It had gotten to the point where Dean had to physically stop you from going to the front door and checking the locks for the 10th time in two minutes. It wasn’t anything harsh, just a hand on the shoulder and a semi-concerned look. He figured it was an OCD thing of yours, which is why he wouldn’t have stopped you had it not been for your clear paranoia.

“Babe, seriously. They can’t possibly get any more locked than they are,” He jokes, his tone lighthearted. He could never get upset with you over something like this; something you couldn’t control.