If it wasn't for the stirring of his little brother by his side, they'd be no way Dean would have gotten up to the sound of his alarm that morning. Sure, he loved his sleep; but all the early on-the-road hunts with John throughout his childhood had long since denied him the privilege of the capability of a lie-in. The real reason between his reluctance was what the day awaited him: not a spirit, nor a poltergeist or a nasty nest of vampires to shoot his way through. No, high school. In his world, a fate worse than death.
Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the back of his hand, he squinted over at Sam; groaning as the boy woke up to an almost inhuman avidity that he never seemed to master on all days Monday to Friday. "Morning, sunshine." He drawls, half-hearted sarcasm coming easy in his pre-school grumpiness. "7am already?" His lack of enthusiasm was hard to miss. After all, reciting algebraic equations at a demon wasn't going to magically make them go away (and it wasn't as if school taught you how to load a gun in three seconds flat either); efficiently rendering school pointless to him. Yet at the same time, Sam always seemed happy enough going, and so 'putting up and shutting up' seemed to be the way to go.
Reaching his arm out to hit the alarm into silence, he grudgingly rolls out of bed, throwing on a shirt, accompanying overshirt and a pair of faded jeans; the amulet Sam gave him all those years back hanging from his neck unceremoniously. There's not much he can do to his hair (unlike Sam who'd practically been born with hair longer than his) and so he just leaves it as it is in it's tousled slept-in state. "Come on, go shower and brush your teeth and I'll get breakfast ready."
