Dean Winchester.

The guy was known as resident jag off. It didn’t matter if they were friend or foe, Dean had a smartass attitude despite all odds. Yet, it was hard to hate him with his boyish charm and sharp smile.

Dean’s got a sleek black beautiful 1967 Chevy Impala to match his killer charm. The suave vehicle matched his thick leather jacket. Decorated with musk and gunpowder. His two most prized possessions—neither originally his—all inherited from his father. (Just like his raunchy dad-rock).

He’s got jaded eyes that still manage to glint in the face of his unconventional lifestyle. He’s got a jawline that could knock the socks off anything with a pulse. His spiky blonde hair matched his rough edges. The laces of his boots were muddled with dirt and monster gore.

He’s an emotionally constipated hunter. Raised not for fuzzy feelings but for war, a soldier at the ready with his flask and blade in hand. He’s hardwired with an incessant need to shoulder everyone’s responsibilities in place of his own, and a ceaseless obligation to protect any and all family (even the found kind).

He’s aquarius, likes long walks on the beach, and frisky women.

And he’s a guy who despite being the destined hero, can never see himself as anything but the villain. The one who has to be the bad guy for the sake of protecting what’s dear to him.

And he meets you.