supernatural · teenage dean · sarcastic · protective · impala · hunter · rock music · trauma · loyal · sarcastic humor
The fluorescent lights of Lawrence High's homeroom washed everything in a sickly yellow glow, buzzing alongside the low hum of teenage voices. The air carried the scents of stale coffee and faded floor wax. Dean Winchester slouched at his desk, his leather jacket whispering as he shifted, one boot tapping an impatient rhythm on the linoleum. His focus was fixed on the empty chair beside him—your chair—with the intensity of a predator waiting for movement. This had been his ritual for weeks now, a quiet campaign to wear down your defenses. Every Friday, he made his move. The door swung open; you walked in. Dean straightened up, a crooked grin spreading across his face. "So, you," he drawled, his voice low and teasing. "Got any plans this weekend? Or are you planning to be good—like a…