"Can't I just stay home? It's not like we'll be here for long…"

Dean looked down at his little brother. To be honest, he was worried about Sam, the boy hadn't been himself since they started at their new school a week ago.

Dean shook his head. "You know you can't, Sam. Look, you said it yourself – we won't be here for much longer, alright? So whatever's worrying you will end soon enough."

The thirteen-year-old looked up at Dean with a frown on his face. Sam opened his mouth, about to say something, but quickly shut it; he didn't want to get Dean mad or upset –Sam was sure that the former would be more likely.

Instead, Sam nodded and walked into the school, looking down at the ground.

Dean wasn't sure what to do – he had tried and tried to pry information from his brother about what was wrong but Sam refused to talk, no matter what Dean did.


Sam hesitated at his locker. No one had bothered him just yet – but that meant nothing. Sam's bullies were probably waiting for a more opportune time…

Yeah… Sam thought sadly. …When they know for sure that no one will come along and find them… Maybe I should hit them… They can't beat me - I know that! …But then I'll be the one in trouble… Maybe I could say something? Scare them off? Would that really work? But then they'll pick on someone else… If they hit me again, maybe I should fight back – even if it's only defensively….

Sam waited for a few more minutes before he opened his locker, still trying to work out a strategy. It was quiet, and Sam had been uninterrupted as he put his bag into the locker and pulled out everything that he would need. It looked like that morning would be without incident until – bam!

Sam cried out in pain as his locker's door was slammed upon his hand. Out of pure instinct, Sam pulled his hand free and threw a punch at whoever – or whatever had harmed him. He looked up at his main bully, a fat kid with anger issues and long, black, greasy hair. Sam knew that his name was Ross and he was a few years older than Sam himself – but Sam wasn't sure on exactly how old he was. The Winchester was just glad to see that he had connected with the older male in the face – though Ross didn't seem too phased.

"Good to see you back at school, Winchester," sneered Ross, "thought that you weren't going to be coming back after yesterday – you didn't seem to handle being pantsed in front of everyone well."

Sam flinched slightly at the mention of yesterday, but otherwise remained silent.

"Hey, don't ignore me, Winchester!" Ross shouted. He tried to shove Sam backwards into the lockers, but he missed when Sam ducked and moved to the side, getting into a defensive position. "Don't you want me to hit you around, again? I swear to god that I'll knock your teeth out this time!"

"…" Sam lowered his head. As much as he hated this treatment, he didn't want to cause any harm to Ross. "I don't want to fight, Ross. Please leave me alone."

"You're a pussy! You're weak!"

"If you're so strong, then go pick on another boy your own age and size."

Ross whistled in excitement. "Oh, my God – Winchester actually stood up for himself!"

Sam rolled his eyes, turning to leave, but he didn't get very far before he hit the ground. Ross had kicked the younger's leg out from underneath him.

Sam bit his lip; his wrist was burning, throbbing in pain. He watched as Ross opened his locker and pulled the brown-haired boy's things out from it. He stood up and took a few steps backwards, putting distance between himself and Ross. He felt anger boil up inside of him, but he bit his tongue. He had already decided that the next time Ross dared to lay a hand upon him, he wasn't going to lay back and take it.

Ross ripped loose papers up, pulling pages from books before shredding those, too. He sprinkled it all onto Sam, sneering. He didn't even seem to notice the anger that was burning in Sam's eyes.

"Good luck getting everything done again, Winchester."

And with that, Ross was gone.