Dean Winchester was absolutely not the fatherly type. He was the kinda guy who'd take you shooting, or even sneak you out of the house on a hunt while you were supposed to be grounded. Not the go out into the backyard and play catch or play dolls kinda guy. That was Sam's damn thing. He wasn't a gentle sort.

Of course that kind of fell through when you fell into his care after your father was killed while on a hunt. Basically the goddamn kid version of him, without all the daddy issues and internalized fear taken for respect. Rocky, snarky - but, hell, at least you liked his music. You'd jam in the Impala on the hours long drives.

"Hey, kid." He grunted, turning down the Asia cassette he had in. "You know... I don't know much about you." He looked over at you.