CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"He that is thy friend indeed,

He will help thee in thy need:

If thou sorrow, he will weep;

If thou wake, he cannot sleep:

Thus of every grief in heart

He with thee does bear a part." -- William Shakespeare

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The ball hit 14-year-old Rick right in the gut and he bent over with a soft groan. Paul Belton was on him in a second, pushing and shoving; fighting for possession of the ball even if Rick wasn't. A well placed kick in the side had Rick falling to his knees, gasping, while the crowd jeered from the sideline.

"Schmidt you pussy!" someone called. "What the fuck's wrong with you?!" yelled another, "You're like a freakin' girl!"

Rick ignored them and got to his feet. Kyle though saw red and took off after Paul Belton with a determination like that of a predator going after its prey. You didn't do things like that to a teammate and get away with it. Paul was a big guy but Kyle was quick on his feet and a much more skilled player and was soon level with him. He faked a side tackle and Paul shot out an arm to hold him off. But it wasn't the ball Kyle was going after like he led Paul to believe. He slowed down a little, letting Paul think he'd made a breakaway, then he shot forward, swinging his leg in front of Paul's foot as if going for a back tackle. His foot didn't touch the ball but Paul's leg, just as planned, and Paul went down with a cry, literally biting the dust when he landed with a flop on his belly.

"Hacking!!" the crowd roared from the sideline in protest and the referee blew his whistle.

Kyle smirked.

-----

Rick was always last to take a shower and last to leave the locker room. Kyle and his dad usually waited outside in the car for him but today Daniel Ritter was in a hurry. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently and glanced at his son in the rear-view mirror.

"Kyle…"

"He'll be right out."

"Kyle."

He sighed. "Alright, alright." He got out of the car and ran up to the brick building to get Rick.

He opened the door to the locker room and stepped inside, his sneakers soundless against the linoleum. He walked past several rows of lockers before he spotted Rick. His friend was standing with his back to him and was busy doing up his jeans. Rick opened his mouth to address him but froze as his eyes fell on Rick's back. Lacerations ran across it in thick streaks and if Kyle didn't know any better he'd say they were whip marks. It sure looked like it. He gasped softly. Rick heard him and whipped around, eyes wide. He grabbed his t-shirt from the bench and covered his chest with it, but not before Kyle saw the dark bruises that covered his chest and abdomen.

"Kyle," he breathed, "You scared the crap outta me."

"Sorry."

"What do you want?" Rick worked his t-shirt over his head and pulled it down over his stomach quickly.

Kyle stared at him. "Uh, Daniel's in a hurry. Told me to come get you." He studied his friend as he threw his things into his sports bag and slumped down on the bench to put on his shoes.

"Your back…Did the guys do that?" He was referring to the lacerations and by guys he meant Paul Belton and his friends.

"What are you talking about?" Rick queried - as if the last couple of minutes had never happened.

Kyle did a double take, shocked by Rick's complete denial of the situation, but he quickly recovered. "You know you can tell me anything."

Rick gave him a cold look. "It's nothing. I'm fine. Okay?" He got up and stalked past Kyle towards the door.

"Okay," Kyle whispered. He didn't push. Never did.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

DEAN

"Just because somebody doesn't love you the way you want them to, doesn't mean they don't love you with everything they got" -- Anonymous

None of them had said a word since Kyle had declared he'd give them both a ride home. He'd given Dean that look that said not to argue and then turned on his heels and walked outside.

Sam didn't say anything but he scratched himself and looked over at Dean guiltily. Dean avoided his brother's gaze, tossed his car keys into his sports bag and zipped it, his heart beating frantically the whole time. Kyle had made it pretty clear; Martha's Volvo wasn't leaving the school parking lot that night.

Judging by the look on Kyle's face Dean was unsure if even he would be leaving the parking lot that night. Maybe dawn would find him beaten bloody and lying unconscious somewhere out there. He wouldn't be surprised if it happened, but he'd understand. He threw his bag over his shoulder and went outside, a lump forming in his throat. Sam zipped his bag and hurried after.

Kyle was waiting for them in his father's car and revved the engine when he spotted them. Sam glanced at Dean nervously but Dean ignored him and went over to the waiting vehicle. Drawing closer he hesitated a little, afraid suddenly to face his friend. Sam noticed and quickly moved to take the passenger seat, allowing Dean to take refuge in the back.

Kyle said nothing as they got in the car but turned up the volume on the car stereo and when Rage Against the Machine's 'Tire me' sawed through the silence, Dean winced.

-----

"Uh, thanks for the ride, Kyle," Sam croaked as he struggled to find his voice again after nearly thirty minutes of awkward silence. Kyle said nothing, just stared straight ahead. Sam nodded to him before sending Dean a sad puppy look filled with concern. But Dean had his eyes closed and didn't notice. Sam sighed and took a few steps back before he turned around and strode towards his parents' house. He looked over his shoulder a couple of times as if to make sure Kyle wouldn't run him over with the car.

When he was gone Kyle started up the car and pulled out onto the road again.

They were quiet for most of the ride back, both waiting for the other to say something. Dean knew he should be the one to initiate contact but couldn't bring himself to say or do anything. He wanted to explain, to say he was sorry, or at least something along that line but he didn't know how to say it or if Kyle would even want to hear it. After all, he'd lied to him for nine years. So he said nothing and instead turned his attention to his fingernails, biting down on them with an appetite one would usually reserve for something like fillet mignon. It was Kyle who finally broke the silence.

"Is Dean really your name?"

Dean spitted out a piece of nail and studied his friend's reflection in the window before turning his way. He nodded. "Winchester."

"What?"

"Dean Winchester."

Kyle made a sound in his throat and shifted gears. The car accelerated.

"So what, you're in some kind of witness protection program or sumthin'?"

Dean tried to hold back the bitter laugh. "I wish." Kyle looked at him quizzically, and Dean wished he had. "Uh, no." He paused. He really didn't want to talk about his foster parents and his crappy life.

Kyle picked up on his reluctance to talk and glanced over at Dean. It was obvious Rick didn't trust him enough to tell him. He wanted to know though. He wanted to know why he had lied to him for so long.

"So…how did your dad get home?" Dean asked.

'The famous distraction strategy,' Kyle thought bitterly. He didn't want to change the subject, he wanted to ask why they were running away, but he didn't. He didn't push. Never did. Instead he huffed and shook his head in surrender. "My mom picked him up."

"Oh." They fell into silence and not a word passed either of their lips for the rest of the drive.

-----

They had just passed the high school when Dean saw him. Tony. The man was clearly drunk, half falling-half walking up the stairs to a small house that looked more like a shack. Dean's heart began beating rapidly and he looked on as Tony fished a key from his pocket and fumbled with the lock. Kyle stepped on the gas and the car shot forward, rushing past Tony. Dean twisted in his seat to watch the man as he more or less fell through the door of his house.

Kyle dropped him off at his house about five minutes later and he stared at Dean as Dean reached into the backseat for his bag. None of them spoke. When Dean got out of the car, an action that clearly took a lot of effort, Kyle's brow creased a little but he said nothing. Dean closed the door and it shut with a squeaky noise. It was the only sound that would pass between them for a while.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

SAM

"You need to be aware of what others are doing, applaud their efforts, acknowledge their successes, and encourage them in their pursuits. When we all help one another, everybody wins." -- Jim Stovall

Sam closed the door behind him with a soft sigh of relief. The ride home hadn't been the most relaxing. He figured Kyle must've been pissed at both of them for lying to him. He was probably more pissed at Dean because they had been friends longer. But as of lately Sam and Kyle had hung out a lot and so Sam felt just as guilty as Dean for shutting him out and lying to him.

At first, with the look Kyle had given them, Sam had been convinced he would kill them both. Yet he knew he would never hurt either of them. Kyle was a good guy. But it just didn't feel like it right now. And it hadn't felt good to leave Dean alone with him either.

Another thing that didn't feel good was Dean's money disappearing. Sam really wanted Dean to get away from those people and he really wanted to go with him. With the money gone, things didn't look so great. They would probably never get out of there. Unless…

He dropped his sports bag on the floor and ran upstairs to look for Tina.

-----

He found Tina in his room, cleaning up. He stepped inside and grabbed her by the shoulder.

"Tina, I need to talk to you."

She turned towards him with a smile. "Sam. How was soccer practise?"

He closed the door to his room. "It was fine," he replied as he pushed her towards the private bathroom.

Tina resisted a little. "Hey! What're you doing?

Sam pushed her into the bathroom and shut the door behind them. "I have to tell you something."

Tina frowned and took on an authoritative stance, her hands resting on her hips. "Okay, what did you do now?"

Sam couldn't help but chuckle at her serious face. "Nothing." Yet. "I just need to tell you something. Something important."

"What is it?"

And Sam told her everything; how Dean's foster parents were treating him, his suspicions of Dean's foster dad beating him and about his and Dean's plans to get away. He told her about the car and the money going missing and how it had wrecked everything. He told her how he hated his life and that he wanted to start fresh with Dean someplace far away.

He wasn't really sure how he'd expected her to react to all this information, but the thought that she might take it badly hadn't even crossed his mind. So he was completely taken aback when she stormed off crying.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

JOHN

"Justice is the firm and continuous desire to render to everyone that which is his due." – Justinian

Hank parked in the driveway and stumbled out of his car; drunk-driving another fine trait of his. He'd dropped off Tony a while earlier and after ignoring two red lights and driving across several lawns he was finally home. He swayed a little as he closed the car door and cursed under his breath. He breathed in his hand and sniffed it curiously. A whiff of smoke and beer filled his nostrils and he drew back quickly and chuckled. A few seconds later he had his nose buried in his armpit, smelling it as a look of disgust crossed his face.

"Hank Brisley?"

Hank jumped and turned towards the voice. All he could make out was a blurry, dark shape of someone.

"Dude, I'm so drunk," he chuckled and rubbed a hand over his eyes instead of answering. The shape moved closer and Hank took a step back, his lower back brushing against the side of his car. "Hey, watch the paint job!" he admonished himself and then ran his hand over the car's smooth surface lovingly. When he turned to look at the dark figure again the man was standing right before him.

"Payback's a bitch." The blurry man spoke.

"What?"

Then Hank's world went black.

-----

When he came to he was lying on a dirt floor, gagged and with his hands tied behind his back. Despite the head wound and the alcohol still in his bloodstream he sobered quickly at the sight of a masked man looming above him.

"Oh, God," he gasped behind the gag. The words were muffled but still audible.

"God won't help you," the masked man told him cruelly, "Not from this. Know why? Because you deserve whatever's coming to you."

John stepped away from his captive and walked over to a wooden chair that was standing in the middle of the dark room. He'd already sawed off a piece of one of the legs and made sure it would be unstable enough to give his captive a lot of trouble. Then he'd replaced the removed piece of wood with a brick to keep the chair sturdy until he carried out the punishment.

He picked up a rope from the floor with a gloved hand, grabbed Hank by the arm and pulled him into a sitting position. Hank yelped at the sight of the rope, the noose dangling right before his eyes. He began struggling fiercely but with his hands tied behind his back he was no match for John. Within seconds the noose was secured around his neck.

"Stand up." The order was cold and flat, devoid of emotion.

Hank whimpered a muffled. "Please, no."

John grabbed his gun from his waistband and pointed it at Hank. "I said stand up."

Hank's breath hitched and a sob escaped his lips. "…anything…" The word was barely audible but the distinctive sound of a plea was definitely heard.

John pulled Hank to his feet roughly. "You think that's what all this is about?" he snorted. "I don't want anything from you. This is revenge."

A sound of confusion came from the other man and John sighed. He was really quite tired of these assholes acting like they had no idea what they'd done wrong. "You fucking raped a kid," he spat. Just saying it made him feel sick and he regretted his choice of words as his stomach churned alarmingly.

He shoved Hank towards the chair with such force the other man almost fell over.

"Climb up on the chair," he ordered.

Hank struggled to regain his footing and when he did he made a sudden break for the door that was on the other side of the room. The end of the rope dragged behind him and all John had to do was step on it to bring the escape to an abrupt end.

Hank tumbled over, falling on his side with a choked cry. John was on him instantly, grabbing him by his sweaty armpits and dragging him back towards the chair.

"Get up there or I'll shoot you in the fuckin' head," he barked.

A deep shudder ran through Hank's body followed shortly by a series of muffled sobs. "I'm sorry," he begged behind the gag. "Please." Tears welled in his eyes, forced their way out and ran in thin streaks down his face.

John cocked the gun in blunt reply and pointed it at Hank's temple. Hank flinched, and began rocking back and forth. "No, no, no."

John grabbed Hank by the arm again and forced him to his feet. He threw the end of the rope over a beam in the ceiling and grabbed it again as it dropped down on the other side. He pulled in the rope and the noose around Hank's neck forced him gasping to his toes.

"On the chair," John said calmly. He pulled in the rope again and then added; "I won't hang you." Hank sobbed. He clearly didn't believe him, yet he obeyed, placing a foot on the seat of the chair reluctantly. John stretched the rope further, giving Hank no other option than to continue his climb. When Hank was standing with both feet on the chair John tied the end of the rope to a pipe on the wall. He made sure to stretch the rope so Hank was forced to stand on his toes.

He looked up at Hank with a devilish grin. "I won't hang you, Hank. You will."

If Hank was surprised John knew his name he didn't show it. Panic glinted in his eyes and his breath came in short hitches.

"This is for what you did to Ulrich Schmidt," John stated curtly. He supported the chair with his body as he leant down and carefully removed the brick from under the sawed down leg. Hank gasped softly when he realized the chair was suddenly wobbly beneath his feet. His body grew rigid immediately in a desperate attempt to keep the chair steady.

John scanned the room, making sure he'd leave no trace of him ever being there and then he turned back to Hank with a sneer. Hank didn't notice, all his attention was focused solely on keeping the chair standing, and thus saving his own life. Sweat beaded his forehead with the strain.

John admired his work and picked up the brick from the floor.

"I hope you have a good sense of balance," he said and then he left.

What Hank didn't know as he fought for his life was that the noose around his neck wasn't a noose but a loop tied in a way that he wouldn't get strangled. The punishment didn't lie in killing him but in the fear of death and the strenuous struggle to stay alive.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

SAM

Sam was almost asleep when the door opened to his room and Tina peeked inside.

"Sam?"

"Mmm," he replied sleepily, turning his back to the door to get away from the light that filtered in through the small opening.

Tina slipped inside and shut the door slowly.

"You can take the Mustang," she whispered hoarsely.

"What?" Sam wasn't sure he'd heard right.

"You heard me!" Tina hissed. "You can take my car." And before Sam had a chance to say anything she was gone.

TBC

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