Dean woke up breathing hard and his body soaked in sweat again. He sat up, grabbed his pillow, and pressed it into his face. He fisted his hands into the soft material of the pillow case and screamed into it. He hadn't had a nightmare-free night for years and today was not anything special. Dean slowly calmed down and looked at the clock. 7:00 a.m. He figured he could take a quick shower and wake up Sammy before making breakfast for him then heading out to the school.
He slowly made his way to the shower and ran soap along his body. He knew he was fit but that was only thanks to the meticulous training his father put him through while he was growing up. He has scars all over his body, some self-inflicted, but most from the knives his father used in their trainings. While he's making breakfast and Sam is getting ready for school, Dean thinks about his childhood.
Pain sliced its way across his arm as his father caught up to him and dragged the knife over his skin. "Run, boy. Do you really think a murderer would stop so you could catch your breathe? You need to learn how to evade him and not be a little bitch all the time." Dean nodded to his father and tried to run faster but the pain and the overuse were tiring his body, slowing him down. He felt pain again, this time across his cheek, as his father punched him. "I TOLD YOU TO RUN. NOT TWADDLE AROUND HIDING BEHIND SHIT. Why are you such a failure all the time?" Dean's body was trembling and all he could do was whimper as his father walked away. He knew his father was right. He was a failure. Why couldn't he just be stronger?
Dean shook himself out of the memory and set Sam's breakfast down when he heard him coming down the hall. "Hurry and eat, Sammy, so we won't be late." Dean let his little brother eat while he packed up his school bag with all his notebooks, pens, and binders that they bought the other day. Dean grabbed his own notebook and pen and called for Sam to hurry up.
Once they got to the school Dean said, "Sammy, you behave now and learn stuff. Tell me if anyone starts shit and I'll kick that in the bud okay, buddy?" "Dean, you don't have to but I'll behave. I promise. Bye, jerk." Sam hugged Dean and then ran off to go figure out where his first class was. Dean yelled out, "Bye, bitch" before turning towards the building.
It looked like all the other school he's been to, soul crushing brown bricks along with the occasional burst of color from the various, generic flowers the janitors planted to try and make the school more inviting. Dean looked around at his fellow students.
He saw flash of an old, tan trench coat, Weird, along with the obvious sluts and jocks. There were some nerds and geeks, too, but they apparently kept to themselves like at all the other schools Dean's been to. And here I was, hoping this one would be different. I bet they are all homophobic, too. Dean was about to get into the "Why can't everyone just get along" spiel in his head when the bell rang. Well here goes nothing, I guess. And with that, Dean headed into the school completely oblivious to the fact that his life was never going to be the same again.