IMPORTANT: This story will take place within the timeline of the original show-NOT "Legend of Korra".

I will do my best to do the universe of ATLA justice, but some things may change for the sake of the story.

And yeah, I know this AU may seem a bit random and crack-y, but I think it could work well (at least I hope so).

One last thing: I have to give credit to my friend, Nick. He's the one who came up with this AU.

Enjoy!~

The first thing John registered was a dull throbbing in his head, followed by a burning sensation in his shoulder and side. No, not in-on. There were burns on his shoulder and side, and god they hurt. Then, he realized his cheek was pressed against cool metal and that he was lying on the floor. His eyes flew open. A cell. A red-tinted, metal jail cell. A cold wave of dread and devastated realization washed over him.

"Fuck!" he sat up, groaning and clutching his shoulder at his burn, his spinning head sending nausea through him. John knew it was useless, but he tried to bend anyway, aggravating his burn. Of course, nothing came out of it; Earthbenders were put in metal cells for a reason.

How did he get here? He remembered treating a wounded soldier on the battlefield, the Fire Nation closing in, his men fighting with all their might, a surge of flames flying towards him and...nothing. The intensity of his injury must have knocked him out. Had Omashu been captured? Were his men okay? What happened to the man he'd been treating?

John looked down and saw that he'd been stripped of his uniform and put into red rags. Well, that made it official: he was a prisoner of the Fire Nation.

"Fantastic," he muttered darkly. He stood up and looked around his cell. It was small, but not enough to make him feel claustrophobic. There was a mattress on the floor without a blanket, but that was okay. It was pretty warm, anyway. Back hurting from being on the floor for who-knows how long, he made his way over to the mattress and sat down on the edge.

He felt his stomach twist into a tight knot and he clenched his hands on the edge of the mattress to keep them from shaking. "Don't panic," he told himself. "Panicking will do nothing. You weren't trained to panic." He felt silly talking to himself, but fuck it. He was captured and had to do whatever he could to maintain his calm. He needed to distract himself somehow.

Curious, John lifted the bottom of his shirt to examine the burn on his side. The burn extended from his hipbone up to his ribcage, stopping just below his left nipple. It hurt, but it looked better than John thought it would. The one on his shoulder felt worse. He used his right hand to push his left sleeve down carefully.

Oh. It was bad. In fact, looking at it made him kind of sick, which was saying a lot for a doctor. No wonder it hurt so badly. It would take weeks to heal, and he wouldn't be surprised if it scarred. John gingerly pulled his sleeve back up.

Great, just great. He was injured and captured. He swallowed a lump in his throat. He failed. He failed miserably. He let his men down, his city down, and his kingdom down. Out of habit, he tried to bend in frustration, and felt anger bubbling inside his veins when nothing came from it. He loved Earthbending. Not only was it a part of his identity, but it made him feel powerful. He loved to hear the crunch of the rocks as they smashed to the ground. The thought that he might not be able to bend again made his chest ache. He lied down on the hard mattress. He would have rather died in combat. At least that would have been honorable.

The image of the burned man he was trying to treat flashed before him. John squeezed his eyes shut. No. He couldn't think about that now. Couldn't think about the life he didn't save. He would really go mad, then, and it was only his first day.

John looked up when he heard his cell door open and saw a guard standing in the doorway.

John stood up and and clenched his fists. "Where are my men?" he demanded.

"I don't know or care," said the guard in a deep, nonchalant voice.

"You don't know?" John took a step towards him. He didn't care that he was injured and couldn't bend; he had to know if they were okay.

"I don't. The affairs of prisoners are of no interest to me."

"Someone has to know."

"And that someone is not I. Get out of your cell, it's time to go outside."

"Outside?" John asked. "Outside where?"

"To the courtyard."

The guard's eyes were obscured by the scarlet mask attached to the helmet, but from his tone, it sounded like he was rolling his eyes.

"What's in the courtyard?"

The guard sighed in annoyance. "We let the prisoners out once a day in the courtyard for an hour so they won't go completely insane. Be grateful."

John wasn't in a particularly good mood (waking up in prison with burns would do that to a person) and he did not feel like dealing with some Fire Nation twat's arrogance. "Oh, sorry I'm not grateful for the tender way you treat your prisoners. My apologies, sir, I'll remember that while I nurse my injuries inflicted by your soldiers. My mistake."

In hindsight, it probably wasn't a good idea to provoke the guard, but John was never able to control his temper well.

The guard's fingers twitched, but to John's surprise, he didn't bend. "I don't have the time to deal with your immaturity. Get out the cell," he muttered and walked out.

John raised his eyebrows. A guard who didn't threaten him for speaking out of turn...that was a first. He was still a douche, though. Regardless, John decided to listen and left the cell. Maybe seeing other people would calm him down a bit and he could find out if his men were there, too.

John walked out of his cell and followed the other prisoners in a line. They all looked miserable, pissed, and a tad too skinny, but that was to be expected.

As he walked, the weight of his guilt was beginning to crush him despite his attempts to send it away, and an odd pain bloomed in his knee. Though he didn't check, John was pretty sure his knee was unharmed. It didn't make sense, but his knee was really starting to hurt. He stifled a grunt of pain and favored his other knee, walking with a slight limp. Perhaps it was just cramping from him lying on the floor.

"Hurry up," a voice snapped beside him.

He turned and saw a guard. Although the mask and helmet obscured his face from the bridge of the nose up, something told John that it was the same guard from a few minutes prior.

"Oh, excuse me for fucking limping," he shot daggers into the cold, pale eyes glaring into his through the holes of the mask. "How dare I hobble along in pain," John said through clenched teeth.

The guard's lip twitched. "The only reason I'm showing you any mercy is because you're not worth my time."

"How damn charitable of you," John hissed and limped away with as much dignity as he could. God, he knew they were all self-righteous, but that one Fire-prick was particularly insufferable.

John felt a gentle tap on his shoulder (the good one, thankfully) and he turned around. A young woman with brownish-red hair was staring at him in astonishment.

"Er, yes?"

"Sorry, it's just, wow. The way you spoke to him-I wish I had that much courage!"

John grinned a little with pride. "Yeah, well, if I have to stay here, I won't be pushed around, even if it bites me in the arse later."

"That's amazing," the woman said, wonder clear in her wide brown eyes.

John cleared his throat. "Um, well, what's your name?"

"O-oh," she stammered, now self-conscious, "I'm Molly." She gave him a small smile.

"John," he shook her hand, her kindness easing his mood a little.

"Move along!" the guard snapped from somewhere behind them.

John huffed and motioned for Molly to follow him. "What the hell is his problem?"

"None of them are too friendly, but he is pretty intense. He's always like that."

"Charming."

"He's not too bad, you know, if you get to know him."

John looked at her in surprise. "What, you know him?"

"Well, no, not really, but he talks to me sometimes. I know his name, but that's not much, is it? He gets bored a lot."

John finally stepped outside with Molly, "Still, guards don't usually interact…" His voice died in his throat. Oh, god no. He knew exactly where he was.

"John? You were saying?"

Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here. Clinging to his last shred of hope, he asked, "Molly...Molly, where are we?"

"You don't know? Ah, well, you do look new. But didn't they tell you-?"

"No, I woke up in my cell," he snapped. "Tell me: where are we?"

Molly frowned. "This is the Boiling Rock."

And there went John's hope.

Should I continue this AU?