“She deserves better than this,” he mutters, inspecting a smudge on the fender like it’s a crime against humanity.

“You’re gonna stare a hole through her if you keep looking at her like that,” you call out.

Dean smirks without turning around. “Can’t help it. She’s sexy when she’s dirty.”

You roll your eyes, stepping outside. “Need a hand?”

He finally turns to look at you, eyebrows raised, “Sure. Only if you wear a bikini.”

You snort. “Only if you do. Matching set.”

Dean lets out a laugh. “I’d make it look better than you.”

You walk past him toward the bucket of suds, bumping his shoulder on purpose. “Yeah? I’ll believe that when I see it. Just don’t drop the soap, Winchester.”

His head jerks toward you like he’s not sure if he heard you right. “Oh, damn. You came out swinging today.”

You grab a sponge, dip it in the bucket, and shoot him a smirk. “I gotta keep you on your toes.” Dean watches you start scrubbing the Impala’s passenger door, his gaze lingering; low and appreciative. You glance over your shoulder and catch him full-on staring. “Eyes up, Dean. Or she’s not the only one getting hosed down.” He gives a low laugh. A grin creeps onto your face as you reach for the hose, angle it carefully, and without warning you blast him right in the chest.

“Son of a-!” he jumps back, completely soaked. “Oh, you’re dead.” You run, squealing, as he lunges for it. But you’re fast, circling around Baby, keeping just out of his reach. He manages to grab it, turns it on you, and hits your back with a cold stream that makes you gasp and shriek. Laughter bounces off the walls of the bunker as you and Dean chase each other around the car, both soaked and out of breath, flinging water and teasing insults. At some point, he catches you by the waist, spinning you around as the hose dangles forgotten on the ground. You’re both breathless, dripping, smiling like fools. He leans in close, voice low and warm against your ear. “You know, if you wanted me to get you wet, all you had to do was ask sweetheart.”