With a pained groan Dean rolled over, coming to lie more or less face down while his fingers clawed at the rough concrete. Blood. He tasted blood. He'd bitten his tongue and there was probably also blood running from his ruined nose down his throat. Faintly he heard voices above him, taunting, sharp and insulting and laughter, while he tried to draw in some air, but every fucking breath hurt. Fuck, his whole fucking body hurt. Maybe he should have known better than to mess with a bunch of retarded goons.

"Worthless piece of shit," he heard one of them growl, saw a movement from the corner of his eye.

Rolling onto his side, he managed to catch the foot that aimed for his stomach, twisting it while shoving its owner backwards, causing him to fall to the ground, but before Dean could climb to his feet, it was a kick to the head that ripped a hoarse shout from his throat. Another kick followed, hard, landing right in his stomach. His mouth opened in a soundless cry. He wanted to cry out. He couldn't. He couldn't breathe... Curling up to a ball, he brought his arm up to shield his head... waiting for the next kick.

It never came though.

"What's going on here?"

A new voice. Hadn't been there the whole time, definitely. A low voice. He knew that voice, had heard it before. Somewhere. Peeking out from under his arm, he tried to get a glimpse on the newcomer and the first thing his eyes caught were blue jeans, sticking tight to massive legs. Legs which belonged to a big guy with long black hair and all muscles. Oh yeah, right. That new kid in school. Superman. And Superman was coming closer.

"I asked what is going on here," Superman said again.

His voice was calm but not really nice. With a grunt, Dean moved his arm out of the way the very moment Superman looked right down at him. Their eyes met and the gaze of those grey eyes was sharp, piercing. And not nice...

Fuck, Dean thought. Fucking shit.

He needed to get up and away from here. Pain shot through him as he tried to climb to his feet. Hot pain, setting his whole body even more inflame. He heard the moans which were passing his lips and he hated it, fucking hated that those goons heard it, too.

"Nothing."

"And nothing is a reason to beat him up five on one?" he heard Superman ask, saw him slowly walking closer until he was standing right beside him while the sharp eyes wandered over the other standing guys.

"Why do you even care about this piece of shit?" one of them, the chief goon probably, asked.

"Who I care about or not is none of your business and I damn sure won't be watching one person getting beaten up by a whole group." And Superman's voice had dropped to a growl. A relief that Dean would never have admitted aloud was there flooded him. Relief that Superman was on his side here. Obviously. "I suggest you grab your shit and fuck off."

Finally getting his legs under him, Dean kneeled on the ground, bracing on one hand while wrapping his other arm protectively around his middle. His head was pounding and his ears were buzzing and he badly felt like throwing up.

"You're new here, man, you should make sure you're choosing the right friends or..."

"Or... what?" Glancing up, he saw Superman stepping up to the guy, coming to stand nose to nose with him. The muscles of the square jaw were jumping and a shadow was casting over the grey eyes. "You don't wanna mess with me, dude, do you?"

It was a poker game that Superman was playing here because although being bigger and broader than the others, it was still one against five. Taking a deep breath, Dean fought the pain down and tried once more to stand up.

"We're five, dude, and you're alone."

And then, somehow, Dean stood upright, still holding his middle and feeling far from being steady on his feet, but he stood and if he would end up on the ground again with knocked out teeth and broken bones, so be it.

"He's not alone," he gritted out, willing his breathing to stay as even as possible and wiping his face clear of any hints that he was hurting like bitch.

Long seconds with a ridiculous high-noon staredown on school grounds... and then one of the group took a step backwards, a second and the others followed. A blink later he was alone with Superman. Turning away, Dean began to limp away, not really sure where to go to though. All he wanted was to get away from here to a relative safe place to lick his wounds. Unseen.

But Superman seemed to have other plans and he hadn't come very far as the big man appeared at his side, already reaching out to support him.

"Let me help you," Superman murmured, but Dean pushed the offered hand away.

"Don't need help," he muttered, straightening up a bit more as he quickened his pace to walk away from the other man.

Three steps. Four. Before dizziness washed through him as the pain got brighter again with every movement. His view blurred, becoming fuzzy and dark around the edges and his attempt to breathe it away failed poorly because no matter how deep he was breathing, everything only became more and more fuzzy.

Maybe ten steps.

His knees buckled, his legs giving way under him before he could sit down on the ground again to prevent himself from even more pain an uncontrolled fall would bring along. Arms closed around his upper body and why was Superman suddenly right in front of him? He was being pulled tightly against the big frame while his hands decided to hold on to the broad shoulders, twisting into Superman's shirt. Shirt, not cape. So Superman was off duty today. If he wasn't the lucky one then that Superman had come along here by chance to save him from being beaten to a pulp.

He couldn't help the grunt that wanted out because although probably as gentle as possible, the hold on him hurt. A moment later he found himself kneeling on the ground, more or less between those impressive legs while the broad arms around him didn't let go.

"I said I don't need your fucking help," Dean hissed, knowing that it wasn't much convincing since his body had just proved his words wrong.

And him holding on to Superman only underlined that. He could simply let go, but he also knew that he wouldn't get far on his own right now.

Fuck that shit.

"Yeah, sure. You totally don't need help," Superman snorted, loosening his hold just enough to lean back a little to scrutinize Dean's face and it seemed that he didn't like what he saw there. Huh, nothing new, was it? That people looked at him like that? "I suggest we get your ass over to a bench. Come on," the other man sighed and tightened his hold on Dean again, pulling him up without much effort as he moved to stand.

Some stifled groans from Dean and a bit of shifting his hold from Superman later, they walked over to the bench, very slowly though but eventually they made it there and Dean was lowered down carefully. And Superman joined him, sitting there beside him and... Dean flinched as hands settled on his face and his belly to check the extent of the damage done to him.

Inching away from the unwanted examination, Dean muttered: "I'd prefer to be alone now, thank you."

Superman kept his hand to himself then, although it was pretty much visible that he had a hard time to do so and he also seemed not to plan to actually go and Dean was torn between being irritated, wary and... intrigued.

"Okay, what happened?" Superman wanted to know, raising an eyebrow in question.

And Dean kept his mouth shut. Why the fuck should he tell someone he didn't know and also had no interest in getting to know what had happened here? It would only cause more problems.

"Do I speak Chinese today or why do I have to repeat myself again and again?" the other man huffed, his other eyebrow joining the first one to give him a just spill it, dude expression.

"Maybe you have to repeat yourself because you keep sticking your nose into things that don't concern you?!" Dean snapped.

The last thing he needed was someone who dug in his life and made it even more unpleasant. He'd survived all those years somehow without anyone who helped him. He would get through the next six month on his own, too, and then he would be...

A hand was waved in front of his face, making come back to the here and now. Superman's expression had changed to honestly worried. Dean blinked. Once. Twice. It did something funny to his guts, the worry he saw there because he couldn't remember the last time that someone had looked at him like that.

"What has happened, man? And don't tell me now that nothing has happened. We both know that's bull and before you tell me again now to go: I'm not gonna go anywhere until you can walk on your own. Those idiots might come back. So?"

Wonderful. Fuck his body for betraying him and leaving him here sitting, stuck with Mr. Goody Two Shoes. Reaching up, he gingerly felt his ruined nose that thankfully seemed not to be as damaged as he had thought. Didn't feel as if it was fractured or shit. It was swollen though and hurting like bitch and as he drew his hand back, there was fresh blood on his fingers. Didn't make a difference, did it? He was already looking like a piece of patchwork art anyway with all the cuts and scratches and bruises... the older ones. Color up your life, my ass. He ran his tongue over his lips and hissed quietly as a cut on his lower lip stung. He wasn't only feeling like a mess, he most likely also looked like that. Much.

"That, uh... that chief goon guy called me a piece of scum and shoved me," Dean growled, grinding his teeth as he felt rage bubble in his guts. Maybe being called that shouldn't affect him that much anymore. Yet it did. "I poured my coke over his head."

A low chuckle caused him to look up from his bloodstained fingers to the man beside him. He shot him a scowl. And Superman pursed his lips to stop the chuckling, not very successful though.

"Pretty girlish," Superman grinned.

A grin. Soft. Nice.

Wiping his hands on his jeans clad thighs to get the blood of, Dean looked away, grumbling: "Yeah, haha. Funny, man, so fucking funny."

"But you've left quite a bit of damage before they took you down, man." The amusment was completely gone from the low voice as Superman said that, almost like a switch being flipped.

It was gentle instead.

"Not as much as I wanted to," he huffed.

He'd gifted those goons a shiner or two and sure as hell some nice bruises but it hadn't been enough to make them leave him alone. Well, he'd probably should have ignored them in the first place instead of showering chief goon with coke.

"Still impressive enough." A hand was stretched out to him. Then: "My name is Roman Reigns. Yours?"

Gazing at the hand warily, Dean did not take it. Impolite, yeah, but he hadn't asked for company or frienship. Instead he wrapped an arm again around his aching midsection.

"Han Solo," was his answer.

From the corner of his eye he noticed how the broad chest rose and fell in a silent sigh, the outstretched hand dropping to a thick thigh.

"Okay then, Captain Solo, we should take you to a school nurse so they can check on you."

"No."

Time to go.

"Uhm, okay? Then to a doc," Superman insisted. "You should really let someone check on you. This doesn't look good."

"Ugh, no. Don't need anyone asking stupid questions. Can't effort a doc anyway," Dean muttered and stood up.

He regretted it immediately, feeling even more like shit the very second he stood on his feet, but he didn't have much of a choice. Going home was unavoidable anyway, no matter... no matter how much he wanted to go somewhere else, run as fast and as far as he only could.

Well, running anywhere wasn't an option at the moment, was it? He would end up lying flat on his face on the concrete after twenty meters at best.

"You can't go like thi..."

"I said no. Gotta go now."

One step and a gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him. He groaned quietly.

"At least lemme give you a ride," Superman... no wait, Roman... said.

Poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, Dean tilted his head a little, gazing at him with narrowed eyes because he just didn't understand what this guy actually wanted.

"Nothing better to do than being a pain in the ass, man?"

"Just trying to fulfill my pensum of good deeds for the day," Roman smiled. "Come on, I won't tell anyone."

The hand vanished from his shoulder then. The smile stayed on Roman's face though and there was sincerity lying in his features. And a message. Trust me.

Yeah, sure.

Really, he didn't need this kind of problem because it would be a problem if he allowed this. Questions and answers. Answers he did not have... or rather he couldn't give. Didn't want to.

But maybe he was only misinterpreting the situation and Roman was really only being nice, without the intention of trying to make friends here?

Whatever.

A ride home wouldn't kill him, would it? He doubted anyway that Roman would let him go, would probably follow him like a homeless dog if he simply walked off now.

Shrugging his shoulders, he sighed: "Okay..."

Ten minutes later he sat in the car, staring at the big glass front of a drugstore in which Roman had vanished. I'll be right back, he had said and at Dean's quirked eyebrow he had added very insistently: Wait. Here.

He wasn't sure if this, being here in Superman's car, was something he should or would regret and maybe he should get out as long as the other man was still in there, but walking actually wasn't a very attractive idea right now. His head was still pounding and his whole body ached and he was quite honestly exhausted.

Resting his head against the headrest, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. What his mind showed him was Superman's worried eyes. Honest worry. He snorted lightly. The guy had much of an oversized Saint Bernard's puppy, including all big paws and fluffy fur. And he had guts. Well, he was Superman after all, wasn't he?

The sound of a door being opened mande him blink and look over. Roman was back with a small bag that he emptied on his legs. Some gauze, desinfection, ointment and plaster came to lie there.

"Uhm, what's this going to be?" Dean asked warily as he watched Roman preparing several butterfly stitches and putting some desinfection on the gauze.

Turning around to Dean, the other man said: "We'll get you patched up now."

"Uh, no?" Dean muttered.

"Uh, yes?" Roman replied. "You look like a heap of minced meat, dude. You've got cuts and scratches all over your face. It'll scar if you don't treat it right."

What about this last sentence caused him a noticeable sting in his chest, he didn't know. Fact was, it did sting. But maybe it wasn't Superman's comment but his own answer...

"I've got so many of them, those few won't make a difference."

Indifference coated his voice but the taste the words left behind on his tongue was bitter.

For a moment there was silence between them, a silence that was thick and while they only gazed at each other, Dean saw so many things go on in those grey eyes that he wasn't able to name them. All he knew was that it caused his heart to pick up the pace for a few seconds.

He'd never before seen such expressive eyes.

That odd thought made him break gazes then, left him searching for a safe spot to look at and that spot happened to be the rearview mirror. What mirrored there was his own tired eyes and a cut in his right brow. Blood. Scratches on his temples, his forehead. Bruises on his cheeks. Not all of them fresh... Nothing he hadn't seen before, but something he was sick of. So sick.

"Still haven't fulfilled my pensum of good deeds," he heard Roman say quietly. "Come on, let me do this."

His gaze shifted, found Roman's eyes in the mirror. The other man still looked straight at his face, waiting. Stubbornly being all Mr. Goody Two Shoes.

"You're really a pain in the ass, you know?" he snorted without much amusement lying in it and he knew Roman heard it, too.

That said, he turned his face towards the other man, leaning a bit closer to let him play nurse. He gave a nod and received a smile for it. And then Roman began to clean his face in a ridiculously gentle way. The minor scratches burned a little and the slight pressure on the bruises hurt a bit. It was bearable though, but...

"Fuck," he muttered at a sharp sting as the desinfection came in contact with the cut in his brow and involuntary he drew away.

"Sit still."

"That hurts like bitch, man!" Dean complained, lifting his hand to the cut because it fucking burned like hell.

His hand was caught off before he could touch it.

"Stop being a cry-baby, dude. Pulling the Chuck Norris on a bunch of goons and now you're whining about a wee bit of burning?" Roman teased, releasing the caught hand as Dean pulled it away.

"A wee bit? Fuck you! It fucking feels like my face is falling off!"

Roman shook his head slightly while puffing a soft laughter, placing a plaster over the cut.

"Don't touch it. It'll only start bleeding again," he instructed, continuing with his task.

The touches became even more gentle if possible and his eyes narrowed in concentration while his bottom lip got caught between his teeth. After a moment he seemed so lost in what he was doing there, that Dean dared to take a closer look at him. A real look, because all the time he had seen him, but hadn't really looked at him.

Roman was only a bit taller than him but he was definitely broader built, all muscles. Massive. His face was all strong lines and square jaw. Distinctive. Goddamn handsome. A dark beard, framing his mouth, making him look much older than he was... Dean guessed that Roman was as old as he himself was, about seventeen and a bit... Lush, kissable lips. Long, black hair. Hair that looked velvety. Bronze toned, smooth looking skin. On his right arm there was a tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his shirt and also a little from under the collar. Black lines. Not a typical tribal tho, much more... filigree. But what caught him most were those eyes...

Under different circumstances and in another life he would have tried to hit on Roman but he was here in this life and the circumstances weren't different and this was the type of guy who usually didn't happen to be gay. Sadly.

He already saw the girls in school draw numbers and line up to get a piece of Roman. Superman would soon be a star at school.

"Do I have something sticking to my face?" Roman murmured while carefully placing the butterfly stitches on various spots on Dean's face.

"You're not making friends by helping me," Dean replied dryly.

Frowning Roman leaned back, eyeing his work while asking: "What do you mean?"

"Those assholes are gonna tell anyone who wants to hear it that you, you know, helped me."

Shrugging his shoulders, Roman stuffed the remaining ointment, desinfection and plasters back into the bag and handed it over to Dean.

"Here, you'll need it," he said, locking gazes with Dean. "As for them telling the world what I have done today... they can make flyer and poster about it if they want to. I don't care what the world thinks about it. I do what I think is the right thing to do and if someone has a problem with it, they can kiss my ass. And I think helping you was the right thing to do." His eyes roamed Dean's face once more, then dropped briefly to his midsection that was held protectively covered by an arm and found back up to his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Dean replied lowly, his fingers tightening their hold on the bag a little more because Roman's forthright statement had been... it was... it was making him weak.

It shouldn't be like this. He had fought so hard to be strong all this time, fought every day and now all it took was a bit of help from Superman, a little bit of being patched up by Mr. Goody Two Shoes and a handful of nice words from Roman Reigns to make him weak?

And here it was again, that message he'd seen written on Roman's face not long ago.

Trust me.

"Anything you need?" Roman wanted to know, tilting his head a bit the side in question.

Don't ask me that.

"No."

Roman nodded slightly.

"Okay then, I'm gonna drop you off at your place now."

He watched as Roman shifted in his seat, reached out to start the car... and hesitated. The fingers stayed closed around the steering wheel and the key as he paused, eyes fixed on some random spot on the dashboard in front of him. His nostrils were flaring and the muscles of his jaw jumped. And then Roman turned his head ever so slightly towards Dean... those grey eyes pondering. But whatever Roman wanted to say or do, he bit it back, starting the car without another word.

The ride was quiet until Dean told Roman to stop and let him out only a few minutes later. They hadn't reached Dean's place yet, but he didn't want Roman to know... and see... where he lived. Muttering a thanks Dean opened the car door and had already put a foot on the ground as Roman's voice stopped him.

"See you at school tomorrow, Han Solo."

And now it was Dean who hesitated, remaining unmoving for a second or two. He could say yes. Or he could do what was the right thing to do. For both of them.

"Stay away from me, Reigns," he murmured... because that was the right thing to do, right?

A hand settled on his forearm. Its touch was gentle. Gentle. A word that had been banned from his vocabulary for what felt like forever. Until today...

"Is that what they think I should do?" he heard Roman rumble. "Or is it what you want?"

Don't fucking ask me that...

Pulling his arm out of the hold, he said just above a whisper: "Just... stay away."

With that he got out of the car, not waiting for another word. He wanted to get away before he lost control over the situation. More than he had already. His fingers cumpled the paper of the bag as he tightened his hold on it while walking into a back road and out of Roman's sight and while his feet kept carrying him towards his apartment, his mind replayed the last hour again and again.

Trust me.

And if he did trust Roman? No. Roman was one of those kids who were new and became popular faster than other people changed their socks. Liked by all the cool kids at school. Roman seemed to be a nice guy but it wasn't fun to be a target at school and sooner or later Roman would be sick of being a target if he hung out with him.

He'd been dropped too often already by the hands which had been held out to him.

No more...

His steps slowed down as he reached the stairs to his aparment, walking them up with reluctance and for a full minute he stood at the door, staring at it. Like he did every single time. It was hard to breathe deeply against the vice grip around his chest...

Eventually he opened the door as quietly as possible and slipped into the apartment, sneaking over to his room. The stench of stale beer was hanging heavily in the air. It was the dimmed sound of the running TV that told Dean that he was at home. But maybe, with a bit of luck, he was sleeping, wouldn't notice him being at home. At least not yet. Or maybe not even until he could sneak out again tomorrow morning.

Being beaten up once a day was enough...

Slowly he pushed the door to his room open, his eyes briefly falling on the lock that had gotten broken months ago already. He had done that. To make sure Dean wouldn't be able to lock him out.

The creaking of the door angle seemed deafening loud, so much louder than the TV, making his heart trip. He flinched hard as he heard the sound of a bottle falling to the floor, followed by heavy steps. His name was being growled.

Roman's words were echoing in his ears while his gaze dropped to he bag in his hand,

Here, you'll need it.

A dark smile spread on his lips as the steps stopped right behind him.

You have no idea, he thought as a hand closed around his shoulder painfully, forcing him around...

- tbc -

Oookay, that was the start. Tell me what you think?