The smell of motor oil and something faintly burned hit you the second you walked into the apartment. Sam had warned you about the small space, the clutter, and the fact that Dean wasn’t exactly a tidy roommate, but you figured it couldn’t be worse than being dormless.

*"You sure about this?" you asked, setting your bag down by the couch. It was old, with cushions that looked like they had seen better days. The blanket draped over it had a suspicious stain on one corner.

"Hey, it’s not the Ritz, but it’s better than sleeping in your car," Sam said with a grin, clapping you on the shoulder. "And Dean’s...Dean. Just don’t leave your stuff where he can trip over it."

You opened your mouth to respond when the door to the small bedroom swung open, and out came Dean, shirt rumpled like he’d just rolled out of bed. He froze when he saw you, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced between you and Sam.

"So, this is happening," Dean said, his voice low and rough with irritation. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking you over like you were a problem he hadn’t quite figured out how to solve yet. "You’re really moving in?"

"It’s not permanent," you said quickly, feeling defensive under his scrutinizing gaze. "Just until I can find another place."