Unhuman Nature. If it bums you out too much, just remember, their mourning didn't last very long! It got kind of long, because the flashback kept replaying in my head, which means I see way too much detail. If I wrote it all, they would be a novel all its own. Lol
Kathy, thank you for your reviews on three of the chapters, especially the one with the friggin' Winchesters! I love writing action but struggle with it, so encouragement is always helpful. It's so kind that you take the time to write about every single chapter. Thanks!
CHAPTER 20: Bullies
Dean had never been the scrawny kid or the easy target. In fact, he'd typically been one of the biggest kids in his class. Add that to his natural confidence and the easy menace he exuded without even trying, he wasn't someone who people messed with very often, and he certainly wasn't targeted by bullies. Many kids, especially those with the skills to defend themselves and the disadvantage of ratty clothes and constantly being the new kid in school, would have become bullies. Many would have used fear and physicality to build up their own self esteem.
Dean never did. He was, instead, hard-wired to protect. It wasn't from being raised a hunter, or even being a big brother who had to grow up fast and take care of his little brother. It was just something that was there, a part of him. And maybe that was why he hated bullies. Inserting himself between a bully and his or her target was simply second nature. And heaven help a bully that targeted Sammy.
At 13, Sam hadn't filled out or put on any weight, despite all of the training his dad insisted on. He looked at the ground, hunched his shoulders, and sort of loped along, rather than moving with the alert, almost feline grace that Dean had. He gave off exactly the opposite feel as his much larger brother. To bullies, his appearance of physical weakness, meekness, and ratty clothes painted a big target on his back. Then there was the one thing that Dean could never understand. Sam hated fighting back. He did all he could to avoid a fight, but not out of fear. And more than once, he had taken a hit or three and never hit back. Whenever Sam came home with bruises, John figured he wasn't capable of defending himself and trained him even harder. But Dean thought it was like Sam was more afraid of himself than of taking a beating. No matter what the reason, Dean was completely incapable of standing by if someone came at Sammy when he was around.
It was sunny but chilly afternoon in March when Dean decided to surprise Sam by picking him up from school. The middle school was the wrong direction from the high school, and got out half an hour later, so Sam was usually stuck walking as Dean hustled to his after school job, but he'd been granted a rare day off. John was working a complicated case two hours north and was only there every fourth or fifth day, so Dean figured he'd treat Sam to a meal at an actual restaurant instead of out of a can.
He didn't see Sam coming out with the other kids, so Dean got out and walked around the side of the school. He could hear the unmistakable sounds of a fight as he turned the corner, and his stomach tensed. Sure enough, there was the crooked circle of kids these thing always seemed to attract, and in the center was a meathead who was both tall and heavy for his age, or he was significantly older than Sam's almost 13.
All of Dean's instincts told him to rush right in, but Sammy had been so prickly lately, wanting to handle things himself. Grinding his teeth, Dean forced himself to evaluate the situation. First of all, neither boy had a mark on him. And while Rocky was breathing hard and taking haymaker after haymaker, Sam was simply, calmly, dodging the blows. He was toying with him, not getting beat up, and Dean's heart slowed. Sammy wasn't in any danger. And while he still wanted to get in there and shake the bully until he cried, he forced himself to let his little brother handle it.
Sam caught sight of his brother and almost failed to dodge one tired swing in surprise. Luckily, his reflexes and training saved him. Dean gave him a little chin tilt of approval that conveyed both pride and a willingness to let Sam take care of his own business. They'd always been able to communicate easily without words, and Dean could see Sam's eyes light up when he received the message. "Finish him, Sammy," he called out, and half of the watchers turned in surprise. Some immediately looked fearful. High schoolers already knew that you didn't mess with Dean Winchester, and that had apparently trickled down to the younger kids too.
"Not worth it," Sam answered, avoiding one more weak punch. "He's just a slug." Sam grabbed his backpack and committed the ultimate insult of turning his back on his opponent. He kept his posture open and relaxed but Dean could see the underlying tension. Sam was watching Dean for any sign that his aggressor was coming up behind him. And damn if the kid didn't consider it. His thoughts were clear on his puggish face – he was dying to teach the younger Winchester a lesson, but was too afraid of the older brother.
The kids in the circle obediently let Sam out, curiosity and respect on most faces. Dean rested a forearm on Sam's shoulder as they walked away in silent solidarity designed as much for the watchers as for the younger teen. "Your brother won't always be there to save you, freak!" yelled the frustrated kid behind them.
Sam's shoulder tensed at the hated appellation, but Dean nudged him to keep walking. Without looking back, Dean called, "I dunno, slug. It didn't look like he needed me." They were in the car and headed back when Dean spoke again. "Watch out for that kid, Sammy. He's bad news."
"He's just a coward," shrugged Sam. His lips tightened. "He likes to push around this girl with Down Syndrome and get her to cry."
Dean's hands tightened on the steering wheel until it creaked. He wasn't one to advocate murder, but he kind of wanted to stab this douche in the face, even if he was only a kid. "Nobody stops him? Nobody else?"
Sam gave a cynical laugh that sounded so much like John that it started Dean. "You know who he is? Trenton Blake the fourth." The note of bitterness was far beyond his age. "Trenton Blake the third is our principal."
Dean swore under his breath. "I'm going to switch to a later shift and pick you up after school as long as we're in the crappy two-horse town." Sam argued, but it was a lost cause.
It was three days later when the kid who normally stocked shelves with Dean didn't show up and the manager offered him the chance to work extra time to do it himself. They could really use the money, and he'd already dropped Sam at their motel, so he agreed. He wished he had a way to get a message to his brother, but they didn't exactly have cell phones.
But when Dean got back to the room just before 9:30, he found no Sam, just a note that said, "Library." The library closed at 9, Dean thought, and it should only be about a 10 minute walk. So where was the kid? Chances were he was just dawdling, but…Dean had drunk the Kool-aid at the Bobby Singer and John Winchester house of paranoia too long. It took him all of three seconds to jump back in the Impala and turn in the direction of the library, hoping that in a few minutes he'd be listening to his brother bitch about his overprotectiveness.
The sun had set before 8, and it was fully dark now. As Dean turned the only corner he had to take, the headlights swept over a group of figures. His quick mind processed the scene almost instantaneously. It was a group of kids standing around … someone … on the ground. One kid held a camcorder
Dean had the car in park and was out the door before he'd consciously made the decision to do so. Dean's thoughts fragmented into small packets of information, as if he was no longer capable of thinking full thoughts.
Sam. Was. On the ground. Not moving. And. Someone kicked him.
Dean pinned the kicker against the wall, again without really deciding. It was the dick who had tried to pick a fight with Sam at school. "What did you do to my brother?" There was so much menace in Dean's voice some of the other kids ran away.
"W – we found him like – " Dean punched the wall next to the bully's head, making him whimper, and Dean could smell the sharp tang of urine. It reminded him that this was a kid, only 12 or 13.
"Get out of here before I kill you." Dean's voice was all gravel. As he released whatever-his-name-was, he noticed another kid was pointing the camcorder at him. Dean grabbed it. "All of you!"
They scattered, but Dean didn't really notice. He was already on the ground next to Sam, who wasn't moving. Baby's headlights cast the boys in grayscale, making it difficult to figure out what was wrong. He ran a hand over his brother's head gently and sucked in a breath when he found a bloody lump on the back. "Okay, Sammy, I need to know what happened here. C'mon. Wake up for me. I need to know where else you're hurt. Sammy." He couldn't leave his brother lying here on the concrete, though he knew he probably shouldn't move him. Carefully cradling his head and neck, Dean gently rolled Sam toward him, pulling the kid half on his legs.
There was blood on the side of Sam's face too, but Dean couldn't see where it came from. His breath caught in his lungs. It wasn't that he hadn't seen injuries before – heaven knew he had – but nothing had been quite as terrifying as the silent, bloody Sam. Dean desperately wished Dad were there.
"D-dean?"
Then Dean could breathe again. "Yeah, Sammy. I'm here. Where does it hurt?"
"Head."
"Yeah, I'll bet. Where else?" Dean encouraged, trying to see Sam's pupils.
Sam, unhelpfully, closed his eyes. "Um…"
"Sammy, don't close your eyes! Stay awake. Stay with me." Dean made a decision. "C'mon, think you can stand up?"
Sam nodded, then rolled on his side and vomited. Concussion, thought Dean, his training kicking in. "Okay, that's okay, Sammy." He held his brother's chest so he didn't fall into his own sick, rubbing his back with the other hand. "All right. All done? Okay, let's get to the car. It's the hospital for you. Let's go, bitch."
"Jerk," sighed Sam. His eyes were closed again. He was very little help as Dean manhandled him to his feet and basically carried him to the still-running car. Dean paused before closing the door.
"You're not going to puke in the car, are you? Cuz I like that car a lot better than I like you."
Sam still didn't open his eyes, but he very deliberately extended his middle finger, and despite it all Dean smiled, just a little.
Sam passed out completely on the short trip to the hospital, which meant he was taken back almost immediately for a CT scan. The wait seemed to last forever, and it didn't help that Dean had to leave a voicemail for Dad. In reality, though, the small ER was very quick and quiet, and Dean soon found himself sitting at a hospital bedside, Sam small, pale and still with a bandage on his head.
He stood quickly when a woman wearing a lab coat and stethoscope walked in. She had graying hair that curled at her shoulders and a competent air. "Dean Rogers? I'm Dr. Waukes. Is Sam's legal guardian here?"
"He's out of town for work but on his way," Dean lied easily. He knew John would burn rubber once he got the message, but who knew when that would be? "I'm Sam's brother. Can I…can you tell me how he is?"
Her hard brown eyes bored into his for a long moment. "I'll tell you Sam's condition, then you are going to tell me what happened." She looked deliberately at Dean's bloody knuckles. "I'm giving you the benefit of a doubt because you obviously care for your brother, but if I don't like your answers, I'm calling the cops."
"Fair enough. How is Sammy?"
Waukes studied Dean for one more moment, trying to estimate his age. His face said maybe 17, the air of casual competence suggested much older. "Your brother has a mild concussion, a nasty contusion on the back of his head, some scrapes on his face and bruises on his torso."
Dean had already noted that there were no defensive marks on Sam's arms or hands. His voice vibrated with so much anger it startled the doctor. "They sucker punched him." He took a few long breaths to get his fury under control. Even in his anger, he wondered how someone had snuck up on Sam so well.
"Who? Did you see what happened?"
Dean's hands were shaking with the need to hit something, but he kept his head. This was important. He pulled the camcorder from his pocket. "I took this from one of the kids who was," he swallowed, "standing around kicking him. Let's find out."
The doctor was actually a little intimidated by this teen – and she was rarely intimidated – but she walked behind him because she was more concerned with the welfare of her patient than anything else.
The shaky video started with a group of kids laughing and talking about the "epic prank" they were about to pull on "that stupid pussy that thinks he can tell us what to do." The boys walked down the street that Dean recognized from where he'd found them. Sam walked into view, backpack on his back and carrying another book. He stopped abruptly, apparently seeing the boys. Face turning wary, he lowed his backpack to the ground and set the book on top of it, then slid both over to give himself room. He settled back into a ready stance, exactly as he should.
"Hey, guys," video Sam said cautiously. The guys around the video laughed and insulted Sam, but it was the background that had Dean's attention. A kid came into the frame holding a rock. And he threw it. At the back of Sammy's head. Dean's blood turned to ice as his brother's face went slack and he dropped bonelessly to the hard pavement. The dicks laughed and cheered. There was a moment of confusion, then they were looking down at Sam, and feet were kicking him. Dean was only vaguely aware of the hand the doctor had put onto his shoulder, and he didn't even realize that he'd made a strangled sound.
The Impala growled on the video, then there was a lot more confusion, then the camera showed Dean's own face. He stopped watching then, but Waukes kept her attention on the video even when it went dark, because you could still hear some audio. "Yeah, Sammy. I'm here." How was this even the same angry, jaded kid who had been so scary threatening Sam's attackers? The video went dead after a moment.
"I wonder why they targeted him?" mused the doctor out loud. "They usually stick to those who can't defend themselves."
"He got between them and some girl they wanted to torment, I guess." Dean was distracted, staring at his brother like he could will him to wake up.
"Lily?" Now the doctor's voice was cold as ice. "I think they broke her arm, but I can't prove it and she won't talk about it." She was furious. "The police need to see this."
"That tape isn't leaving my sight," argued Dean. He stared at her challengingly.
"I'll have the equipment to copy it brought to the room." Dean nodded, reading in her eyes that they were on the same page.
The doctor left, and Sam opened his eyes blearily. "Dean?"
"I'm here, Sammy."
For some reason, spending time with Jack made Dean remember young Sammy. Remembering that bully attack still made him furious, though Sam had healed up quickly and had spent just one night in the hospital. He'd always wished that they could have stayed in town to see the fallout, but they just couldn't have that level of scrutiny. Instead, they had taken one copy of the attack and cut out the part where Dean had showed up, and blacked out Sam's face, then sent it to all the local TV stations. He was sure between that and the bulldog of a doctor the boys responsible had paid. Still, he would have preferred to dish out his own kind of retribution.
Now he was looking down at Jack, who was dying because bloody Lucifer was a bully. Lucifer was always the biggest and the baddest, and he always just took. Like the schoolyard bullies, he had no empathy for anyone; even his own child was simply a casualty along the way.
Dean's heart twisted inside his chest. But unlike Sammy all those years ago, Jack was going to die. No matter what they did to the devil after that – if they could do anything – nothing could save Jack. Was there anything worse than being a protector who couldn't protect? Dean left the room, unable to see the pain on Sam's and Cas' face, unable to watch the brave boy in the bed die, one victim Dean couldn't help.