A/N : I've got a new obsession. This obsession is named David Lambert a.k.a Brandon Foster in ABC's show The Fosters.I love this show and all the actors that play in it are... just incredible. Seriously, it's an awesome show, very original, very... fresh. So I finished watching the first season a week ago and I was shocked by how it ended. I mean **SPOILER ALERT** my poor baby got beat up and his dreams crushed. No pun intended. I also shocked that there weren't that much fanfiction about Brandon's assault and its aftermath. The few that I read were good but short and not complete, and I'm craving some Brandon whump! Sorry, B. Isn't that weird that people always their favourite characters to suffer? Said the pot to the kettle. Anyway, this short... thing is the prologue of my new fanfiction. Enjoy !

Disclaimer : Tout ce que vous lisez est un produit de mon imagination. Les personnages ne m'appartiennent pas (malheureusement pour moi, heureusement pour les personnages). YEP! I'm French, losers, whassup? Good luck translating that, nerds ! (Meh, ain't that difficult, actually.)

Set after season 1. Inspired from the first minutes of Things Unknown. Rated T for some... stuff that I haven't figure out yet.

"Winged bird that cannot fly"

- Prologue -

His eyes were closed. Brandon couldn't move. Well, he could move but he was afraid to. Afraid that if he opened the door, his hand would fall in pieces. He wasn't afraid of the pain. Hell, he couldn't even feel it. He couldn't speak either. Of that, Brandon was sure; he had tried to speak. To call for help. He couldn't scream in pain no matter how much he had tried and wanted to. Only whimpers seemed to escape from his mouth and bloody lips. His jaw seemed to be dislocated.

Taking a deep breath, Brandon finally opened his eyes. Well, one eye, since the other was swollen. The tall brunette tried to ignore the burning pain as he slightly his head. The urge to throw up increased as he saw his bloodied hand, hanging from his last unbroken bones. Pushing himself toward his car with his good arm, he struggled to sit up, his stomach and back aching in protest. The young man ignored the tears falling from his eyes and waiting his cheeks.

Brandon slowly reached for the handle and quickly opened the door, bringing the remains of his hand and wrist close to his chest without daring to look at it. Slowly raising to his feet, the brown haired teenager hissed in pain as he pushed himself up into the car and winced as his bruised back brushed against the material of his shirt, when he sat down.

The pianist struggled to move. He struggled to breath. He struggled to stay conscious, to keep his eyes open. But he had to. Move. Breath. Keep his eyes open. Stay conscious. So with the last inch of his strength, Brandon furiously pushed the horn, hoping to make as much noise as he could. Trembling with fear and sobs, he hoped and prayed to a God that he didn't believe in that someone would help him.

TBC..

I know, it's short, but I just wanted to set the mood. A very sad mood.

What did you think? Thumbs up? :) Thumbs down ? :/ Was it bad? Was it good? Do you think that I shouldn't start new stories without finishing others? Me too! :D **long distance high-five**

KC out!