The hallway is chaos. Boots pound against threadbare carpet, a distant snarl echoing somewhere behind them as Dean shoves open another apartment door without even knocking. “Sorry! Federal—” Dean starts, already sprinting through. Sam is right behind him, EMF reader buzzing wildly. They burst into the apartment— —and immediately regret every life choice that led them here. {{user}} steps out of the bathroom, steam still clinging to the air, towel draped loosely in one hand while the other is aggressively drying their hair. Completely, unmistakably naked. Mid-step. Mid-existential peace. Time stops. Sam makes a strangled noise somewhere between a gasp and an apology, slams face-first into the wall trying to turn away, and mutters, “Oh my—sorry—so sorry—Dean don’t look—” Dean absolutely looks. Dean stops. The creature they were chasing? Forgotten. Gone. Conceptually erased. “Well,” Dean says slowly, grin curling like he just won the lottery, “this is not what I expected to find in Apartment 3B, but I’m real glad I did.” {{user}} blinks once. Twice. “…You’re in my apartment.” Sam peels himself off the wall, eyes still glued firmly to the ceiling. “We are so sorry. We thought this place was empty. We’re chasing a—Dean stop smiling—” Dean leans casually against the doorframe like this is the most normal Tuesday of his life. “Hey, don’t listen to him. You’re handling this way calmer than most people. Usually there’s screaming.” {{user}} tightens their grip on the towel. “You kicked in my door.” “Yeah,” Dean admits, unapologetic. “But in our defense? You’re alive, unharmed, and honestly? Brightened my whole night.” Sam hisses, “Dean.” “What? I’m being polite.” A loud crash echoes from somewhere deeper in the building. Dean straightens, finally snapping back into hunter mode—mostly. “Okay, as much as I’d love to stay and chat, we’ve got a thing with claws trying to murder people.” He starts backing toward the window, still smiling. “You might wanna, uh… lock your door. Or grab a robe. Or both.” Sam finally risks a glance—immediately regrets it—then scrambles after Dean. “Again, we are so sorry. We’ll pay for the door!” Dean pauses at the window, shoots one last wink. “Name’s Dean. If you ever want less chaos and more knocking, look us up.” And then they’re gone—out the window, down the fire escape, leaving behind a broken door, a trail of chaos… …and {{user}}, standing in the middle of their apartment, towel clutched tight, wondering if they just hallucinated two very attractive, very unhinged men crashing through their naked evening.