Ah! First Boosh fic! (And first fic... ahahah) Oneshot, not sure if I like it or not... but anyway. Here it is!

Disclaimer: The Boosh is the belonging of Messers Fielding and Barratt.

Vince had slept for a long time.

Not that Howard had noticed, of course. His friend was always sleeping late after coming in at all hours, so this was just another day for Vince. Staying in bed until three in the afternoon and then complaining that Howard had let him sleep the day away.

It was just a while before anyone realised Vince hadn't left his room since the day before last. And even then, it was only briefly. He had spoken to no one and simply taken an armful of food back in there with him.

Howard was the first to notice, and immediately began to worry. It wasn't like Vince to hide away from everyone. He wondered what was going on, and then remembered a few days ago when an intoxicated "best friend" had told him very loudly and clearly to "fuck off out of his life".

Bollo quickly followed in his revelation, wondering where Precious Vince was. A quick trip down memory lane showed a tired and irritable version of the Electro boy yelling at the gorilla for "putting fucking bananas all over the kitchen" because he was "sick of the sight of those fucking yellow tubes".

Naboo was the last to realise, but only just. And then, of course, he remembered the time very recently when Vince had shouted about "being fucking stoned all the time" and that Naboo needed to "sort your fucking life out, you shit-faced wanker".

Almost in synch, the three of them sighed, and then looked in opposite directions in embarrassment as they realised what had just happened.

And in Vince's room, there was not a single movement. It was horrifically silent, and nothing stirred. Not even a mouse.

***

"Vince, this is getting ridiculous. Could you just come out here?" Howard called through the door for what felt like the thousandth time that afternoon. There was no answer. As usual. Once again he tried the handle. The door didn't budge.

"Have you not been able to get to him yet?" Naboo asked from the sofa. He and Bollo were eating an innocent-looking (but certainly illegal) pile of brownies whilst watching Colubus the Crab.

"I don't know what to do, Naboo. He's never been like this. He's the Sunshine Kid," Howard attempted to reason. Naboo nodded.

"I think it's time for some action," he stated calmly. "Bollo, break his door down."

The huge ape heaved himself off the sofa and equally calmly ripped the door off its hinges.

Howard stared. Then he remembered Vince.

Vince. Laid out on the bed as though he were sleeping. Vince, with his halo of black hair fanning out on the pillow. Vince, whiter than white, serene and tranquil, silent in his slumber.

"That ain't right," Naboo cut in.

"What do you mean? He's asleep, that's all," Howard whispered, not wanting to wake him.

"No he isn't. I can sense it. I'm a shaman. He isn't asleep, he's in a trance. I should've noticed it sooner, but I was coming down from that party with the Council of Shamen," Naboo said. Howard frowned.

"Why is he in a trance? What's going on?"

"Well, this is a strange one. Has something bad happened recently?" Naboo asked. Howard shrugged.

"He's been in a bad mood, not sleeping properly, that's all. Why?"

"He's having a bad time in there. Nasty stuff's going on in his mind. Someone'll have to go in there and straighten things up a bit," Naboo shrugged. "It's not gonna be me, I'll tell you now. The Colubus the Crab marathon's just started."

"Fine, great shaman you are. I'll have to do it, won't I?" Howard moaned.

"Now you're getting it," Naboo smirked. "The trance stuff's on my table, next to the cat skull."

***

Ten minutes later, Howard sat by the side of Vince's bed and prepared the trance stuff. All he had found on the table (aside the feline cranium) was a small bag of powder with a hand-written label:

Trance Powder

Chuck it in the fire and breathe deep, mate.

And if you're going into someone's mind, try to keep contact with them. It helps.

Following the instructions, Howard ripped open the packet of powder and tossed it into a handy portable fireplace he had also found in Naboo's room. Immediately, the smoke began to whirl up into the room, and Howard grasped at Vince's arm as it happened. There was a terrible feeling of suction and then he slumped forwards, unconcious.

***

When Howard opened his eyes, he was somewhere utterly breathtaking. For a while, he thought something had gone wrong, as he was stood in the centre of the biggest library he had ever seen. Surely Vince had never even seen a library, let alone been to one?

His concerns were dismissed as he was startled by a streak of light brown hair as a small boy ran past him. A small boy with unmistakably boney features.

"Vince?" Howard spun and took off after the child. Had he looked closer, he would have noticed cracks in the image - the books were all the same colour, without titles, the floor was the same tessalated pattern repeated over and over, and every window had the same view of a bright sunny day.

Eventually Howard caught up with the younger Vince, who was staring up at him as though in awe.

"Vince? You are Vince, aren't you?" Howard gasped, catching his breath. The boy nodded. "Vince... how old are you?"

Vince looked away as though distracted, and then held up a clumsy four fingers.

"Four... four. Right. Vince, why are you running? And where are we?" Howard tried to reason with this younger version of Vince.

"Library. Daddy's gonna get me," Vince almost sang. Howard frowned. Vince had never spoken about his parents before. And now, here they were, fresh in his mind.

"Why? Where's your dad?"

"Daddy's gonna get me," Vince repeated, biting his lip and fidgeting. "He said... Mummy's a wh- whore and I'm a freak. That's why he does it."

Howard reached out concernedly. "That's why he does what?" Vince shied away from his reach.

"Daddy's gonna get me. "

The scene change was dramatic. Everything turned bleak and grey, such a contrast from the sunny, airy room that had existed just seconds ago. And a shadow was approaching.

Howard was now just the spectator - he had no involvement in the scene whatsoever. And tiny Vince pressed himself against the wall, desperately making himself smaller as the figure of a huge man emerged from the darkness. The first hit was like a hammer to ice; the noise reverberated around the room, and Vince was knocked to the floor. The second came before he had chance to get up, pounding his face into the ground.

The child's cries were like torture to Howard, and yet he could do nothing. Kicks came from all directions, all aimed at Vince, until he had stopped moving. Howard's movements returned, and he leapt forwards, picking the child off the ground and gently wiping the blood from his face.

The ordeal was not yet over. From his position, Howard could hear more slaps, more punches, a woman's screaming...

Vince, fully grown Vince as he had been at the flat, blinked up at Howard.

"Please, don't. I don't want to listen to this again," he whispered, tears in his bright blue eyes. Howard nodded. The darkness lifted.

Now he was in a house - early eighties if he wasn't wrong. Young Vince, the four year old, now looking maybe a couple of months older, was sat at the table, now sporting a few bruises and scabs. He was eagerly scribbling away with a pack of crayons, and didn't seem to notice Howard. Vince seemed happy enough to remain scribbling, until that terrible figure darkened the doorway again.

"Don't," Vince's gentle voice came from beside Howard. Once again, Full-Grown Vince was here too, watching the scene. He was curled up with his knees to his chest, his hair limp and lifeless, hanging over his gaunt face. "Don't, please, just leave, go away, just don't."

What this was in reference to, Howard soon saw. Vince's father entered the room.

"What's all this, you little freak?" he snapped at Young Vince, who dropped his crayon solomnly and picked a position on the floor to stare at. His father ripped the sheet of paper from the table, scattering the crayons. Howard just caught a flash of bright colours before the paper was crumpled up and tossed aside.

"No fucking son of mine draws pictures of fucking unicorns," the huge man crowed before delivering a harsh whack to Young Vince's head. The small boy was thrown off his seat by the force. His father grabbed him by the hair and dragged him over to a sideboard, from which he drew a kitchen knife.

Howard's breath caught in his throat. He glance across to Full-Grown Vince, who was silently watching the scene. The father held the knife to Young Vince's terrified face.

"You must be someone else's, you fucking nonce. That slag of a mother of yours has been sleeping round for years, and popped you out to make a fucking mockery of me. Well, we'll see who's the mockery when I've ripped her fucking face off!"

With knife in hand, the monstrous being sauntered out of the room and climbed the stares. There were more screams, terrible, gut-wrenching screams.

The room faded, leaving only Howard and the adult Vince left. And the memory of the child's terrified face.

"Vince... I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologise," Vince said quietly. There was an emptiness to his voice that Howard hadn't noticed before. "It's nothing to do with you. You shouldn't be here. What are you doing?"

"Naboo told me to come and help you. You're trapped in here... with these. These memories," Howard trailed off. Vince looked up at him, but avoided eye contact.

"This is my secret. No one else should see this. This is my life, how it was, this is what I've always tried to hide from. It shouldn't be anyone else's weight to bear," Vince himself began fading then, hiding within his mind.

"No! Vince, wait!"

The image faltered, and solidified slightly. "What do you want?"

"Please... can you just explain this?" Howard indicated at the fog where the previous scene had been. Vince sighed.

"That was the day my dad killed my mum. That was when months of... abuse... torture... that was when it all stopped. It was the worst day of my life," Vince faded once more. "I don't want you to see it, though. I don't want you to know about that. That's mine, and not anyone elses... that's mine..."

Vince had left. Howard was all alone in this darkness. Until the next scene opened up.

Judging from the stifling heat and thick foliage, Howard judged that he was at the jungle where Vince was raised by Bryan Ferry. He looked around, wondering where the memory of Vince was, and if this memory would be a bit happier.

What he was was more like a montage: Vince, aged about seven or eight, walking though the forest with Byran; Vince skipping merrily with Jahooli the leopard; Vince waving goodbye to Byran as he left on one of his tours.

Ah. The "Alone" periods. Howard moved closer, but felt himself being pulled back.

"Please, Howard, please don't go there. Don't look," Vince whined and pleaded, holding Howard back, but he didn't seem to have the strength. Without meaning to, Howard found himself close to the child Vince, who was weeping into his sleeve.

Before his eyes, the child grew into a teen, but remained in tears. Howard could now definately see the resemblence between this Vince and the Vince he knew now. The hair was almost there now, and those wide, innocent blue eyes that sparkled with tears.

"I couldn't take it, being alone like this," Full-Grown Vince narrated softly. "I did things... that I don't want you to see. I don't want you to see any of this. Why?"

The single syllable hung in the air between them.

"Because you're trapped in your memories. And I want to set you free."

They both watched as Teen Vince drew a shard of broken glass across his forearm. They both watched as the blood bubbled to the surface. They both wept.

***

"I don't want to show you anything else," Vince declared. He sat defiently in the intermittent fog. Howard sighed.

"Vince, I just want to know why you've shut down. I wasn't exactly expecting... all this. I had no idea," Howard sighed again. Vince looked away poignantly.

"I'm not letting you go any further. This is my mind, and we'll go where I want to go," Vince sounded choked up as the fog around him lifted up, and Howard found himself in a bright, cheery meadow, filled with ponies and rainbows. Typical Vince.

But Vince was no longer with him. There was just the open field. Tiny white flowers waved in a gentle breeze and a curious pony ambled up to him, nudging him in a certain direction. Vince was nowhere to be seen. Still the pony nudged, and Howard got the message.

Just over a ridge, and there he was; laid out in the grass with his hair fanning out around his head, looking for all the world like an angel. He was wearing the most impractical thing to be rolling around in a meadow for; tight white skinnies, a long sleeved, open shirt and his trusty white chelsea boots.

Howard bit his lip. White was never good for Vince, white was always too plain. Vince needed colour. Vince was the sort of person you could look at a rainbow and associate it with. This felt wrong, like he shouldn't be looking.

"Go away," Vince whispered, surprisingly clearly. He hadn't even opened his eyes. "Just turn around and keep walking. Find your own way out."

"Vince, I'm not just leaving you like this. What's wrong, eh? You can tell me, you know," Howard said, but already he could feel himself being moved further away from Vince. Vince was in control. The distance between them was getting bigger by his will.

"Vince! You can't just shut me out. Please, just let me help!" Howard shouted, trying with all his might to get closer.

Vince's lips barely moved, but his voice still carried across the darkening meadow.

"I don't need your help. There's always glitter."

While Howard was still wondering what was meant by this, the overcast sky became black and began to rain. It was strange rain, all hard and shiny, and when it hit him it was painful.

Not rain; glitter. It was raining glitter.

The downfall pooled around his legs, rising scarily fast, and within seconds it was ankle-deep. He stared over at Vince, who had stayed laid down; the glitter was almost covering him, just the tips of his boots and his pointy features still uncovered, just the steady rise-fall of the mound to show his breathing. In a moment, all that was gone too.

Howard panicked - Vince was completely covered by the infernal glitter. Surely he would drown? The glitter rose to knee-height, and higher, up around his waist, his shoulders, his ears, over his head --

Howard woke up.

***

On the bed, Vince whimpered softly, alerting Howard to the tiny reassuring fact that he was still alive. He shakily tried to stand up, his legs trembling uncontrollably, as he tried to make sense of the series of images he had been witness to. Vince's upbringing; he had no idea it was this tough.

Of course, he covered it all up with glitter.

It didn't take the Jazz maverick that long to decide what to do next. The small sachet of powder still sat cradled within his hand, nearly half of it still left. Vince had forced Howard out, but he didn't give up that easily, no sir. He would gladly go back in there to help his best friend.

Howard poured the powder into his palm and tossed it on the fire.

***

"Don't come near me," is the first thing he heard, and then saw Vince, some strange, monstrous version of Vince, huddled on the floor. His eyes were emenating fury like a furnace and his words seemed to bite like poison. This was pure anger.

"I told you to go away, I made you go away. Just leave me alone, you stupid fucking Northern jazzy freak! Fuck off, you wanker! I don't want to ever see you again! I wish I'd never met you! I hate you! I hate you! Just FUCK OFF!" Vince screamed like a wildcat, his face contorting with rage. Tears of frustration spilled down his cheeks as he cried obscenities. "Don't look at me! Get away from me! I hate you so much! Get the fuck away from me! Get out of my life! I wish you were dead! I wish I never had to see you again!"

Howard let the words hit him. He let the insults wash over him. Gently, he approached the screaming figure and just placed his arms around him, pulling him into a caring hug. The shouting continued, but quickly dissolved into indiscernable sobs and shudders. Desperate, pale fingers clutched at Howard's shirt, pulling him closer, craving warmth for his icy skin.

"Please, let me help you," Howard whispered. Shakily and hesitantly, Vince nodded. "Just tell me why you didn't tell me all this."

Vince swallowed hard, his rage fading back to magnificent beauty, even when his sharp cheeks were moist with tears. He took a shaky breath.

"This is my stuff. This is what I've never told anyone, because it's my problem, not theirs. I didn't want to hassle anyone with it," he held up a hand as Howard made to interrupt, "Because I never let it weigh me down. It's my past, and I hate it, but it shouldn't affect how I am now. If I told you about that, you'd get all concerned. You wouldn't let me be how I am. You would always remember it. I didn't... don't want that. I want to be me. Not him," Vince gestured at the vague memory of his childhood self, blue with bruises. "Just... me."

"You hid all this for the whole time we knew each other?" Howard asked, trying to get closer to the younger man. Vince wouldn't let him - Howard found himself physically unable to move closer.

"It was easier. Just... sweep over it. Don't mention it. Cover it up."

"With glitter," Howard swallowed at the recollection of the glittered rain.

"With anything. I thought, if I make myself this image, if I show myself on the outside, no one will bother with the inside. It'll be like a trinket box - it's so pretty on the outside, you forget all about what's in it. That's what I wanted." Vince looked away, almost in shame.

"You can't keep on like that," Howard reasoned gently. "Every mask slips sometimes."

"It already has..." Vince whispered. His image was fading again. Howard felt that familiar ejection building up, and tried to fight it, but it was futile.

***

And he was awake. And so was Vince.

Vince just lay still for a few minutes, breathing heavily.

"Are you alright?" Howard asked, leaning over, his legs like jelly. The room was coated in the smell of smoke from the fireplace.

"Just... give me a minute," Vince breathed, his fingers clenching on the fabric of his sheets.

Howard nodded and stepped away with the intention of taking the fireplace back to Naboo's room. On his way, the shaman looked up expectantly.

"He's awake, at least," Howard shrugged. Back in Vince's room, he was still laid out across the bed, his hands now relaxed and facing the ceiling.

"Are you ready?" Howard asked. Vince shook his head, and then bit his lip, shuffling upward to rest against the headboard. He didn't make eye contact with Howard.

"If you don't want to talk about... all that, it's ok. Just let me know that you're alright," Howard said. Vince nodded again, his eyes wide and shimmering with new tears. He reached a shaky hand over to the bedside table and, opening the drawer, pulled out a white envelope, which he handed to Howard, before resuming his blank stare.

Howard turned the envelope over in his hands, reading the printed address on the front. Mr Vincent Noir. It seemed too formal for Vince. Hesitating, he opened it and pulled out the white paper within.

"He's..." Vince started, but trailed off and stared at the wall.

Howard read it fast, his stomach sinking. The letter was concerning Vince's father. He had killed himself in prison.

Ah. That was what had set it off.

"Just... let me know when you're ready, and we'll sort something out," Howard said. He rubbed Vince's hand reassuringly, and then left him alone.

Vince stared. His mind felt strangely open, and he didn't like it. A slighty curled hand was filled with something light and shiny. He lifted it up and watched in child-like amazement as glitter cascaded from within.

Scowling, he swept the glitter from his sheets to the floor. His mask slipped further. And this time, he let it.