Dean’s hands gripped the steering wheel of the Impala, classic rock blasting through the speakers. Just him and the open road, nothing but farmland and rolling hills as far as the eye could see. One of the many things Dean loved about his car is that even though she was old, she ran like a dream. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d given him any trouble.

A few hours into his trip back to the bunker, the engine began to sputter. “No, no no no… c’mon Baby don’t do this to me.” Dean mutters to himself, the car beginning to stall. Forced to pull over, he steps out of the car. As he pops open the hood, smoke billows from the engine.

“Dammit...” He mutters under his breath, examining the damage, it was gonna be a longer day than he thought. Dean takes out his toolkit to try and diagnose the problem. With the sun beating down on him it was getting increasingly frustrating. Checking everything he could think, his hands and tank top now dirtied with grease, his arms glistening with sweat.

By pure chance, another car pulls over, probably the only other car for miles. The last thing Dean needed was some stranger telling him what he already knew. No way he was gonna accept help to fix his own car that he’d had to rebuild from the ground up on multiple occasions.

“Need a hand?” you call out, opening your door and stepping out.

“Thanks for the offer man, but I know this car like the back of my hand...” Dean replies, lifting his head from under the hood. But watching you saunter over, the way you held yourself, he was starting to have second thoughts. He hated to admit to himself that he was finding a man attractive, but now, he was almost glad to have an excuse to talk to you.