A/N:

Aaaaaangst! Y dew I dew dis? :( Does this fanfiction exist just to torture these beautiful characters? What am I doing!? Last chapter was so happy! *Sobs* I'm a moooonsteeeeeeeeeer!

...

This is the last full flashback chapter. Once again, I originally was going to do just one, but it was waaayyyyyyyyy too long so I wrote two. I actually like it better with them separated. Sets the different moods better.

Grab some tissues, you may cry... oh wait, I can't make people cry. Well... I don't know, feel sympathetic for these poor guys!

So yeah... enjoy reading? Maybe? Possibly? Thank you.

~ Ashla.

A flash of light shone in the clouded sky for a moment before fading away. The sound of thunder cracking was unmistakable. Rain poured, it poured as heavy as the tears falling from his eyes. Drenched from the downpour, but he was hardly caring. He couldn't see very well past his blond hair, which was covering his eyes. He had never cried this hard in his life, and up until the present point in our story, never would again. He did not watch the empty sidewalks, he let himself fall in the cocoon made of solid ice, numb to the world.

What he had just gone through was unspeakable.

He had no idea where he was, or where he was going. Quite frankly he did not care. Tears still somehow drenching his face more than the pounding rain, he hugged himself as he vibrated in shakes. He had desperately needed to get away, and was in the direct path of letting himself go. Slow footsteps, he was not watching where he was going at all. On an old sidewalk, an elevated sidewalk dead ahead, he fell over it, catching himself by the hands as he braced his fall. The feeling of skin tearing under the sharp pavement was easily noticeable, same with the pain. Did it take just that to make him stop sobbing? After a moment of feeling his hands throb, lying motionless on the ground, he pulled himself to his knees. He slowly pulled his palms towards him. Indeed, he was bleeding. Bleeding. Blood was coming up on his hands, made it feel like blood was on his hands even more. As more thunder roared in the clouded sky, he stared in silent fear of his hands, until...

"-Brandon!?"

Brandon's eyes flashed up. From beyond his own hair, he recognized that person instantly, more from the accent than from what he could see.

A moment of horrified silence passed. Wyatt was stunned, Brandon was so numb he couldn't find the remaining strength to care. As the rain poured, a third voice cut in. Elderly, gentle, but shocked, his grandmother cried out, "Oh dear, are you okay, sweetie?"

A towel was thrown onto his drenched head. No hope for his soaked through clothes, at least they could take care of his hair. So Wyatt did just that. Much rougher than what he may have meant, the southerner rustled his damp hair, "Here we go..."

Brandon never used a hairdryer, so this was the first time. For all he could tell, the hot breeze of warm air was enough to actually soothe him. When Wyatt stopped, still using the brush to get his hair in its usual position, the usually aggressive kid smiled softly, "There. Better!"

A slob to the T, Wyatt carelessly hung the hair dryer and tossed the hairbrush onto the bathroom sink. Brandon really didn't respond much, just looked blankly into the mirror with exhaustion. Wyatt crossed his arms, raising his eyebrow at the water from his clothes soaking through the towels on the floor, "I might still have my old clothes lyin' around..."

Recently, Wyatt had hit a bit of a growth spurt, mostly from his increasing interest and partaking in weight lifting. He was developing a lot stronger upper body strength - not like he wasn't healthy enough to begin with - and already was in different clothes than he was last summer. Of course, while Gage refused to admit it, Rhett had slipped the info to Brandon that he secretly was becoming more nervous around him. Still, it was only last year that this started, and there was a good chance that Wyatt had an old shirt and pants somewhere around the house.

Wyatt held out his arms, motioning Brandon to stay where he was, "I'll be right back. Don't move, don't ruin our floor." With that, he left the bathroom, calling to his grandmother, "Grammy Gram?"

Brandon did not move at all. As much as that dryer had been nice, he was still too haunted to care how cold and wet he was. Too distracted by the terrible memories, worthy of months of night terrors, to give any notice too how poor of a condition he was in. It was certainly good that somebody cared though, and he walked in with a set of dry clothes, "You can keep 'em if 'ya like, they really don't fit me."

He set them neatly on the sink counter, pushing his black hair, which surely was increasing in length, behind his ears. He gave Brandon another smile, "Come down when 'yur done." He sang a bit as he walked out, "Grammy Gram's makin' cookies!"

As the door closed, Brandon cast one look in that direction and then to the clothes. Brandon's first thought: Who cares about some dumb, heated mixture of dough and chocolate?

None the less, he was functioning enough to slowly tug at his buttoned shirt. Depression made a simple clothes change a dragging chore.

Brandon stepped down the stairs slowly, hair once again falling over his face. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants and Wyatt's black t-shirt with a smiling, yellow sun on it.

Oh, the irony. It was enough to literally kill.

Having already been here many times, as he never let Wyatt come over to his house (for reasons,) he walked into the living room. Wyatt was sitting on the couch, staring off into space. Wow, what a rare sight. A thrill seeker usually determined to cram in as much adrenaline releasing, heart pounding activities as possible into his life was staring off into space... and his face was melancholy. Brandon noticed he was holding a small photo in his hand, too small to even clearly see from across the room. Even with his other hand propping his chin up, he slowly clenched the picture in the palm of his hand, squeezing it as he closed his eyes in... was that longing?

Brandon had never seen him like this before. Never. For several years spent as friends, this was the first time he saw him like this. A part of Brandon wanted to scream at him for being completely out of character, scaring him in his vulnerability, but there was that apathetic part of him too... that was glad he was not the only one feeling down this evening.

As the rain pounded on the windows, making the outside world a blur, only the sound of the clock ticking and one or two thunder cracks here and there, Brandon watched Wyatt reminisce to himself with ocean dark, empathetic eyes. His bony hand against the entrance arch, he squeezed the white wall. Several minutes passed, Wyatt didn't even notice Brandon was there. The western rooted boy opened his green eyes, looking down at his clenched fist. He slowly unraveled his hand; deep, desperate eyes gazing into the photo in his palm, "I'll find you..." His whisper was so... unusual for someone usually so peppy and adventurous.

He mumbled another word to himself. Despite the fact it was a single syllable word, it was too low to hear well. A single tear fell from emerald orbs, causing more fear to settle into the intellectual prodigy's heart. This was so unlike Wyatt. Unlike three years of that narcissistic but bold and lovable jerk who rivaled Gage and stupidly still regularly got close to rattlesnakes. For all this worry though, Brandon suddenly realized something...

Didn't Wyatt think he was alone right now?

Without anyone else watching him, without anyone else to impress, without anyone to somehow prove himself to, the opportunities to either live up or mess up were not immediately jumped to. Without anyone watching the bragging fool to either judge him or bathe him in the impressed applause and praise that fueled his whole being, Wyatt was free to loosen up... Wyatt was free to cry. By himself, it was suddenly obvious. With all the times Brandon hid so many things about himself, his less appreciative traits, away from both his mom and friends, it was no wonder repressed emotions were unleashed. A quickly angered kid could have deceiving motives. What if Wyatt felt more pain than hate? Like Brandon had an opinion as a whole, and never shared it... This was the perfect image of the act of hiding emotions and personality from the world. It was a game healthy as crystal meth, and it was a game Brandon was a master of.

He played it every second of every day.

And here Wyatt was, partaking in those same, self defeating festivities. These festivities would continue to rule Wyatt's very relationships and ego for another six years, until they finally came back to bite him. Carried away in both high self esteem and extreme insecurities, he would turn his back on the people he spent years with and descend into a lonesome darkness, a fake heroic gig, just to be proven wrong when he was captured and used as bait against the very people he'd betray. Of course though, we all already know that story and remember it well, happy ending included... But at this point in time, the events involving the Epic Race were but a distant future.

Back to the living room occupied by two angst ridden children, Brandon decided to announce his presence in the room. He knocked to archway he was previously leaning on several times. Wyatt instantly snapped his head towards the door. Upon noticing it was Brandon, his friend Brandon, his demeanor snapped back to his usual. And his friend, Wyatt's best friend, was completely fine to play along. Play the fake game, pretend that weakness did not exist. That the last five minutes did not exist. Were they not children after all? In a world of childish innocence and unfamiliarity with reality, whatever hardcore reality could sink in would permanently scar, but even the young could hide it better than the elders of age and wisdom. Even cases like Brandon understood the deception of childish games and reality's fangs, and the simple boy was drowning in the stormy waves.

And here he was, he had just discovered he was not the only one. The child countered it with more child's play and denial. Despite the horrors of war, any kid's naive thinking would always point to some good in everybody. In Wyatt's case, no stories had sad endings. It would end happy every time with enough determination. He smiled brightly at the friend he thought only just entered the room, hadn't caught him showing any of his bad traits. The southern born boy motioned Brandon to sit down on the couch, beckoning him to engage in the innocence of their usual young laughter. For the sake of such innocence, even if just about lost upon the sword of the images still plaguing his mind, a weary Brandon rested on the couch.

Still, even the one track minded kids knew something darker, something older, was in the air.

After several moments of silence - silence spent on Wyatt slipping his unknown photo into his pocket without letting Brandon know of its existence - Wyatt's grandmother stepped into the room carrying a plate of cookies. Happily humming to herself as she set the tray on, the aroma of the heated mixture of dough and chocolate invaded Wyatt's nose, causing him to raise the white flag, "Can I have two?"

She fixed him with a stern, but warm and even amused face, "You know the rules, honey, no more than one cookie after six."

The terms and conditions noted, Wyatt pulled a single cookie off the tray and smiled gratefully at his faithful guardian, "Thank you, Grammy Gram. I love you, Grammy Gram!"

"Grammy Gram loves you too." The elderly woman rustled his hair, earning several soft chuckles from her grandson, and left the room.

Brandon took no notice of the cookies, he even slightly pushed the plate away before falling back into the couch. Sinking beneath the several pillows, he sighed, "Not hungry..."

Wyatt was nibbling slowly at his cookie, savoring the flavor of his grandmother's drop of sunshine in a baked good. He looked over to a depressed Brandon, his smile dropping, "Not even a little?"

This time, Brandon did not respond. The child simply stared off into distant, cold space. He was obviously lost, obviously alone in the whirling vacuum of space. What he needed was a bright star to light the path. What he needed was sunshine... when skies were grey.

"Are you okay, Brandon?" Wyatt asked.

Brandon, once again, remained silent.

Wyatt sighed, some of that previous sadness from before Brandon was present returning. He looked away, eyes narrowed in thought.

"Rough day? The rain is pouring enough."

The thunder rumbling outside actually was a background, soothing noise by now. The windows were still not clear from the still falling rain. The rain was absolute misery. Wyatt set his cookie on the coffee table, inching closer to Brandon, "Did something happen? Are you alrigh-"

-Wyatt, I don't pester you about your problems!" Brandon shouted, suddenly changing from quiet to spitfire in his raging emotions, "Why don't you bug off about mine?!"

That being one of the few times Brandon had screamed ever, Wyatt pulled away from him, eyes wide. Of course, easily a defensive person who insisted on his own perfection, Wyatt clenched his fist, "I have problems? No, I don't!"

All Brandon could do now was glare at him. It was like simply staring at him would make him disappear. Did he forget that this was Wyatt though? Wyatt did not back out that easily. However, after a moment of selfish defense, Wyatt remembered just what he was after, and softly inched closer to Brandon again, "Brandon, you never do that..."

"Do what?"

"Scream."

Another moment of silence passed between them, Brandon's face softened up as he looked away, towards the windows, "Sorry..."

Wyatt also looked away from him, towards a same window as he squeezed his hands insecurely. He knew what he had to say, "... I'm not gonna pester you or anything. It's your life, I don't have 'ta know. However, whateva' your dealin' with, you don't have to do it so... this way-ish?"

"What?" Brandon was officially confused.

Wyatt smiled, looking at Brandon, "'Ya know, when yur forced to do library reading with a nerd, 'ya learn a lot. Like, do you know what yur name means?"

Brandon raised an eyebrow, "Means?"

Wyatt's eyes sparkled with that wild ingenuity of his, "'Sword.' The name Brandon stands for 'sword.' Swords are some of the most effective weapons out there, and they're so simple. A hunk of sharp metal attached to a hairbrush handle. Neat, huh?"

Brandon's expression said enough that he was pretty engaged in his little language arts lesson, Wyatt continued, "You're always so shy, Brandon. You step out of yur shell when you have so much to become. Yeah, you're a part of a scientific research group that excels in science, but that's not what I mean. I mean as a person. Yeah, a sword's a good tool, but it needs regularly sharpened and cared for to be effective." He smiled, "Where is that in you? Look, it's okay to be quiet, but it's not okay to be a doormat. I can totally see you're a doormat, Brandon."

Brandon raised an eyebrow as Wyatt stood up. He motioned Brandon to do the same, "Get up."

Brandon got up.

Wyatt facepalmed, "Doormat 'ta the T..."

Brandon was currently so confused. Thankfully, Wyatt was getting to his explanation, "You never take care of yourself, 'ya never eat 'cause yur too busy studying, you're an easy pushover with zero backbone and that outta change. Dang it, Brandon, if I can't even come over to yur house from time to time then I'm at least callin' from the phone! We have to fix this!"

"Excuse me?" Brandon pulled himself into a self protective hug, "I don't..."

Wyatt placed a hand on his shoulder, "You ain't as much of a lone wolf as 'ya think, or at least want to be. I'm right here. That's what friends are 'fur, right?"

And he was. He was like a friend, he was right there. It was soon enough apparent not just to Wyatt, but to everybody that Brandon was becoming increasingly depressed. But once again, Wyatt did not back out that easy. He never asked Brandon just what had gotten to him, but he regularly called him up on the house phone, asking if he at least ate a solid breakfast. About several months down the line, with Wyatt calling at particular times in the day, sometimes Brandon would bring his school work down and wait for Wyatt to call while working at it. He looked forward to calls, and soon enough would start to come back to... not his old self, but somebody better. Wyatt still dragged Brandon around on activities that he rather not partake in. It was misadventures like these though that wound Brandon up at a car show with the gang, absolutely fascinated with how vehicles worked and their various forms. Trucks, sports cars, hot rods... Brandon would share Gage's love for sports cars. It was Rhett who pushed Brandon to finally pick up this thing called a "hobby" in his spare time. Always thrilled by gadgets and inventions, Brandon would start tinkering and inventing himself. Days spent with this dysfunctional but somehow functioning quartet of children helped Brandon to slowly untangle himself from depression and even develop personality... at long last...

Sarcasm, cynical side remarks, and even peppy smiles became a common thing from him pretty soon. He was developing a lot more confidence and even overconfidence in his skills and abilities.

And he owed it to three backstreet, rag tag, car loving freaks... Wyatt most of all. It was them who taught him to live. He was not machine programmed for success. Brandon was a human being and even a lovable person. At least that was the way he felt around them, at home things would never lighten up. At this point though, Brandon could live with it. He knew he was more than his family taught him...

The door to the house opened. It was dark outside, so inside all lights were shut off as well. Brandon let his backpack fall to the floor as he walked through the hall and to the living room. His mom was on her laptop, on the sofa getting late night work submitted.

Even if he was an overall better person than before, a sharper sword, Brandon always was reduced to a whimpering dog around his own mother. He stood there, watching her work for a moment. She knew he was there, but did not acknowledge him. She never did... Brandon turned to go to his room, but he heard her speak first, "Has the capture of the rogue driver been successful yet?"

Brandon halted in his every movement, "He's still out there."

Another moment of silence. Brandon could feel her disapproval from across the room, and oh, how it threatened to crush him. Brandon quickly changed the topic, needing a level headed look at the other major challenge on the table, "Do you know about the phone call? The job?"

"My brother explained everything to me, yes. You need time to think things over."

Brandon slowly turned back to her, eyes plagued with nothing but chaos and confusion, "... Do you think I should take the job?"

Eyes still glued to the screen, Bernadette nodded, "It's an opportunity to move up the ranks as not only a member of the family, but as a scientist as a whole. I say," She finally looked up to Brandon, blue eyes dead serious, "Grasp it."