A/N: Here is a short, little fic written for d0llface_h00ker's prompt at spn_bigpretzel for the Too Cool for School Comment Fic Meme. Here's the prompt: Dean loves food and girls so taking a home ec class sounds like his idea of heaven... right?

Also, this is pretty much how I feel whenever I try to sew:

Sew Stupid

To Dean's utter dismay, this class was nothing like he hoped it would be.

Home Economics was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to a veritable goldmine of girls falling all over him for being one of the only guys in the class, gushing over his sensitivity and crap like that as he cooked one of his famous (in Dean's mind) omelets.
It was supposed to help him get laid.

But so far, the only word Dean could use to describe this class was 'stupid'. He should have just taken the shop class instead.
He swore under his breath as he poked his finger for the fifth time as he tried to guide the floppy length of thread into the eye of the needle and then growled low in frustration as yet again, the damn string refused to go where it belonged.

Stupid sewing machines.

Dean was no stranger to sewing. Hell … he couldn't count the number of times he stitched up either his Dad or brother, but these blasted machines were impossible. First he had to put thread on something called a 'bobby', which in and of itself took almost half an hour until he found that there was a special lever he was supposed to push to put the bobby in the right position. And then when he finally got thread on the damn thing, the teacher had come along and told him it hadn't been wound on tight enough and he had to do it all over again.

If looks could have killed, his teacher would have spontaneously combusted.

He still didn't even know what the point of putting thread on a smaller spool was when he already had a frackin' spool of thread on the top of the machine.

And then had come actually getting thread on the needle, which was where he was currently stuck and growing more irritated with his failed attempts by the second. When he wasn't fuming, Dean wondered how these cursed machines were supposed to actually make the job of sewing easier. One couldn't simply just pull a length of threat and put it through the eye of the needle - oh nooooo – it had to be much, much more complicated than that. First he had to wind the frickin' thread through about twenty different frickin' arms and frickin' levers and frickin' knobs. And when he finally got that figured out, he could barely see the frickin' eye of the needle and he had to get out of his chair and practically pop a squat in front of the machine to get a better visual.

Dean was on the edge of tearing his hair out when finally, finally, the thread slipped though the tiny hole.

"Yes!" Dean pumped his fist, gloating in his victory over the evil sewing contraption. Now, if only he could salt and burn the thing, then he could have a little vengeance for his poor, poked fingers. Dean got back in his seat, then clapped his hands and rubbed them together, "Okay, you mother … let's do this thing."

He grabbed the two pieces of cloth that his teacher had given them at the beginning of class. Their assignment had been to simply sew the two strips of cloth together in a straight line. At first Dean had scoffed at how easy that sounded and he had imagined himself finished with the task in just a few minutes, (and he would have if he had just been given a frickin' needle and thread and hand-sewn them) but now after all of the grief he had been through just to get the machine set up, he understood why they had been given an entire hour for the task. As it was, there were only five minutes left and he would just barely get it done in time.

Most of the other students in the class had already finished and Dean could hear some of their giggles as they watched him struggle, but now that he was close to his goal, he ignored them – he wasn't going to let a damned machine beat and it was his pride on the line here. After all – Dean was good with machines and the mechanics of gadgets. How could he live with himself if he was bested by something that's sole purpose is to connect pieces of fabric together? He may never become a tailor (that was right out), but he would eat his friggin' boots if he failed at this.

At last, Dean held the pieces of fabric together before lowering a lever for the foot guide to come down with a satisfying click and hold them in place. Imagining the pedal at his feet as the Impala's accelerator, Dean stomped on it and the machine came alive, whirring almost maniacally as the needle sprang up and down, the fabric practically zipping away from Dean's hands at warp speed.
It was all over in a matter of seconds.

Triumphantly, Dean snipped the thread and then freed his creation from the machine. He held it up to admire it when in the next second everything started to fall apart - literally.

The thread loosened as if it had never been sewn and he was left with a piece of cloth in each hand, the seam he had thought he had made unraveling completely.

"What? … No!" Dean groaned. How had this gone so wrong? He did everything right, didn't he?

"You forgot the bobbin." A girl's voice spoke up from behind him.

"What?" He turned and asked, his face level with her well-endowed chest. For a moment he almost forgot to breathe. He then looked up into her face and felt some of his frustration melt away. She was gorgeous, blond, and wearing a cheerleading outfit that left little to the imagination. He automatically put on his most charming grin for her (it never fails).

"The bobbin." She stated again, smiling back at Dean and picking up the small spool of thread the teacher had been insistent that he needed. "You have to put it down here. Weren't you paying any attention when Ms. Shuler showed us how to do this?" In truth, Dean hadn't really been listening to the lesson, so sure he had been at the beginning of the class that he could figure any mechanical device out without any instruction. It wasn't like a sewing machine would be as complicated as fixing a carburetor, right?

Well … he may have been wrong on that front, but it was starting to look like he hadn't been wrong in taking this class as the girl moved in closer and picked up the smaller spool of thread.

She bent over him, the side of her chest coming in contact with his shoulder as she pulled open a secret compartment, took out a small, round case and plopped the little spool into it before closing it all back inside the compartment. She then deftly rethreaded the needle with ease and turned the wheel at the side so that the needle dipped below a little hole and came back up with the thread almost magically hooked with some thread from below.

"Voila!" She beamed, "It's ready to go now."

"Wow … you're good." He told her, enjoying the feel of her body close to his. She smelled so strong of sweet strawberries and flowers that he was almost dizzy. "You make it look so easy."

"I want to be a fashion designer, so I sew all of the time."

"I think you're gonna have to show me this again," he said, touching her hand. "This is really hard for me since my fingers aren't as small as yours."

Of course, it was just as Dean smiled and watched her face light up that the bell for the end of class rang.

She hastily leaned in a little closer and grabbed a slip of paper from her backpack, scribbling a number on it before handing it to him, "Tell you what, why don't you call me later and I can give you a private lesson, okay?"

Dean took the paper and smiled wide. Oh yeah … he was really glad he decided to take Home Ec.

The End