#asks lol

Sokka may be connected to them, but he’s not exactly one of the great heroes that ended the war. He’s not Zuko, who beat the legendary Azula for his place on the fire nation throne. He’s not his sister, the greatest waterbender to ever live, who was there for that battle. He’s not Toph, the greatest earthbender and inventor of bending metal, that’s for sure. And he’s obviously not worthy of the honor Aang receives.

All of them did incredible things throughout the war. They’re the ones that brought peace. Sokka was just kind of along for the ride. Katara’s in training to be chief of the Southern Water Tribe. He sits around the fire nation palace and offers ideas for reconstruction that no one but Zuko listens to. It’s near impossible to get anything passed, with all of the old guard holding on to their colonialist traditions. They don’t respect him, and why should they? So he’s smart. They don’t care about smart. He’s funny; none of the council members have senses of humor. He has good ideas, but they don’t listen to him because of where he’s from, because of the color of his skin and eyes. Because he still wears his water tribe clothing (albeit altered so he doesn’t suffocate in the fire nation’s heat) and wears his wolf’s tail with pride. They don’t respect him.

He was really excited about this idea too. The council was discussing changing the curriculum in schools, and Sokka had offered to gather some interviews from people affected negatively by the war, from all nations.

Of course they spat on him, he should have expected it, really. But something about it really stung this time. As usual, he played it off with a smart remark that would get him in trouble speaking to a superior and kept the facade of unaffected calm until the council was dismissed, but now he can replay what the old guy said over and over in his head.

“You’ll never belong in our history books, boy, and you’ll never belong here. You aren’t worthy to speak to our children, much less teach them.”

Obviously, Zuko had shut the man down, but the words still cut. As soon as he could, Sokka was the first to leave the room and marched straight for the room he and Zuko favor for sparring. He needs to hit something, before he lets the cruel words make him want to hit himself.

He grinned insufferably at the nasty old man on his way past him, but he isn’t sure it was believable. They’re all a bit old for the childish game of pretending to be unaffected.

Sokka flings his overlayer to the side as he enters the training room, not looking to see where it lands or bothering to hang it up like he should, and marches to the far side of the punching bag in the corner. He gives it a couple of test taps. It feels good.

“You aren’t worthy.”

Sokka throws four punches in quick succession, inhales, exhales, throws four more. He punches and he punches until it hurts to and he realizes he forgot to wrap his hands again. He‘s always doing that when he does this. Small bloodstains on the bag are evidence of that. He doesn’t care. The pain takes his mind off of the feelings of inadequacy and smallness.

“Sokka?” a voice calls from the hall. “You in here?”

Around the bag, Sokka can see Zuko stick his head into the room. He sees the robe lying unceremoniously on the floor, then looks over at Sokka, smiling apologetically.

“There you are,” he says. “I expected as much.“

He comes over to Sokka and his bag and holds it away from him. “Let me see your hands,” he demands.

Sokka grumbles, but holds his hands out, knowing that arguing is useless.

Zuko tuts and ghosts his thumb over Sokka’s knuckles, which aren’t bleeding yet, but are almost there. “You’ve gotta stop doing this to yourself,” he murmurs, and guides Sokka over to the bench on the other side of the room and starts to bandage his hands with the set he keeps in here for these occasions.

Sokka snorts. “There’s no need, I’m not even bleeding,” he says, trying to push Zuko away uselessly. Zuko just grips his hands more firmly and wraps the bandage tight, until Sokka has trouble bending his fingers down there.

He sighs, and Zuko pauses, squeezing his hands and softly saying his name. Sokka looks up to appease him, then wishes he didn’t.

Zuko is looking at him with sad, guilty eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, still quiet. “I’m sorry they talk to you like that. I do what I can not to allow it, but I haven’t found replacements for the councilmen that hold to the old ways yet, and until I do, I can’t dismiss them. I’m-” He inhales sharply and finishes tying off the bandages. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to have to deal with this from them, or anyone.”

Sokka nods, already mentally dismissing the words. Kind as they are, he’s heard them before, and they help sometimes, but don’t fix the anger and hurt that tremble in his chest. But this time, Zuko continues.

“I’ve had enough of it, though. It’s time I do something about them.“ Sokka looks back up at him and is surprised to find anger in his face, along with the sadness and guilt. “I’m getting rid of them. Until I find a new council, we’ll simply stagnate for a while. Take a break from politics and big decisions.”

Sokka can’t believe his ears. “What?”

“I’m not dealing with their reductive and harmful objections to progress anymore.” Zuko is calm, but he has that determined note to his voice that means there won’t be any convincing him otherwise, and attempting to do so would be dangerous. “Not after their behavior today. And last week, and the week before that. They’ve had countless chances to improve, and they’ve ignored them all. They’re gone. After today, you won’t see them again. At all.”

Sokka is reeling, unable to wrap his head around Zuko’s announcement, but Zuko plunges on.

“In fact, I think we should take a holiday in between. Just you and me. We could go visit Uncle in Ba Sing Se, or the Southern Water Tribe. Yeah, we should go see Aang and Katara and your father. It’s been too long since you’ve seen them.”

Sokka stares at the Fire Lord for a solid minute, what he said slowly sinking in. Sinking in. Sinking in.

He’s getting rid of them . . . for me, he realizes.

And seeing his dad and Katara . . . Sokka always forgets how much he misses them until the prospect of a visit comes up. That sounds incredible. Wonderful.

He says as much, and Zuko beams, beautifully, splendidly, radiantly, like the sun itself has entered the room. “Good,” Zuko says, and pulls Sokka into an embrace as warm as his smile.

Sokka squeezes him tight, trying to convey his affection and gratitude through the hug, because he thinks that if he tries to speak, he might cry.

“And Sokka?”

Ah. He braces himself for the punch.

“Don’t worry about being perfect and happy all the time, okay? You don’t have to be happy every minute of every day, you know. You can go a little crazy sometimes. Even—no, especially—to those old farts that think you’re stupid. Okay?”

Tui and La, Sokka thinks, every day he finds a new way to make me fall in love with him.

He smiles, eyes wet, and squeezes tighter. “Okay.”

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The lyrics (bc the whole song is cool and a bit lesser known I think):