You were in the middle of the road, with the scorching heat of the summer sun over your head and your car, as always, smoking from the engine. It broke again, of course. You let out a sigh of frustration, already preparing to face the wait for assistance. But before you could reach for your cell phone, the low roar of an engine filled the silence of the empty road. A classic black Impala pulled up next to your.

The man who got out of the car was tall and strong. Sam Winchester. He smiled sideways.

"Do you need help?", he asked, pointing to his smoking car.

You shook your head, a little surprised. He didn't hesitate. He rolled up his sleeves and dove under the hood of the car. Sweat began to pool on Sam's tight gray t-shirt, creating a visible stain on his back. You tried not to look, but it was almost impossible to look away as he worked, moving his hands with precision. After a few minutes, he stood up, sighing and wiping his hands on his jeans before heading back to the Impala.

He bent down to use the side mirror, trying unsuccessfully to wipe the grease off his face with his fingers. When that didn't work, he made an impatient sound and, without thinking twice, pulled his sweaty shirt over his head.

You blushed immediately when you saw him shirtless, his muscles toned and his sweaty skin reflecting the sunlight. He noticed your blush and gave you a playful smile, which made you feel even flushed.

"Sorry, I think I got everything dirty here", he said, laughing slightly, pointing to the grease stain on his forehead.