Disclaimer: I own the Fast and the Furious and am rich…wait, that was a dream. My bad.

Warnings: This is an AU story. Brian is sixteen years old (he graduated high school at 12) and Dom and Letty's son. The story line starts as the same.

Hi, guys!! So wrote the Tran scene! Whatcha think? Cuz, you know, it's always rewritable. Anywho, hope you like the chapter, Love, Brownie  Please R&R.

Our Son

Chapter 10: Meet the Trans

"Child abuse does not go away, but 90 percent of child abuse is preventable." Karen Adams

As soon as they stopped at the isolated park near the T and K Food Market, Brian raced to get out of the car, an action, he noticed, that was mirrored by Dom, and ignored the bikers, as they took of their helmets. Instead he occupied himself with something more constructive, studying his surroundings and looking for something…anything that could maybe – hopefully – help him identify the bikers as being the ones who were hijacking the trucks.

His thoughts were pulled away from his search and he was forced to look up into the face of a stocky Chinese man wearing a black leather jacket, some sort of lizard-skin patterned leather pants, who was staring at him weirdly, oh and, did he forget to mention, holding a gun, when he heard the sound of a rifle being lifted and cocked. His attention them moved to a thinner, better-looking man, when he, as he walked toward the car and them, said, "I thought we had an agreement: you stay away, I stay away." He paused to study the car from the side, and then continued, "Everybody stays happy." Looking at the front of the car, he ultimately headed toward Dom, who, in an exasperated voice, explained, "We got lost, Johnny. What do you want me to tell you?"

"Who's we?" Johnny inquired in lieu of an explanation as his eyes flitted to Brian. The 16-year-old-in-disguise kept his cool, despite the electric gun that was being pointed at him, as Dom, with his hand pointing toward him, answered, "Um, my new mechanic.

"Brian, meet Johnny Tran," he nodded his head toward the skinny dude in the red leather jacket, who seemed to be in charge, then continued, "The guy in the snakeskin pants, that's his cousin, Lance." This information caused Brian's eyes to flitter to the guy holding the rifle, and he nearly fidgeted with the feelings of discomfort that assaulted him as the spiky-haired man kept staring at him with an unfathomable expression covering his face. He was grateful for the reprieve, when his attention moved back to Dom and Johnny, when Dom changed the subject, "So, when are you gonna give me a shot at that Honda 2000 of yours?"

Johnny ignored him in favor of addressing Brian, "This your ride?"

"It was. It's his now," he responded without a hitch, despite the pair of eyes that he could swear were burning a hole in the back of his head, a fact that made him unbelievably proud of himself, and inclined his head at Dom.

"No, it's not," countered Dom, confusing the hell out of Dom and causing his expressive eyes to give it away, "I haven't taken delivery."

Apparently that was what Tran was waiting for, as he, with an amused expression covering his face, ran his hand lovingly over the hood of the car and observed, "Then it's nobody's car, but somebody obviously put in the wrench time." His hand rubbing circles on the roof of the car, he turned toward his cousin and queried, "What do you think, Lance?" Then, for the first time since he'd first raised the gun, Brian felt the eyes move from him and barely restrained the sigh of relief that was intent on escaping and listened as the creeper remarked, "It's an amazing machine."

"Yes, indeed," agreed his cousin, sounding like he'd come to a decision, and Brian felt like they'd gotten off too easy, when all Tran did was slap Dom's arm twice and declare, "Let's go." He stared uneasily as Tran got on the bike with Lance copying his actions and asserting, "I'll see you in the desert next month. Be ready to have you ass handed to you."

Scratching the back of his neck, what Brian knew to be an invariable act of unease, Dom retorted, "You're gonna need more than that crotch rocket."

"I got something for you," declared Tran as he slipped on his helmet and what Brian assumed was his girlfriend sat behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Then, he revved the engine and roared off into the night with the rest of the gang following his lead.

"What the hell was that all about," questioned Brian, feeling more like himself and more at ease now that Lance was gone.

"Long story, I'll tell you later," said Dom as he opened the door, "Let's get outta here." They were both halfway in the car, when they heard the sounds of roaring engines return, and quickly pulled out, shutting the door when Tran and Lance came to a stop.

He flinched at the sound of the first bullet, then ran without abandon or shame in the other direction when the gunshots started raining down on the car, thinking, 'Holy sh...ugarmuffins.'

Once he'd deemed that he was far away, he came to a stop, watched the windows crash to the ground, and the tires slowly go flat. He was watching the car droop to the ground so avidly, that he didn't even notice the Trans leave. Then, when the car started to catch fire, he didn't move, just fixated on the flames and was soon lost in the past.

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Approximately five and a half years ago, Pasadena, California

Ten-year-old Brian O' Conner tiptoed down the curved, wooden staircase of his foster parents' home, avoiding the rickety step at the bottom that always creaked. Standing on the second-to-last step, he held on to the railing, which caused his wrist to throb, and leaned forward so that he could look both ways. After a quick look in both directions, Brian, who was now satisfied that no one else was downstairs, swung down using his grip on the railing and landed on the floor with a 'thump.'

Holding his sprained, possibly broken wrist the little boy headed into the kitchen and, once there, made a beeline for the refrigerator. Opening it with the least amount of sound possible, the hungry kid grabbed the leftovers from the dinner that he hadn't been allowed to eat as punishment for "him" breaking his foster mother's favorite vase. Feeling ecstatic at the thought of finally eating after a day of starvation, he, since both his hands were occupied with , kicked the door shut, not noticing the loud sound that the action produced.

After peeling off the saran wrap, Brian turned and dug through the dishwasher for a spoon. A smile came over his face and he internally raised a fist in victory, when he found one. He got up, shut the dishwasher, and then tried to turn. His smile vanished when he wasn't successful due to the hand that was now clamped on his shoulder.

"What do you think you're doing, you little bastard?" asked his foster father, Frank, rhetorically, and though Brian knew that, he still answered, "Nnn- nothing, Sir."

"What the fuck is your problem, you piece of shit," ranted Frank as he fisted Brian's dirt-matted hair and used the hold to drag him into the living room and, then toss him onto the carpet next to the fireplace.

"You know what," he continued, squatting down next to the fire and pulling out a cigar, causing Brian to think that he was talking to himself, "I don't care what your problem is, I'm just sick of it. First off, we invite you into our house…"

"Only cuz you wanted the money," interrupted Brian, feeling a burning pain in his stomach when the retard got up from his spot and kicked him for his "insolence."

Apparently feeling satisfied after the kick, Frank went back to his spot, lit the cigar, and continued, "take care of you…" Brian snorted, an act that Frank either ignored or didn't notice, "…feed you…"

At that ridiculous statement, Brian started cackling, "Hahaha, dang, dude, you should be a freakin' comedian cuz that's the funniest thing I've heard since watching Jeff Dunham's Achmed the Dead Terrorist."

"Feed me?" he remarked, his voice taking on a slight incredulous tone, "I can't remember the last thing I had to eat, my head hurts and it feels like there's a freakin' tornado running around in my stoma…" he trailed off when a fist made contact with his nose. The force of the punch pushed him backwards and caused the back of his head to crash into the wall. He blinked to clear the black spots from his vision, his head throbbing in sync with the beat of his heart. His vision now clear, he leaned his head against the wall and looked up at his foster father through his mop of hair, using the back of his right hand to wipe off the blood by his nose and, then, pinching the bridge of it to stem the blood flow.

The throbbing in his head increased tenfold and he was hit by Déjà vu, when Frank grabbed him by his hair and tossed him onto the floor. He moaned, curling up in a fetal position to protect himself from the kicks that always came, but screamed, "Aaah," when he felt a hot, white pain in his bare back cause by something round…cylindrical, maybe, instead.

It went on for what seemed like forever and he felt nauseous when the smell of burning flesh – his burning flesh – reached him and he used every ounce of will-power he had to not dry heave and cause himself further pain. When the pain finally ended, Brian opened his eyes and through his tears saw his weapon of torture aka Frank's cigar. He only had a second's notice: his foster father's maniacal grin, before he was once more attacked with the improvised, but efficient tool of torture. As he screamed anew, he heard a voice yell, "Nos," which caused him to wonder, 'Who is that?'

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Present Day

Dom watched as the car caught and turned to catch Brian's reaction, but saw that he was lost, staring at the fire. He was pulled away from his thoughts of what Brian could possibly be thinking about at a moment like this by a flicker of blue fire on the hood of the car and, before he knew it, he was yelling, "Nos!" and feeling more worried than he'd ever before in his life.

When Brian didn't move, Dom felt the insane urge to run over to him, to protect him, but he with great difficulty squashed it down, knowing that it would have been a foolish action. "Bri!" he screamed for the second time in two seconds.

And felt great relief when he saw Brian jerk, "Run," he screamed at him, sighing when he got out of there just in the nick of time.

When the fireworks were over, Dom walked over to Brian and they started the long journey in silence. That is, until Brian asked, "So, what the hell was that all about?"

"It's a long story," repeated Dom, as they kept walking.

"Well," observed Brian, "we got a twenty mile hike. Humor me." 'Cuz I could use all the help I can get to forget the weirdness that was Lance Tran.

Dom answered his question "A business deal that went sour. Plus I made the mistake of sleeping with his sister."

…TBC…

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