Savior (Sam/John)
Hello all! I figured since this is a new year, I might as well start posting things again, they probably won't be long chapter fics, just things that I've thought up for my current obsessions, like I am Number 4, please no flames, but it you like this, I might write more, just things that would branch off. For now it's a one-shot.
Sam ran, his feet pounding against the upturned leaf beds on the forest floor, stamping them back into submission under his loud and powerful steps. His breath was coming in quick succession, and his heart was beating faster with ever bend and turn of the forest path.
He was slowing down, chest aching with the strain of moving faster and farther than he ever had before. Sam was not a runner by nature, his scrawny, gangly limbs didn't like to cooperate with him, but he strained forward, the sound of crashing branches and snapping tree limbs getting closer and closer as he felt his body slowing and his blood crying out for oxygen.
They did this too him too often, chased him through the underbrush and wait until he reached the river and couldn't go any further unless he wanted to brace the raging current and the freezing depths of the water. One would think that the brunette would have gotten better at running, learning the path that he'd ran down so many times, enough that he knew he should take a different one, but no, he stuck to his ways, stupidly, and stupidly he'd get cornered again and limp home with a bruise on his chest and one on his cheek.
He was getting nearer and nearer to the river, the opening in the woods signaling that soon he'd meet Mark and his lackeys' fists again, hitting only hard enough to bruise and only on places that he could easily cover. Sam hissed out what remained of his breath in frustration, lungs burning for oxygen and legs nearly slipping out beneath him. He should have taken a different turn, he should have left for home a different way, he should have been watching his step more carefully or the brown eyed boy would have seen the log in his path.
The old wood hit the bottom of his legs at a painful speed and he dropped, body hitting the ground with a loud smack, mud caking on the side of his body, earth still wet from the rain of last night. He let out a small groan of pain and soon the foot steps behind him were slower, Mark and the others could see him now, laying on the ground, a heap of a boy, only weighing 120 or so pounds, easy pickings.
Sam could feel them near, their footsteps stopping, close enough to kick him over, which they did, nudging his thin body with a foot and rolling him painfully on to his back.
"Come on guys, we do this every month, don't you have a freshman to pick on or something?" Sam wheezed out, trying to muster up a little courage, much more then he was actually feeling. Mark smirked down at him, a nasty look on his face, wicked and cruel.
"Now Sam, we wouldn't want you forgetting your place now would we, besides, by now it's almost tradition." The words sounded like they were coated with slime, much like what Mark wore in his light brown hair.
Sam closed his eyes, he knew what was coming next, this wasn't the first time that he'd fallen on one of these chases. He could hear the sound of leafs being picked up by a foot as it was drawn back. The brunette braced himself for the kick and was not surprised when it hit him, enough to hurt, to sting, to make him cry out lightly, but not enough to break anything. Each kick the followed hit in a different place, making him cry out, not scream, just muffled yelps and moans of stop. The brunette could almost time them now, the kicks that rained down upon him. He blocked everything out except for the feeling of where his body had gone numb. He didn't hear the sound of someone coming up, someone new, all Sam was aware of was that the kicking circle had broken, that they'd stopped and he hadn't even started to beg like they wanted.
Opening his eyes, fuzzy with tears not shed, Sam saw a figure, maybe a few inches taller then him, pushing Mark's goons back like they were nothing, even though they were on the football team, headed on their way for scholarships. All same did was watch as his savior torn them away from where he'd fallen, mud now mixed with the sweat on his face. Soon they'd all ran off, even Mark himself, seeing what the other boy had done to his friends.
The figure leaned down, hands ghosting over Sam's form like he didn't know if he should touch him.
"Do you need help up?" The figure asked, voice a little deeper than his own, and now that the figure was closer he knew who it was, the new kid, the one who'd shown up out of nowhere in Paradise, Ohio, the bow with dirty blonde hair and green eyes who'd helped him pick up his things when Sam had been knocked in the hall by Mark earlier. John Smith, his savior.