Someone on Mark's Side
by Tie-B
Chapter V
Disclaimer: Aside from the fictional character Dylan, I don't own anything in this fic.
Sorry again for the delay. I had to study for my exams.
---
The shivering wouldn't stop. Mark nearly caught the pipe with his head when the man swung it down. The nervousness prevented Mark from hitting back. The man took another swing, horizontal. Mark shifted his weight to his hind leg in order to dodge the blow. The drunken assailant began to pick up his pace and started mumbling barely recognizable words. Mark dodged three more swings; each one got him more nervous.
This was the last thing Mark needed: A fight on the street, just before school. If he ever got out of this alive, he would be so late for Algebra, his teacher would kill him anyway.
Mark ducked the last high swing. The lead pipe hit the lamppost behind him sending another echo clanging through the streets. For some reason, the sound knocked most of the anxiety out of Mark. Breathing became easier. The trembling subsided enough so that Mark could make a fist.
And he sent that fist straight into the man's eye socket.
Mark got into his fighting stance as the man staggered backwards and fell over. Mark was not going to die. Not today.
Mark walked over to his recovering opponent and kicked the lead pipe away. The man tried to get up with an uppercut, but Mark had the advantage of sobriety and was able to backhand him in the face after dodging the uppercut.
"Argh!" The man screamed as the force sent him sprawling on the floor again. He tried to get up, but his face was greeted by the sole of Mark's shoe.
Seeing their beer buddy in trouble, the two other drunks rushed Mark, screaming as they did. The tattooed man's battle cry was cut short when he ran out of air as Mark's foot planted itself in his stomach.
Mark blocked the bald guy's right hook, but the excess force was strong enough to send him staggering sideways, nearly tripping over the body he put there on the floor earlier. Before Mark could regain his balance, his opponent threw another punch which caught Mark on his left shoulder. It hurt, but not as much as the sidewalk scrapping his elbows as he fell down.
He tried to get up and run, but the guy he knocked down regained consciousness and grabbed on Mark's foot. Inertia sent him plummeting down. Mark kept the sidewalk from smacking into his face with his hands, but they scrapped against the floor as the tattooed man pulled on his foot.
Mark anticipated what was coming and rolled his body to the side. He felt the vibrations on the ground as a foot landed hard on the place he lay a second ago.
Mark gave a hard kick on the tattooed mans shin and got up with a jab to the stomach. Mark was about to give him a front kick in the face but the bald man grabbed him from behind, immobilizing him.
Mark tried to break free, but a punch landed on his stomach. He could feel the cherry Gatorade starting to rise out of his stomach and into his throat, but he managed to keep it down. He then took a bite on his grappler's arm. After all, he was always taught that the entire body could be used as a weapon.
The bald man tried to shake Mark's bite off, but as soon as Mark sensed that he was off balance, Mark lifted him with his legs and used him to catch the next punch the tattooed man threw. The impact caused the bald guy released his grab and roll down the floor, knocking his two other friends off balance.
Mark's shirt was already soaking in his sweat. His elbows, hands and back were all dirty. This had to end now. If the drunken trio regained sobriety, Mark would lose his advantage over them, and he'd be toast.
Mark's eyes darted around again, searching for the lead pipe his opponent used earlier. Maybe it would help get this over with quickly. It couldn't have gone far. Mark could have sworn it had landed a few paces from where he was standing.
Strange. There was nothing but sidewalk. Where could it have gone?
Lost in a brief second of thought, Mark was caught off-guard. He felt the same lightning like pain in his face Brad gave him two nights ago as the bald guy's fist collided with his face. Unlike Brad's uppercut, Mark was pretty sure something was broken this time.
Mark clutched his face as he staggered backwards. A thick liquid ran through his fingers. Blood! His nose was bleeding!
Panic started to race through Mark, and he didn't see the next punch coming until it was too late. He tried to move out of the way, but he was too slow and too late. Mark felt his cheek get crushed under the force and his feet lift off the floor as his body spun around and fell on his side, his entire body's weight crushing his right shoulder and hip.
The pain was no longer on his face, but his entire body as well. Mark struggled to get up, but the pain was too much. He fell on his face after a failed attempt. This was it. Game over.
Mark wondered if Mom and Dad would let him go back to karate lessons if he came out of this beating alive.
Closing his eyes as he waited for his enemies to finish him up, Mark remembered Brad and Randy, his brothers. He wondered if they would have helped him if they were there right now or if they would just point at him and laugh. Mark didn't care if they didn't help. Mark just didn't want to die alone. Like this.
Eyes still closed, Mark felt the footsteps coming closer. He was breathing heavily now, forcing himself not to cry. If he was going to go out alone, he was going to go with dignity. Mark felt the first drunk approach, then the second, and the third.
Then a fourth?
Mark felt a small spark of hope rekindle inside of him as his three assailants turned around to face the newcomer.
It was followed by a loud familiar clang of a lead pipe a split second later, and a thud as a body fell on the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Mark rolled on his chest and opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of his defender. It was him: Jason's little nemesis, the kid who owned the locker across Mark's. He had his backpack on, meaning he was probably on his way to school too.
Mark looked around more and saw that the tattooed man was the unfortunate sap who got thwacked by the lead pipe. From the looks of it, he got hit in the head.
Before the two other drunks could rush him, the kid hurled the lead pipe with deadly accuracy, sending it crashing into the bald guy's knee, causing him to do a nosedive on the sidewalk. A sidekick greeted the last assailant, the same one Mark liked to use a lot, in the gut. The man fell back a few steps, and started vomiting on the sidewalk. Obviously, the kid didn't show much mercy as he sent an axe kick crashing down on the man's head. The man could only grunt in pain as his face hit his own half-digested meal. The kid gave him one more kick in the gut just to make sure he'll stay down long enough.
Mark would have out a sigh of relief, but he was hurting like hell. His unexpected savior came crouching down by his side to examine the damage on inflicted on him.
"You're hurt," he started, stating the obvious, "I need to get you out of here before they can get back up on their feet." The kid offered Mark his hand to help him get up.
Mark wondered why the guy was helping him despite the fact that he seemed smug about beating the crap out of Jason, but he just nodded in agreement and the took offered hand and pulled himself up. "Thanks," he managed to mutter, still a bit shaken up.
"No. Don't thank me. You wouldn't have gotten this hurt if I hadn't took the pipe."
That was a cold reply. Mark tried to argue. He didn't like gratitude being rejected.
"Still, if you hadn't come, they would have done much worse."
Mark tried to walk, but he was still a bit dizzy from the punches in the head and nearly fell. The kid managed to catch him before Mark plummeted like a tree.
"Are you alright? I think we'd better get you to the hospital, uhh..." he trailed off, lacking a name to put at the end of his sentence.
"Mark. Mark Taylor," Mark supplied as he pulled away. "And please, no hospitals. I'm fine, really," he added. It wasn't really convincing with the blood coming out of his nose, but he wanted to avoid the hospital because Randy was there, and so will Brad and his parents later on.
"Mark, you can't go to school in that condition. You should at least take a rest and have those scratches cleaned up or you'll risk infection."
Mark couldn't argue with that. He wanted rest over Algebra anyway.
"Listen, my place is only across the street. I'm going to take you there so we can clean up your wounds. Does that sound okay to you?"
Mark just nodded. It was too far to walk back to the Taylor residence, and he was too battered to attend school. The hospital was a definite no. It wasn't much of a choice.
The kid helped Mark get across the street, making sure he didn't fall over or get smacked by a passing vehicle. Mark couldn't help but feel surprised the kindness shown to him by a person he barely even knew.
Heck, Mark didn't even know his name, so as they reached the front door, he decided to ask.
"What's your name?"
"It's not important." Another cold reply.
"It is to me. You just saved my life back there," Mark insisted.
The kid hesitated a bit before answering. Mark didn't have any idea as to why a thirteen year old would hesitate to tell his name. What harm could it do?
"Fine," he reluctantly surrendered. "It's Dylan Hunter."
---
Brad went through his first class wondering what happened to Mark. He didn't see him at school before the bell. Brad shuddered at the thought of all sorts of trouble he imagined Mark could get in to. He tried to dismiss them all as just his imagination, but then he realized he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if something did happen to Mark, because he could have prevented it all from happening if he was able to give Mark a ride to school.
Thanks to his worrying, Brad didn't even hear the lesson or the homework. He was just snapped out of his trance by the bell that ended the first class.
Brad scurried up to his locker immediately, leaving his friends from soccer wondered why he was in such a hurry to leave.
Brad got his stuff and went to Lauren's locker and waited for her. It wasn't a very long wait. Brad saw her coming down the hall talking to some friends.
"Hey Lauren!" Brad greeted.
"Oh hi Brad," Lauren greeted back. She noticed the urgent look on Brad's face and asked, "What's going on?"
"Lauren, have you seen Mark?"
"You mean he isn't with you? I thought you were supposed to drive him here today?"
"I was, but he left he house this morning before I could tell him. I didn't see him anywhere on the road while I was on my way here."
"Do you think he's in trouble?" Lauren thought out loud.
Brad thought of the possibility again and took a deep breath.
"I hope not."
There was silence from both of them for a few seconds as they both contemplated on what could have happened to Mark.
"Look, Lauren I have to get going. Will you be coming over to the hospital later to visit Randy?"
Lauren managed to smile at the question.
Brad realized it was a very lame thing to ask.
"Never mind. I know the answer. I'll just wait for you outside later," Brad said as he turned away to leave.
"Alright Brad. I'll see you later."
The bell rang as Brad went the hall, slowly disappearing in the crowd. Lauren saw Brad's speedy walk broke into a run just before she turned away to leave.
---
"Ow!" Mark yelped. The antiseptic stung the scratches on his hand like lemon. Dylan had to keep a tight grip on Mark's fingers to keep the hands from closing as he dabbed on some more. Mark took breaths through his teeth, cringing.
"There," Dylan said as he put the cap back on the bottle.
Mark began blowing on his hands. Dylan looked at him with amusement.
"You know, I'd laugh at you right now, but you remind me a lot of myself when I used to do that a few years ago, when-" he stopped his sentence short as if he just remembered something. Mark looked at Dylan, waiting for him to continue.
He didn't. Mark tried to compel him. "When what?"
"Never mind. It's nothing." Before Mark could reply, Dylan changed the topic. "Heh, I think I remember you now. I saw you during the fight yesterday. I didn't recognize you on the street a while ago with all that blood on your face."
Mark was slightly offended. He gave Dylan a weird look and wondered if he really looked that messed up after the fight. Then, he remembered what he saw in the mirror when he was cleaning up. There was a large bruise on his cheek where the punch that knocked him down landed. Yeah, he guessed he did.
"Yeah. That was definitely you at the lockers yesterday. I apologize if I interrupted your talk with your girlfriend..."
The remark made Mark forget about asking Dylan about his unfinished sentence. "Lauren's not my girlfriend!"
"Oh. Sorry. So who was she?"
"She my brother's girlfriend," Mark explained.
Dylan nodded. "Look, you really should get some rest," he said, pointing to his bed. The house had a guest room, but they had better access to medical supplies and bathroom in Dylan's room. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything."
Dylan left and closed the door behind him. Mark lay on the bed and tried to sleep off his weariness, but his eyes couldn't help but wander around the room.
It was pretty simple compared to Mark's place. He decided it was probably due to the fact that Dylan and his family still haven't unpacked most of their other stuff yet as Mark could still see a few moving boxes around.
Among the stuff Dylan had brought out was a small, framed picture of him and his brother. It was on the side table adjacent to his bed. Mark thought it was odd that Dylan was walking alone to school. Where was his older bro?
An even bigger question was, where was the rest of the family? Mark and Dylan were the only people in the house. Mark just assumed it was because Dylan's parents went to work early.
Beside the picture frame were more disturbing items. Anti-depressant pills. Why? Mark couldn't think of anything Dylan would be depressed about. The oriental dagger beside it was also out of place. He noted that the sheath was engraved with Dylan's name. Despite how cool it looked, Mark didn't think it was such a good idea to leave weapons like that lying around near a thirteen year old depressed kid.
Mark's curiosity deepened. The fact that Dylan asked a lot and told nearly nothing about himself didn't help.
The urge to sleep crept over Mark. As Mark turned to a more comfortable position to sleep in, he heard a faint thumping sound from downstairs. The steady beat rang in Mark's head as he slowly drifted off to sleep.
by Tie-B
Chapter V
Disclaimer: Aside from the fictional character Dylan, I don't own anything in this fic.
Sorry again for the delay. I had to study for my exams.
---
The shivering wouldn't stop. Mark nearly caught the pipe with his head when the man swung it down. The nervousness prevented Mark from hitting back. The man took another swing, horizontal. Mark shifted his weight to his hind leg in order to dodge the blow. The drunken assailant began to pick up his pace and started mumbling barely recognizable words. Mark dodged three more swings; each one got him more nervous.
This was the last thing Mark needed: A fight on the street, just before school. If he ever got out of this alive, he would be so late for Algebra, his teacher would kill him anyway.
Mark ducked the last high swing. The lead pipe hit the lamppost behind him sending another echo clanging through the streets. For some reason, the sound knocked most of the anxiety out of Mark. Breathing became easier. The trembling subsided enough so that Mark could make a fist.
And he sent that fist straight into the man's eye socket.
Mark got into his fighting stance as the man staggered backwards and fell over. Mark was not going to die. Not today.
Mark walked over to his recovering opponent and kicked the lead pipe away. The man tried to get up with an uppercut, but Mark had the advantage of sobriety and was able to backhand him in the face after dodging the uppercut.
"Argh!" The man screamed as the force sent him sprawling on the floor again. He tried to get up, but his face was greeted by the sole of Mark's shoe.
Seeing their beer buddy in trouble, the two other drunks rushed Mark, screaming as they did. The tattooed man's battle cry was cut short when he ran out of air as Mark's foot planted itself in his stomach.
Mark blocked the bald guy's right hook, but the excess force was strong enough to send him staggering sideways, nearly tripping over the body he put there on the floor earlier. Before Mark could regain his balance, his opponent threw another punch which caught Mark on his left shoulder. It hurt, but not as much as the sidewalk scrapping his elbows as he fell down.
He tried to get up and run, but the guy he knocked down regained consciousness and grabbed on Mark's foot. Inertia sent him plummeting down. Mark kept the sidewalk from smacking into his face with his hands, but they scrapped against the floor as the tattooed man pulled on his foot.
Mark anticipated what was coming and rolled his body to the side. He felt the vibrations on the ground as a foot landed hard on the place he lay a second ago.
Mark gave a hard kick on the tattooed mans shin and got up with a jab to the stomach. Mark was about to give him a front kick in the face but the bald man grabbed him from behind, immobilizing him.
Mark tried to break free, but a punch landed on his stomach. He could feel the cherry Gatorade starting to rise out of his stomach and into his throat, but he managed to keep it down. He then took a bite on his grappler's arm. After all, he was always taught that the entire body could be used as a weapon.
The bald man tried to shake Mark's bite off, but as soon as Mark sensed that he was off balance, Mark lifted him with his legs and used him to catch the next punch the tattooed man threw. The impact caused the bald guy released his grab and roll down the floor, knocking his two other friends off balance.
Mark's shirt was already soaking in his sweat. His elbows, hands and back were all dirty. This had to end now. If the drunken trio regained sobriety, Mark would lose his advantage over them, and he'd be toast.
Mark's eyes darted around again, searching for the lead pipe his opponent used earlier. Maybe it would help get this over with quickly. It couldn't have gone far. Mark could have sworn it had landed a few paces from where he was standing.
Strange. There was nothing but sidewalk. Where could it have gone?
Lost in a brief second of thought, Mark was caught off-guard. He felt the same lightning like pain in his face Brad gave him two nights ago as the bald guy's fist collided with his face. Unlike Brad's uppercut, Mark was pretty sure something was broken this time.
Mark clutched his face as he staggered backwards. A thick liquid ran through his fingers. Blood! His nose was bleeding!
Panic started to race through Mark, and he didn't see the next punch coming until it was too late. He tried to move out of the way, but he was too slow and too late. Mark felt his cheek get crushed under the force and his feet lift off the floor as his body spun around and fell on his side, his entire body's weight crushing his right shoulder and hip.
The pain was no longer on his face, but his entire body as well. Mark struggled to get up, but the pain was too much. He fell on his face after a failed attempt. This was it. Game over.
Mark wondered if Mom and Dad would let him go back to karate lessons if he came out of this beating alive.
Closing his eyes as he waited for his enemies to finish him up, Mark remembered Brad and Randy, his brothers. He wondered if they would have helped him if they were there right now or if they would just point at him and laugh. Mark didn't care if they didn't help. Mark just didn't want to die alone. Like this.
Eyes still closed, Mark felt the footsteps coming closer. He was breathing heavily now, forcing himself not to cry. If he was going to go out alone, he was going to go with dignity. Mark felt the first drunk approach, then the second, and the third.
Then a fourth?
Mark felt a small spark of hope rekindle inside of him as his three assailants turned around to face the newcomer.
It was followed by a loud familiar clang of a lead pipe a split second later, and a thud as a body fell on the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Mark rolled on his chest and opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of his defender. It was him: Jason's little nemesis, the kid who owned the locker across Mark's. He had his backpack on, meaning he was probably on his way to school too.
Mark looked around more and saw that the tattooed man was the unfortunate sap who got thwacked by the lead pipe. From the looks of it, he got hit in the head.
Before the two other drunks could rush him, the kid hurled the lead pipe with deadly accuracy, sending it crashing into the bald guy's knee, causing him to do a nosedive on the sidewalk. A sidekick greeted the last assailant, the same one Mark liked to use a lot, in the gut. The man fell back a few steps, and started vomiting on the sidewalk. Obviously, the kid didn't show much mercy as he sent an axe kick crashing down on the man's head. The man could only grunt in pain as his face hit his own half-digested meal. The kid gave him one more kick in the gut just to make sure he'll stay down long enough.
Mark would have out a sigh of relief, but he was hurting like hell. His unexpected savior came crouching down by his side to examine the damage on inflicted on him.
"You're hurt," he started, stating the obvious, "I need to get you out of here before they can get back up on their feet." The kid offered Mark his hand to help him get up.
Mark wondered why the guy was helping him despite the fact that he seemed smug about beating the crap out of Jason, but he just nodded in agreement and the took offered hand and pulled himself up. "Thanks," he managed to mutter, still a bit shaken up.
"No. Don't thank me. You wouldn't have gotten this hurt if I hadn't took the pipe."
That was a cold reply. Mark tried to argue. He didn't like gratitude being rejected.
"Still, if you hadn't come, they would have done much worse."
Mark tried to walk, but he was still a bit dizzy from the punches in the head and nearly fell. The kid managed to catch him before Mark plummeted like a tree.
"Are you alright? I think we'd better get you to the hospital, uhh..." he trailed off, lacking a name to put at the end of his sentence.
"Mark. Mark Taylor," Mark supplied as he pulled away. "And please, no hospitals. I'm fine, really," he added. It wasn't really convincing with the blood coming out of his nose, but he wanted to avoid the hospital because Randy was there, and so will Brad and his parents later on.
"Mark, you can't go to school in that condition. You should at least take a rest and have those scratches cleaned up or you'll risk infection."
Mark couldn't argue with that. He wanted rest over Algebra anyway.
"Listen, my place is only across the street. I'm going to take you there so we can clean up your wounds. Does that sound okay to you?"
Mark just nodded. It was too far to walk back to the Taylor residence, and he was too battered to attend school. The hospital was a definite no. It wasn't much of a choice.
The kid helped Mark get across the street, making sure he didn't fall over or get smacked by a passing vehicle. Mark couldn't help but feel surprised the kindness shown to him by a person he barely even knew.
Heck, Mark didn't even know his name, so as they reached the front door, he decided to ask.
"What's your name?"
"It's not important." Another cold reply.
"It is to me. You just saved my life back there," Mark insisted.
The kid hesitated a bit before answering. Mark didn't have any idea as to why a thirteen year old would hesitate to tell his name. What harm could it do?
"Fine," he reluctantly surrendered. "It's Dylan Hunter."
---
Brad went through his first class wondering what happened to Mark. He didn't see him at school before the bell. Brad shuddered at the thought of all sorts of trouble he imagined Mark could get in to. He tried to dismiss them all as just his imagination, but then he realized he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if something did happen to Mark, because he could have prevented it all from happening if he was able to give Mark a ride to school.
Thanks to his worrying, Brad didn't even hear the lesson or the homework. He was just snapped out of his trance by the bell that ended the first class.
Brad scurried up to his locker immediately, leaving his friends from soccer wondered why he was in such a hurry to leave.
Brad got his stuff and went to Lauren's locker and waited for her. It wasn't a very long wait. Brad saw her coming down the hall talking to some friends.
"Hey Lauren!" Brad greeted.
"Oh hi Brad," Lauren greeted back. She noticed the urgent look on Brad's face and asked, "What's going on?"
"Lauren, have you seen Mark?"
"You mean he isn't with you? I thought you were supposed to drive him here today?"
"I was, but he left he house this morning before I could tell him. I didn't see him anywhere on the road while I was on my way here."
"Do you think he's in trouble?" Lauren thought out loud.
Brad thought of the possibility again and took a deep breath.
"I hope not."
There was silence from both of them for a few seconds as they both contemplated on what could have happened to Mark.
"Look, Lauren I have to get going. Will you be coming over to the hospital later to visit Randy?"
Lauren managed to smile at the question.
Brad realized it was a very lame thing to ask.
"Never mind. I know the answer. I'll just wait for you outside later," Brad said as he turned away to leave.
"Alright Brad. I'll see you later."
The bell rang as Brad went the hall, slowly disappearing in the crowd. Lauren saw Brad's speedy walk broke into a run just before she turned away to leave.
---
"Ow!" Mark yelped. The antiseptic stung the scratches on his hand like lemon. Dylan had to keep a tight grip on Mark's fingers to keep the hands from closing as he dabbed on some more. Mark took breaths through his teeth, cringing.
"There," Dylan said as he put the cap back on the bottle.
Mark began blowing on his hands. Dylan looked at him with amusement.
"You know, I'd laugh at you right now, but you remind me a lot of myself when I used to do that a few years ago, when-" he stopped his sentence short as if he just remembered something. Mark looked at Dylan, waiting for him to continue.
He didn't. Mark tried to compel him. "When what?"
"Never mind. It's nothing." Before Mark could reply, Dylan changed the topic. "Heh, I think I remember you now. I saw you during the fight yesterday. I didn't recognize you on the street a while ago with all that blood on your face."
Mark was slightly offended. He gave Dylan a weird look and wondered if he really looked that messed up after the fight. Then, he remembered what he saw in the mirror when he was cleaning up. There was a large bruise on his cheek where the punch that knocked him down landed. Yeah, he guessed he did.
"Yeah. That was definitely you at the lockers yesterday. I apologize if I interrupted your talk with your girlfriend..."
The remark made Mark forget about asking Dylan about his unfinished sentence. "Lauren's not my girlfriend!"
"Oh. Sorry. So who was she?"
"She my brother's girlfriend," Mark explained.
Dylan nodded. "Look, you really should get some rest," he said, pointing to his bed. The house had a guest room, but they had better access to medical supplies and bathroom in Dylan's room. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything."
Dylan left and closed the door behind him. Mark lay on the bed and tried to sleep off his weariness, but his eyes couldn't help but wander around the room.
It was pretty simple compared to Mark's place. He decided it was probably due to the fact that Dylan and his family still haven't unpacked most of their other stuff yet as Mark could still see a few moving boxes around.
Among the stuff Dylan had brought out was a small, framed picture of him and his brother. It was on the side table adjacent to his bed. Mark thought it was odd that Dylan was walking alone to school. Where was his older bro?
An even bigger question was, where was the rest of the family? Mark and Dylan were the only people in the house. Mark just assumed it was because Dylan's parents went to work early.
Beside the picture frame were more disturbing items. Anti-depressant pills. Why? Mark couldn't think of anything Dylan would be depressed about. The oriental dagger beside it was also out of place. He noted that the sheath was engraved with Dylan's name. Despite how cool it looked, Mark didn't think it was such a good idea to leave weapons like that lying around near a thirteen year old depressed kid.
Mark's curiosity deepened. The fact that Dylan asked a lot and told nearly nothing about himself didn't help.
The urge to sleep crept over Mark. As Mark turned to a more comfortable position to sleep in, he heard a faint thumping sound from downstairs. The steady beat rang in Mark's head as he slowly drifted off to sleep.