"Dean! Dean! Wake up!"

My eyes shot open to find Sam's hands firmly shaking me awake.

I rubbed my eyes and rolled over, feeling a pain in my back.

I had fallen asleep in that damn-ridden chair.

Again.

I stood up, stretching my back painfully, and looking down at Sam.

"What's up, buddy?" I asked, ruffling his hair and yawning as I departed the room.

Sam ran after me.

"Dean! We're late for school!" He said, a look of alarm that I had never noticed just before on his face.

My eyes widened, and I went to run upstairs, but then I relaxed, letting another yawn escape me.

"Eh, let's just skip school today." I flicked the switch on the kettle, leaning on the wooden bench.

Sam sent me his bitch face.

"De-an." He growled, and I put up my hands in defense.

"Woah, easy there tiger. Whatever, go if you want, but I'm staying home. Tell them I'm sick or something, 'kay?"

I shoved some toast into the toaster, as Sam still stood there in his Dr Who pyjamas.

"What?" I said, noticing his bitch face was still boring into me.

"You need to go to school, Dean." Sam said, grabbing one of the pieces of toast that popped up, and I just smiled a little to myself, before starting a 'coughing fit'.

I didn't want to go to school, and it was only our second week.

"Oh...I-I think I've caught something, Sammy! Oh well, no school for me! Don't want everyone else to catch whatever this horrific disease is!" I began to steer Sam out the door by his shoulders.

"Dean! I need to get dressed!" He cried as I began to close the door behind him.

I sighed and grumbled, "Whatever."

Sam went under my arm, rushing upstairs.

I rubbed my eyes.

I don't want to go to school today.

They'll just get to me again.

Like they do.

Every time.

Sam came back downstairs, and gave him a pat on the head, ruffling his hair up, which he flattened down hastily.

"See ya, Dean." Sam murmured, flashing a quick smile to me.

But I could tell it was forced.

I just smiled my own fake one, and Sam began to run up the driveway.

I went back into the kitchen; the kettle had been whistling for a while and was starting to get on my nerves.

So I flicked the power point off, not bothering with it.

I walked back up to my room, throwing on a clean pair of jeans and a black and red plaid shirt.

I ran my hand through my hair, winking to myself in the mirror, before going down into the room, the one with the chair that I definitely don't want to fall asleep in again.

I sat in it anyway; it smelt nice, and had a sense of happiness around it.

I threw my legs over the arm of the chair, the one closest to the window, and my gaze turned to a bird, which was picking along one of the trees that stood tall and mighty in the street.

I began to close my eyes, my thoughts clouded by the question of how Sam was doing at school.

But then my eyes shot open, something peculiar and unpleasant interrupting my thoughts, as I heard shouting coming from the window that stood just a few meters away from mine.

I sat up, hearing a man's voice, shouting, and I looked around the corner of the chair, seeing a man, around the age of fifty, with grey hair that stood perfectly on the top of his oval head.

He was tall, and towered over someone, someone who was much smaller than he.

At first glance, I thought it was a kid, but as I looked closer at the boy sitting on a bed in the room, I realized there were some features that made him look older, maybe even the same age as me.

He had black hair, which was worn almost the complete opposite way to the man's, bits sticking up everywhere, and a tan trench coat, which I noticed was bunched up by the grip of the man's fist, scrunching it up.

The man continued to yell, and I couldn't tell what he was saying, but the boy's lips moved slowly, before he immediately brought a hand to his cheek as the man slapped him.

The man went to the door, saying something before slamming the door shut.

I looked away as the boy got up, a little shaky and unsteady on his feet, as he made his way over to a desk that sat just in front of the window.

What was the man yelling at him for?

I took another glance at the boy, who had now picked up a pen, his left side of his face swollen and red from the force of the slap.

He chewed the end of his pen, slumping back into his chair, then looking looking up to the window.

My first instinct was to get out of sight as quick as possible from the boy, so I was as quick lightning to hide behind the chair.

But then, my curiosity got the better of me, and I peered around again.

When I did, all I could see was blue.