The air in the outside of the old, abandoned farmhouse was thick with tension. Dean stood by the car trunk, cocking his gun with his trademark smirk. Sam, standing by Dean, was reviewing their latest case file, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Well, guess she likes bad boys,” Sam teased, finally breaking the silence. He shot Dean a sly grin, cocking his gun. Dean raised an eyebrow, the smirk on his face growing wider. He tilted his head, checking the chambers of his gun as he responded. “Well, wait till she gets a load of us.” The sound of footsteps caused them both to freeze for a moment, instinctively reaching for their weapons. But before either of them could act, a clear throat echoed from the doorway. “Excuse me,” You said, leaning casually on the doorframe. One hand rested on your hip, while the other slid up the doorframe. “What did you just say?” Dean turned slowly, his confident demeanor faltering just slightly under your sharp gaze. “Oh, uh…” He began, struggling to find the words, his eyes darting to Sam for backup. Sam, ever the diplomat, held up his hands defensively. “Dean was just…you know…uh, being Dean.” You crossed your arms, your lips twitching into a sly smile. “So, let me get this straight,” You said, stepping into the room. “You think I’m into bad boys?” Dean cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. “Well, I mean, look at us. Leather jackets, saving people, hunting things… We’re the full package.” Sam groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Dean-”