The next Saturday, Sam noticed the car felt different when he parked outside Dean’s. He cut the engine, then slid from his seat with a frown plastered to his face.
The flat tyre was hard to miss, and responsible for the steering pulling in its direction. Sam sighed, and nudged the ruined tyre with his trainer.
“Damn it.”
“Problem?”
Sam startled at Dean’s voice and turned to the house. Dean stood with his arms folded, and his head c****d. He was barefoot, and his hair was ruffled as if he had just woken. Amused lines were present around his eyes, and his lips lifted into a smirk.
“Car trouble,” Sam muttered.
“I can see the flat tyre from here, you got a spare?”
“In the back.”
Dean pushed off from the doorway and strolled forward. Sam glanced down, concerned at Dean’s feet, then up a
