Samson

Disclaimer – I don't own the BMFM (obviously) and I haven't seen the show in ten years, so character nuances are liable to out. Having said that I will put my hand up right now and say I think Throttle is definitely OOC towards the end of the flashback.

A.N ; Italics - Flashback please let me know if it works …

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It had been two weeks, and being in the garage without Vinnie around was daunting. Everywhere she looked Charley could see all sorts of items that reminded her of his vitality and life. Sure he had annoyed her about as much as he had amused her but she couldn't help but miss the young mouse. Lying on a tarpaulin were parts of his bike engine, the precious AI removed and in the care of Throttle and Modo. Even when she closed her eyes she could feel him, his unmistakable scent hanging in the air like the first frost of winter. Dressed in blue jeans, a thick black sweater and with a scarf to stave off the chill that had succeeded in getting into her bones that fateful night she still shivered involuntarily. No one, especially someone who couldn't swim, deserved the slow death that drowning could bring. Wandering into the empty, quiet kitchen she opened the door to her large 1950's fridge only to have the stark plastic Tupperwares stare hollowly back at her. Sighing she ran her hand through her considerably shorter brown hair. Even cutting off most of it had not succeeded in removing the sickly stench, and horrible visions that night by the river had brought. With a degree of detachment she pulled open the largest plastic carton removing the beige bread buns and their now cold, gelatinous filling. Wrapping up the chilli dogs she packed them into her black leather holdall and left the garage.

The journey to Quigley's Field was painful and slow. Ever since that night the guys had changed, and without Vincent around to lift their respective mood or joke about his fantastic last minute daredevil escape … A tidal wave of emotion ran through her to match the rising bile in her throat. She paused, closing her eyes at the thought of facing them all, a hand at her mouth. Shuddering at what it was she had to face, she continued towards the football field. The chill in the air laughing at her as it sliced through the thick protective layers of cloth she had clawed on in an attempt to escape it.

"Charley-girl …" Throttle greeted her upon her arrival; his soft voice unable to hide the exhaustion and worry that had consumed him over the past few days. At his feet lay the Artificial Intelligence from Vinnie's bike, the stench of sludge from the river hanging in the air as he cleaned it up. On the small wooden table to his right stood a tin pot the contents of which had once been pure, clean water but now resembled an inky, filthy soup that reflected the darkness and lack of hope that had settled down upon the survivors. "I've been cleaning her up." He whispered, glancing back to Charley with a small, tired smile.

Charley returned his tired smile, "I've brought lunch …" looking up she noted the calm that hung over the stadium. Her brow knotted as she attempted to reconcile the problem. "Where's Modo?"

Guilt washed over as she asked his Bro, how could she have not noted the absence of the large grey mouse? Fear ran through her as head turned frantically in a thousand different directions. The group was vulnerable enough as it was at the moment, gripping the plastic Tupperware tightly in her gloved hands she only started to calm at the sight of Lil Ho. Her relief was short lived; looking at the bike only reminded her of the night in question. Across her beautiful midnight black bodywork were thick, ugly lightning strikes of mud. The usually shining alloys were coated in tentacles of slime, plastic bags and strands of algae. To her right stood the remains of what had once been a beautiful red motorcycle. Without the engine or AI, the scratched, grime coated body lay forlornly on the muted grey of the concrete floor, the metallic skeleton of the beast standing proudly, yet grotesquely at its side The once ruby red, elegant beauty a poor shadow of its former self. It merely existed, fighting on another day, just like its rider.

"Charley?" Blinking she turned to look at Throttle, the concern the mouse had for her not lost.

Smiling weakly she handed the plastic container to him, "I didn't hear you."

"I said, Modo is inside, "his hidden eyes flickering to the partially destroyed ship that took up much of the floor space, "With Vincent."

"Oh …" Smiling at her own foolish fears she shook her head, "I can …" her voice trailed off, whilst her fingers wandered aimlessly through the air and towards the open ship door.

POP The sound of the lid lifting from the airtight container resonated through the horribly quiet area, echoing onwards and losing its battle with its environment. Jumping at the sound both smiled inwardly. What they thought but never said was true, Vincent was the life and soul of the party, and without his presence the world was a quieter, scarier place. "Hmm…" Fingering one of the bread rolls the mouse smiled, "Yea, I'm sure he would appreciate it."

--

Two weeks. During one of his less feverish moments Vincent had picked up on that fact. Now his temperature ran considerably lower, and his breathing was becoming easier and easier with each passing day. Everyday without fail Modo would come in armed with stories and medicine. The large grey mouse's dedication was beyond admirable, and some small part of the boy's mind knew this to be the case. But nothing that he could say or do could change the facts. His scream had echoed through the disturbingly quiet vicinity three days earlier. It had terrified his Bro's, though whether it had been the sight of seeing their lively, usually hyper, happy friend on the floor in agony, or because of what they saw when he looked at them for desperate reassurance he couldn't tell. He was still bitter about the fact they had resorted to sedating him when they had fought for control of his hands.

--

"Out." His voice was painfully deflated, a bitterness that was uncharacteristic for him present in his eyes and demeanour. When Charley didn't move he repeated his request with more force, his voice cracking between the syllables, "GET OUT." Closing his eyes in order to shut out her shocked expression, and predictably wide eyes staring at him he turned his head away from the harsh, metallic light that shone down onto his face. It didn't matter though, even now, with his face pressed down into soft pillow that supported his head he could feel it. The dry, naked, taut flesh that stretched over the side of his skull, extending down to his cheek bone and across his right eyebrow. Fresh, deep and revoltingly hideous scratch marks extended down over his silky, virginal white fur, they all started from different points upon his skull. The worst started at the crown of his head and extended up and over his cranium, even his ear had been torn during the fight for control, leaving an ugly red-black line in his now healing right lobe.

--

Recovering had been Hell for the young mouse. With so much nervous energy, and a rabid dislike for hospitals treating him had been horrible. As soon as Vinnie had discovered he could get even a little way from his confined quarters he had done so. And so there had been something mildly amusing about stumbling half cock towards the bathroom. But he had needed a leak, and despite his weak legs, had made the journey successfully. So his Bro's could put that in their pipes and smoke it! Shaking with the cold that had claimed his body that night, he hadn't noticed how light his head had felt until he had turned to wash his hands. Man, he had been good, not many mice survived a night in the drink. Humming quietly to himself, force of habit caused him to glance up into the mirror. At first he thought he was hallucinating again, he had had many bad nights when he had first returned home when he had seen things.

But there was something about the expanse of greyish pink tissue that struck a chord deep within his soul. The pock marks that ran along his cheekbone up towards the bridge of his nose and the yellowed, cracked flesh that culminated there. Thousands of tiny blue and purple lines that ran along the inner ridge of his eye socket; he knew they were tendons and nerve endings. The white fur that ran so innocently up towards his nose, and down over his forehead before it thinned out to reveal... Throughout every fibre of his being a horrible icy chill ran, there was something missing, and as the cold settled into the pit of his stomach his breathing had increased. Time had slowed whilst with a shaking hand he brought up his fingers to trace along the side of his exposed face. The naked fear that set his eyes alight was temporarily hidden behind eyes that snapped shut to block out the image that hung before him. The yellow, cracked flesh had come away on his fingertips, the bumps of tendons and exposed muscles causing him to flinch as he stimulated areas that had long forgot what it had felt like to feel the natural environment on it.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" his scream had been anguished and guttural in the same instance. His left hand had grasped the side of the cheap tin basin so tightly that his knuckles reddened whilst his right hand continued to run over the side of his face, his finger tips feverishly searching for the reassuringly cold steel that hid his scars from the world. It had to be there, it simply had to be … opening his eyes once again the young albino fervently sought for something that he could recognise. His weak legs collapsed beneath him, dropping him onto the floor and at the mercy of his feverish intent. "No …" he had repeated again and again, his volume, and distress increasing as sharp finger nails and shaking hands had clawed over his face and skull. Tears of blood and sweat had ran down the side of his head, to trickle onto his legs and the emotionless grey floor, as he raked his fingers deeper and deeper into his flesh. Again the desperate thought had ran through his head. It had to be there … Somewhere …. It simply had to be…

"VINCENT!" Curled at the base of the sink, with his head in his hands lay their bro. His legs lay spread eagled across the grey concrete, his shaking upper torso leaning against the support of the mockingly shiny sink. The metal reflecting the droplets of blood that had been flicked everywhere. His entire being shook violently as his hands tried to find the metal plate that had become a part of his everyday life. A part of his face. "VINCENT!"

There had been something about the way that Throttle had called to him that made him pause in his desperate search. Through the blood and the fear he had looked up from behind bloodied, shaking limbs to see his bro's standing there. His lower jaw trembled as he observed the shock and surprise exhibited at seeing him like this. Seeing him naked. Hideously malformed. Ugly. The look on Modo's face had been by far the worse, through ragged breaths he had looked from his larger brother's face to Throttle's only to see the same shock behind the mirrored glass. His face pulled into a tight grimace as his eyes caught sight and focussed on the bleeding, cracked flesh in the lens of the glass. "Nnnnnoooo…." Turning away from their horrified faces his frenzied attack had resumed …

"Vincent …" the call made him claw harder, it would be there. "Vinnie …" he had buried his head away from their voices, before two firm hands had wrapped around wrists and tried to pull his limbs back.

"LET GO OF ME!"

The fight between leader and rebel had been a fierce tug of war that had ended with Vinnie's arm tearing through the small metal stud in his right ear, falling backwards Modo intervened. His cold metal arm had caught the flailing arm as it tried to resume its attempt at irradicating all traces of the old war wound. "Shhh …" It hadn't mattered how hard he had battled against Modo gentle, but forceful strength, he couldn't get his right arm back. "Bro …" Lifted, shaking from the floor had only served to anger him all the more, furious yet fearful tears finally dropping down his cheeks. The saltwater had got lost in the river of blood that cascaded down the right hand side of his face. The additional pain lost in a well of negative emotions he so rarely showed. Standing, and still shaking he tugged against the metallic grasp, his free arm no longer clawing at his face but focussed on getting back his freedom, his distress temporarily shifting targets with each furiously aimed yet weak punch that had pounded into the large grey mouse's metal breastplate . "Let go … Let me go … LET GO!"

And just like that it had been over. He hadn't noticed Throttle disappear into the small kitchenette, his worry at his friend's visible distress sufficient to warrant a physical intervention of a different kind. With Modo holding him the tan mouse had returned to the room with a plastic cup, and between the two of them they had managed to get him to drink its contents. Vinnie had found it difficult to be angry, terrified and upset with a quarter of Martian Chloroform inside him but he had tried. For about thirty seconds afterwards he had fought with the interfering hands that had wiped away the blood that dripped down from his exposed brow and seeped over his cheekbone, had cursed and sobbed at the gentle voices that whispered their apologies for being so forceful.

"Bro, it's okay … it's okay now …" he had heard as his body sagged under the metal arm that held it in place. His eyes had fluttered stubbornly open one final time to capture the blurred image of concern and mutual fear that Throttle and Modo had wordlessly shared before carrying him back through to his room in the barrel of the ship.

They had never, in all of their years together, seen Vinnie react so violently to an injury, and it had been that that had scared them.

--

With its high arcing ceiling and reflective lights to cast long protective shadows over the room it was easy to miss the large grey mouse that also occupied the room. The room itself was sparsely decorated; upon his request Modo had removed as many reflective surfaces from the room as was humanly possible. That had meant the removal of the pictures that had hung on the wall, the small mirror, the alarm clock, even the glass of water that he had been brought upon waking on that terrifying day had been rejected. Now, in order to hide from the dull reflective metal tiles that comprised the walls, the room had been plunged into a permanent darkness that was seldom altered.

"It's just Charley-ma' am." sitting in the corner of the sterile metal room Modo was almost lost to the shadows that shrouded everything. If the room was lit then it would be a bright and pleasant place to be.

"She was starin'" a small voice whispered.

"Are you hungry yet?"

"No."

Pausing Modo fell silent once again, his single red eye glowing softly in the darkness. From his point in the room he studied Vinnie. He looked so small and lost; lying on the large metal bed in a foetal position, his right arm wrapped around the pillow he hugged to his chest and marked face, obscuring the wounds old and new from view. He watched his visible glassy left eye, blink, and saw the tiny tear streak down over the bridge of his nose to disappear into his folded arms and hidden snout. A broken bone would have brought an unyielding holy Hell down upon Limburger and his goons, but even tales of daily, purposefully violent escapades into the Plutarkian stronghold couldn't bring Vincent back to the surface. A broken spirit it seemed would take something more than lumps of breeze block and tales of war. And so for the past three days Modo and Throttle had stayed in keeping a careful eye on the baby of the trio. At least when he had been feverish and ill they had been able to make him smile during his lucid moments.

"Are you hungry?" the small voice snapped him out of his quiet thoughts.

"A little, it can wait Bro."

"Go, I want to take a nap."

"Charley-ma'am," Modo caught up with the stunned girl a little further up the ship's corridor. His eyes held the apology that Vincent couldn't voice.

"He looked …" she paused and shook her head, "It didn't look that bad. How could he …" biting down onto her lip to stifle the tiny sob that wanted to come forth.

"I don't know." Drawing her into a gentle embrace he whispered through her hair, his metallic arm gently squeezing her shoulder. "Give him some time Charley-ma'am." Releasing her he offered her the crook of his arm so that he could escort her to lunch. "Maybe he'll feel like company after lunch?" Not a fan of false hope Modo still offered her the most reassuring smile he could muster.

"After lunch?"

"If he's awake."

She smiled softly, "Yea, after lunch."

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Thank you to the reviewers - I really appreciate it. Hope you like this part ...
Heir