Laurel was seething. This wasn't unusual for school, especially since the classes she had were full of the single most annoying people ever. She was lucky that Winchester was only in one of her classes.
Dean Winchester was public menace number one to Laurel.
They shared art class, which wouldn't be that bad considering the class had two modes - dead silence or laring music - but was, because the teacher sat her next to Dean, and made them partner up for everything.
"Hey, Laurel? Laurel. Laurel. Laur-eeeeeel," he sang. This happened every godamned day. After she finally snapped at him, and gave him the attention he wanted so badly, he'd smirk, and go off on the longest possile tangent ever to exist. Sometimes, it was about ice cream. Othertimes, it was about animals, or history, or war, or weird laws, or how he wanted to come out of the feminist closet in front of the whole school.
Often, Laurel snapped paint brushes in two whenever he talked for so long and so loudly that her ears were ringing and they were under the spotlight. He knew this, acted like he didn't, and kept talking.
Once upon a time, they'd been friends, and she had his number saved as Annoying Shit Head.
On that particular Wednesday morning, all Dean was talking about was how it was Hump Day. Laurel didn't care about Hump Day, she cared about the painting she was trying to make look decent.
"I don't know why it's called Hump Day, but the comercials are really funny. I love the camel, and so does Sam. Sam comes running from out of his room every time he hears one on the TV, which is a shocker, because he's in that phase, ya know, where he just wants nothing to do with anyone or anything, so it's always cool...," he trailed off as something wet fell onto his head, right into his hair.
He spun around to find Laurel holding up a tube of neon green paint, squeezing it between her hands and aiming it right at his head. Gingerly, he reached up a hand, felt around the stuff - clearly paint - on his head, and pulled it back into his line of sight. He swallowed as he took in the green coloring on his fingers, then reached towards his paint - a gaudy pink - and squirted it at Laurel.
She gasped.
They glared at each other for a long minute, and then it was war.
Paint was everywhere, on the walls, in their hair, on their clothes and shoes. Dean thought he had some in his eyeball, but he couldn't be sure. It spread to the others in the class, too, which gave Dean a feeling of power as he watched the chaos erupt around him.
Eventually, it came to an end. He and Laurel were dragged to the office, where there was a room for ISS (In School Suspension). They were both given detention, expected, and were not allowed to change, unexpected.
While they were calling his dad, Dean leaned over and told Laurel, "you're the most beautiful painting I've ever seen."
The color her cheeks turned could have been an angry red, or a blushing red, but Dean didn't care either way, because it was better than any of the other colors he'd flung at her.
Laurel just turned away, and tried to tame the redness of her cheeks.
Oh yeah, did Laurel hate Dean.