You can say whatever the hell you want, doesn't make it any less true.

[This Dean states firmly, meets Stiles' return glance with a steady, uncompromising stare and does not acknowledge either the irony or the skepticism even a little. After all, Dean knows why he looks like shit: life does that to a man, especially his. Stiles, though, is too young to look that ragged.

Not that Dean believes this with any kind of conviction; misfortune doesn't exactly give a damn about age before it decides to drop in, and he knows that. It's just habit, to think the young are or should be somehow safer than the old, one he could do with breaking. That or he just hates it, but that's nothing special: he hates a lot of things.]

Let me guess: it's the adderall again. Makes it hard to know when to stop before you pass the fuck out.