First and Amistad, a gorillaz fanfic

Okay, first, I don't own Gorillaz or the song "You Found Me" they belong to I pledge allegience to the flag of the United States...Oh, wait I drifted off for a minute there. I hate it when that happens.

I cannot stress enough that this story is NOT part of the Sunshine Sequellum. It lines up more with the cannon as I understand it to be and takes place just before "Stylo." The Hazel-Eyed Angel has also suggested that it could act as a prequel to her story Empire Ants. I agree. Give it a read and tell me what you think.

This is a songfic (?) based on The Fray's "You Found Me." It was inspired by The Hazel-Eyed Angel's wonderful story "How to Save a Life." Check it out!

Just as a warning, due to the nature of the song, this story will deal with some very religious topics. If you don't like stories that deal with religion, then let me solve your problem: Don't read this story. See? Wasn't that easy? What can I say? I'm a problem solver.

I don't apologize for my religious views, and I don't expect you to, either.

It was cold. Not alarmingly so, but it was still cold enough for the lone man walking the Denver streets to draw the collar of his navy peacoat past his ears and thrust his hands as deep into his pockets as they would go. The cigarette between his pursed lips hung limply, burning but forgotten in the rush of thoughts that preoccupied the wandering man. His bright azure hair reflected the auric glow of the street lamps, casting an almost halo-like luminescence around his head. Normally, passers-by who had no idea who he was would have gaped at the unnaturally tall, thin man with the black eyes and the choppy blue hair, but it was three in the morning. Not many people were walking the icy streets at such an ungodly hour, and those that were were much too preoccupied or drunk to pay any notice to him as he walked aimlessly past the endless line of stores, shops, restaurants, and small businesses that made up this particular Denver street. When he came to what could quite possibly have been the hundredth intersection he had ambled through, he glanced up at the street sign, realizing that he couldn't wander the streets forever.

"First and Amistad," he muttered under his breath. He was gazing down the newly discovered street, deciding whether or not to continue down the road he had been so accustomed to or absently explore the new avenue, when the first car he had seen all night drove past, tossing a slushy tidal wave of mud and snow onto his pants.

"Guddamn you!" he jumped back, glowering down at his ruined jeans and sneakers, "Jes my fookin luck," he growled, turning to sit on a bench on which another lonely man sat. He began to kick his feet furiously, hoping to toss some of the excess water from his pants when the stranger began to chuckle jovially.

"Some people, huh?" he laughed, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Stuart Pot, 2-D to his fans, made a face at the grizzled old man, but found he was stopped by his appearance. If he had to guess, he would have bet that the stranger was probably in his sixties with a long face, thin light brown and silver hair, and a scraggly brown and gray beard. His large frame was dressed simply in a black pullover the sleeves of which he had pushed past his elbows, revealing his heavily tattooed arms, light blue jeans and old man white tennis shoes. The most striking thing about the man's appearance, though, were his cool blue eyes. Not that there was anything particularly notable about blue eyes as a general rule, but this stranger's were strangely piercing. It would not have been cliché to say that they seemed to look past the facade people usually wore for other people to the hidden inner man that no one else could see. 2-D only allowed himself to be unnerved for a second before returning to attempt to wring the water from his pants legs.

"That's the problem with this world," the man continued, paying no notice to the attention the blue-haired man had given him, "no one cares about anyone else. People too focused on their own lives to notice another human being," he took another pull. "Sad, really."

2-D scoffed, "Well, tha's 'ow it is, in't? Every man fer 'imself."

The man surveyed him for a second, a strange look on his face. If 2-D didn't know better, he would have sworn he detected a hint of sadness in those world-weary eyes.

"I could, you know," the stranger said finally, looking down the street in the direction the car had disappeared.

"You coul' what" 2-D questioned, cocking his head to the side and turning to look where the other man was peering.

"Damn them," was the answer.

2-D turned back, staring at him curiously, "Wha?"

The stranger turned his head back to the singer, "I could damn them if I had a mind to, but I'm not gonna. I need a little more reason than splashing some guy on the side of the road with snow," he eyed 2-D with a curious grin on his face, "no matter how famous he is."

"Yea, well, wot can ya do—wait, you know me?"

Another chuckle issued from the large man, "I should hope so! You're Stuart Pot."

"I din't realize ya wos a fan. Mos' o' our fans tend to be younger..." he stopped, realizing that he might be insulting the older stranger. "Sorry," 2-D finished.

His companion let out a raspy laugh that ended in a bubbling smoker's cough, "No harm done. In fact, I'm older than I look. I'm not a fan, though. Well, not of your band. I'm a fan of yours."

"Really?" he was flattered. It was always nice to meet someone who appreciated his work as an individual rather than just some insignificant part of a greater whole.

"I'm a fan of the others as well, too: Russel, Murdoc, Noodle."

2-D's face darkened and he looked away at the mention of the young guitarist. Even after three years, the pain of losing her was still acute. He didn't like to talk about her. It still hurt too much. Clearing his throat, he decided to change the subject.

"So, wha'd ya mean earlier when ya said ya coul' damn them if ya 'ad a min' ta?"

"Just that," the man responded, "I could damn them if I wanted to. It's kind of what I do. Not damning people—passing judgment. You know, determining who is worthy and who is not, that sort of thing."

The blue-haired singer scoffed again, "You talk like yer God er summink."

"Would it surprise you if I said I was?"

2-D looked at the stranger incredulously. "Oh, great. Firs' I get sloshed wit' snow in Denver, Colorado in tha fookin winta. Then I get stuck sittin' soakin' wet on a bench wit' a nutter 'oo fink's 'ee's God," he thought.

He shrugged his shoulder, feigning nonchalance, "I guess I've 'eard o' stranger fings."

"Oh, have you now," the man chuckled, coughing. "Stranger than a man claiming he's God? You'll have to share some of those stories with me sometime."

"Yer God. Shouldn' ya know 'em already?" the singer grinned slyly.

"I'm a sucker for a good story, though. Consequently, what brings you to Denver?"

2-D frowned. That was a good question. His latest escape from the clutches of his band mate had landed him off the coast of California, and he knew that he would have to make tracks quick to keep an enraged Murdoc from finding him and dragging him back to huddle under the surface of the water with that damned whale watching his every move (seriously, how does someone even pay a whale?). He decided quickly to buy a ticket for the first bus out of town and go wherever it took him. He had been pleasantly surprised to find that wherever happened to be Denver. He was always happy to tour in Denver whenever they got the chance.

The happiness faded quickly when he recalled skiing with Noodle. She had been a natural as she was with everything she attempted. 2-D, however, was tragically not. They had had great fun, though, Noodle deftly carving a path through the snow and stopping to help him back to his feet when he found himself face down in the snow. That had always been her way. She never lost patience with him even when Russel and Murdoc had thrown their hands up in disgust and left. It was one of the many reasons he loved her.

It was the flood of memories that led him to wandering the streets of Denver at three a.m. He knew he needed to run farther and faster from the violent bassist, but the sadness weighed down on him and held him fast. He had almost accepted his inevitable capture by the time the car had splashed him and brought him into the conversation with the strange man.

"I jes needed ta get away from it all, I guess."

The other man nodded, "I can understand that."

"So, if yer God. Ya min' if I ask ya a few quessions?"

"Sure, ask me anything."

He didn't know why he was encouraging the delusions of an obviously unhinged man, but he decided to ask anyway.

"Why do bad fings 'appen?"

The old man jumped slightly, "Right out of the gates! You don't waste time on small talk." When 2-D shook his head, he continued, "Well, the short answer would be that it has to do with the condition of mankind: A consequence of the Fall, but that's only part of it. I have plans that have everything to do with redemption and restoration, and sometimes, in order to make those plans happen, people have to suffer. Vague, I know, but prophets and scholars alike have searched for millenia for the answer to that question. I haven't given them a clear answer, and I'm certainly not going to start with you."

2-D smiled and looked down the street. He liked this stranger, whoever he was, even if he was insane, he felt comfortable in his presence—calm. But something plagued him, some questions that needed to be answer, and if the real God wasn't going to answer them, maybe the stranger could.

"So, I'f yer God or a fan or whateva, then ya know bout Noodle? Ya know wha' 'appened ta 'er?" It was more of a statement than a question.

The stranger's eyes glazed over slightly as he stared across the street. 2-D knew then that he did know about what happened to her. Many fans had been broken at the news of Noodle's death. They had sent flowers, cards, teddy bears, and there had even been talks of a foundation set up in her honor that would allow young, underprivileged children to learn an instrument. 2-D liked that. It was fitting. It was something Noodle would have done if she had been given the chance.

He felt a swell of anger in his chest at that moment. Anger that was directed at no one in particular, but, unfortunately for the man claiming to be God, it was anger that was going to be vented, somehow.

He growled acidly, "Tell me, if ya are God like ya says, where wos ya? Where wos ya when she wos dyin' all alone on dat island?" he blinked back the tears that had begun to form, but trudged through, not about to allow a fresh wave of sadness for his Li'l Love to stop him from asking the questions that he had been holding back for three years. "Where wos ya when she was scared? When she wos afraid?" he rose to his feet now, standing over the poor stranger, who seemed unfazed by the singer's sudden tirade. "Did she cry out ta ya? Did she cry out fer me? Russel? Muds? Why'd ya leave her there ta die? She wos jus' a kid. So young. So beau'eeful, and ya lef' 'er ta die. She'd suffered so much in 'er life, an' she never complained. She deserved so much. Couldn' you have let 'er grow ol' and 'ave a fam'ly? Couldn' ya 'ave taken me instead? I woul' 'ave gladly given my life to protec' 'er, ta keep 'er from 'avin ta feel anymore pain. But ya jes 'ad ta 'ave 'er, didn' ya? Didn' ya? Why 'er?"
The stranger remained silent, coolly observing the singer as he vented his spleen, but 2-D was finished. With no more questions and no answers, 2-D finally sank back onto his seat, visibly shaking.

"Sorry, man." he said finally, "I 'ad no right ta-"

"You get used to it in my line of work," the stranger waved his hand in dismissal. "I know Noodle has suffered much in her young years." He eyed the singer for a few moments before speaking, "You care for her deeply, don't you?"

"Wouldn' you?" 2-D asked. "She wos smart, funny, crazy, beau'eeful, caring. I practic'ly raised 'er. You know 'ow she came ta us, righ'?" The stranger grinned and nodded, so he continued, "I fell in love with 'er tha momen' she poked her head outta that Fed Ex box. Not anyfin' weird, she wos like a sista' ta me then."

"But your feelings changed, didn't they?" the stranger patted his pockets, searching for something. Finding what he was looking for, he dug in and produced a cigarette package, frowning to discover that it was empty. 2-D reached into his pocket and pulled his own pack, flicking it so that it relinquished two sticks. He proffered one to the other man who took it gladly. 2-D tossed the second fag into his mouth and found his lighter. Once both cigarettes had been lit, they sat smoking in silence for a few minutes.

2-D nodded his head, staring blankly across the street at a drunk man stumbling his way home, "Yea, they did. Became a dif'rent kind o' love. I know she wos young, but wha' we 'ad wos special. I know a lot o' people wos again' it. Russ and Muds weren' too 'appy af firs', but when they saw 'ow 'appy we made each other, I fink they kind o' accepted it, ya know?"

The other man nodded his head, "Makes you happy, she does?"

"Yea she did. And I always fought it wos strange, a fantastic woman like 'er fallin' fer someone like me. I'm...not a smart man, I'm 'ooked on painkilla's, an' I jes let people walk all ova' me. But...none of tha' matta'd to Noods. Even when she wos a kid she took care of me, kept Muds offa my back, and made me laugh. She always loved me fer 'oo I wos. An I loved 'er for it. God, I loved 'er."

"And you don't anymore?" the man asked, pulling a drag from his cigarette.

2-D balled his fists and looked at the his muddy shoes, "She's dead," he said matter-of-factly.

"Strange."

"Wha's strange?" 2-D cocked his head again.

The man chuckled mirthlessly and placed his cigarette between his lips, "You say you loved her as though death was the end of it. Was your love so fragile that it could be that easily broken? I guess it's to be expected, though. You've moved on; she can't. The world keeps on spinning. I guess you'll find love again? I've seen that a lot—men and women declaring their undying love for someone, carrying on and mourning when the object of their affection dies, then moving on as soon as they find someone else to warm their bed. I guess it's just a monument to how fickle men's hearts are. You love as long as it's convenient. Love is a word, nothing more, and from what I can tell, you're no better..."

"SHUT UP!" 2-D shouted suddenly standing over the stranger again. "Don' you eva ac' like you know 'bou' me. I loved 'er. She was everyfin ta me. All I wanted wos ta be wif 'er. All I wanted wos ta make 'er 'appy. I tried so 'ard ta be tha man she deserved, an ya took 'er." He balled his fists again and began to pace back and forth in front of the bench, watching the ground., "You took 'er. But tha's wot ya do, isn' it? You bring people togetha, let them fall in love, dangle 'appiness in front of their faces, and rip it away. You leave them alone, but everyone ends up alone in tha end, don' they. You take an' take until everyone else is as lonely an missable as you.

"You took 'er from me. She wos the only one 'oo eva knew me; the only one 'oo eva tried ta know me. She wos my Li'l Love, and you...you..." he reached out and steadied himself on the street sign as the sadness overtook him, ripping sobs out of his chest as he sank to his knees. "you took 'er." He looked down at his hands resting on his knees. The tears that slipped down his cheeks dripped into his palms, pooling into infinitesimal oceans that reflected his world in miniature, "I called fer ya. I tried ta fin' ya so I coul' fin' peace; so the 'urt woul' go away, but where wos you? I couldn' find ya. You neva came. I fough' ya wos supposed ta come when we called."

"I'm here now," came the voice from behind him, closer than it should have been.

2-D scoffed, "'Hit's too late. I'm not 'oo I wos then. There's nuffin ya can do fer me, now."

"Isn't there?"

A soft glow from in front of him drew his attention upward. The early morning sun was beginning to break through the trees, casting a pinkish hue across the Mile High City and giving everything an aura of newness. 2-D was held in awe as the soft colors of morning painted the clouds lavender, azure, orange, fuchsia, and yellow.

He looked back to the older man, who was still seated on the bench, the marathon cigarette still clenched between his lips.

"Why'd ya take 'er?"

The stranger closed his eyes and sighed. The stone-faced man made no move for some time. Hours, days, years seemed to tick by, but still no move was made, no indication that the man had even heard the singer's question. He was beginning to think that the stranger had grown tired of the conversation when slowly he opened his cerulean eyes. 2-D was struck dumb when tears began to flow freely through the wrinkled troughs of the man's face.

"It brings me no joy to cause sorrow. What happened to Noodle, I could not stop—Not because I lacked the power or the will, but because it is a part of who I am making her. It is also a part of who I am making you. You must be strong in order to face what is coming, for your sake and for hers."

"Wot're ya talkin' 'bout? Noods is dead. Isn' she?"

The older man paid no attention to the singer's interruption, "Will you be strong for her?"

2-D looked at the other man his eyebrows knit, "But I'm not strong."

"You are stronger than you know, Stuart. Remember, I do not work as the world does. Endurance is always more powerful than violence. I use what the world thinks is weak to confound what the world thinks is strong, but answer my question: Will you be strong for her?"

He looked down at his hands, "Yes." When no response came, 2-D ventured a glance toward his companion, but was surprised to see the bench empty save a still burning cigarette. He pulled himself next to it and stared for what seemed like an eternity, pondering the stranger's words. He was so rapt in his thoughts that he didn't notice the vintage mustang with the word "Stylo" etched into the grill that had pulled up to the adjoining curb until the black-haired man blocked the waxing sunlight. He looked up to see Murdoc standing over him, grinning maliciously.

"How's it goin', Faceache? Hope ya had a relaxin' vacation, cause we got a nice long trip ahead o'us."

2-D looked back to the place where the stranger had been before wordlessly rising and walking past Cyborg Noodle, who was standing with a shotgun clutched in her hands. He knew he was in for a beating, but the found that he wasn't afraid. The stranger's words still rang in his ears. Somehow, he believed them, and he knew that if enduring the ensuing violence would bring Noodle back into his arms, then maybe he could take a few more hits for the team.

In case you were wondering, the stranger is modeled after Phil Harris from the show Deadliest Catch. I'm gonna miss him :( (He died this February of a stroke. Cigarettes kill, people)

Because this is based on a song, let me post the lyrics to the inspiration:

You Found Me by The Fray

I found God
On the corner of First and Amistad
Where the west was all but won.
All alone, smoking his last cigarette.
I said, "Where you been?" He said, "Ask anything."
"Where were you
When everything was falling apart?
All my days were spent by the telephone.
It never rang,
And all I needed was a call
That never came
To the corner of first and Amistad."

Lost and insecure,
You found me. You found me
Lying on the floor,
Surrounded, surrounded.
Why'd you have to wait?
Where were you? Where were you?
Just a little late,
You found me, you found me.

In the end everyone ends up alone.
Losing her, the only one who's ever known
Who I am, who I'm not, and who I want to be.
No way to know how long she will be next to me.

Early morning, City breaks
I've been calling for years and years and years and years
And you never left me no messages.
You never send me no letters.
You got some kind of nerve, taking all I want.

Lost and insecure
You found me. You found me
Lying on the floor,
Where were you where were you

Why'd you have to wait
To find me, to find me?