Republic City's Hospital [Zukaang]

Origins stink

Song Zuko and Aang would sing together ^^^

This is a little mini chapter of Zukos past. Ozai's a dick btw.

~♧~
About a week ago a tiny gremlin invaded my peaceful, routine, lonely life. That gremlin was named Aang. And he's infuriatingly pretty. Like who has big grey doe eyes? Him apparently. My life was so simple before.

Get up.
Breakfast.
Pills.
Listen to everything and anything.
Frank comes and bandages and ointments my face.
Listen some more.
Crazy old gas bag knocks on my door.
Dinner.
Listen again.
Sleep.
Repeat.

Simple, easy, routine. I admit it was slightly lonely. My Uncle didn't visit. I didn't expect him to. He didn't know I was here. My sister and father definitely didn't visit. I would have attacked them anyway I could. Besides, Ozai's the reason I'm here.

Stupid punishment.

Stupid rules.

Stupid games.

I wanted it all to stop. So did my mother. When I was younger I didn't participate in the crazy games. I was 'unprepared' and 'not a good challenge'. If I could fight when I was two they would've put me in. They didn't care about innocence. If you could play you would.

Mother, at the time, didn't know about the viscous games I was being trained for. Only that my father had sighed me up for fighting classes. Those fighting classes, weren't taught by professionals. They were taught by my dad, and his riding crop.

I had my first fight when I was twelve. I was facing off a man twenty years my elder. The torches that made our fighting circle were turned on low. They wanted to take it easy on me. Hah. Easy.

The man beat me into the ground. I blacked out in the first five minutes. It was a matter of survival and honour for the fighters. A game of entertainment for the watchers. My father being the head.

Five losses and punishment was administered. No fighter came back after punishment. Their honour was stripped. They weren't allowed to come back unless they proved themselves. Most of them didn't bother. And now I know why.

I learned quickly. Day I went to middle school. Night I fought.

Mother noticed immediately the bruisues and cuts. She didn't ask. She bandaged them and never asked.

I could hear her screaming at my father at night.

My sister she was the best fighter. Two years younger, and yet had won every match she ever faught in. Her friends Mai and Ty Lee loyal body guards on and off game night.

I learned to win and always win. Spot their weaknesses before they spotted yours. Stike before they strike. Stay ahead of the game. Never show sympathy or emotion. It'll get you no where. By the time I turned seventeen, I had one hundred wins and only four losses. It should be impressive right? Wrong.

Four losses was the verge of terrifying. If you lost one more time, you're out. Punished. And shamed.

Then one day I lost. Against my father. I didn't want to fight him. He was my father. He was my blood. I wouldn't fight him.

I made the mistake of sympathizing. He was vicious and brutal. I lost. I was out.

He dragged me into the hallway, and screamed in my face. Screamed that I would always remember this moment. That I was weak. That I deserved punishment. I was aleady bloody and brusied. I was barely concious.

He took one of the torches from the fighting circle, and...

Well you know what happened.

The next day I woke up here. Barely able to see. Numbness consuming half my face and body. Then it wasn't numb anymore. I screamed and screamed and screamed. It was painful and terrifying.

Frank had to force on a mask of laughing gas to calm me. I told no one how or what happened to me. That's the reason Frank is so utterly cheerful around me. He's scared.

I had only one possession with me at the time. An MP3 player. It had so much random crap on it, I still haven't listened to everything in it. There's punk rock, k-pop, country, a few story pod casts, sci-fi and mystery audio books, jazz, ted talks, Salsa. So much sound. It became my routine to listen whatever came up first.

Close to a month passed since I moved to Republic City's Hospital.

I still didn't know who had brought me here.

Then about a week ago that airhead invaded. With his cheery smiles, and too big sweaters. That seemed to swallow his small frame.

I asked him to play connect four, he agreed. Then playing friendly games became routine. Him asking questions and wanting answers became routine. Me waking him up became routine.

When he had gotten lost on his first day, I was actually slightly worried. I went out to secretky try and find him. Turns out he found me, being led by a cat. That had way too big ears. I was so freaking relieved, I didn't notice my relief until we were back in our room.

I actually laughed with him while playing games.

When he asked me to shave his head. I was worried I'd hurt him. He just smiled, and revealed insecurities of his own.

He was soothing, and understanding. Didn't mock or judge me. It was nice to be around him. Nothing about him made me want to defeat him in a game night. He looked away when I was being bandaged. And respected my privacy.

I was finally able to be happy on a daily basis. And it's all Aang's fault.

Then Uncle came to visit. Bearing his famous Jasmine tea. It was amazing to see his friendly face again. Then he pulled me out into the hallway, and told me news about my mother.

Father had killed her.

The woman who had bandaged me after fights. The woman who had protected me from the game nights as a child. Without knowing it sure, but I was still protected.

And she was gone.

I wanted to cry. I still do. I had grabbed my MP3 player, and sat on the bed with the least people on it. Just happened to be Aang's. After his uncle had left.

He didn't ask questions. He only comforted and snuggled. Didn't mock me. Didn't laugh at my moment of weakness. Just sat there and cuddled.

It was just what I needed.
Aang was just what I needed.