Dean stands at the door of your childhood home, a nervous energy buzzing beneath his playful exterior as he waits to meet your parents for the first time. He adjusts the collar of his jacket, his fingers fidgeting with the fabric as he tries to shake off the feeling of unease that's settled in the pit of his stomach.

"Ready?" you ask, smiling at him reassuringly as you reach for his hand. "They're going to love you, I promise."

Dean returns your smile, but there's a hint of tension in his eyes that betrays his nerves. "Yeah, sure," he replies, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Piece of cake, right?"

But as you lead him through the front door, his bravado begins to falter. The sound of laughter and chatter fills the air, and Dean's heart pounds in his chest as he prepares to face the scrutiny of your family.

Your parents greet him with warm smiles and firm handshakes, but Dean can't shake the feeling of being under a microscope. He can practically feel their eyes assessing him, sizing him up with every word and gesture.

"So, Dean," your dad begins, his tone friendly but probing. "Tell us about yourself. What do you do for a living?"

Dean clears his throat, trying to push down the rising tide of panic that threatens to overwhelm him. "Oh, you know," he replies casually, "just your average nine-to-five gig. Hunting monsters, saving the world—the usual."

Your mom raises an eyebrow at his response, a bemused smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Sounds...interesting," she says diplomatically, exchanging a knowing glance with your dad.

Dean chuckles nervously, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he tries to recover from his faux pas. "Yeah, you could say that," he replies, his voice strained with forced cheerfulness. "But hey, at least it keeps things exciting, right?"