I do not own the Lorien Legacies series, or I am Number 4. It belongs to Hollywood and Harper Collins Publishers/ Pittacus Lore.

Fix You

John had always known, from their first meeting, that something was off in Sam. He was different than every teenager he had ever met in all the schools that he had gone to. He kept to himself. He was quiet. He had almost no friends. But then, as days progressed into weeks, he began to notice things…things that made him question what was happening to Sam behind closed doors. And he began to notice things that he hadn't before.

He began to notice, for instance, that his movements were slow and calculated in everything he did—as though he mulled them over before he did anything, weighing the outcomes. His voice was weak and quiet in every situation, and he sounded like he was in a library no matter where he was, be it a class or a football game. But the thing that got him the most was his fear.

Whenever he or Sarah suggested that they go and do something at his house, his eyes clouded with fear and his voice wavered, growing weaker with every sentence. And there were always excuses. The kitchen was being redone. His mom was sick. His father wouldn't be home untill late. And it began to dawn on him that something was wrong. And so his plan was formulated. And that plan was what brought him to Sam's house tonight, hidden behind the shrubs.

It was a cold night, and John shivered again, pulling his hoodie closer to his body. The damp air was making him feel like he had to cough, and the milky fog coating the ground made the forest around the outskirts of the property look more eerie than usual. He wondered, for a moment if Mogadorians were hiding in the trees but he shook his head at his stupidity. And then he heard it: the sound of breaking glass and the raised voices.

Clenching his fists, he slowly slunk across the yard, drawing closer to the dirt covered siding. The window to the right of him was on; throwing a beam of light onto the yard and it was through this that he looked in to see what was happening. Sam and his step-father were in the dining room, standing around the table and their bodies rigid. Sam was gripping onto the chair in front of him, his knuckles white and a scowl gracing his face. His step-father was hunched over the table, his face red as he screamed, finger pointing directly at Sam. John noticed the empty beer cans crowded around the table. He glanced down to his palms to see them glowing softly.

And then he almost jumped through the wall. Sam's head had whipped to the left at his step-fathers heavy hand. He heard Sam's cry—loud with his specialized hearing. And then Sam was being pushed into the wall and the punches were falling into his stomach and his face. And all the while, Sam whimpered but didn't fight back. And that hurt him more. He wanted to jump through the wall and throw that son of a bitch through the wall. He wanted to beat him like he was beating Sam. He wanted to kill him. After a while, Sam was thrown on the floor and kicked a few times in the chest, his step-dad grunting each time his foot connected with Sam's gut. And then, after slamming his heel down onto Sam's wrist, he left, the door slamming behind him.

He waited untill the pickup truck pulled out of the gravel driveway and headed off toward town, and he hoped that he crashed his car and died on the way in a fire-y ball of flame. Turning back he peered into the house again, his eyes resting on Sam. His breathing was shallow and came in soft pants, and his heart wrenched in his chest at Sam's pain. As far as he could tell, his mother wasn't home. At least, he hoped to god she wasn't. If she was and she hadn't come to Sam's defense, he'd take her out with that…asshole.

He dashed to the front of the house, pulling open the screen door as it squealed horribly in protest before throwing his weight into the door. It stuck in the frame, and it took two good pushes against it with his shoulder for it to open with a bang. The light, which had flickered on when Sam's step-dad had exited shut off with a small click but his attention was focused on Sam, who was moaning on the floor and struggling to ball up on the ground.

Rushing over he fell to his knees, his hands hovering over Sam's body, afraid to touch him lest he hurt him more. Sam cracked a swollen eye when his shadow fell over him and his eye widened in fear. Choking on his tears, he gently cradled Sam's head, his eyes roaming his body.

"Shh…it's ok Sam. I'll get you some help."

Sam looked like he would like to protest but he shut his eyes again, his head lolling.

"Sam! Don't fall asleep ok? Stay awake!" Sam cracked his eyes open, locked on his own.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was weak and strained. "You…weren't supposed to know." He shuddered in pain when John pressed into his hand a little too strongly and he pulled away quickly.

"Shh…don't talk. I'll get you out. Can you walk?" It sounded stupid as soon as he said it. "Don't answer that. Hold on."

He pulled out his phone, hitting 1 and waiting as it dialed. One ring and Henri's voice filled the room, voice panicked.

"John? What's wrong? Where are you?"

"Dad! I went to Sam's to see what was going on with him and…Dad it's bad. Sam's step-dad's been beating him and…he needs help."

"I'll be there in 4." The line went dead, and John turned back to Sam.

"Hold on Sam. Help is on the way."

Henri turned up a minute early, and John met him outside. Henri was fuming already, evident from him slamming the car door and his heavy footsteps on the gravel.

"Get in the car." He ground out, pushing through the screen door and walking straight toward the dining room. He heard Henri swear at the sight of Sam's body and John, shaking with anger and pent up anxiety and frustration, got into the back, waiting. Henri returned seconds later, carrying Sam's limp body in his arms.

He opened the side door for him, and gently cradled Sam when he was placed in his arms. Closing the door carefully, Henri slid into the driver's seat and peeled off in a cloud of dust, flying down the deserted road toward their house. The ride was long and silent, and time seemed to slow down to a crawl. He spent the time brushing Sam's hair from his eyes and whispering to him to keep him awake, but it was becoming futile. Sam was quickly seeping back into darkness.

When they arrived home, the car stopped quickly and the door was thrown open again, Henri taking Sam while he ran up to the porch and unlocked the door. Sam was placed on his bed, a washcloth resting on his forehead and John sat at the edge, looking at Sam as if he might break if his eyes looked away. Bitter tears filled his eyes. He hoped Sam would be ok. He had to be ok. Because if not, a part of him would be hurt too. Sam was important to him. His best friend and the brother he always had wanted. His body shook with anger, but Sam's slow breathing calmed him—at least for now. He'd wait until he was better. Than Sam's step-father was going to be in a world of pain.

So. That was it! I hope you guys really like it. It didn't start out to turn into this. I had just wanted this to be a one-shot. But my characters decided that that plan wasn't going to work and they hijacked it. Anyway, thanks so much for reading this. I appreciate it because there's a lot of good stuff to read out here. Review are amazing, and they make my day. Do me a favor and hit that little button at the bottom? Tell me what you thought. :) Till next time.

Troypayisbetter.