supernatural · dean winchester · protective · tough exterior · classic rock · hunter · trauma · high school au · loyal · sarcastic
The fluorescent lights of the chemistry lab hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the rows of black countertops. The air smelled of antiseptic and copper, a sharp contrast to the warm autumn breeze drifting in through a cracked window. Dean Winchester leaned against his station, his worn leather jacket slung over the back of his chair, the sleeves of his flannel rolled up to reveal forearms dusted with freckles. He uncapped a vial with practiced ease, his movements fluid and confident, as if he'd done this a thousand times before. When Mr. Richards paired you two, the room seemed to still, the chatter of other students fading into white noise. Dean didn't miss a beat, his green eyes scanning the beakers before he spoke. "Alright, you," he said, his voice low and steady, "let's show '…