Alexander John Rider woke up to the drumming sound of rain on a rooftop. It was dark, and gloomy, and it was that exact moment that he realised he wasn't in his bed back in Chelsea. The current mattress – or lack thereof – was hurting his back. It was extremely uncomfortable. Like sleeping on the floor. In fact, Alex wondered if there would be a difference if he actually decided to sleep on the floor.

His eyes flitted around to find that no one was in the room with him, except for three other spare beds, one with a lumpy blanket. There were also two doors – one which led you outside, and the other to some other room. Alex sat up slowly, working out the kinks in his sore body. Most people would have panicked and started to call for help by now – but not Alex Rider. Gingerly stepping out of his bed (it looked suspiciously like a cot); Alex got a cold shock from the wooden floor making contact with his bare feet. Squashing the rising anger inside of him, Alex strolled up to the window and looked outside.

Squinting through the downpour, he could make out groups of figures trotting through the mud.

"Oh, bloody hell…" Comically, Alex banged his head against the window. He felt like crying. "Why is this happening to me?"

...

"Alex...?"

Alex Rider got the scare of his life and jumped three feet into the air with a yelp (later, it would become a manly shout).

A low groan rumbled from the previously empty cot and the lumpy blanket moved before settling down. Alex stared at the thing from the corner in which he was plastered against, heart thumping wildly. He swallowed a breath and took a cautious step forward. "Tom...?" he said warily.

"Turn off the bloody lights." The blanket growled.

Welcoming the sense of relief that flooded him, Alex quickly stepped up to the cot and pushed Tom out. "Bloody hell, Tom! You scared the shit out of me!"

The blanket rustled around as Tom curled up into a ball on the floor so he could try to get some sleep. Finding that he couldn't go back to sleep, Tom sat up, and a head full of dark hair popped from out of the blanket. Tom yawned and then let out a moan of complaint. "Why the hell is it so friggin' cold in here? And why the hell did you wake me up? Sod off for a few more hours, Alex."

He crawled his way back up onto the cot. He buried his head beneath the pillow and his muffled voice came out. "And why the fuck is this bed so uncomfortable?"

Now, generally, Tom was an upbeat person. Always looking to the brighter side of things, and being a trickster. He loved having 'fun' and messing with people. Sometimes, his happiness could be contagious. And sometimes, his happiness could get on peoples nerves.

And he was strange.

Most people (those who weren't his friends) figured he was, to be quite blunt, a bit on the loopy side. Even by Alex Rider Standards, he was pretty weird – and when you considered everything that happened to Alex over the past two and a half years or so... it meant that Tom was pretty strange. But like most of his friends would say, Tom kinda grew on you, until you couldn't imagine him as anything other than Tom. And you had to accept that Tom wasn't just weird, but that he was weird.

But there was one time of the day, where you could find Tom to be... normal. A very mean, but normal, kind of guy. But still very mean. Downright malicious.

Tom Harris, best friend of one Alex Rider, was not a morning person.

At all.

If anybody asked Alex to describe what his best friend was like in the mornings, he would've said he was like a demon. His tongue would be a double-edged sword – he could reduce you to tears in mere seconds with his 'morning' words. And if looks could kill, Alex would've been dead a hundred times over. One wrong move – irritate/piss him off, or in other words, disturb his sleep – and you were dead. He would gladly chop off your much needed body parts and bathe in your blood. And then go back to sleep.

Because that's all Tom wanted.

A peaceful sleep with no. Freaking. Disturbances. His words.

Alex could understand how much Tom valued his sleep, seeing as how whenever his parents were in the same house together, they would go at each other like a dog and a cat would. He'd lay awake, trying to get some sleep, but his parents would just go on and on until he'd get fed up and yell from his room telling them to shut the hell up because he was trying to get some sleep.

The only people who've ever witnessed this side of Tom were his family, and Alex, who was – practically – family.

None of them were affected by it anymore than Tom was sorry for how he was in the morning. It was just how he was, so Alex ignored him when he sat back up and irritably (another word for dramatically) threw the blankets off of himself.

Especially when Tom started muttering obscenities about Alex under his breath. Alex only heard snippets of the darkly muttered talk, but it was enough to be mildly offended.

"Bloody Alex..."

"... Ruin my morning... so bloody annoying..."

"... Got no bloody life... pushing me off my fucking bed..."

"... Can't believe he would do this to me... having to wake up to his fucking ugly face..."

"...God must fucking hate me..."

"... Fuck you, Alex, you flying fuck. Two-shitted fuckwit. Fucking fuck; fuck you, you little fucking fuck-face... fucking hate you... hope you get fucked in that fucking ugly excuse of a fucking face..."

Looking around angrily, most likely looking for another victim to traumatise, who could actually be traumatised, Tom straightened underneath his makeshift cape. His 'cape' fell to the floor as he threw his hands in the air. "And what the fuck is this shit?" he turned around. "Where the fuck are we, Alex? Because it sure as fuck isn't my place, or yours, or anyone I even know!""

Tom glared accusingly at Alex, as if it was his fault they were here. As if it was his fault the bed he woke up in wasn't his. As if it was his fault he woke up in a bad mood. As if it was his fault it was bloody cold and raining. As if it was his fault that he was feeling like killing someone. As if it was his fault for every bad thing that had ever happened in his entire fucking life.

... Which was all technically true, except for that last bit – he'd only played in some parts – a teensy, weensy part – in those battles.

Because, seriously. When you thought about it, it wouldn't even be possible for Alex to be the cause for every problematic occurrence in Tom's life. They'd only first met a couple years ago.

But then again, being around Alex Rider meant you had to have a backbone of steel or whatever the metaphor was. You had to be able to detect and handle his sarcasm. You had to be able to take his moodiness in stride, and slap him back in line when things got out of hand. And the only one who'd ever been capable of that last part was Jack (don'tthinkaboutherohmygodwhydidyouhavetogoanddiefor?) and Tom.

Alex smiled, sat down on the cot, and patted on the space beside him. "Come sit down, Tom."

Now if it were possible (which he didn't think it was), Alex would've said Tom's glare got even angrier.

"Who the fuck would want to sit down next to someone like you?" He sneered the 'you' like it meant Alex was some disgusting, sleazy, peasant thing who wouldn't be able to spell his own name that he looked down upon. Not worthy of ever having the graces of Tom Harris to sit down next to him. Ever.

But truth was, Tom was just being stubborn. He didn't like the fact that his morning (codeword for sleep) was interrupted, so he'd doing everything in his power to hurt you verbally, mentally and emotionally (since it was kinda illegal to do some physical abuse, much less kill somebody).

If you handed Tom a piece of fruit in the morning, he'd try to shove it down your throat or various other places...

And it was true. Alex had been generally in a good mood one time, and brought him an orange. Tom looked from him, to the orange, then back again. He grabbed the damned fruit, hooked a finger onto the vee of Alex's t-shirt and squeezed the bloody fruit until there was no juice left. He proceeded to throw the orange down Alex's shirt and then run his juice-ridden hands through Alex's hair. And then back down his face. Tom then saw the strawberries Alex had in his other hand, took them and walked off after saying, "Thanks, Alex, but I'm not too big a fan of fruits in the morning. Don't look so down, buddy! It's the thought that counts!"

After that, deemed the Orange Incident, Alex had sworn to never again offer Tom Harris fruit in the morning. "Never again." Alex muttered as he mentally renewed his vows.

Tom sat down with a huff after investigating the room, in which he found nothing of useful information. He'd open the door to go outside, only to have "...felt like a fucking hose had been turned on full blast and hit me in my fucking face. What kind of hell are we in now, Alex? I don't fucking like it here. And I want to fucking go, but it's pissing out there."

To whom, Alex had replied with another calm, "Come sit down, Tom."

He'd complied grudgingly. "Well?" Tom growled. "What the fuck are you waiting for? Hurry the fuck up and tell me. I wanna go back to sleep."

Alex rolled his eyes. "Oh gosh, Tom, I mean... it's not like we're here because MI6 decided they wanted me back in the job or anything. They just thought that I was having such great fun here last time that they decided to kidnap – I mean, decided to surprise me. By drugging me and you, and bring us here. Willingly, of course."

Tom's face screwed up in confusion, before twisting back to his mask of pissed-off-ishness. "Fuck you, Alex, and your sarcasm. I don't want to fucking think this early in the day. So explain it again, explain it slowly, and explain it fucking right!"

Alex pouted, and Tom had to admit, even in the midst of his morning anger, Alex still managed to seem attractive. Not that Tom felt that way. Yuck. No. Ew. Gross. He'd take girls over boys any day. So straight, he'd bend a fucking ruler. Wait. That didn't make sense, because a ruler –

Tom shook his head. It was still too fucking early for his head to be screwed on properly. He glared at Alex. "Get on with the fucking story, you fag. I don't want to be in this place forever, you know."

Like they had suddenly switched roles, Alex smiled happily (only because he was enjoyed being irritating), while Tom just stared moodily at the floor. "Okay, so I'm not quite sure about this, well, I'm pretty sure. Just not one hundred percent sure… Anyway, here's the short version – we're back in Hell."

Author's Note: I'm not exactly too sure about continuing this story. It was just an idea that I had floating around. :/ so yes or no, guys?