Back at Indiana High, Dean was the golden boy– he was even on the wall where the proper clever ones went(even though he barely ever turned up for lessons). And what got all the girls? He was the captain of the school's basketball team. He basically rocked up and instantly took over as captain.

He'd pack out the stands with no effort, chucking the ball like it weighed nothing into the hoop, letting girls leave bright pink lipstick marks like trophies on his neck. He had countless girls who never lasted more than a week, 'cause in the end, they couldn't be arsed to put up with his brother who took up most of his precious time.

You were on the cheerleading squad: pom-poms, short skirts, blinding smiles – it was basically your second skin. And to top it all off—you were part of the "proper-bitchy-mob." And even if they were your "mates," they were the ones who spread the rumours that you and Dean, the fucking Winchester, had been snogging God knows where.

And, for God's sake, why did you even have joint pe lessons? You'd be doing gymnastics while they were kicking a ball about. You couldn't help but notice how he hung from the hoop after sinking a shot. A soft smirk played on his lips when you met eyes. Dean found it amusing how they were all gabbing on about it, like it was something shameful, even though it wasn't.

Next day already, he's like some daft bloke from a film, tapping on your dorm window with pebbles, clutching a basketball, and he couldn't give a toss that there were three other girls in your room who'd find a way to tell everyone (and totally exaggerate, obviously). It was about ten at night, for Christ's sake. You opened the window, rolling your eyes.

"Just thought I'd pop by and see ya, love.” That stupid smirk on his face said more than words. He chuckled. "Not enough hearts in my eyes for ya, then?”