@CastielNovak I love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And flowers. And bees. Especially bees.
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"Son of a bitch!" Dean cursed, fumbling with his key in the lock and pulling away from the person hanging off of him. The key wasn't turning. "Sorry, the lock doesn't work right sometimes," he said, detaching himself from the person and turning around to pay more attention to it.

Finally, the bolt unlatched and Dean, after pressing a kiss to the person's lips, opened the door harshly. Only, it was stopped by a loud farting noise. Both 'intruders' exchanged a confused look.

Dean pushed the door harder, moving the farting object out of the way. He peered towards the ground to see a whoopie cushion stuck to the opposite side of the door. A footrest was pushed up a foot from the door, inevitably meaning Dean would embarrass himself.

"Uh, why was that there?" his guest asked, visibly weirded out.

"Sorry, my little brother must've put that there." He moved to let them through and then closed the door. The two continued kissing again, hands roaming down sides and groping. The two slipped their shoes off. Dean fished his keys from his pocket and put them on the keyholder hanging on the side of the wall.

Again, his plan failed.

The keys fell to the floor with a loud jingle and the two pulled away again. Dean looked and saw that the holder had been sawed off and glued back together poorly, an effort to fool Dean. It worked.

"Is this going to keep happening? I'm going to leave if so."

"Shut up, Cassie. And miss out on this? You wouldn't," Dean retorted, kissing her again. The two slowly made their way towards his bedroom. The door was slightly cracked so he could easily push it open without much thought. They continued, Cassie walking backwards and Dean pushing her forwards with his body as they made out.

He slowly slid his hands up from her ass to her arms and wrapped them around his neck. Then, he bent down and lifted her by her knees. He attempted to lay her down when, yet again, he was stopped.

About ten farting noises all could be heard at once. Their lips stopped moving and she pulled her head back onto the bed in disappointment. Another farting noise could be heard.

Dean sighed, his buzz now dwindling. The two let go of each other and she stood. "I'm leaving. This is too weird."

"Your loss," Dean scoffed. He watched her walk to the door and pick up her shoes. She opened the door and the whoopie cushion hit the footrest again. She slammed the door loudly as if she were agitated.

He walked across the livingroom to Sam's room and twisted the knob, pushing the door open harshly. Once again, he was stopped by a whoopie cushion and whatever stupid object he picked this time. Dean walked face first into the door. "Really, Sam? You couldn't at least think of a different prank to get me with? You used the same one on the front door." He felt stupid that he fell for it.

He looked and saw not only Sam, but Gabe too. Sam was fiddling on the floor by the TV with the box and Gabe sat on the bed. "What?" Sam said, feigning innocence, turning his head to face Dean.

"Don't act stupid. You guys just ruined my chance to get laid."

"That was quick," Gabe replied.

"What? You guys weren't even there to see me leave. Man, this girl was smokin' hot. Her name was Cassie something. She couldn't help herself," he smirked, thinking back to the Roadhouse where she approached him.

Sam and Gabe exchanged a look, both appearing amused. "Cassie, huh?" Gabe said to Sam. He chuckled and got up from the floor.

Sam approached Dean, standing a good six feet away from him. "Oh, and by the way, I did think of something else. Not just the whoopie cushion."

"What?" Dean replied incredulously. "What did you do, Sammy?" he asked, moving towards his taller brother. He was stopped by his hand on the doorknob. It was stuck. "Sammy, why is my hand stuck on your door?"

Sam and Gabe snickered and climbed away into the far corner of Sam's bed. "I think the word you're looking for is glue."

"You didn't."

"Oh, I did," Sam replied, grinning cheekily. He held up a small tube of super glue.

Dean looked between his brother and his hand again. "Well can you unglue me?"

Sam looked at Gabe in exaggerated disappointment. "I guess. But we need acetone and I don't have any."

He smirked again, thinking that Dean would have to stand/sit there for the next thirty minutes for someone to go get him some. "In the bathroom under the sink, there should be a bottle of nail polish remover. It should be next to the cotton balls and nail files."

Sam constricted his face in confusion. "Dude, why the hell do you have nail polish remover?"

He paused for a moment. "It was Lis's."

The room filled with awkward tension. Gabe intervened. "Okay, losers. I'll go get that acetone before he beats your ass." He left the room at that to go explore.

"Did he just try to make an ass joke with acetone?" Dean said, looking at Sam with disgust.

Genuinely disappointed, Sam replied, "Yes."

"And how does he know where our bathroom is? I've never seen you two hang out here before," Dean said defensively.

Sam shrugged. "I'm more worried about what he's gonna find in there."

Dean thought for a moment about what Sam could be talking about and then realized: extra condoms and lube do not look good for a straight man. His eyes opened widely and he grabbed his right wrist with his left hand and tried tugging. "Gabriel!!!!!"

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Dean yawned and rolled over in his bed. His internal alarm clock always woke him at 5:30 every morning. He hated it with a passion but he had to get the shop opened.

He groaned and removed his covers. He then walked towards the bathroom. After shutting the door and turning on the light, he stripped himself from yesterday's clothes. He had a habit of going back to sleep after his body woke him. Sleeping in clothes he could wear helped when he was late.

He took a twenty minute shower, longer than usual for Dean. He stopped his cleaning to sing a few songs. But, that wasn't all that was on Dean's mind. He was thinking about Jack.

Wait, why am I thinking about him? He's best friends with a painter. But he got me to like him, which is weird. I normally stick to my first impression, but this time, my gut told me to like him. Oh, God, am I dying?

He shook his head clear of thoughts, a few water drops flying off his short hair onto the shower curtain and wall. He rinsed his hair and turned the water off. After redressing in new clothes and brushing his teeth, he made his way downstairs to the shop.

The place was pitch black. Dean had gotten night vision cameras installed with text alerts to his phone. He's never had the alarm go off and hoped it never would.

He flicked on all of the light switches and the bright, white lights made his eyes ache. A car from the day previous was still sitting idle in the middle of the floor. A receptionist's desk was around the corner to his right. Dean made his way towards it and turned on the system.

He had a handful of employees but Dean did everything. His favorite thing to do was fix cars with Benny. Meanwhile, his least favorite was helping Sam restock.

The way Winchester Auto-mechanics & Repairs worked was it's an autoshop operating from the hours of 7:00am-8:00pm. Their website listed a section where people could sell their used, working parts for others to buy at cheaper prices. It often helped when people didn't have an emergency fund in case of car troubles.

Dean made his way over towards the huge garage door and slid it open manually. He preferred it than an automatic opener.

The sky was a deep purple with pink, misty clouds scattered across it. They blended in with the background, making it appear like the sky just changed colors there. The ground had a purple shadow casted onto it. From the horizon, he could see a faint glow of yellow sunlight.

He closed his eyes and sighed. It was pretty hot for a May morning. The humidity made his chest feel tighter than normal. When he exhaled his deep breath, his eyes fluttered back open. He turned around and pulled his outer two layers off - a leather jacket and a flannel - leaving him only in a t-shirt which made his muscles look good.

He unlocked his office and made his way inwards. He stayed in there for a while to count his profits. Then, when he was finished logging the amount, he left to do inventory.

He was in there for about three hours until he heard a rusty car pull in the driveway. Dean left the stock room with a smile on his face, already knowing who it was. "Bobby!" he greeted, watching as the older man stepped out of his Chevrolet Chevelle.

He wore a blue and white flannel, a normal pair of jeans, caramel brown boots, and a blue hat. He had a rounder figure than Dean. He was a few inches shorter, too.

"How've you been? How's Jody?" Dean asked, hugging Bobby. With a few pats on the back, Bobby returned Dean's gesture.

"I'm alright. She's doin' good, too. How about yourself?" he asked Dean.

"I'm good, Bobby, I'm good." The two paused for a moment before Dean started up again. "So, we've got nothing for the junkyard yet. The new place across the street has apparently had people 'too busy' to stop in. We've only had emergencies since it opened."

"Ah, damn. Not a single thing?" Bobby groaned.

Dean shrugged apologetically. "Nope. They'll come back eventually."

Bobby sighed. "Alright, then." He turned towards his small, little green car - white stripes decorating the hood - and then stopped in his tracks. "Oh, Dean?"

"Yeah, Bobby?" Dean called out from his office. He stepped in there to double check the logs.

"I got a letter in the mail about some high school reunion?" he said, reaching in through his window to grab something. He came back out holding an envelope.

Dean was surprised. A high school reunion five years after graduation?

He walked over to Bobby and took the letter. The front said, Lawrence High - Reunion! Dean flipped the envelope over and opened it. Inside was a single paper, decorated simply by a computerized program - one of the templates he recognized from Microsoft Word. He scoffed at the lack of effort, yet he wasn't surprised.

He put the now empty envelope on top of Bobby's car as he read the letter:

Hello, Class of 2014!

This is a personal invitation to the reunion of our graduation. This will be a great way to reconnect to your old high school friends!

Feel free to bring a plus one. Children are, of course, invited (and they don't count for a plus one!). If you have a child, please call me at (785)-360-8303 and let us know if they need a booster seat or high chair. Please reserve every other plus one online through the school website usd497.org before midnight on June 30th, 2019.

The reunion will be held on July 27th at Lawrence High School. Doors will open at 5:00pm (1700 hours) and will close at 6:00pm (1800 hours). You can expect to leave around 11:00pm (2300 hours).

Wear your fanciest attire. Whether that is your prom dress from five years ago, a new dress, a suit and tie - as long as it is in regulation with the school dresscode, you can wear it.

You can expect a lot of dancing and no - alcohol is not allowed on school property.

No outside food or drink allowed. Food and drinks will be provided.

The Student Council board of 2014 sincerely hope you choose to return back to some of the best days of your lives.

Sincerely,
Class President of 2014 Amara Schneider

"I'm gonna puke," Dean said, fake gagging.

"Why, what's it say?" Bobby questioned.

"Nothing, they're just so cheesy. Why would I wanna go to this stupid thing anyway?" Dean asked, more to himself than his uncle, tapping the paper in emphasis.

Bobby shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe to meet some of your football friends."

Dean sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right." A silence fell over them before he spoke again. "Thanks for stoppin' by."

"Yeah, no problem," Bobby responded, picking up the envelope from the top of his car and handing it to Dean. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Dean waved as Bobby got in his car and drove away. He, then, sighed and looked out across the street at the art studio.

Dean became heated. This place is stealing all of my business! And not only that, all of the money is going to the scumbag painters. It's pathetic.

He watched as a car pulled up and parked. A blond haired man stepped out of his car. He looked around suspectively. And he didn't notice Dean.

The man wore a black leather jacket with a gray plaid scarf around his neck. The rest of his body was blocked by his car. The man looked down to his hands and came back moments later with a cigarette between his pointer and middle fingers.

He bent down, presumably to pick up something, and then a loud deflating sound could be heard. Did he just slash someone's tires?

Dean saw the man stand and head towards the front of the car. He contemplated intervening but decided against it. Painters are douchebags. The tire slasher got back in his car and drove away.

But what Dean didn't realize was that he would be the person to fix that tire.

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It was now around 9:00pm. Dean hadn't had a single new customer today. He spent the entire rest of his day after Bobby left working on a customer's car from the day before. He had Lynard Skynyrd playing in the background.

Dean had lunch with Sam and talked to his receptionist a bit when he was there.

Dean finally decided to close up shop. He slid himself out from under the car and got off the creeper. He brushed a bead of sweat off his forehead with the back of his wrist and looked across the street.

He watched someone walk out of the building and towards the parking lot. They made their way to the car from earlier - the one with the slashed tires. The person looked around in annoyance as if they were going to catch the culprit. Only then did Dean realize it was Jack.

Jack? Why is he there? He decided to make his way across the street to ask him.

"Hey, Jack. What are you doing here?" he asked conspicuously.

Jack looked at Dean in shock. "Oh, hello Dean. I helped Gabe with some things today."

Dean grimaced. "Gross."

Jack looked down, away from Dean. He got a confused look on his face.

"Hmm?" Dean hummed questioningly.

"My tire is flat."

"Really?" Dean asked, acting like he didn't already know.

He groaned. "I just lost my spare the other week."

"How do you lose a tire?" Dean questioned.

"Gabe, I think." Jack looked around again, skipping right past the taller man. "Hey, is that your autoshop?" he asked, pointing across the street.

"Yeah, why?"

"Do you think you could fix my tire?" Jack tilted his head and looked Dean in the eye. Bright royal blue nearly took over Dean but he focused on the question.

"Yeah. I can't see why not. Drive it up to the shop and I'll give it a look," he smiled.

"I have a flat, it is not driveable." Jack said, pointing out the obvious.

"Yes, it is. Just drive slow."

Dean walked back towards his shop. He watched as Jack drove his car to the designated spot in the shop. Meanwhile, he was thinking, why am I helping him?

Jack stepped out of his car and shut the door. Dean went around to the other side and bent down to inspect the tire. "Hey, did you by any chance see anybody who could've done this?"

Dean paused as he debated on telling Jack or not. "Don't you have cameras?" he decided to respond.

He groaned. "I do, but they are not set up yet."

Dean looked up from the tire and said, "Yeah, there was one guy. He looked about your height, maybe a little shorter. Blond hair, leather jacket, scarf."

"Scarf?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, that's what I said." Dean eyed him and Jack visibly became nervous. "Why, do you know him?"

"No. Probably not. That could be a million people," he lied.

Dean could always spot a liar considering he was one himself. He shrugged it off, though, and brought up the car. "So, it looks like we're gonna have to replace the tire. It's probably gonna be a bit more expensive than normal considering how old this is. I'll check and see if we have any tires in stock."

Jack nodded and smiled as an okay.

Five minutes later, Dean returned. "We have a full set of your tires in stock, actually. Leave it to Sammy to come in clutch."

"Do you think I am going to need a full set?" Jack asked.

"By the way your tires look right now, you should be glad that guy slashed your tire. You could've died by these things," Dean said. Jack was silent, confused. "Yes, you will."

"How much is it going to be?"

"Well the tires are $150 a piece and we have a $25 maintenance fee so about $625. If you don't have the money, we can set up a payment plan or-"

"No need. I have the required amount," Jack cut him off. He pulled out his wallet and opened the money pouch, pulling out a stack of cash about as thick as Dean's thumb. "Can you break a $100?"

Hi im late for work but i wanted to get this chapter up it's my longest chapter yet so hooray. Okay i love you all bye