to kill you for scaring me half to death?"
[Y/n] shifted slightly on instinct and immediately regretted every decision he'd ever made as pain stabbed sharply through his ribs. He coughed awkwardly, winced hard enough to feel it in his shoulder too, and suddenly found the blanket over his legs absolutely fascinating.
"...Sorry." The word slipped out quieter than intended, because suddenly the guilt came back. Not just for the fight, not just for the injuries. For everything. The nightmare. The bruises. The panic. Zuko standing here looking like he hadn't slept even slightly since yesterday.
Silence stretched again, long enough for [Y/n] to continue staring stubbornly downward. Then finally. Zuko sighed. Long. Deep. Tired. Zuko stared at him for another few seconds before finally speaking.
"Explain the nightmare first."
[Y/n] blinked. Of all the directions he had expected this conversation to go, that had not even remotely been one of them. [Y/n] stared. Explaining the fight would have made sense. Explaining the conspirators would have made sense. Explaining the injuries would have made sense.
The nightmare absolutely did not belong at the top of the list.
"...The nightmare?"
Zuko just stared at him. Actually stared. No hesitation. No uncertainty. No indication whatsoever that this was negotiable. Just complete disbelief.
"You woke up screaming." He reminded, narrowing his eyes as if the reason for his request were the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm worried, you idiot."
The words landed with embarrassing force.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Not with anger.
Just honestly.
And somehow that made them infinitely worse.
[Y/n] immediately looked away. Because suddenly the blankets looked fascinating. Because suddenly eye contact felt like a genuinely terrible idea. Because suddenly something warm and deeply uncomfortable twisted somewhere beneath his ribs, and he absolutely, categorically refused to examine why.
Silence stretched.
And when [Y/n] finally spoke, his voice was much quieter.
"...It was about my uncle." Zuko seemed to freeze in place. He swallowed once. "...One of the times he was..." He hesitated slightly. "...training me."
The word felt wrong.
Not inaccurate.
Just wrong.
"...The time with the chair..."
[Y/n] kept his gaze fixed on the sheets. Waiting. Bracing. Preparing himself for questions. For concern. For sympathy. For tell me about it. For something.
Anything.
Instead... nothing...
No pressure. No questions. No demands. No gentle insistence. Just silence. Long, patient silence. And slowly, after several seconds, [Y/n] looked up slightly.
Zuko's expression had softened. Not pity. Not concern worn openly across his face. Just understanding. Quiet understanding.
Enough to say I heard you.
Enough to say you don't have to explain.
And then, very deliberately:
"...Let's talk about the five men you apparently beat half to death instead."
[Y/n] looked down at the blanket gathered loosely over his lap for a few moments, silently thanking his old friend for letting the matter drop, his fingers absently picking at one of the folds while silence settled between them again.
Zuko didn't rush him.
Didn't interrupt.
Didn't push.
Just stood there watching quietly, arms still folded, waiting.
[Y/n] exhaled softly through his nose.
"...They cornered me." Zuko immediately straightened slightly. Not much, just enough that [Y/n] noticed. "In an empty hallway after the evening meetings." His eyes lowered toward the floor. "The two older men showed up first behind me. Then Renji, Han and Daro blocked the front." He paused to take a breath. "I already knew something was wrong."
[Y/n] shifted slightly against the cot before immediately regretting every decision he'd made in life as pain shot through his ribs.
He winced.
Ignored it.
Continued.
"There weren't any guards around." His expression tightened faintly. "No servants either." His brows furrowed in thought. "But if I'd tried fighting there..." His eyes lowered. "...someone could've gotten involved."
The words came quieter, because, even now, he could still picture it. A servant turning a corner. Some palace guard hearing shouting. Someone stepping in because they thought they were helping. Someone getting caught in lightning or blades because of him.
His fingers tightened slightly against the blankets.
"I didn't want innocent people getting hurt."
His voice trailed off quietly. Across from him, Zuko's expression shifted slightly. Not surprise. Something softer. Something sadder.
[Y/n] looked away immediately before he could think too much about that.
"...So I followed them."
The words left [Y/n]'s mouth and immediately sat there between them. Silence followed. Long enough that he finally looked back up toward Zuko, only to find the Fire Lord staring at him with an expression that somehow managed to combine confusion, disbelief, and the beginnings of what looked like a headache.
[Y/n] hesitated. Then, perhaps very unwisely, continued:
"...Into a shed."
Silence settled between them again. Zuko stared. Just stared. [Y/n] stared back for several increasingly horrible seconds before Zuko finally repeated, very carefully:
"...A shed?" [Y/n] frowned immediately. Zuko continued staring at him as if he had physically stopped understanding the language they were speaking. "You followed five traitors into a gardening shed?"
[Y/n] looked genuinely offended.
"It was more of a storage building."
Zuko blinked once. Very slowly.
"...You followed five armed traitors into a slightly larger shed?"
[Y/n] stared right back at him.
"That feels unnecessarily judgmental."
Judging by the way Zuko suddenly looked ready to put his head through the nearest wall, that had apparently been the wrong thing to say. Zuko looked like he wanted to say approximately twelve different things. Instead, he dragged one hand slowly down his face.
"...Continue."
[Y/n] frowned slightly before continuing.
"They had some of my uncle's plans." That immediately changed things. The irritation vanished from Zuko's face almost instantly. [Y/n] noticed immediately. His expression sharpened, focus replacing frustration. "They were the missing strategy scrolls from the pavilion..." A shaky breath escaped him as his mind flashed back to the scroll on the table. "And they asked me to review one."
Zuko frowned slightly.
"...Review it?"
[Y/n] nodded.
"They wanted me to tell them how I would've changed the strategy."
Understanding crossed Zuko's face almost immediately. And, slowly, he nodded.
"...We found them."
"What?" [Y/n] blinked.
"When we assessed the area afterwards." Zuko shifted slightly against the nearby wall. "There were scrolls everywhere after..." He paused. "...after the wall incident."
[Y/n] looked away immediately.
Because 'the wall incident' felt like deeply unfair wording.
Zuko continued anyway.
"Suki and I looked through the ones that hadn't been destroyed." His expression darkened slightly. "There were notes." [Y/n]'s eyes went wide. "Changes." Another pause. "Different handwriting besides your uncle's. And it definitely wasn't yours."
"They'd been studying them." [Y/n] looked back up immediately. Zuko met his eyes.
The realisation settled heavily between them. Not just hiding. Not preserving. Studying. Learning. Using them.
[Y/n] felt something cold settle quietly into his chest. Because suddenly he remembered Renji smiling. Remembered Han asking questions. Remembered the way all of them had looked at him.
They'd looked at him like an answer. Like a replacement. Like they had spent days, maybe weeks, constructing some version of him in their heads and desperately trying to force reality to fit it.
The thought made his stomach twist violently, a disgusting familiarity settling in his heart as the image of his uncle flashed through his mind lightning-fast. Across from him, Zuko looked equally unhappy. Not confused. Not surprised. Just deeply, deeply unhappy.
"...Yeah."
Silence settled over the room after that. Heavy silence. Full of too many thoughts and too many things neither of them had quite managed to process yet.
[Y/n] looked down at his bandaged hands for several moments, absently tracing the edge of the gauze wrapped around his palm while his thoughts drifted back toward the shed.
"...They questioned me." Zuko looked up immediately. [Y/n] kept his gaze lowered. "Not directly..." He said after a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. "Not at first." He frowned harder, trying to find the words. "It felt more like..." He hesitated. "...they were trying to build a version of me." Zuko looked to be growing more uncomfortable with every word [Y/n] spoke. "Testing different answers... They asked about my family. About my uncle. About his policies."
Another pause followed before his expression tightened faintly.
"And eventually..." His jaw shifted slightly. "...they asked if I hated living among peasants."
Karr Lok flashed through his head. Market streets crowded at sunrise. Tea shops with open windows. Harbour docks lined with fishing boats. Children running through alleys.
People. Not titles. Not ranks. Not status. Actual people.
His jaw tightened faintly.
"They talked about it like..." His expression twisted slightly. "...like ordinary lives were something beneath them."
The disgust slipped into his voice before he could stop it. Then slowly, very slowly, [Y/n]'s expression changed. Because suddenly he remembered something.
Not one of the questions. Not Renji. Not Han. Not Daro.
Something worse.
Much worse.
His eyes slowly lifted toward Zuko.
And immediately the words felt heavier somehow.
"...They knew about the island." [Y/n]'s words hovered in the air, and Zuko looked like his mind had just frozen. "...They said they watched us. Since the carriage."
[Y/n] could see the realisation flooding over Zuko like waves. All the colour left Zuko's face in an instant.
And [Y/n] watched the realisation happen in real time. Watched Zuko mentally retrace days of conversations, movements, meetings, routines, and security routes. Watched him understand exactly what that meant.
How long.
How close.
How many opportunities they'd had.
How many chances things could have gone horribly wrong.
Zuko looked horrified. Actually horrified. And suddenly [Y/n] regretted saying it at all. Because the expression on his face looked exactly like someone realising danger had gotten much closer than he'd ever allowed himself to imagine.
The change was immediate.
Zuko's expression tightened all at once as realisation continued crashing through him piece by piece. [Y/n] could practically see it happening, the thoughts stacking on top of each other faster than he could sort through them.
The airship.
The carriage.
The palace.
Ty Lee.
Suki.
Mai.
[Y/n].
Too many opportunities.
Too much time.
Too many things that could have gone wrong.
"...Shit." The word barely left him. Zuko turned away sharply, one hand dragging through his hair as he started pacing almost immediately. Not the controlled pacing he did during meetings or strategy discussions. This was different. Restless. Agitated. Frantic.
"They were watching all of you?" His voice tightened. "Since the docks?"
[Y/n] immediately saw where this was going, saw it before Zuko even finished thinking it. Zuko stopped moving. And when he looked back, [Y/n] already hated the expression on his face.
Because there it was.
Guilt.
Immediate, horrible guilt.
"I put you in danger." His voice came out ragged from panic. "I put all of you in danger." Zuko looked increasingly pale the longer he kept talking. "Suki... Ty Lee... Mai... You..."
"Zuko."
He didn't stop.
"I brought everyone back here and-"
"Zuko."
Still nothing.
"...If I hadn't asked you to come back-"
"Zuko!"
Louder this time. The Fire Lord stopped immediately. [Y/n] held his gaze. Then sighed, long and tired, like placing blame would do astronomically more harm than good. Because he knew it would.
"They would've done it anyway." Zuko frowned immediately. [Y/n] continued before he could argue. "And don't even start." And, judging by the way Zuko inhaled, he had absolutely been about to start. "They didn't care that you brought me here." [Y/n] shifted slightly and instantly regretted existing as pain shot through his ribs. He winced, ignored it, and kept talking.
"They already knew where I stood." He declared, letting out a frustrated sigh. "They said they knew I wasn't loyal to Ozai. They knew I was loyal to you."
The room fell quiet. [Y/n] looked away briefly toward the dark windows.
"...And after that?" He laughed once under his breath. Bitter. Exhausted. "They said I would've been useful... But that I was dangerous beside you."
He looked back toward Zuko, frowning as he watched his jaw tighten slightly. Zuko stared at him, still looking like he was blaming himself.
[Y/n] closed his eyes briefly. Because honestly? He was getting tired of that expression. So slowly, he looked back up.
And quietly:
"...I hated it." Zuko blinked. [Y/n]'s fingers tightened slightly against the blankets. "The way they talked about you." His voice had gone quieter somehow. Flatter. Not angry. Worse. "They spoke like you were the traitor. They talked about Ozai like he was some great leader. Like they were the loyal ones." He gritted his teeth in frustration, barely forcing the next few words out.
"They laughed." [Y/n]'s eyes lowered. Not because he wanted to avoid looking at Zuko. Because suddenly remembering it made something ugly tighten in his chest. "When they realised we were close... They joked about you finding my body." The room seemed to stop breathing. [Y/n] stared quietly down at the blankets gathered in his hands. "...They wondered if you'd blame yourself."
Then quietly, almost to himself, he laughed. Small. Bitter.
"...Should've used stronger lightning... But then we wouldn't have anyone left to interrogate."
Nothing.
No response.
No movement.
And slowly, very slowly, [Y/n] looked back up.
Zuko looked disgusted. Pure disgust sat openly across his face now, not directed at [Y/n], not even slightly.
Directed at them.
At Renji.
Han.
Daro.
All of them.
His expression had gone still in a way [Y/n] remembered very clearly from years ago. Because beneath the disgust, beneath the anger, sat something much colder. And suddenly [Y/n] was very, very glad those idiots had survived the lightning.
Zuko looked like he was about to say something.
[Y/n] saw it immediately.
Saw the way his shoulders shifted slightly. Saw the guilt returning again before the words had even reached his mouth. Another apology. Another this happened because of me. Another attempt to shoulder something that had never been his alone.
Absolutely not.
"[Y/n]-"
"No." Zuko blinked. [Y/n] stared at him flatly. "No." The Fire Lord frowned immediately. [Y/n] sighed and shifted slightly against the cot before instantly regretting every choice he'd ever made as pain stabbed sharply through his ribs.
He hissed. Paused. Recovered with dignity... Mostly... Then looked back toward Zuko.
"I knew this was probably going to happen." Zuko's expression immediately tightened. [Y/n] continued before he could interrupt. "Not this specifically." He paused, gesturing to his bandages. "I didn't predict garden shed conspiracies." Another pause. "Or being thrown through furniture." Silence. "...Or Han apparently being built like a mountain." He ran a hand along his throat that was absolutely bruised beneath that bandage, a look of annoyance crossing his face.
"But I knew something would happen." [Y/n] looked down briefly at the blankets gathered in his lap. "From the second I agreed to come back." The words came quieter, more honest. Because suddenly the room felt smaller somehow. Because suddenly he remembered the carriage. Remembered the palace gates. Remembered sitting across from Zuko beside a Pai Sho board and making a decision fully aware that it might drag him directly back into everything he'd spent years running from.
And still, he didn't regret it.
"...I knew the risk. I don't regret coming back."
For a moment, [Y/n] just held Zuko's gaze. Really held it. Because beneath all the guilt and frustration sitting on Zuko's face, he could still see the same question buried underneath all of it: Was it worth it? Was coming back worth this? Worth the injuries, the conspiracies, the risk? And the answer came so quickly [Y/n] almost felt insulted by the idea of hesitating.
He had come back for Zuko. For the idiot standing in front of him who had spent years carrying a country and everyone in it on his shoulders. For the friend he'd already lost once. The attack hadn't changed that. Not even slightly.
And maybe because the thought felt too serious, too heavy sitting there between them, [Y/n] immediately tried to escape it the only way he knew how: with a terrible joke.
"Though I do wish they'd attacked me in a larger room. I feel like I would've been injured less. Do you have any idea how hard it is to generate lightning when you can barely move your arms?"
The room went quiet again.
Zuko stared. Just stared. Completely expressionless.
[Y/n] stared back.
"...That wasn't funny?"
Nothing.
Not one reaction.
Not even slightly.
Damn... Tough crowd...
Silence lingered again for several moments before [Y/n]'s expression slowly shifted. Because suddenly another thought returned. Something buried beneath the pain and adrenaline and chaos.
Slowly, he looked toward Zuko.
"...Who were the older men?" [Y/n] asked quietly. "The two who followed me."
Zuko frowned immediately, but he didn't answer right away. The silence stretched long enough that [Y/n] felt the answer before it came. Then Zuko looked away, and that confirmed it.
"We checked records. Nothing. No names. No appointments. No military history. Nothing." His expression darkened. "They don't exist." Momentary silence settled between them. Then Zuko added, lower this time: "And they still haven't spoken."
[Y/n] stared at him for several seconds, letting the information sink in. No records. No names. No history. Two men who had followed him for days, armed themselves inside the palace, and vanished into the system as if they had never existed at all.
Slowly, very slowly, his expression shifted. Not into panic. Not confusion. Thought. Deep thought. Because suddenly, pieces started moving.
Renji.
Han.
Daro.
The questions.
The timing.
The older men.
The airship.
The shed.
Zuko noticed immediately. [Y/n] hadn't even realised his expression had changed until Zuko's eyes narrowed slightly across from him.
"...What." Not a question. An order.
[Y/n] didn't answer right away. Because the whole thing felt wrong. Not suspicious. Not dangerous. Wrong.
Wrong in a way he hadn't properly processed before. Wrong in the way a strategy board felt when one piece sat slightly out of place. Small enough to overlook at first. Small enough to ignore.
Until suddenly it wasn't.
Slowly, [Y/n] looked toward Zuko.
"...They had opportunities." Zuko frowned immediately. [Y/n]'s gaze drifted downward again. "They knew more than I thought they did. They watched us since the airship. They knew where I'd been. They followed me for days. And they had better positioning."
Across from him, Zuko stared without speaking. [Y/n] looked down at his hands resting against the blankets, absently tracing his thumb over the edge of the bandaging around his palm as thoughts slowly arranged themselves into place.
They left him in bandages, but they had chances to leave him in a coffin.
"...So why waste it?" His eyes narrowed faintly. "Why corner me in a room? Why reveal themselves? Why now?"
Long silence settled between them.
Then slowly, very slowly, something shifted in [Y/n]'s expression. Understanding. Not complete. Not yet. But enough.
"Renji, Han and Daro were idiots..."
"...What?" Zuko blinked. [Y/n] looked up immediately.
"No, really. They were arrogant and loud. The kind of men who liked hearing themselves talk. They weren't careful enough. They couldn't have managed all the trailing and investigations they did." He looked back toward Zuko, expression tightening slightly as the thought settled more heavily in his chest.
Because now that he thought about it, really thought about it, he couldn't stop seeing the cracks.
Renji had loved hearing himself speak.
Han had let his temper show too easily.
Daro had practically tripped over his own ego every time he opened his mouth.
Men like that didn't build networks in secret. Didn't infiltrate palaces. Didn't erase records and plant people in positions for years without slipping.
No, people like that followed someone. People like that mistook being useful for being important. And suddenly [Y/n] felt something cold crawl slowly down his spine.
Because if Renji and the others weren't the ones truly running things, then someone else was.
Someone quieter.
Smarter.
And far more dangerous.
"...The older men."
"...I narrowed down the other three, but you're the one who noticed them... They knew you were close to something..."
Both of them froze. Absolute silence filled the room. And simultaneously, they understood. Renji's words came rushing back.
"...But we both know he's far more dangerous with you by his side."
[Y/n] stared.
Zuko stared.
Neither spoke.
Because suddenly the answer sat directly in front of them. The three ministers weren't leaders. They were pieces. Pawns. Used. Just like how his uncle would view them...
[Y/n] felt something cold settle violently into his chest.
Because someone above them had willingly sacrificed all three. Not because they mattered. Because they didn't.
A final move.
A last attempt.
Either kill [Y/n], convince him to turn on Zuko, or fail and expose his loyalty.
Force his hand.
Because if he survived, if he fought, if he protected Zuko, then his cover disappeared anyway.
Across from him, Zuko had gone pale all over again.
The real person pulling strings, the one who mattered, had never been in the shed at all. And Renji, Han and Daro had been too prideful to even realise they'd been thrown away.
Silence hung between them. Heavy. Oppressive. Because suddenly everything felt painfully obvious in retrospect.
The questions. The timing. The older men. The way Renji and the others had acted.
Spirits... they had walked straight into it...
Slowly, very slowly, [Y/n] lifted both hands and slammed them directly over his face.
"...Agni damn it." He groaned immediately, dragging both palms down hard enough to nearly pull himself forward off the cot. "How did I miss that?" His voice came out muffled beneath his hands as frustration immediately surged through him all over again. Because now that he saw it, it felt obvious. Painfully obvious. The pieces fit too cleanly. Too perfectly. And somehow he'd let himself get dragged around the board anyway. "I let them bait me. I let those idiots drag me exactly where they wanted-"
He stopped abruptly as pain stabbed through his ribs again. He was getting really sick of it. Across from him, Zuko looked equally unhappy.
Not angry.
Not at [Y/n].
Just frustrated.
Because judging by his expression, he had arrived at approximately the same conclusion.
"They got both of us."
The words settled heavily between them. Because that was the worst part. Not that [Y/n] had been attacked. Not that he'd been injured. Not even that his cover was gone.
No, the worst part was that someone else had been several moves ahead the entire time, and both of them had walked directly where they were meant to go.
Slowly, Zuko dragged a hand through his already dishevelled hair and exhaled hard through his nose. Frustration flashed briefly across his face. Real frustration. [Y/n] recognised it immediately. The expression Zuko wore whenever he was one second away from setting something on fire out of pure irritation.
But instead of lashing out, instead of pacing or cursing or spiralling into guilt, Zuko looked at him.
"Hitting yourself isn't going to help."
"...I know." [Y/n] kept both hands over his face.
The room went quiet for a moment, until Zuko spoke up again.
"...Hitting you might make me feel better, though."
[Y/n] froze immediately. Very slowly, very, very slowly, his hands lowered. He turned his head, looked at Zuko, and found the Fire Lord staring directly back at him with a perfectly straight face.
No smile.
No amusement.
Nothing.
Absolute sincerity.
[Y/n] blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Because honestly? Honestly, his brain had stopped functioning somewhere around hitting you.
"...What?"
Zuko didn't respond. Didn't move. Didn't react. Just stared.
And suddenly, [Y/n] remembered something deeply important: Zuko still looked ready to kill him.
Spirits.
Right.
That.
[Y/n]'s eyes widened immediately.
"...Wait." Zuko took one step forward. [Y/n] immediately sat up straighter. Bad. Very bad. "Hold on." Another step. "Let's think this through."
Zuko kept walking. Not quickly. Not threateningly. Slowly. Calmly. Which somehow felt infinitely worse.
Zuko looked him over, then nodded once, completely serious.
"I know." He leaned down so his face and [Y/n]'s were at eye level. "...That's why I'm waiting until you're healed." [Y/n] could physically feel the colour draining from his face. "...Then I'm going to kill you for scaring the shit out of me."
The tone alone was enough to make [Y/n] wish the traitors had killed him. Because Zuko was not even slightly joking. And suddenly, [Y/n] realised something deeply horrible: Zuko wasn't focusing on the conspiracy anymore, wasn't focusing on the traitors, wasn't even focusing on being outplayed.
No.
He'd looked at [Y/n], decided that problem was more important, and immediately reprioritised.
Which felt infinitely more terrifying.
Immediately, and with all the speed of a deeply injured man making terrible decisions, [Y/n] slowly began shifting sideways across the cot.
Very slowly.
Very carefully.
Not obvious.
Not suspicious.
Just a gentle tactical retreat.
One inch.
Then another.
Then another-
Zuko narrowed his eyes immediately. Then, suddenly, a hand shoved directly against his shoulder.
[Y/n] yelped, very undignifiedly, and immediately found himself shoved backwards onto the cot again. Pain exploded through his ribs.
"Ow!" [Y/n] glared immediately.
Zuko sat down directly on the edge of the bed. Right there. Close enough that escape suddenly felt significantly less possible.
[Y/n] stared at him and immediately regretted it. Because Zuko was wearing that expression; concern, relief, disappointment and murderous rage, all mixed together in one terrible expression that somehow hurt worse than being stabbed.
Until, suddenly, Zuko didn't look angry anymore. Not really. Not entirely.
Just... tired.
Tired and relieved and upset all at once, like someone who'd spent hours convincing himself not to imagine the worst.
Neither of them spoke.
And slowly, [Y/n]'s expression shifted, too. Because suddenly the memory hit him; waking up to see Zuko standing over him, exhausted and terrified, looking like he hadn't slept. And suddenly [Y/n] had the deeply horrible realisation that Zuko had probably been sitting here worrying about him the entire time.
And that felt much, much worse than the promised ass-kicking.
Zuko stared at him, not normal staring, not annoyed staring, not even Fire Lord staring.
No, this was somehow different. This was Zuko looking directly into his soul and personally evaluating every decision [Y/n] had made in the last several days.
[Y/n] immediately looked away. Then looked back. Then looked away again. Because Spirits help him, he suddenly felt exactly like he was ten years old again, standing beside a broken vase while waiting for someone to discover he'd absolutely been responsible.
The silence kept going. And somehow, Zuko still hadn't said anything. Until, finally, after what felt like an entire Avatar Cycle, Zuko sighed. Long. Deep. Tired.
The anger was still there, [Y/n] could see it lingering around the edges of his expression, but it had dulled somehow, softened beneath something heavier. Exhaustion sat plainly across his face now that [Y/n] was really looking. His shoulders looked lower than usual, tension still wound tightly through them like he'd forgotten how to relax entirely. His hair remained hastily tied back, loose strands falling around his face like he hadn't even bothered fixing it, and beneath the lanternlight, [Y/n] could see shadows beneath his eyes that absolutely had not been there before.
But worse than any of that, far worse, was the brief flash of something in Zuko's eyes. Something raw and unguarded that only appeared for a second before he buried it again. Fear. Real fear. Not Fire Lord stress. Not concern for palace security or political disasters. Personal fear.
He let out another quiet breath before speaking.
"...I'm really glad you're okay." The words landed harder than they should have. Harder than knives. Harder than bruises. Harder than waking up half-panicked and covered in sweat. Because suddenly, [Y/n] wasn't looking at the Fire Lord anymore. He was looking at Zuko, at the person who had apparently spent however many hours he'd been unconscious sitting beside his bed, looking exhausted and terrified.
And all at once guilt hit him with enough force to make his chest tighten. Not because of the injuries. Not because of the fight. Because suddenly he realised he'd done this to Zuko. Made him worry. Made him imagine everything that could've happened. Made him sit here looking like he hadn't slept at all.
"...I'm sorry for making you worry." The apology was soft and genuine. And anyone could tell. No jokes this time. No deflection. Just quiet honesty. He shifted slightly against the pillow and winced. "...I just..." He hesitated briefly. "...I couldn't let anyone else get hurt." His fingers tightened slightly around the blanket. "If I'd fought in the hallway... someone would've heard. And if someone had gotten involved because of me-"
He stopped. Because honestly? He didn't want to finish that sentence.
Zuko didn't answer immediately.
For several long seconds, he just looked at [Y/n], and somehow that silence felt heavier than if he'd argued. The anger still lingered there in pieces, and the frustration certainly hadn't disappeared, but [Y/n] watched something else slowly win out beneath it. Something quieter. Something more honest. Zuko's shoulders lowered slightly as he exhaled through his nose, gaze dropping briefly toward the floor before lifting again. When he finally spoke, his voice had lost nearly all of its sharpness.
"...I know." Silence lingered for another moment. Then Zuko looked at him properly again, and [Y/n] immediately wished he hadn't, because there it was again, that same expression from before. The exhaustion. The relief. And underneath it all, that fear he'd only barely hidden.
"I understand..." He started quietly. "I do." A pause followed, and his jaw tightened faintly before he continued. "...But I still worried."
The words settled heavily between them. Zuko looked away for a second, then back again, and when he spoke this time, his voice had gone softer in a way that somehow hurt more.
"...I just got you back." He started, instantly knocking the wind out of [Y/n] a hundred times harder than Han slamming him into a table ever could. "...After eight years..." His voice grew quieter with every word, and it was almost as if [Y/n] could see Zuko imagining himself sitting at that Pai Sho table again, the way he did as a child, waiting for [Y/n] to come back, and slowly realising he was all alone again. "...I don't want to lose you again."
And suddenly something unpleasant twisted painfully in [Y/n]'s chest. Not unpleasant. Not really.
Just... too much.
"I missed you."
The words settled heavily in [Y/n]'s chest.
"I don't want to lose you again."
For a moment, he just stared. Because suddenly every joke he'd made, every attempt to lighten the mood, every effort to redirect the conversation away from the terrifying seriousness of it all seemed to evaporate completely. What remained underneath was guilt. Quiet, heavy guilt that twisted unpleasantly somewhere beneath his ribs. Slowly, [Y/n]'s expression softened, and when he finally spoke, his voice came out quieter than before.
"...I'm sorry..." The apology sat between them for a moment before he continued. His eyes lowered toward the blankets gathered over his lap, fingers absently curling into the fabric. "...I really am." [Y/n] looked back up again, softer this time. "...But Zuko..." He hesitated for a moment before giving a faint, tired exhale. "...I'm not made of glass." His expression shifted slightly, not dismissive, not joking, just honest. "You can trust me."
Zuko stared at him for exactly two seconds before immediately looking around the room with exaggerated disbelief. Then, very slowly, he pointed at him. Then at the cot. Then back at him again.
"You're sitting injured in a medical office." [Y/n] frowned immediately.
"Okay, but in my defence..." He gestured vaguely toward himself and instantly regretted existing as pain shot through his shoulder. He ignored it with practised determination. "I fought five armed men in a tiny room, and I still won." He folded his arms as much as his injuries allowed and looked deeply offended by the accusation. "I walked away with a few cuts, bruises, and exhaustion." Then after a brief pause: "...And honestly, the exhaustion is mostly my own fault. I haven't trained nearly as much as I should've been."
Zuko just stared at him without blinking while [Y/n] stared stubbornly right back. One second passed. Then two. Then three. And slowly, very slowly, the tension in Zuko's expression shifted. Not completely. Not enough. But just enough for reluctant logic to win out over panic.
Finally, Zuko sighed through his nose and dragged a hand down his face.
"...Alright." Zuko stared at him for several more seconds after that. Long enough that [Y/n] immediately knew something terrible was coming. Because that expression had returned again, that deeply irritating one where Zuko looked like he was actively compromising with himself. Like half of him wanted to argue, and the other half knew he was losing ground. Eventually, he sighed heavily and folded his arms again, shoulders slumping slightly in defeat.
"You clearly can handle yourself." The admission looked like it had cost him several years of his life. Then he pointed directly at [Y/n]. "But you're still having someone with you at all times."
It was as if [Y/n] needed a second to even process what he had heard.
"What?"
Zuko didn't even hesitate.
"A Kyoshi Warrior. A palace guard. Someone." His expression hardened again, not angry this time, serious. "We know whoever's targeting me is also targeting you now." His jaw tightened faintly. "And now they know exactly where your loyalty is." [Y/n] looked ready to protest. Zuko was not about to let him. "I'm not arguing about this."
"...I can literally generate lightning." [Y/n] immediately frowned. Zuko just stared at him. [Y/n] folded his arms, immediately winced because of his ribs, unfolded them again with dignity, then continued as if nothing had happened. "I defended myself pretty well before." A pause. "...Very well, actually."
Zuko stared for exactly two seconds.
Then:
"...I can use fire." Zuko pointed toward himself. "I'm the Fire Lord." Another point. "And I still have Kyoshi Warriors following me around." He narrowed his eyes. "Apparently, being able to create walls of fire does not stop people from worrying about me, the exact same way that you shooting lightning blasts doesn't stop me from worrying about you."
[Y/n] stared at him. Because Spirits help him, Spirits damn him, that made sense. Deeply annoying, horrible sense.
[Y/n]'s face slowly twisted into a look of pure betrayal while Zuko watched realisation happen in real time. And judging by the way one corner of his mouth threatened to move, he looked deeply satisfied with himself.
Then Zuko sighed again, softer this time.
"...Fine. Compromise." He looked toward [Y/n], expression relaxing just slightly. "When we can, we'll chaperone each other." [Y/n]'s expression immediately went blank. "[Y/n], I'm serious." His voice lost some of its teasing edge. "That way we're both safe." A pause. Then quieter: "...And we both know the other's okay." For a moment, his expression softened again before he quickly continued. "Besides..." He gestured vaguely. "It'll look normal. The Chief Strategist is supposed to stay close to the Fire Lord anyway."
Silence settled between them again. Until, eventually, [Y/n] sighed the sigh of a man who had realised fate itself had betrayed him.
"...I hate that this makes sense." Zuko immediately looked pleased with himself. Deeply irritating. "...Fine." Another dramatic sigh. "I agree."
And somehow Zuko looked more relieved by that answer than he had about almost anything else they'd discussed all day.
The relief and irritation from their agreement lingered for a few moments after that. Not enough to erase everything weighing over the room, but enough that the tension loosened slightly around their shoulders. Slightly. Then, slowly, the silence settled back in. The lighter mood faded, and both of them drifted toward the same thought at almost the same time.
The real problem.
Whoever was still out there.
[Y/n]'s expression gradually lost what little amusement had remained as he stared down at the blanket gathered over his lap. His fingers absently traced the edge of the fabric while his thoughts returned to the shed, to Renji, to the old men in the cells and all the things that still didn't make sense.
"...We still don't know who we're dealing with." His voice came out quieter than before. More thoughtful. More uneasy. "Not really..." Then his brow furrowed slightly. "...And that's bothering me."
He hesitated. Then immediately wished he hadn't thought about it at all. Because suddenly something cold twisted sharply in his stomach. Not fear exactly. Not entirely. Something closer to dread.
"[Y/n]..." Zuko said quietly, immediately noticing the change in him. [Y/n] swallowed.
"...Whoever this is..." His fingers tightened faintly against the blanket. "...they use people exactly like my uncle did." [Y/n] almost hated himself for even saying it. Because now that he'd said it aloud, he couldn't stop hearing it. Couldn't stop seeing it. Renji. Han. Daro. Sacrificed. Used. Convinced they mattered while someone else moved pieces around them. His stomach twisted harder. "...Maybe one of his old advisors." Another pause. "...Or followers." Smaller. Quieter. "...Someone who learned from him."
The thought made him feel sick. And, suddenly, another realisation followed directly behind it, worse than the first. His expression tightened immediately.
"...They wanted me." [Y/n]'s eyes lowered slightly. "...Not just because of you... They knew enough about me to know I'd correct the mistakes in those plans." He remembered the maps in the shed. Remembered Han asking what was wrong with them. Remembered immediately spotting flaws and weaknesses and instinctively fixing them. His chest tightened. "...They knew me enough to predict that."
"...That's our biggest advantage." [Y/n] blinked and looked up. Zuko's expression had softened slightly again, though his eyes remained steady. Certain. "Think about it." He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting against his knees. "If whoever we're dealing with acts like your uncle..." He paused. "...then you already know how they think." He thought back to all the times, even as kids, when [Y/n] would ramble on about one of his uncle's plans while Zuko just stared blankly at him, not registering a single word of it. And, even if Zuko hadn't understood what [Y/n] meant, [Y/n] clearly understood his uncle's plans. Thoroughly. "...And you've already beaten him before. At least at Pai Sho, anyway."
[Y/n] stared. Then looked deeply unimpressed.
"...I beat him one time."
Zuko blinked. Then stared right back.
"[Y/n]." He started, looking right into [Y/n]'s eyes like he was trying to guide him toward a very obvious realisation. "You were eleven."
[Y/n] just stared back, and Zuko could practically see the gears turning in his head. Sometimes he wondered how someone so strategically smart could be so emotionally inept.
He remained quiet for a moment, watching his old friend put the pieces together, then, very quietly:
"That's exactly why they wanted you either beside them..." His expression darkened slightly. "...or out of the way."
Eventually, [Y/n] looked over at him. Really looked at him. At the exhaustion still sitting across his face. The worry still lingered there beneath everything else.
And somehow, sitting there beneath lanternlight with bandages and bruises and conspiracies hanging over both of them, [Y/n] felt something loosen quietly in his chest. Just a little. Enough.
The moment lingered only briefly before the soft sound of footsteps approached outside the medical room. A second later, the door slid open, and both [Y/n] and Zuko looked up immediately. Suki stepped inside, one hand still resting against the frame for a moment before her eyes landed on the cot. The second she saw [Y/n] sitting upright and conscious, some of the tension in her shoulders eased almost immediately. Relief crossed her face first.
"...Good." She exhaled quietly, stepping into the room. "...I'm glad you're okay." A faint smile tugged briefly at the corner of her mouth, but it didn't last. Not even close. Because almost immediately afterwards, the expression disappeared again, and [Y/n] felt something unpleasant settle into his chest. Suki sighed.
Long.
Heavy.
Not good.
"...The two older men are dead."
For a few horrible seconds, neither of them reacted at all, as if their minds had simply refused to process the words. Then frustration hit almost instantly. [Y/n]'s jaw tightened hard enough to hurt while beside him, Zuko physically slumped backwards with a hand dragging across his face. Spirits. Of course. Of course. After everything, after finally realising the older men had been the real problem, after finally finding the thread worth pulling...
Gone.
"...Damn it." The words left [Y/n] immediately beneath his breath.
Beside him, Zuko looked equally furious, but after several seconds, he exhaled heavily and closed his eyes briefly.
"...That was a possibility." His voice sounded tired. Resigned. "...We just hoped we could avoid it." Because honestly? They had known. Deep down, they'd known. Whoever was behind this had already sacrificed Renji and the others without hesitation. Men like that did not leave loose ends.
[Y/n] looked down at the blankets gathered over his lap, frustration settling heavily in his chest.
"...We lost our only lead." The words tasted awful. Because it was true. The only people who had actually mattered had died without names, without answers, without giving them anything. Across the room, Suki's expression tightened slightly before she nodded.
"But we'll keep digging." Her eyes shifted toward Zuko. "I'll have people look into the bodies. If we can't get names, maybe we can at least figure out how they got inside the palace." A pause. "How they got uniforms. Who helped them. Something." Zuko nodded once, his expression hardening again as his mind shifted back toward what to do now.
"...It's a start."
For a few moments, silence lingered again while the weight of everything settled over the room. Dead leads. Missing names. More questions than answers. Eventually, Zuko exhaled slowly through his nose and dragged one hand through his hair again, looking every bit as exhausted as he felt. Then he looked toward Suki and gave a small nod.
"Thanks."
Suki nodded once in return. No ceremony. No need. Not when no stuffy advisors or chamberlains were watching. Not after years of friendship.
Zuko glanced toward the ceiling for a moment before letting out another long sigh.
"Agni give me strength..." He leaned back slightly in his chair. "We've got a lot of work to do." Across the room, Suki folded her arms and immediately nodded in agreement.
"Especially with what's coming up soon."
Slowly, very slowly, [Y/n] looked up, his eyes shifting between them.
"What does that mean?" Both Zuko and Suki looked toward him at the exact same time. Then they looked at each other. Held eye contact for one deeply suspicious second. One second became two.
And immediately [Y/n] hated everything.
Because that was a look.
Not a normal look.
Not an accidental look.
A 'we've already discussed something, and now we're communicating silently' look.
Absolutely not.
Zuko looked back toward him with an expression that was suddenly much too calm. Much too casual. Much too innocent.
"...I'll explain later." [Y/n] just stared back at him, not at all trusting that tone. Then Zuko added: "Especially since you're going to have a part in it."
[Y/n] stared harder.
He did not like that.
Not even slightly.
Unfortunately, before he could begin objecting, or more importantly, demand answers, Suki suddenly looked toward Zuko with a smile that immediately made [Y/n] deeply suspicious.
"Actually..." she began slowly. Spirits. No. Absolutely not. Suki tilted her head. "How exactly does the Fire Lord intend to publicly thank his Chief Strategist for exposing Ozai loyalists hiding in the palace?"
[Y/n] froze. And very, very, very slowly, he turned his head toward Zuko. And immediately regretted everything. Because Zuko was smiling.
Not a normal smile.
Not a small smile.
A smug smile.
A deeply horrible, shit-eating grin.
And [Y/n] immediately hated that even more than the question itself.
i stopped giving a shit about "legit" purchases of digital products after i spent $80 on the entire Dark Horse collection of Trigun/Trigun Maximum ebook mangas, learning that I only got access to reading them through a proprietary website ereader function, couldn't download them, and couldn't get a refund, and then literally only a year later, getting an e-mail stating that Dark Horse was shutting down that part of their company and I wouldn't even be able to read them anymore. Fuck that
Pirate shit. Don't feel bad for it. It's not "your fault" that artists, independent or otherwise, can't make a living. You downloading an album or ebook for free isn't the cause of the problem. The cause is capitalism, plain and simple, and pirating is a lucky loophole that will companies are still trying to stomp out.
The first photo is a brown horse galloping fast with a slight blur to indicate the speed. There is a mountain in the background and the whole image has a bright lens flare to give it an energetic glow. At the top of the image is text saying “How I feel when I wake up with less symptoms than normal”
The second photo is an exhausted white horse collapsed on the ground in front of a barn. In the horse’s mouth there is a sign that reads “I am NOT dead just tired & ugly. Please let me sleep” The word “not” is underlined for emphasis.
I LOVE GAANG SMM!! And yes, Suki is part of gaang. I can’t stand the suki under representation. I love my queen sm. ALL CREDITS TO THE ARTIST!! @schwesterchiz in Insta
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