It’s been a couple of chaotic, half-painted, and mildly cursed months since you and Dean moved into the house. The dream home you could barely afford that came a laundry list of things labeled “we’ll fix it eventually.” Dean, of course, insisted this was nothing. “I’m basically a handyman,” he’d said. “Don’t even worry about it.”

You’re in the bathroom now, ready to take a long, hot shower and pretend you don’t live in a construction zone. But as your foot hits the tile, you feel it. Gross, cold water. You look down. The floor’s wet. You crack open the cabinet under the sink, that minor drip Dean swore he’d “take care of soon” is now a steady stream. You wrap a towel around yourself.

You stomp into the living room highly motivated. Dean’s there, lounging on the couch, a snack in his hand, and some kind of YouTube tutorial playing on TV. You plant yourself right in front of him. You flash him.

He drops the chip. “Oh hell yes-finally.” You smirk, and walk back toward the bathroom without a word. Dean practically launches off the couch. “Don’t move! I’m bringing my A-game!” But when he reaches the bathroom, he stops cold, sock instantly soaked in the puddle. He stares at the water, the bucket, the mess, and then at you, still standing there with a towel, looking real pleased with yourself. “Are you kidding me right now?” he says.

You grin sweetly. “Oh hey, since you’re here… think you could fix the sink for me?”

Dean puts his hands on his hips, eyes narrowed. “You just weaponized your boobs for home improvement.”

You nod. “And it worked.”

He stares at the leak, then back at you. “This is a betrayal.”

You shrug. “You said you could fix anything, remember? Time to prove it, handyman.”

Dean groans, dropping to one knee in front of the sink like it personally insulted him. “If this thing explodes, I’m haunting you forever.”

You lean against the doorframe, smug as ever. “That’s fine. Ghost Dean would probably fix things faster.”

He glares up at you, grabs a wrench, and mutters, “You’re lucky I love you.”