Fic: Nothing to be Scared of (SPN, PG) - 4/5

[partly]

Title: Nothing to be Scared of (4/5)
Fandom(s): Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam, John
Genre: Gen
Rating: R -- Language, violence/implied violence
Word Count: ~10,000 overall, 2729 this part
Warnings/Spoilers: Preseries
Disclaimer: Fanfic, for fun, not profit.
Summary: Written for afteriwake for the long-past-due SPN_Holiday. She wanted a story about Dean meeting a bully at school. I had every intention of doing that simple story, only it had a mind of it's own and it grew into something much longer. The basic concept is still there, just tweaked a little. I hope it still works for her, I just couldn't write a bully that Dean would actually be bullied by without taking it to this next step.
Note: Posted in five parts, I plan on posting one part a day. Read Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 if you missed them.

Then, shouts and running footsteps. The room filled with people and confusion, but Dean didn't care. He wanted to curl into a corner and hide in the darkness. Something tugged at his arm and he swatted at it.

"Dean!" A woman's voice cut through the dimness. A familiar voice.

"Mrs. Mitchell?" His jaw ached when he talked. Something warm and sticky ran down the side of his face.

"Yes, Dean. Now just relax. Jennie here is a paramedic. Let her look at you." Mrs. Mitchell's worried face faded in and out of focus. "Please, Dean. You're hurt."

"No shit." The words were out before he could stop them. He gritted his teeth together to keep from saying anything more. Getting hit on the head always made him talk too much. Dean groaned as he pushed himself up, managing to sit. He leaned back against the wall focusing on not throwing up, fighting to pull the right words from the steady stream of babble that ran through his head. "Don't worry." He tasted the metallic tang of blood as he spoke and he could feel his left eye swelling shut. "I'm fine." The words slurred together but at least they made sense.

"I'll be the judge of that, tough guy." A pretty blonde woman -- Jennie, the paramedic, Dean assumed -- crouched next to him. From the way she frowned at him, Dean decided he must have looked almost as bad as he felt. "I'm gonna need a full medkit over here," she called over her shoulder. "How far out is that ambulance, Frank?"

It took a moment for Dean to make sense of her words. Over ringing in his ears, Dean could make out sirens. "No." Dean struggled to pull his arm away from her. "You can't... I can't go... he can't know." His wrist twisted in her grip and the stab of agony that shot up his arm stole his breath. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the pain.

"Dean." Mrs. Mitchell's face swam in front of him when he opened his eyes again. "Hold still!"

Dean blinked blurrily at her, but he sat still. "No hospital. Don't make--" He bit his lip to keep from talking. This was all wrong. He was supposed to lay low. He wasn't supposed to get noticed. The rules were simple: No trouble. No cops. No freakin' hospital. Don't attract attention. He'd really screwed up this time.

"Don't worry about it, Dean," Mrs. Mitchell said. "I already called your Dad. He's on his way home. I’ll explain everything when he gets here."

Her seeming confidence to do so didn't make Dean feel any better. Neither did the fact that she not only apparently knew how to get in touch with John Winchester, but actually managed to do so. How long had he been out? The wail of sirens grew louder and Dean felt sick. FUBAR didn't even begin to cover this. He shut his eyes tight against the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. After the Striga, it'd taken months for Dad to trust him enough to leave Dean in charge and go hunting; once he found out about this screw up he'd never allow Dean out of his sight. How many people were going to be hurt because Dean couldn't be trusted to follow the rules?

Dean opened his eyes as Jennie removed a cloth from the cut on his forehead. The white material was stained crimson and he could feel a new trickle of blood trail down the side of his face. Jennie was talking to him, but he couldn't hear what she said. Time moved unevenly. The sirens stopped. A heartbeat later two paramedics with a gurney stood beside him on the stage. He blinked and he was on the gurney fighting weakly to keep them from strapping him down. Then the gurney was soft and warm, the painful buzzing in his head eased and the voices arguing around him became clearer.

He made a half-hearted effort to sit up before someone helped him out by raising the back of the gurney. Dean was suddenly grateful for the strap that kept him from pitching forward. He took a couple of steadying breaths and looked around, finally able to make sense of the activity around him.

The stage was full of people, most in police or sheriff uniforms. George, Pete and Football Guy were kneeling along the back wall, hands cuffed behind them. Four deputies stood close to them, deep in conversation, occasionally glancing at the prisoners or Dean. Dean couldn't even begin to guess what they were saying and he decided he didn't care. Another man sat alone in a seat in the darkened auditorium, head in his hands. Dean knew without a doubt he was George's father. He wondered if the man was ashamed over what his son had done or was planning how to help him get away with it. Dean closed his eyes and let the sounds fade around him, trying not to imagine what his dad would choose to do.

"Dean." Mrs. Mitchell's hand felt cool and soothing against his face. When he looked at her this time, she was less fuzzy around the edges. "Before you go to the hospital, there are some people who want to talk you." She frowned at a tall man who moved to her side. Dean didn't need to read the "Sheriff" embroidered on his uniform to know that he was in charge.

"Howdy, Son. Think you're up to answerin' a few questions?"

The Sheriff's voice was low, authoritative, and it sounded so like his dad's that Dean nodded instinctively. That was a mistake. A wave of nausea swept over him. The pain in his head spiked and the buzzing pitched higher. As the world blurred around him, Jennie materialized by his side.

"Sheriff, do we have to do this now?"

"I've got three boys in cuffs, I'm supposed to be haulin' off to jail, Miss Jones, and all I got to go on is a whole lot of confusin' statements on what people think they saw on some TV on the other side of the school. Now it may be that we got some sort of recordin' of what happened, but we don't know that yet. Right now, with the story they're tellin', I ain't hardly got a solid reason to even hold 'em overnight, so yeah, I think we gotta do this now."

"It's all right," Dean said, interrupting Jennie. The thought those three bastards could possibly walk out free outweighed his fear of having to deal with the police. Some things just needed to be done, consequences be damned. "What do you need to know?"

The sheriff pulled a small notepad out of his shirt pocket. "Tell me what happened here tonight."

Dean almost said I got the shit beat out of me. but he managed to bite it back. He focused on choosing the right words. "I came here to talk to Mrs. Mitchell and George and his buddies over there jumped me."

"Why would he do that?"

Dean focused on the pen in the sheriff's hand, ignoring the he's an asshole line that ran through his head. "George knew I saw him selling drugs to some kids at the middle school."

"When was this?"

Dean frowned, trying to remember. "Tuesday. Ah. Week before last." He wasn't sure if that was right, but Mrs. Mitchell gave a small nod and he relaxed a little.

"Why didn't you call the police?"

Dean shrugged. "Who'd believe me? Besides it wasn't any of my business." He hadn't meant to say that last bit, but it was true. The sheriff didn't disagree, so Dean continued. "I was going to walk away, only there was this girl. She needed my help. So I helped her and George didn't like that."

"And this girl's name?"

"Ah... yeah. She's an eighth grader, tall and thin. Always scared. She's..." It hurt to think and the ringing in his ears started up again. Dean could picture her, hear her begging him for help, see the bruises on her neck and wrists, he just couldn't think of her name. "Um... Melanie? No. Shit!" Why couldn't he think of her name?

"Melody Jacobs?" the Sheriff provided.

"Yes!" Dean leaned back against the pillow in relief. "Melody. Short black hair, bruises on her arms. I think George hurt her. To keep her quiet. Asshole." The words tumbled out. Anger and pain pushing his need to talk. "Someone had to stop him before he hurt someone else. So I--" Dean clamped his mouth shut so quickly that he almost bit his tongue. The desire to tell them the entire plan was almost overwhelming.

The sheriff waited a moment then asked quietly. "So you, what?"

Dean heard a slight change in the sheriff's voice and warning bells went off in his head. He clenched the thin blanket covering him in his fists and concentrated on keeping silent and breathing.

The sheriff prompted again. "So you told them to meet you here tonight? Because you wanted to stop them?"

It took all of Dean's willpower to keep from saying damn right I did. He spent most of his life in one kind of lie or another, but sometimes it took so much effort not to tell the truth that it hurt almost more than the beating he'd just endured. He struggled to find the best words. "I came because I told Mrs. Mitchell I would be here." That lie had just enough truth in it to ease the pain in his chest. "She told me I could talk to her." That part was absolutely true, but he couldn't look at Mrs. Mitchell as he said it, so he leaned his head back onto the gurney.

"You didn't tell George to meet you here, at the school?"

Once again the sheriff sounded just like his dad, carrying a quiet demand for obedience. Dean met his steady gaze and answered carefully. "I've been avoiding George all week because I was afraid of him." It wasn't an easy admission to make, but right now it was easier than lying. "Why would I tell him to meet me here, alone?"

Dean knew that the non-answer didn't satisfy the sheriff but before he could push the issue a shout from over by the stage door echoed through the room.

"Stop. You can't go in there!"

A small figure dodged his way through the crowded stage. Dean knew before he saw him that it was Sammy. The sheriff made a grab for him but Sammy was quicker than he looked. He ducked behind the lawman and ran full tilt into the gurney, the jolt of his impact slamming Dean against the restraints.

"Dean! What happened? Are you all right?"

"It's okay, Sammy. I'm fine." Dean tried to smile but he didn't think that Sammy was going to believe him.

"You don't look fine." Sammy examined him closely, then glared at the adults standing around, finally ending with the Sheriff. "What happened to Dean?" He crossed his arms and stood firmly between the gurney and the large man. "What's going on?"

Mrs. Mitchell stepped in and saved the sheriff. "Dean was in a fight. But he's going to be fine." She paused a moment, then asked, "Where were you?"

"Dean said it was okay for me to wait in the library while he came and talked to you."

The sheriff finally found his voice. "Wait. Who are you?"

Sammy drew himself up to his full, seven-year-old height. "I'm Samuel Winchester. Dean's my brother."

"And why were you and Dean here tonight?"

Dean started to say something, but the sheriff silenced him with a look.

Sammy shrugged. "Dean said he wanted to talk to Mrs. Mitchell. I think it had to do with the bad guy."

That stopped anything Dean had planned to say. He didn't think Sammy knew anything about what was going on.

They all stared at Sammy for a second before the sheriff spoke. "What bad guy?"

"That one." Sammy pointed over at George. "Dean didn't think I knew," here he turned and pouted at Dean for a second, before looking back at the sheriff, "but I saw him hitting Dean once and he followed us home a while back. And I know that's why Dean spent all last week in the library." He smiled. "Dean hates libraries, but I love 'em so he said I could stay in the library tonight while he went to talk to Mrs. Mitchell." Sammy frowned and peered intently at Mrs. Mitchell. "He's not in trouble for that is he? The door was stuck but he got it open without hurting it."

Dean stared pointedly at nothing in particular. The library door had been locked and he picked it, while pretending to Sammy it'd been jammed. He was glad he managed to pull that one over on the kid.

Mrs. Mitchell didn't say anything about the locked door, though; she just reached out and gave Sammy a hug. "No, Sam. Dean's not in trouble at all. He does have to go to the hospital, though."

"Really?" Sam spun and looked at Dean. "Dean never goes to the hospital.

Dean saw an opportunity. "I don't have to go now, either," he said. "I'm fine."

"No. You're not, tough guy." Jennie appeared, checking over his injuries and shooting the sheriff a hard look. "If you have everything you need, Sheriff?"

The sheriff looked between Dean and Sam, then nodded. "Yes. Thank you. I will need to speak to your father when he gets here." He turned to Mrs. Mitchell. "You said he was out of town?"

"I called him right away. He will be here tonight."

Dean feared for a moment the sheriff was going to ask more questions about where his dad was or why he was leaving two young boys alone, but he just walked to the back of the stage, leaving Dean to be taken to the hospital.

Jennie muttered "Finally!" under her breath and started to push Dean toward the exit. "Let's get you out of here."

Sammy managed to climb up onto the gurney while it was moving. He sat next to Dean's legs and studied his injuries, completely confident that he would be allowed to go along. "You're going to need stitches for that cut, Dean."

Jennie looked at him. "How do you know that?"

"I'm good with that sort of thing. Dad says it's important to know all that stuff in case there's not a doctor or a hospital around. I know when a cut needs stitches or just a butterfly bandage, how to wrap a sprain and even set a broken leg."

Jennie smiled. "Bet you have the Boy Scout Merit badge for first aid, don't you?"

"No. But I could have." Sammy nodded solemnly. "I got a boy scout manual from a library once, one of those old books that they get rid of. I could have gotten all the badges. Dean could have, too. Only he says that the Boy Scouts are for girls. Which is dumb, because that's what the Girl Scouts are for."

Dean closed his eyes, letting Sammy's voice wash over him. The darkness at the edge of his mind was calling to him and he just wanted to slip into unconsciousness and let someone else pick up the pieces. His plan had worked out pretty good, after all. The sheriff seemed satisfied with the story. If the tape from the video recorder was still good -- and Dean didn't know why it shouldn't be -- then George's little gang would be shut down and it won't ever be just his word against theirs. Most importantly, Sammy was safe and charming everyone around him.

He just hoped that would be enough to excuse his stupidity for having been beaten up and taken to the hospital. He hoped that Sammy would understand why they would have to pack up and leave. And he hoped that Social Services wouldn't come poking their overly pompous noses into the lives of the Winchesters. Most of all he hoped Dad would be able to forgive him for screwing this all up. Just before he let oblivion claim him, he changed his mind. His plan hadn't worked at all.


Part 5: Dean woke to the quiet dark of a hospital room.

Comments

[deangirl1.livejournal.com]

Two great chapters! Ok... Mrs. Mitchell - who the heck is she???? Another hunter? I'm still thinking narc... Poor Dean - loved the reference to the shtriga - always worried about John. This feels so like Dean... I'm sad that it's almost over....

[partly.livejournal.com]

Glad you liked it! I'm really glad that you thought it was in-character for Dean. Hope you like the last bit...

[tifaching.livejournal.com]

Who is Miss Mitchell? She kicks ass whoever she is! Great update, can't wait til John gets there!

[partly.livejournal.com]

When I wrote her I didn't expect Mrs. Mitchell to be such a hit, but I'm glad to see she is! John shows up next...

[saberivojo.livejournal.com]

Poor Dean. Worried about Dad coming home. He has some valid concerns what with Social Services but I think he made the right choice.

[partly.livejournal.com]

Dean always worries. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy the last part.