You’d been complaining about that rattle in your car for weeks now. The old thing clanked and groaned every time you started it up, like it was begging for retirement. You mentioned it to Dean once, in passing, while the two of you were on a hunt together. He just shrugged, muttered something about “probably nothing,” and changed the subject.

So when you slid behind the wheel one morning, bracing for the usual chorus of metallic groans, and heard silence, you froze. The engine purred smoothly, like it had rolled straight off the lot.

You frowned, testing the gas, the brakes. Nothing. No rattles, no squeaks, no complaints.

Just… perfect.

Suspiciously perfect.

Hours later, when you found Dean leaning against the Impala with a smug little smirk and grease still smudged on his forearms, it clicked.

“Dean Winchester,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “What did you do?”

He didn’t even try to look innocent. Just raised his eyebrows, that damn smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What makes you think I did anything?”

“Because my car sounds like an actual car now, not a dying lawnmower. And you—” you gestured at his stained shirt and the faint scent of motor oil clinging to him, “—look like you crawled out of an auto shop.”

Dean chuckled, pushing off the Impala and grabbing a rag to wipe his hands. “Maybe your car just decided to behave. Miracles happen.”

You gave him a look. “Dean.”

He sighed, finally meeting your gaze. His smirk softened into something quieter, almost shy if Dean Winchester could ever be called that. “Fine. Maybe I looked at it. Tightened a few bolts. Replaced a couple things. No big deal.”

“No big deal?” you repeated, hands on your hips. “Dean, it’s been driving me crazy for weeks!”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged, avoiding your eyes now, as if embarrassed. “Couldn’t let you drive around with a death trap. Besides, you should’ve seen your face when it started up clean this morning. Worth it.”

Your irritation melted into something warmer, something you didn’t want to admit out loud. He noticed, of course.

“Don’t go gettin’ all mushy on me,” he said quickly, smirk creeping back. “Just… call it the magic touch of Winchester Auto Repairs. Payment accepted in pie only.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes, but as you turned toward your car, you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. Dean may never say the words out loud, but this, quiet, hidden acts of care, that was his love language.