Sammy acted like him graduating high school was flat-out amazing, raising his eyebrows significantly and smiling proudly whenever announcements of "seniors, report for graduation rehearsal" came floating out over the PA as they were about to head home. And Dad had swiped the diploma before Dean could even undo the stupid-ass ribbon and unfurl it. Someone, somewhere might even have a picture of him in his cap and gown; he thought he'd seen a flash out of the corner of his eye.

If they wanted to make this into a bigger deal than it was, Dean was fine with that. He damn sure wasn't going to breathe a word of complaint, not when graduating had netted him a reward like this.

He'd lost the tasseled cap during the ceremony, chucking it like a boomerang at the head of the biggest douchebag jock while everyone else threw theirs straight up, but he was still in the polyester sack they called a gown. He pulled it off, his sweaty t-shirt climbing along with it to expose his back. Dean lay down, hot cheek against the warm black leather, and stroked the seat tenderly. "Hey, sweetheart," he said softly. "You're all mine now."