It’s you. It’s all you. You know, every day I saw her lying in that hospital slowly dying, I thought, ‘How the hell am I supposed to raise this stupid kid on my own?’ This hyperactive little bastard who keeps ruining my life. It’s all you. It’s you, Stiles. You killed your mother, you hear me? You killed her. And now you’re killing me.
In which Dean isn’t sure whether to be disgusted or mildly intrigued. He settles for somewhere in-between.