“I’m back!” he calls, nudging the door closed with his shoulder while he slings his bag off the other one and sets it down. He toes off his shoes (because the floors aren’t gross and grimy, he can do that without feeling like he’s going to catch something) and sheds his coat before he wanders over in the direction of the kitchen. It’s warm in here, for which he’s grateful (he still feels cold, sometimes, even when he knows he isn’t, he knows it’s just a memory, same way he knows being in the dark isn’t bad but he can’t help but sleep with the lamp next to his bed on, just in case), and even warmer in the kitchen where Dean’s clearly making dinner (actually cooking, he’s been doing that a lot lately; since they got this place there hasn’t been a single gross greasy burger forced on him, and it’s really quite nice - another thing he’s not letting himself get used to, but that he’s really going to miss when it’s over).
“Smells good,” he offers with a little smile, sitting down at one of the chairs in the little kitchen /dining area, leaning his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands. He’s got homework to do (and research to do, later, when Dean’s out working, so his brother won’t see - no need for Dean to figure out what he’s working on, not yet, not until he’s sure about it), but he’ll get to that in a few minutes. For now he’ll just relax and enjoy the warmth and the cheesy smell wafting through the air and the fact that this actually feels like a safe place.