one of the admittedly many many things that kills me about dean winchester is that he actually wasn’t born to be a hunter. he wasn’t raised as a hunter from birth, probably unlike his mom and grandfather. he was born and raised- for the first conscious years of his life- to be somebody’s cuddle baby. he wuv’d hugs. he had somebody cutting the crust off his sandwiches, kissing his ouchies. singing to him and listening to the silly little songs that he made up. tucking him in with stuffed animals and then hearing him say goodnight mister snuggles to his teddy bear when the lights were out. even worse: we know this is dean winchester’s heaven.
so i often wonder how can people look at dean winchester and not immediately know that the he-man posturing is 80% bullshit designed to keep his fucking head above water? in his heart- and literally in his fucking heaven- he just wants to be loved, and to give love freely. to make somebody laugh. to be held.
now, if you’ll excuse me, i have some cereal to eat straight out of the box while i try not to cry.