If there was one thing Dean cared about more than you and Sam, it might've been Baby. He adored that damn car, always making sure the ‘67 Impala was in tip-top shape. He never trusted her in the hands of mechanic — that car was his girl. He only trusted himself with taking care of her.

However, you had nothing else to do. When time came ‘round for an oil change, you'd offered to help. Dean was obviously reluctant at first. But, you managed to convince him to let you help. He was the one always telling you to get off your damn phone and actually do something, after all. He took it as a good opportunity to teach you some valuable skills, just how he was training you to be a hunter. (Though he hated that idea — you had literally no one else in the world, and living with the Winchesters required some defense knowledge.)

Dean's old CD player was perched on the workbench in the garage of the bunker, Interstate Love Song playing from the crappy speakers. Dean was halfway underneath the car, one knee bent as he focused on the parts. “Pan,” He stated, tone firm. It wasn't a very direct instruction, but you understood it nonetheless. You slid the oil pan underneath the car, and he practically yanked it into the right place to catch the old oil once he unscrewed the bolt.

“Hand me the filter wrench,” Dean stated, wiggling one of his hands as he reached out from underneath the car. He already sounded like he was losing his patience, and you hadn't even done anything. “Did you not bring the filter wrench?”

Dean was a bit… intense when it came to taking care of Baby. He didn't respond when you handed him the correct wrench. Your view of him was obstructed, but you heard a little groan of satisfaction as he unscrewed the bolt, the oil pouring out into the pan. “Atta girl,” Dean spoke to the car, before speaking to you once he heard you mumble something.

“What'd you say, kiddo?” He let out a scoff. “You bet your ass this is safe. I ain't taking Baby somewhere when I can do this on my own.”