Authors note: I'm a bad person. Not only have I practically given up on my previous story, but now I'm writing another one? -face palm- Scratch that last part. L'amour Conqueirt Tous is on hiatus, I haven't given up on it, I've merely lost interest for the time being.
This is first person, from Sam's point of view (Some third person. Only used when I feel necessary.). And just so you all know, first person is extremely hard for me to write. So please excuse any misuse of tenses or grammatical errors!
Warning: Ugh. I don't even know at this point. Teenage angst, oh my! Maybe slash, depending on where I go with this. Maybe not. Oh! Oh! I happen to have with me an abundance of snarky Sam in the form of fic as well! And we all know what goes with snarky Sam? Snarky Dean! Yay, compilations due to teenage angst!
Ages of our lovely boys: Dean- 20 Sam- 16
English had to be the most boring class ever… or at least Mr. Hancock's English class was. The guy lectured on for what seemed like hours. I sat with my arms crossed and leaned back, carefully analyzing his interpretation of Romeo and Juliet.
I rolled my eyes as he further explicated on the tragedy.
I honestly didn't find Romeo and Juliet to be all that interesting. Romeo is obviously a sex-craved, hormonal, whiny brat trying to get with a naïve, under-aged girl. And Juliet, well, she was just all too easily manipulated into believing that this boy has some sort of feelings for her. It doesn't seem all that romantic. To me, it seemed less about a story of love than a story about two people who died for a love nobody wanted them to have.
Only five minutes left of class. Thank god.
I kept my incredulous gaze on Mr. Hancock as he paced up and down the rows of desks, seemingly unaware of the abundance of sleeping students. I just know he's going to call on someone. I hope it isn't me.
And cue the teacher. "Mr. Winchester?"
"Would you mind enlightening us on scene four, act three?"
Tell him to shove it. Tell him it's a piss poor excuse for a romance novel. Tell him he's a pathetic excuse for a high school English teacher, tell him! "Uhm. W-well," Crap! Why do I always have to stutter? I sound like an idiot! Oh, for the love of god, say something you twit! "That's when Juliet… commits suicide?" I cringe. Was that even the right scene? Erm, nope. Most definitely not.
"Brief, but that pretty much summarizes it. Very good Mr. Winchester."No. No it doesn't, I know it doesn't. My English teacher is a moron. That's not even the right act let alone the right scene… I reiterate, my English teacher is a moron.
A few students jolted awake as the bell rung. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't one of the first people out the door. Luckily English was my last class of the day. Listening Mr. Hancock drone on always makes me a bit drowsy. I sighed heavily as I closed my locker.
Oh god. What now? I let out another sigh as I turned around to face Matt. I think he just might be stalking me.
"Hey…" I answered avoiding eye contact. There's a reason for that. People are always asking me why I hesitate around kids my age. It's not that I'm all that scared, it's more of a defense mechanism. If I don't say the wrong thing, I won't get beat up. If I don't say anything, everyone will just leave me alone.
My inner monologue was cut short by Matt punching me in the gut. I fell forward, startled by the sudden blow. Before I could regain any sense of myself, Matt gripped my hair pulling my head down as he thrust his knee towards my face. I guess I should feel lucky that it was my jaw and not my nose that absorbed most of the impact. Or the fact that we were still on school grounds and class had only let out not ten minutes ago.
Somehow, I'm not feeling all that lucky.
I must have blacked out for a moment or two because I'm now on the ground and Matt is currently delivering some very painful blows to my midsection. I can feel my legs twitch slightly in an effort to curl in on myself. Yet another defense mechanism, I suppose. You'd think growing up in my family, I'd be able to defend myself from my classmates. Even if this one's twice my size.
I've somehow managed to curl up into an amazingly tight ball, considering the fact that I can barely feel my ribs. Don't be mistaken, the pain is quite evident, but that's about all I'm feeling at the moment. Dad's always telling me to suck it up. Wouldn't he be proud?
Matt's finally letting up. I can hear him laughing.
"That'll teach ya." Teach me what? To never breath your air? Ugh. Please tell me he didn't just spit on me. I'm tempted to tell him off, get bent douche bag, but I know better. Why add wood to the fire? I'm pretty sure that's not the saying, but it has the same outcome either way.
Slowly, I manage to drag myself from the ground, using the lockers as support. Leaning heavily against the lockers I take a couple of deep breathes. I could only imagine how labored they sound.
Days like these make me glad that I have an over-protective brother. Even if he is a jerk. Good, my legs are moving. So what if I can't feel them? Heh. I guess that makes me dead on my feet. I feel like I've been walking for hours. It's sad really. That was only what, Two steps?
I'm trying to keep my mind off the pain, but It's proving to be quite a difficult task. I'm still confused as to why Matt beat me up in the first place. Arrogant Jock. Way to overcompensate early on. Enjoy you thirties dickwad. Okay, so I'm bitter. Wouldn't you be? Ever since I moved here, life's been a living hell. I think I'm starting to develop an immense hatred towards Iowa. Fucking Iowa.
It's almost comical if you think about it. I used to be so… happy, for lack of a better word. I used to enjoy school, some might even say I was a bit of a socialite, minus the fashion diva part. I'm not saying I was ever popular, but people knew who I was. Sure, I'm a bit geeky when it comes right down to it, but not obsessively so.
I guess I'm not sure when I stopped caring. It's not like one day I just decided to stop talking to people.
Or did I?
No, I didn't. This had a longtime coming, I'm sure of it… Still, this makes me wonder what 'it' is. Depression maybe? But how could it be? I'm to angry to be depressed. I don't know what exactly I'm angry at, but the anger's there nonetheless.
Oh, thank god... I don't think I've ever been happier to see the Impala in my life. I'm not sure if that's sarcasm or not. Probably somewhere in between the two. I can see Dean through the Windshield. He looks flustered to say the least. I only got two, maybe three more steps in before Dean was out of the muscle car and racing towards me. I wonder if it was the limp or the hunch that tipped him off?
I have to say, getting the pulp beat out of you really takes a lot out of a guy. I felt relieved when Dean pushed my hair back and started with a tirade of questions I doubt even Matt could answer. I should probably be listening, but I'm having enough trouble just standing. On second thought…
Sam let out a pained grunt as he slumped forward. Luckily, Dean was there to catch the limp form of his little brother.
"Oh Sammy." Dean whispered before wrapping one of his arms around Sam's shoulders. Once securing his arm, Dean bent, fitting his other arm under Sam's bent knees. It almost surprised Dean at how easily he could lift his brother. Almost. He knew Sam was skinny. Skinnier than a boy his age and height should be.
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