The characters aren't mine, just the story.

Note: The actor who played Jane is from an African American heritage.

AN: I do not promote any of the slurs, beatings that occur in this story. There are some people that do, but I DO NOT! If you as a person do, reexamine your life and don't be an ass.

ANN: I think this could have happened, to where Benji would finally just snap. Especially when his team needed him.

Reviews would be wonderful.

Enjoy.

Most see red when the highest form of anger hits, but sometimes the people watching the person angered see something else. They watch as the light focuses in the sharp eyes that glare, as the fists balled from their normally calm position. All the light, the focus went to that person; nothing else seemed real as one of the highest forms of emotion kicked into gear.

It's stepping stones, a fiery staircase, which leads to the explosion of fury. For some, the path was short or blocked off with control. Others were covered in dust, the ragged surface rarely used.

In no way did that mean that rage was impossible.

Some just need more of a push than others.

The racial slurs rained down like needles; none of them ruining the proud agent in one blow, but instead imbedding themselves into the skin to where soon nothing would be left than a bleeding patch instead of a person.

"Hey nigger, how's about you come over here and suck m…."

"Fuck you" Her hiss is mirrored by the growls of her fellow captives, who move slightly closer together. The guns pointed at them are held loosely yet still warning to not try anything. They don't press their luck, just coming close enough to where they feel more like a unit.

One force united that would survive this.

"Don't be like that Chocolate Drop" A hand comes up to leisurely cup her face, the lust is leaking out of every outlet with the man.

Disgust fills him; he hears the faint growl of anger growing in the back of his mind.

"Don't touch her" The steel voice cuts through the tension, announcing an order that would be followed. It brought a warning that trouble would come if they didn't back off.

In the corner of his eye, he can see the other bastards smirking in amusement, thinking that this was fun. Negotiations had failed and their brave leader had been silent knowing that talking was unneeded and a waste of breath.

Until now that is.

If a glare was a bullet, the man who had verbally abused and was currently touching her would have five thousand machine gun rounds in his skull right then. They move even closer, just a centimeter, so that their allies were right there.

The man just laughs in the face of the unspoken threat from the three of them, before taking a handful of black to pull their jewel from her place. After sitting for an extended amount of time, one should rise slowly to their feet, not yanked by force.

It was not the motion, but the meaning that caused blood start to boil. He had touched her, he had hurt her; she was a part of them, he needed to die.

He started to feel himself rise, go through the motions to stand up; fear and concern the most dominate in his mind. The taste of anger was still there, but it was only a footnote as he prepared to rush to support her.

Her face grimaced in pain as the grip became tighter.

Turns out he wasn't the only one on the verge of anger.

Nor was he the only one to rise.

He is the closest to her; it was only a few seconds to which it was him answering the male instinct to protect instead of one of the others. It was a foolish attempt, one that reeked of desperation, but was filled with anger and protective aspects as well.

It must not have occurred the odds of success were slim to none with his hands tied, somehow he expected their leader to do something unplanned instead of the analyst.

Rising, the man rushed their captor, catching him off balance and head-butting him away. It worked for a moment, just for a brief second it seemed that they were not completely at the mercy of enemies. But then reality came to run them over like a tank.

"LOOK OUT!" His lungs burned from the sudden use of oxygen in a massive quantity, his eyes becoming clearer than before as a rifle end came to connect with her defender's face. He wasn't the only one who screamed as Brandt fell unable to stop his fall with his hands, his body sliding against the floor till the momentum finally dissipated.

The air grew thick around him as he saw his teammate, his buddy, stay motionless. Tears started to leak from her eyes, the action having been what broke her, not the needles. Somehow she remained standing, where as he slid back down the wall be had been seated against, losing all momentum that he had had.

"Brandt" He couldn't move enough to speak, Ethan filled in as he rose to his menacing full height. The word was a question, but one to ask of confirmation. It was an 'are you alright?' with a dash of 'everything is going to be okay' mixed in for the rest of them.

Nothing.

Nothing, his head repeated.

The accelerated irritation made itself known once again, the pain of seeing the man who he trusted with his life unmoving on the floor making it mutate further into anger.

A flicker held back the rage, movement.

An almost silent moan escaped to their ears as the body twitched slowly; as if it was trying to make sure every fiber of the body was ready before it rose up. Without seeing it, he knew the jaw was already bruising.

But it was nothing too serious, he almost sighed in relief as their teammate slid into a sitting position.

Then one of the thugs pulled the analyst up by an arm, somewhat gently compared to how they had first been thrown into the room. Any thoughts of gentle went out the window the moment when Brandt reached his full height.

A fist drove itself into the man's stomach, causing him to gasp and fall to his knees. Or at least he would of if another man had not appeared to hold their teammate up. He felt the air go out from his own lungs, the anguish and pure pain on the man's face making his sweet emotion neurons explode.

The main psycho, as Jane had affectionately labeled him when they had first been captured, then began to repeat what the rifle butt had started. Before his friend, the one he bantered with over stupid things, could catch a moment of breath to stop his burning lungs, another row of knuckles made contact.

The sound of skin against skin fell silent as he just watched, his brain blocking out the sound as it tried to comprehend the sight of one of them being turned into a bloody piece of meat.

Over and over and over…overoveroverover….

The only difference in the constant pattern was the amount of red that appeared in his sight. Thousands of drops of blood flowed down skin to the floor; it might have captivated him if all the attention, the spotlight, wasn't on the attack.

He wasn't aware he was screaming until there was a pause in the continuous loop of punches and kicks; three combined voices becoming the dominant sound in the room. He was still sitting, his energy going into pleading for them to stop. Emotions were leaking out without him pushing them back; the color of crimson coming to be his focus.

Red.

Nothing else, not even Ethan, who was desperately trying to get Brandt back within their team boundaries. The invisible lines where they could protect him, could prevent the fists from reaching him.

He, in his distant looking, did not notice their leader take a few steps toward the beaten man, cautiously watching the reactions of the enemy. His demeanor, had he been looking, was a mixture of intimidation but with a tint of 'everything is going to be alright' for them. Jane had probably stopped crying, sitting now with puffy eyes.

And he did nothing.

Nothing; he didn't hug her to reassure her. He didn't reach out to somehow comfort.

Nothing; he didn't glare at the enemy, but that wouldn't help anything.

NOTHING, his brain screamed.

The red was still in his sights, but his body roared in panic in time with the gun.

His eyes refocused to see more red appear, with the hiss of pain.

The moment before an explosion, the very second before air becomes fire turning everything to dust, there is silence. Fearless, emotionless silence in which time seems to slow and nothing exists except what was in your sight when the moment hits.

If he was deaf before this moment, then it was as if his ears had never existed.

Everything was seen as though it was a silent movie, without subtitles, the fallen bad guy slowly crumpling to the ground with the obvious stain signifying that he was down for the count. Only this time, it was the hero that fell with the red leaking.

The green eyes that watched out for all of them widened before fluttering.

Had his eardrums existed, he may have heard Jane scream as she ran to cradle the body.

But he didn't hear, not even his own scream, only the feeling of a burning voice box told him that he was making noise.

The people, both ally and enemy seemed to smudge as time slowed, becoming faint shadows that stretched. A little bit remaining after the body moved, to dissipate after a moment. Everyone else was moving, to a tap of the foot or holding one's shirt against another's shoulder.

But he didn't move, not even as she began to sob and move her mouth in what seemed like begging, more than likely for Ethan not to leave them.

Numbness came with cold, with shock; but he was beyond that. Nothing remained, except his empty shell and the silent tragedy playing out before him.

But he didn't feel, not a hint of anything at all; not even when a bleeding and bruised Brandt crawled his way to his fallen counterpart. It seemed as though he was trying to reassure Jane, although the shaking was visible to all. He was unaware of their leader's condition, which would normally induce panic, but now nothing.

He had fallen into the backdrop, the part that no one paid attention to as the main stars of the show continued. He was a stone gargoyle, an empty form of stone that could do nothing, say nothing, and feel nothing.

Nothing…

His family huddled together, the ones who cared for him, with their backs to the enemy. The bastard had ignored him, no on remembered him, as they came to stand before him. His back formed a dark wall of muscle, which moved slightly as the nerves connected to the hand moved.

The silver broke the black and white and red coloring, reminding him that a color beside red existed. The leader was more than likely smiling with his gun raised and pointed at them.

The emptiness ached to be filled with something, anything.

A gun, aimed.

At the ones who had saved him, protected him from dangers unseen, and made sure to entertain him at the same time.

A spark.

There was silence, the same that occurred before a bomb exploded. The red consumed him, overshadowing the other colors. Fire burned his blood, but the pain seemed to fade. His eyes focused on them, taking in every last anguished tear as motivation.

He was standing, despite him remembering nothing of moving; the sound of flesh against flesh and metal against ground echoed as the gun fell. Somehow the man remained unmoving once he hit the ground; perhaps it was the kick to the head that he was later told he had delivered.

The other men, two to be exact, raised their weapons in unison both of which made no difference. One went down from fire redirected, the other pushed mercilessly against the wall until the loud crack of a head making contact against concrete was heard.

The blood vessels seemed to have a mind of their own, determined to explode and spill more red. Breathing seemed to come suddenly, reminding him that his cells were burning from a lack of oxygen. Everything hurt, but nothing mattered as he watched the red drain from the bastard's body. The ringing in his ears grew louder even though it was all over, the roaring preventing him from hearing his own name.

"Benji"

Feeling against his skin caused him to twitch, but somehow he did not overreact to the calloused hand against his exposed forearm. He couldn't quite place the voice; he tried to pull enough brain cells together to do so.

Will, came the answer as his arms were released from their plastic cuffs.

The overworked organ known as his heart slowed, just barely enough to where he could here himself panting from the sudden use of energy.

He caught sight of the man once he turned to face the others, their faces blank to him in his hazed state. Jane had helped Ethan to his feet after their bonds had been cut, his face barely having a trace of pain on it.

Nothing was said, nothing needed to be said.

Giving his arm a squeeze, Brandt released his hold.

Still breathing heavily to reclaim lost air, he watched the others.

Jane reached out, after making sure their leader could stand with his injured shoulder, to gently wrap him in a light hug. It lasted for less than a moment, but he felt himself be grounded, his normal emotions filing back into place.

Two green eyes stared into his, before the uninjured arm came to rest on his shoulder.

'Good Job' the gesture said, the others mirrored the statement.

They were whole, everything was okay.

It was over.

Forgetting the other men, their captors and rival agents, they left the room and the events behind. No one spoke of it, although they all knew the truth. Everyone could be pushed to the edge, to fall over into the depths of fire.

They were a team, one that was more of a family than a unit.

A wall of protection for the others; no matter who it was, no matter what was happening, no matter when the event occurred.

And that was just the way it was.

Reviews?