Chapter Text
Katara was trying really hard not to be annoyed about what she was doing with her Saturday night.
It wasn’t like it mattered that she was missing the Halloween dance.
It wasn’t like it mattered that Jet had found another date in the several months since they’d been broken up and Katara hadn’t. Or that everyone else at the university was going to one of the most beloved dances of the year, and she was squished in the cramped backseat of a rickety car and speeding to an unknown destination, with her brother in the passenger seat and Aang behind the wheel.
Aang driving a car tended to be a relatively terrifying experience, even more so if Aang was trying to navigate the crammed, crowded, winding streets of Ba Sing Se’s inner city. It was not exactly a place suitable for cars. Sokka seemed to be thinking along the same lines, for when Aang jerked the wheel to avoid a biker in a giant green dinosaur suit, Sokka looked up from his phone and shouted, “Dude! We should have taken the street train.”
“We can’t take the train,” Aang said cheerfully. “Not where we’re going.”
“Will you please finally tell us where that is?” Sokka said.
“It’s a surprise,” Aang said. “I’ll tell you after we pick up Zuko.”
Katara had been staring out the window and half-present, but now her head snapped toward the front seat, listening attentively.
“That grumpy guy from The Jasmine Dragon?” Sokka demanded. “Why?”
“He’s cool,” Aang said. “He’s in my Kung Fu class.”
Aang did things like this often: invited random people to things. Katara was convinced Aang could make friends with inanimate objects. But even for Aang, bringing Zuko along was an astounding feat. Zuko had transferred to their university last year and worked at their favorite tea shop in the middle ring of Ba Sing Se. The Jasmine Dragon was owned by his uncle Iroh, one of the friendliest men Katara had ever encountered. His nephew, however, barely spoke and rarely smiled.
“Why would he want to come?” Sokka asked. “That guy doesn’t like people. And you know he's in a gang, right?"
“Oh, that isn’t true,” Katara said sharply.
Rumors about Zuko had spread quickly around campus. That he came from a gang family. That he broke out of prison. That he was dangerous, a volatile delinquent. Most of the whispers and fascination surrounding him probably came from the burn scar on his face. Katara thought these rumors were ridiculous, but she wasn’t above being intrigued by Zuko. Sometimes at the tea shop, her eyes followed him. Most of the time he just looked tired, like he wanted his shift to end so he could go home. Then again, maybe he only seemed less intimidating at the Jasmine Dragon because he served her cookies and wore a flowery apron.
“Zuko’s cool,” Aang repeated, unfazed. “We got ramen together the other night after Kung Fu, and I was talking about hanging out with you guys tonight, and he seemed interested. I don’t think he’s very good with people, so I asked him to come. The more the merrier, right? Oh, here we are!” They pulled up right in front of the Jasmine Dragon. Aang honked loud and long, then whipped out his phone and tapped quickly with his thumbs. He’d parked in the bike lane, and a biker dressed as Gomez Addams swerved around the car, angrily shaking his fist. Aang, misinterpreting, waved cheerily. “Zuko lives above the tea shop,” he explained.
Within five minutes, a figure slipped out the front of the tea shop, locked the door, and trudged over to the car. The Jasmine Dragon was closed and all the lights off, but a bar next door with a neon sign partially lit up Zuko’s angular face and the swoop of his shaggy hair. He was dressed in all black. Black fitted trousers, black leather jacket, with a small black backpack flung over one shoulder.
Katara’s heart picked up speed. It was one thing to see him in the tea shop all the time. It was another to be hanging out with him.
She arranged her hands carefully in her lap as Zuko scanned the car.
Aang gestured brightly to the backseat and Zuko opened the door. “Hi!” Aang greeted.
“Hey.” Zuko slid in and tucked his backpack under his feet. His presence filled the car, his shoulders almost brushing Katara’s in the small backseat. His eyes, a delicate shade of gold-brown, lingered on her for a second before he looked away and leaned back. He smelled faintly like smoke.
“So, you know Sokka,” Aang said, flicking his blinker and swerving out into the street. A horn sounded behind them, which Aang didn’t even appear to hear.
“Hey, man,” Sokka said, friendly but reserved, half-turning to the backseat and nodding at Zuko.
“And Katara,” Aang said.
Zuko glanced at her. “Yeah. Largest latte, two extra shots.”
“See, Katara? Remember how I tell you that you drink too much coffee?” Sokka said. “He has your order memorized. What does that tell you, hmm? And regular coffee on a monthly budget is so—”
“Oh, shut up, Sokka,” Katara said scathingly. “You try doing pre-med without excessive coffee.”
Sokka rolled his eyes. “How did Aang coerce you into whatever this is, Zuko?”
Zuko shrugged. His eyes flicked briefly to Katara again. “Morbid curiosity, I guess.”
“So you already know where we’re going?” Sokka demanded. “Because Aang won’t tell us.”
“Okay, okay,” said Aang, merging onto the street that would take them to the highway. The lights and busy rush of Ba Sing Se faded, with longer patches of darkness rippling over the car, transforming the inhabitants into brief silhouettes. Aang shot them all a mischievous look. Katara fervently wished he’d keep his eyes on the road. “There’s this town called Haisho,” Aang said. He’d lowered his voice to the one Katara recognized from his attempts to tell ghost stories. “Overlooking the town, on a hill, there’s a mansion. A haunted mansion…”
“No,” said Sokka instantly.
“Scared?”
“Of course I’m not scared,” said Sokka, a bit squeaky with indignation. “Houses just aren’t ever haunted.”
Aang grinned. “Then what’s the problem with exploring a little?”
“We can’t just sneak in. That house belongs to somebody.”
“We won’t get caught,” said Aang. “It’s abandoned.”
“Aang, that’s breaking and entering,” Sokka said, angling toward the driver seat and saying it loudly, through cupped hands.
But for all Sokka’s posturing and pretend reluctance, Katara knew full well it was for show.
Somehow Aang kept managing to talk them into doing things like this. He was always looking for odd adventures, things he could explore and record while doing so, with his trusty, bright blue, ancient camera (“Vintage,” he liked to say, “has a certain something.”) His enthusiasm was difficult to deny. They’d already explored several creepy abandoned places that autumn. Last week they’d trudged about in an old military bunker, and the scariest thing that happened was Sokka fell down a hidden hatch. By some miracle, he didn’t break every bone in his body. It made Katara feel less guilty about the picture she snapped of him huddled down there.
Aang chattered on about the mansion on Haisho Hill. An occasional orange-yellow glow glided over the car from a street light.
Soon they were on winding roads with no lights at all. Aang rolled down the windows, and the cold night air was fresh, invigorating. He turned up the music. Zuko’s shoulder-length hair blew in the wind, and he was tapping a rhythm on the car door with long fingers, unrelated to the music. His eyes slid to hers again.
Katara gave him a quick smile and looked away, trying not to fidget.
She didn’t want him to think she was staring, or anything, because she totally wasn’t.
They rolled into the town of Haisho at just past eleven.
The engine revved in protest as Aang drove it up and up—it was a hilly place, and he kept chugging on in a gear that was too low.
“Aang, dude, shift,” Sokka said finally, alarmed. “This thing sounds like a dying whale.”
“We’re here!” Aang said brightly, rounding over the top of a hill and zipping around a corner.
A house loomed on the skyline, though house...wasn’t exactly an accurate description. Castle, more like. Aang pulled to a stop right outside a towering iron fence, and as they clambered haphazardly out of the car, Katara immediately regretted her choice of jacket. Not thick enough. She wouldn’t be surprised if a sheen of frost settled over the ground tonight. Beyond the iron gates, the mansion rose tall, ancient spires shooting up toward a full moon, curtained by a gray-blue swirling foreground of wispy clouds. Aang rummaged in the trunk while they waited, their breath visible in puffs in front of their faces, stamping their feet and holding their coats—except Zuko, who didn’t seem bothered by the cold in the slightest. The edge of a forest was nearby, dark and looming. Katara shivered, and not just from cold. In the car, Aang had told them more about the legend of the mansion on Haisho Hill: a mad scientist had lived here, experimenting on people, and he was the one that haunted this place. Katara was not as quick to dismiss supernatural activity as Sokka, but still, at most, she thought exploring this house would be a bit of thrill. Looking around now, though, in the mist and dark, in the heavy, late night silence, Aang’s story didn’t seem quite as far-fetched.
“Here.” Aang’s hands, without gloves, were stiff with cold as he pulled out another camera. Katara accepted it when he handed it over to her.
“Why two?” Sokka asked.
“The mansion is huge,” Aang said. “We have to split up if we want to document it or find cool stuff.”
“What? No! Aang, this is basic horror movie stuff. That’s children show, Scooby Doo level stuff. Splitting up always leads to trouble.”
“And someone losing their glasses,” Zuko muttered.
“Huh?”
“He’s making a Velma reference,” said Katara. “Honestly, Sokka, keep up. You just brought up Scooby Doo.”
Sokka scowled at her. Zuko’s mouth tilted up on one side as they met eyes again, and something about it warmed her pleasantly.
“I thought you weren’t scared, Sokka,” Aang said cheekily.
“All piling on me, are we? I said I’m not scared of ghosts,” Sokka clarified. “Since they aren’t real.”
“What are you scared of, then?”
It was Zuko that answered. “There might be squatters.”
Sokka looked relieved. “See? He gets it. It’s real people we have to worry about, Aang. Like, a den for a drug operation or something. You think they’d let us go if we witnessed something? Or it could be the hideout of a serial killer. Or—”
“We get it,” Katara said to him. Sokka was not helping her growing anxiety. But was this not what the Halloween season was for? A little risk, a little fear? Plus, no one in their right mind would stay inside that mansion for long, would they? Even from here, it looked like it should probably be condemned.
“Then I’ll stay with Katara,” Sokka said.
“Well, Katara has to take the other camera. Sorry, Sokka, but the photos you take are mostly unusable.” Aang waved a hand, shaking his head. "Katara and I are the most competent with the cameras, so she can’t go with me. And honestly, she’s probably safer with Zuko over you anyway.”
She and Zuko met eyes again, and Katara’s stomach fluttered. “Excuse me, why is the conversation about keeping me safe?” she demanded. “I took self-defense classes for a whole year. If anything, Sokka is the one here who needs protecting.”
Sokka chose to ignore this. “Why is she safer with Zuko over me? Because he has a weapon?”
“Because we do Kung Fu,” said Aang, as if it were obvious. “One Kung Fu fighter for each team.”
Zuko’s rasp cut into the conversation. “Why do you assume I have a weapon?”
A heavy, awkward silence fell. Sokka’s gaze widened. “Uhhh…”
Zuko raised the one eyebrow he possessed. “Because you think I’m a gang member?”
“No! No, of course not,” Sokka said hastily, looking everywhere but at Zuko.
Zuko wasn’t smiling, but something about the flare of light in his eyes made Katara think he might be messing with Sokka. “Well, I’m not.” Zuko reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out a switchblade, and casually flicked it open. “But I do have a weapon.”
Sokka laughed nervously.
Aang pulled a crowbar out of the trunk and gave it to Katara, then an ice scraper and handed it to Sokka. “And I’ve got a pocket knife,” he said. “Just in case. But guys, just look at this place. No one is in there. Except…” he paused dramatically. “Ghoooosts.”
Zuko snorted.
“What am I even supposed to do with this?” Sokka said, eyeing the ice scraper.
“Aim for the thigh or the side of the neck and stab hard,” Katara said. “Should bleed enough to buy you time to run.”
The boys all stared at her.
“What?” Katara shrugged. “I’m studying medicine. I know the human body.”
“Bold of you to assume I would need to run,” Sokka sniffed.
They slowly picked their way to the gate and stood there for a minute in silence, taking it in.
“So do we have to scale it?” Katara was wondering how that would even work. The bars were towering and smooth—it wasn’t so simple as clambering up. And the ground was hard with cold, so digging in order to slide underneath would take forever, if it was even possible.
Zuko examined the lock. “This thing is ancient. But I think I can crack it.” He flicked open his blade again and slid it into the lock, moving and twisting, his brow furrowed in concentration, tongue pressed between his lips. Katara was shivering hard by the time a mechanism clicked, and with a rusty, clanging, ground-scraping creak, the gate opened a fraction. Zuko pushed it the rest of the way.
“You’re not doing a good job of convincing me you aren’t a gang member,” Sokka joked weakly.
The group advanced toward the looming mansion. The front door was unlocked, dangling precariously on only two sets of hinges, and it swung open with a slow, ominous motion. Aang was the first to step over the threshold. The others followed, huddling unconsciously closer in the doorway, taking it in.
The foyer they stood in was massive. Absolutely gargantuan.
Their nervous breathing echoed unnaturally loudly in the space, then got swallowed up by ceilings so high that Katara could barely make them out at all. A wide hallway disappeared through the center of the room ahead, like a dark, gaping maw. Two long staircases wrapped the outside edges of the room and up to a balcony overlooking the foyer, with several other visible hallways branching off upstairs. Several statues flanked the walls near the door. Probably some type of angels, judging by the chipped wings. It certainly used to be grand, but now it smelled of mold and rot and lingering dust. There were cracks in the floor and walls.
“Whoa.” Aang barely breathed the word, but it felt loud nonetheless.
Sokka gripped a little tighter to his ice shaver. “We’re so gonna get lost in here.”
“Oh, wait! That’s why I brought these.” Aang rummaged in his backpack and fished out two packages of little colored dots, clearly purchased at a crafting store, bright red in color. “Leave a trail.” He kept one box, thrust another at Zuko, and handed out flashlights. “So,” Aang said, still cheerful, though Katara noticed he kept his voice low, as though afraid to wake something. “Who’s going where?”
Katara’s gaze darted to Zuko, still a little daunted at spending alone time with him, as she pulled her jacket tighter. The temperature inside was not much of an improvement to outside. Her breath still fogged in front of her face whenever she breathed. “Zuko and I could go upstairs?” she suggested.
“Oh, so you're sending me and Aang into the endless black hole.” Sokka was gazing at the pitch-black hallway straight ahead.
“The halls will be just as dark upstairs as down here,” Katara said, rolling her eyes.
“Okay,” Aang said. A feverish light had entered his eyes; this was Aang in his element. “One hour, and then we meet back here and plan our next move.”
Collective nods of agreement.
“See you soon,” Katara said to Aang and Sokka.
She and Zuko watched as their flashlight bobbed away, disappeared into the hall, and was swallowed up by the darkness.