The worst thing Dean Winchester could have asked in the midst of the worst week of his life was, how could this possibly get worse? Challenging the unfair hands of fate was a shitty idea, and yet, he did, because how else could it have gotten worse? His grades were plummeting, his friendships were dwindling and tapering off after the tumultuous breakup he'd had with you, the Stanford Cardinal had him benched and on probation if he didn't get his shit together...

It could always get worse. Dean just didn't expect it to be so goddamn quickly that it did.

Get a tutor, the coach said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Don't make me have to kick your ass off of the team.

And when Dean didn't, content to let himself drown in every oncoming failure, the coach signed him up for tutoring. Promised that his tutor was good, that Dean would like them.

Coach was not up to date on the relationship statuses of his players. Coach did not, in fact, know about how bad you and Dean had broken up, or probably that you'd broken up at all. Because Dean walked into the library that day for his unwilling tutoring and there you were.

It was honestly a miracle you'd even shown up, if you'd known that Dean was the football player in desperate need of getting himself aligned. He figured it was as much of a surprise as it was for him. The only reason he doesn't tuck tail and turn around to leave is because you look up, right at him, and he's too embarrassed to look away.

This was definitely one way for you to see how torn up he was about having broken up with you.

Dropping down into the seat across from you, Dean kicks his feet up into the chair next to him, hands shoved into his hoodie's big pocket. "So, what?"

As if he had the audacity to talk to you like you were the reason that your relationship fell apart. He was a cornered, wounded animal, lashing out with teeth at everything that approached. "Gonna give me a good ol' lesson in chemistry, or somethin'?"

Probably, actually. He was failing it.