[ Dean has, and kind of always has, a weird relationship with food. Coming by it in his childhood wasn't all that easy - John would leave for days on end, money on the shoddy motel room table that Dean sometimes wasn't able to stretch. He'd forgo his own plate in favor of feeding his brother, often giving him the last bowl of Lucky Charms, the last can of spaghetti o's, getting creative with boxed mac 'n cheese. That said, he kinda went without, like, a lot.

So when there's food in abundance like this, he's eyeing it suspiciously, wondering where the catch is, and then snatching a plate with an egg mcsandwich and two cinnamon buns (whiskey immediately goes into the accompanying coffee), and hurrying off towards the farthest end of the table, closest to the door, always clocking the closest exit out of sheer habit. The bunker may have had a full kitchen and he might've been able to cook, but the spread here is something he isn't used to, at all.

A few bites in, and he's finally speaking up. ]

This is freakin' delicious.

[ This wasn't really on his agenda, attending a pool party, but he isn't actually sure if it's mandatory or not and he's not currently willing to test the limits of the 'hospitality' he's receiving. So he goes, reluctant, a white tee and swim trunks he's acquired from...somewhere. Of note; he's not exactly the ripped abs kinda guy, and while decently in shape, there's still a soft layer of fat padding his hips and belly from pie loving him back. He's not self-conscious though, and after he takes a green and blue bracelet he's peeling out of his shirt and leaving it on a chair and absolutely canonball the shit out of the pool, very likely splashing people nearby.

Later on when he climbs out, he's sprawled happily and nursing a drink, warm and tipsy and fuzzy enough to let some painting go on, because that's kinda funny, right? Body paint, why not. Everything else here is batshit crazy, might as well have a little fun with it. ]

[ Hunting down some painted pumpkins is definitely in the cards, but they're a lot more trouble to find than he'd realized. Still, he's out on the prowl, but he's distracted by the bonfire and takes a seat next to it (apple bobbing is a big fat no from him, last time he'd seen that had not been a pleasant sight for the chick who's face got boiled off). Liquor spiked cider in hand he savors the warmth, a stuffed chicken plushie by his foot indicating his triumph at a horseshoe game.

What he isn't expecting? The handfasting and to be essentially handcuffed to a stranger. He's more than displeased, probably just as much as the person on the other end of the stick, and he tugs on the ribbon, annoyance on his face. ]

What the hell?

(( ooc; open to multiple threads for handfasting for extra irritation :> also totally open to wildcards and ideas for mr. winchester here! if you have an idea or something for the feast/maze/etc, feel free to throw caution to the wind or pm/pp me virtuously! ))