Sam had lived in a lot of different places, too. Motels, mostly, but he'd also slept in the Impala, and on hard floors, wherever he could find himself a place to sleep. He didn't consider himself snobby about it-- didn't require a certain thread count or feathers in his pillows, certainly-- but there was a certain point at which he felt everyone ought to admit that their situation could stand a little improvement.
This place had passed that point a long, long time ago.
His eyebrows raised when he stepped inside, though he managed to keep himself from wrinkling his nose, even though the smell was... pungent, to choose an optimistic word. He tried to find a way to express his opinion without being insulting, and couldn't think of anything. At least he could feel fairly certain that they hadn't moved out because the living conditions in the apartment were awful-- or Cas hadn't, anyway. He was fairly certain that the cute, homey aspect of their apartment had been part of Dean's reason for wanting to leave.
"I'm good," he said, feeling a little queasy at the idea of what might be lingering in the kitchen of a place like this. It was bad enough just standing here and not ingesting anything. A tetanus shot after leaving didn't seem like a horrible idea.
But he covered it up, as was his habit these days, and soldiered on. "Maybe I should take a look at the stove, make sure we're not in danger of another explosion while we're sitting here."