Summary: The volleyball player meets the football player. And it's cute.

QOTP: Do you play volleyball?

Word Count: 1389

"Send it over!" your teammate yells.

You're playing four-on-four at practice. [For those of you who don't know what that means: a setter, an outside hitter, a right side hitter, and a back row hitter play another group of the same positions. When you lose, you wait to go on again and another group takes your place. When you win, you go to the opposite side of the net. You only get points when you win on that side. The first group to five points wins.] Your team is on the winning side, and you hit right, so that's where you're standing.

It's a week before try-outs, and your coach had organized practices so you would be ready.

"It's over, it's over!" you yell.

The ball goes deep, and you run for it, but the back hitter on your team gets to it first; yelling, "Mine, mine, mine!" "Help it!" they call; it doesn't make it to the setter.

You run for it, shouting, "I got it, I got it!"

"Set it here!" the outside hitter yells. You send it to them, and they hit it over.

"It's outside, it's outside!" the other groups yell.

"Mine!" The back hitter on the other side bumps it to the setter.

"Out, out, out!" The outside hitter takes their approach, despite the wonky set. The ball touches the top of the net, so the hitter taps it over.

"Tip, tip, tip!" Your teammates yell. You go for it, but the setter passes it to the back hitter before you get there. Back hitter sends it over.

Not expecting that, the outside hitter on the other side doesn't get to it, and desperately dives, but sends it into the net. Their setter goes for it, but it was so low that they knock it out of the court, diving in the process.

Your team high-fives, already at three points.

As another group walks on, thunder cracks outside. Guess football can't practice today, you think.

"Balls up!" someone yells.

It's the other group's serve, as usual, so you're down in defense position. When it goes over the net, however, the more inexperienced player - back hitter - yells, "Mine!" and passes it off the court instead of to the setter. You're closest, so you go running for it.

What you don't know is that two football players are walking inside because of the rain.

You passes the ball back just in time, yelling, "I got it, I got it!" out of habit, and hoping someone would hit it over.

You end up diving, and hit the floor directly in front of one of the football players, nearly causing them to trip.

"Sorry!" you call, glancing back as you get up and run back onto the court; the setter had hit it over.

As soon as you're back in, the outside hitter from the other side passes it over. "Free!" teammates yell.

"I got it, I got it!" your outside hitter shouts, passing it.

"Set it back!" you yell, and the setter sets it to you. You take your approach and swing, spiking it.

"Short!" someone yells.

Their back hitter runs up for it. "I got it!"

They hit the floor as the setter shouts, "Mine!"

"Out, out, out!" their outside hitter yells. They try to spike it over, but it goes into the net. Your team has four points.

"Wow," the football player you landed in front of says. After you nearly killed him, he stayed to watch.

"Dean." The player behind him taps him on the shoulder, nodding over to you.

"Hold up!" you yell to the other group, jogging over to Dean.

"I am so sorry," you apologize.

He shakes his head, ready to use his 'infamous' smolder. "It's fine. Good... play or whatever you guys call it."

Not cool, Dean, he thinks.

"Thanks," you say, chuckling and going back to the game.

Dean sighs, walking towards the other end of the gym.

"What was that?" the player behind him asks.

Dean hits him on the arm. "Shut up, Sammy."

Sam only laughs, "That was terrible, Dean. You can do better than that."

"I said shut up."

Dean looks back when he hears, "Balls up!"

He watches as the ball goes over the net and you pass it, shouting, "Mine!" His eyes never left you, despite the fact that you don't hit the ball a single time after that; your back hitter hits it into the net.

"Shake it off," you tell them, along with your other teammates. You know what it's like when you're first learning to play - everything is confusing and you can't do much but make a few lucky passes.

Dean finally walks out of the gym when he sees you walk off the court, talking to the back hitter about their form and swing.

"You didn't even get a name," Sam mutters.

Dean flicks his ear, causing the boy to flinch and laugh. "I'll get it later, okay?"

////

Around an hour later, your team is taking the net down. At that time, the football players from before are walking back through the gym.

Most of your teammates are putting all of the balls in the cart or going to get the pole rack. The inexperienced players stood back, having no idea how to do any of it.

Three players were on the other side of the net, so you're taking down one pole by yourself.

There's a handle on the pole, and you're pretty sure it's not supposed to be used as a foothold, but you step on it anyway in order to unclip the net.

Your other leg is half wrapped around the pole as you struggle because the clip is stuck. It takes longer than it should, and you find yourself loosing balance.

Dean, of course, notices.

He runs over just as you're about to fall and grabs your waist. He didn't plan on putting his hands there, but in the spur of the moment, it just kind of happened. Not that he's complaining.

You glance down at the person holding you up. "You're the guy that I nearly killed earlier, right?" you ask, finally unclipping the net.

He nods after he helps you down. "That's me."

"Again, sorry about that. And thanks for basically saving my life just now."

"No problem. I just couldn't let somebody as attractive as you fall like that - unless it was for me, of course." Annnnnnddd, he's back, Sam thinks.

You chuckle. "What's your name?"

"Dean Winchester."

"I'm Y/F/N Y/L/N."

You shake his hand, hearing the pole cart rolling onto the court in the background.

He walks off, waving. You wave back, then turn to put the pole on the rack.

////

Two days later, it rains again. And again, Sam and Dean walk into the gym.

"Outside!" someone yells.

You're doing hitting lines today. [Basically, everyone grabs a ball while the coaches set, one on each side of the net. You line up with your ball on whatever side you hit - right, out, back, middle - and toss your ball to the setter. They set it to you, and you hit it over, then switch to the line on the other side.]

"Right!" you shout as the ball you tossed goes towards the setter. You go for it and swing.

When it lands, though, it bounces up and hits Dean directly in the face.

You run over. "I am so sorry... again. Are you okay?"

"It's fine. I'm fine. We're fine," Dean says, a touch of sarcasm in his voice as he tosses your ball back to you.

You catch it. "We have got to stop meeting like this."

"As long as we're meeting..." Dean trails off as Sam rolls his eyes.

You blush, though your cheeks are already red from practice. "You wanna meet outside of this sweaty gym?" you ask.

"If you want," Dean replies, a slight falter in his voice; he didn't expect that.

You ask for his phone and quickly put your number in. "Text me, Winchester." Then, you rub off to go hit.

"Today is a good day, Sammy," Dean says, slinging his arm over Sam's shoulders. "A good, good day."