Because this is How We Take the Pain Away:

How the avatar cast copes with death and destruction.

I've been thinking about this idea for a while. I'm not entirely sure if it's original but nonetheless, I felt the need to write it. So I tend to shift in and out of perspective so you've been warned, and also it's a modern AU so you've been warned again. Anyways I have a couple more ideas coming your way so until then enjoy this one-shot.

Because this is How we Take our Pain Away.

~ Greif. It chews us apart, eats away at our souls, strips us down into pieces and pieces until we're spilling out all over the floor. It leaves us to cope with broken hopes and shattered dreams, with a heart that's barely beating. ~

x.

Shoot up, snort up, light up.

Smoke smoothers the dim room, reaching out with its staining hands and pulling on all the crinkles and cleaves in the wallpaper.

She smiles, red lips standing out amongst the gray.

It isn't long before she goes numb. Her head lulls back in sweet relief as mother's apparition disappears.

Is it ironic that you only now feel you can breathe in a room coated in smoke?

She thinks maybe and it's about the last thought she has before she's completely and utterly gone.

She wakes up on the sidewalk with a man kicking at her back. Gods this really has gotten way out of hand.

"Get up! Get up! You're ruining my business, all the costumers walking by because there is some crack head lying in front of my shop." It takes a moment for his thick Russian accents to fill her ears, and a moment is long enough for him to start ranting again. She swats at his legs this time using the other hand to guide her to her feet.

She wants to spit out a witty remark. It's there right at the tip of her tongue but instead she pitches forward. And so she's left stumbling home using her defeat as a coat against the cold.

She doubts that father even cares that she's been missing, probably hasn't even noticed. And she knows mother never would. Mother never cared about anything really, anything except that wonderful son. But what does it matter? Mother's been dead for over half your life now.

And there it is. The uncontrollable wish for your heart to freeze to ice and your brain fogged by clouds.

Because at least when you're high you can't feel anything.

xx.

His fingers pick at the tangled frills that lay limply off the wearing fabric.

Not out of nerves, just out of the pure desires to rip apart something. These office chairs have always been ugly anyway, and only serve to warn him of a coming detention or perhaps another suspension.

He gets up dully when they call his name, taking the time to admire the blood stain on his sneaker. Flashing yet deceiving gold eyes glare the Principle down as he enters her domain.

"Wow Mr. Morretti this is twice in one week, I believe that's quite the new record for you."

He only scoffs in reply; his found out long ago that this woman isn't worth the words.

He takes a new seat, immediately tugging at a different set of pealing fabric, at this rate he might have a fighting chance for causing some sort of damage before he's expelled.

"What's the story this time?" She's very homely looking, and her grim expression does nothing to enhance her appearance.

"He deserved it."

"Don't they all Mr. Morretti? Would you like to explain to me why he deserved it?"

He bit his tongue. That lackadaisical low life son of a bitch had the audacity to label my sister a lost cause of a stoner and explain to me how I deserved my scar. He's a pompous ass who needed his face cracked in two.

"No."

She scowled at him, looking slightly disappointed and slightly hurt.

"Mr. Morretti, you've always been a provocative young man. And have yet to cease hurting my students and in some cases the faculty. I cannot let you continue to go around starting these fights all the time."

The stared at each other for a moment, words of understanding passing between each other.

"This is your last chance to prove yourself to me Zuko, don't blow it."

You hardly nod.

"Detention after school today and tomorrow, room 213."

He left the room with a slammed door and an agitated face.

That evening, you bashed someone's head into a locker, making sure to look straight into the eyes of the camera.

If only black eyes and bloody lips could compare to how you feel inside.

xxx.

Mother left the windows open, allowing the cool march breeze to sweep some of the heat out of the house. It's warm outside, yet you're dressed in layers.

"Her skin is so thin, Mai's always so cold." Your mother convinces herself of this, never once thinking you only need to hide the scars crisscrossing their ways up and down you arms.

She needs to feel something, and lately the only way any feeling comes at all is the sharp stilettos and red wash clothes.

It's dark and cold in your room, very contradictory to the rest of the house. But then again, aren't you?

She's different than her family, different than everyone really. No one understands, but she never seems to let them.

Fingertips grace over the edge of a newly sharp Sai. Of all the knives it has always been your favorite, with three prongs it guaranteed to leave a deep steady mark. Maybe it's guaranteed to bring about some feeling too?

At least that's what you convince yourself as you drive the Sai up and down your arm. You let the blood trickle for a bit before you react. Savoring the moment.

You can feel the suppressed emotion leaking out of you.

Spilling out onto white sheets and a tan carpets.

"I want a new rug."

You try to explain it to your mom. Try to show her the black and blues on your heart.

They never caught her though. They hadn't the mind to worry about anything their daughter might be doing, to wrapped up in the own hectic lives.

And so you lock your door and keep quiet, and just let yourself feel for the rest of the night.

xxxx.

What a pretty little pink priss you are.

All smiles and no sense, it's so easy to play off the dumb card, no one ever even thinks to see through you.

She's an all pink outside and an all black inside. This piss poor gilded girl, who's too dumb to differentiate between right and wrong. Because everyone believes them to be so black and white.

So you eat up your feelings and drink all your tears. You don't need food to fill the void in your life.

It really started as a game. She just wanted to see how long she could go before she felt a different ache, not one of a broken heart but one of a shriveled stomach.

Then it became almost like a power play. Not so much as how long can you go, more like how long can you stay in control.

Everything else was just so so far out of reach. But if she could just tame this one factor, if she could completely and holey be in charge of her food intake, than it was a start.

At least she could have one constant, and although that of a starving stomach wasn't the most pleasant it was something.

You watch as you slowly begin to shrink. Piece by piece, until your skin and bone.

You think maybe your feelings will shrink with it. Maybe the agony that follows your every waking step can dwindled just a bit.

So much for balancing on tightropes, she's light as air as it is.

You listen to your stomach howl each night, and smile. Because now it's all you know.

xxx.

The weight of the world lies one her shoulders. Or perhaps that's just the weight of her backpack.

Two more projects signed up for as well as paper and a test to review, you're in for a busy night. You smile as you walk home, blue eyes peek above the pages of the paper distracting yourself from your book if only for a moment.

A moment too long. The pain stabs into your side strong enough to make you double over.

No distractions.

You don't have time to wallow up in the past.

It all comes crumbling down in one false swoop unless she's drowning in a pile of projects, papers, and promises.

She'll never admit it, but it helps her to drift away. Away from all emotions until she's some mindless drone hammering through studies, and school work, and anything she can do to take her mind away from that constant ache beating at her heart.

You pick up your things and continue your book. Hobbling into the house and immediately making your way upstairs.

Okay. Time to get to work.

You dive into your studies. Standing against all attempts to break you down until you're too exhausted to even think.

You take off her necklace and climb into bed and try night to cry as sleep takes you.

xx.

He looks at the faces of his school.

They are all broken and battered. They are all suffering in their own way. Every past traumatic every future only guarantees more pain and less escape.

So what give you room to complain?

Honestly, it wasn't even that bad really.

Like when you really take the time to think about it, you have no reason to be this devastated. It wasn't that awful and other people have it way rougher than you.

So he dumps his feelings into one stupid tattoo and tries to learn to suck it up.

No one ever thought to tell him that just because maybe other's hurt worse doesn't mean he can't hurt at all.

He the last of his kind. The survivor a genocide. And yet..

He seems to be convinced that he doesn't have a problem. That the world hasn't turned to shit.

You smile as you walk down the hallways and you seem to be the only one that does.

But that doesn't seem to silence that little voice inside of you screaming.

Screaming so loud that it wakes you up at night, it rips into your dreams, and you try to ignore the arrows which point and pull you in all different directions until you're shaking and denying any thought that you ever had or still have any problems.

Still he shuffles into class, with complete disregard for any and all night terrors. Scribbling notes and ignoring the numb feeling creeping into his heart.

The bell rings and you make your way to lunch.

You joke with your friends and your laugh is hallow and fake, and inside you can still hear the screaming.

x.

Because this is How we Take our Pain Away.

Right off the bat I'm just going to admit, I'm better at writing the firenation. I'm sorry, but it is how it is. So forgive for however horribly I may have butchered Aang and Katara, I mean I gave it my all. Anyway I couldn't manage to include Sokka and Toph. Again I apologize to any hardcore fans out there but it just wasn't with me. I had plans to do hoarding for Sokka and risk taking for Toph, but like most things they feel through, and well, this is what I ended up with. So flame me up bitches and see if I do anything about it.

-And also on a little side note. Just wanted to justify why I made this and modern AU! I wanted to illustrate how the avatar characters are basically like those freaks and outcast left behind by society because of their awful methods of coping with the obvious (yet extremely complicated) issues. And I felt that the best way to demonstrate this was through a modern setting so that readers can better relate with the characters.

Thanks loads for reading! And feel free to just click that button down there!