“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Dean turned around abruptly, his hands still on the lock pick that was stuck in your front door.
“Y/N… Hi. I uh, you’re home.” He breathed out a forced laugh and pulled the pick from your door and straightened up, turning to you with a sheepish look on his face.
You crossed your arms over your chest and set back on your heel, putting your full weight on one leg. He looked good; no visible scratches or bullet wounds anyway. It had been a long time since you’d seen him, almost a year, and if he was here monsters where here….or something worse.
“Long time no see, huh? You look good, no, you look great.”
“Cut the crap, Dean.” You replied, forcing the smile off of your face at his compliment. “What are you doing here, and why are you breaking in to my house?”