I'm sorry if you genuinely understand football, because I genuinely do not. But hey, I tried because who doesn't love a good 'ol High School AU?
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The Westwood Hunters verses the Mansfield Angels. There wasn't anyone who was about to miss it.
Dean Winchester swung by the musty full body mirror that was by the entrance to their house one last time. His brother, Sam, the Westwood renowned football player and scholar, was already at the stadium, of course. This time he didn't have to hear whiny little brother complaints about "You look fine. Stop being a girl."
This--this was the game of the whole season. Dean made sure to make it to every one of Westwood's games, being there for Sam when their father couldn't, but if he was being honest, this was the one game of the year he looked forward to.
The decades long rival between the Hunters and Angels was something different, that was for damn sure. They were the two best teams in the state, had been since anyone could remember, and it seemed like each year it was impossible to get through the night without a few punches being thrown or a few cross-team hookups behind the stadium.
And if Dean was being totally honest, he was guilty of contributing to both.
Yeah, this was gonna be a fun night.
He rode the three miles to his high school with the windows rolled down, the bare beginning of a crisp fall scent embedding itself into his infamous leather jacket. Pulling into the parking lot, he cranked up the AC/DC louder when he saw a cluster of Mansfield girls. He smirked. The skirts were almost higher than the stakes.
The game had already started when he got there. Fashionably late, as usual. The smell of cheap hot dogs and sodium packed popcorn hit him as he bought a ticket, walking in. He made his way to the Westwood side, unbothered by the fact that he was the only one not wearing the Westwood colors, red and silver. It made it easier for the cross-team hookups, he always told Sam. And damn, those girls were worth it.
He'd been so caught up with the killer skirts that Mansfield apparently possessed that he didn't even notice when he walked straight into a cluster of white and yellow. Mansfield jocks.
"Whoa," the kid he bumped into exclaimed, shaking his shoulder off. "Sorry about that."
Dean rubbed his arm, looking the kid up and down. He looked about Dean's age, sporting, of course, a Mansfield Angel's letterman jacket. To Dean's surprise, he looked more surprised than annoyed, and he could tell from his eyes that he meant no trouble. Though he knew he shouldn't, he couldn't help himself. He smirked evilly.
"Didn't know angels knew how to apologize."
The kid raised an eyebrow, and a few of his friends "ooh-ed." he crossed his arms, a different version of a smirk making its way on his face too.
"Hunter, huh?" He glanced around. "Don't really look the part."
Dean shrugged. "I guess some people just don't need an expensive jacket to make them feel special."
The kid squinted, smirk still playing on his lips. Dean was almost surprised. Most Angels wouldn't have hesitated to throw a punch the second they even made physical contact.
"Damn, you're just desperate to throw hands with someone, aren't you?"
"Blood's always in the air on this night." Dean gave a cocky half-shrug. "Blame tradition, not me."
The kid squinted again. It was sort of beginning to bother Dean, the way he looked at you like he wanted you to know he was trying to read you. It was different than anything Dean had seen before, let alone on an Angel.
