A/N: Beware the ides of March! Or the ideas…which in the case of this fandom, are probably much more scary…

Spoilers: Maybe 4x11, but only if you really care about how the boys stash their stuff.

Disclaimer: I wished upon a star, but they still aren't mine. Maybe I should try my next birthday candles…

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Bump. Pop! Hiss…

Smooth glide of the Impala's wheels turned into a fierce shuddering of steel, pulling sharply to the left. Dean steered it to the shoulder to take a look.

"Damn it, we don't have time for this."

"Flat?"

"Yeah, and I don't think I can patch it. Pop the trunk."

Sam pressed the trunk release: the trunk he had reorganized with wooden cubbyholes, weapon holders and- Oh shit…

He bolted out of the car to the trunk, where his brother was tapping an irritated rhythm against the open lid. He could only return Dean's leering gaze with a sheepish shrug.

"Can you please tell me how you compartmentalized us out of a spare tire?"