Dude, I'm batman

[A list of nicknames]

1. Sam
-Sammich
-Sasquatch
-Yeti
-Samantha
-Sammy
-Freak
-Chewy
-Haley Joel
-Special Needs
-Little Brother
-Baby Brother
-Whiny little Bitch
-Geekboy
-Bitch
*Sometimes I put the word giant before these and often the word ass afterwards as in: “I’m gonna beat his giant yeti ass when I get my hands on him”

2. Brooke
-Hot Ass
-Sometimes Babe

3. Claire
-Jailbait

4. Matthew
-Little Dude

5. Castiel
-Cas
-Feather Ass
-Junkless
-Chuckles

6. The Impala
-Baby
-My girl

If you want to have your pup kiss mine, comment here! I'll write a drabble/short fiction makin' it happen!

1. You and your ex = don't talk much

2. I am listening to = ACDC Black Ice

3. Maybe I should = do some laundry

4. I love = Pie

5. My best friend(s) = Sam

( Read more... )

[Everyone has a motto, creed, quote, etc that they live by. What's yours and why?]

He’s nearly thirty. Nearly nothing, in five days he will be thirty and he’s been to Hell once. Almost dead more than that. Thirty isn’t a number Dean Winchester ever planned for. Sixteen? Oh hell yeah. He’d known since he was five that sixteen was the magic number. That was when John handed him the keys to his baby. Eighteen wasn’t that big a deal. He already had all the freedom he was ever gonna get. A fake ID, dad who wasn’t around and a little brother that was all added up to eighteen not being that special. Twenty-one made a big impression for obvious reasons. He could use his actual driver’s license to buy a girl a drink. Although by twenty-one, Dean had learned that with the right smile and a wink, girls would buy him the drinks.

Thirty is a number, a birthday that he never contemplated ever having. Unlike most people who push their definition of old back further and further, Dean hasn’t. Thirty is old but then he’s a hunter and he knows a lot of them who’ve died before they ever reached thirty. It’s not a business with a lot of longevity and Dean’s comfortable with that. He always has been.

And that’s why he’s running for the Impala with a Wendigo hot on his ass. “SAMMY! Where the fuck is the damn flame thrower I asked you for five minutes ago?”

In reality, it was about 30 seconds ago but Sam pops up from the trunk, flame thrower in hand, Dean ducks just in time for the flame to gout over his head, drenching the Wendigo in fire. The creature falls back with an inhuman scream and Dean rolls into the passenger side of the Impala laughing his ass off. Sam’s wearing his bitch face when he gets into the driver’s seat.

“Oh come on, Sammich, you know that was fun,” Dean’s still laughing when Sam pulls onto the highway leaving nothing but Wendigo ash behind.

“Dean…you used yourself as bait….again.”

“Live fast, die young, leave a pretty corpse behind,” Dean says as he sits a little straighter in the passenger seat, shifting through the box of tapes in the center. It’s a motto he’s lived by since Sammy turned eighteen, ‘cause by then at least in theory, kid could take care of himself.

“Your hair got singed nearly off,” Sam responds straight faced. “Spot in the back.”

That sends Dean scrambling for the visor mirror. He can’t find anything wrong but Sam’s still wearing a poker face.

“Dude, you’re like twelve feet tall, couldn’t you have aimed a little higher?” Dean asks, hands combing through his hair. He can’t find anything burned or singed and the car doesn’t smell like burnt hair.

Sam’s poker face breaks and he’s the one laughing while Dean wears the bitch face. Turnabout is always fair play in the Winchester house.

Oh yeah. Does this surprise any one?

[What Happened?]

“Seriously, Sammy, what the hell happened here?” Dean asked as he looked around the hotel room. It looked like something had exploded in there.

“It-I-I’m sorry,” Sam stuttered through the apology.

“Oh you’re gonna be,” Dean said as he stormed around the room picking things up and discarding them to the floor again. All their clothes were scattered, pillows were ripped apart, blankets were shredded. Dean picked up a shoe that was covered in slime of some kind and chewed upon. Sam tried to sink a little deeper into the corner of the hotel room. At ten, he could still make a decent attempt at doing so.

“Sammy...did you summon up something from Hell? Because that’s the only excuse I’m coming up with right now.”

“Promise not to be mad at me?” Sam squeaked from his corner, looking up at him with a look that coined the phrase ‘puppy eyes’. If he had been doing it on purpose, Dean would have been pissed and the effect would have been null. The thing about Sammy, he didn’t even know he was doing it. Kid looked like the poster child for pitiful without even trying.

“I’m not gonna be mad at you, Sam. I just need to know what the hell happened so I can go hunt the damn thing or call Dad.”

“No!” Sam said, the expression on his face and the tone in his voice turning to outright fear. “Don’t call Dad.”

Dean groaned and put his head back, staring up at the ceiling. Something there caught his attention and he narrowed his eyes, cocking his upturned head to the side as he studied the goop on the ceiling. “Sam….is that…” A glop of it plopped down on his head. Dean made a disgusted face as he wiped it off his forehead, the scent of some kind of flowers tickling his nose. In response he sniffed his fingers. “…shampoo?”

“Yeah,” Sam confessed in a whispery voice.

“Sam, I’ve never beat your ass in my life but I’m gonna start unless you tell me what the hell happened here.”

“There-“ Sam started and stopped then stood up. He edged along the wall, watching Dean as he did. “This dog…I’ve been feeding him and-“ He was choking back tears, watching Dean warily as he continued to creep along the wall. “I got him to come in the room today and he let me pet him but he smelled bad. I knew you and dad wouldn’t let me keep him if he smelled bad so I-I tried to give him a bath.” Sam looked around the room, face falling as if he were realizing for the first time what a mess had been made of the room. “He didn’t like it very much.”

Dean kind of wanted to be pissed. He wanted to yell and ask Sam what the hell he was thinking. He wanted to warn him about rabies and bites. Instead he laughed and the laugh grew until he was doubled over laughing, leaving Sam staring at him like he’d lost it.

“I just wanted a dog.” Sam was still trying to wiggle his way out of the recrimination he was pretty sure was coming once Dean finished his hysterical fit.

Dean finally looked up at him, tears streaming down his face, breathless from the laughter. “Next time…just let the dog stink.”

Sam looked a little like Dean imagined a confused puppy would, his head tilted to one side, mouth slightly agape. “I’m not in trouble? Are you gonna tell Dad?”

“Nah…I’m not gonna tell dad, but we gotta get this room cleaned up and I’ve gotta grab some pillows and crap,” Dean chuckled. “You clean, I’ll nab.” He started toward the motel room door, stopped and turned to look over his shoulder. “And Sammy, you don’t have to be afraid to tell me about anything you did. You won’t ever be in trouble with me.”

1. What are/were your parents’ names?
John and Mary

2. Where are/were they from?
Lawrence, Kansas

( Read more... )

We don't need to be rescued because between Mom and me, we'll get off that island on our friggin' own.

[Discuss what you were like as a child]

John has the radio on low and Dean can hear the sound of the road underneath him. Sammy is asleep in a basket on the front seat and Dean’s sitting in the back seat of the Impala, running the 67 Impala matchbox car his Dad had brought home to him a few days ago. He also had his transformers back there with him. Optimus Prime is transformed into his robot form and he’s battling Megatron. The bad guys are beating the good guys horribly.

“You won’t win, Megatron. You can’t win!”

“Take that back! ‘Cause I’m kicking your ass.” Dean shakes his fist at Megatron and quickly looks up to see if John heard him but his Dad doesn’t turn around or scold him.

“We got a secret weapon,” he says in his scariest, gruffest voice. He drives the matchbox Impala into Megatron, knocking him off Optimus Prime and sending him tumbling to the floorboard. Dean puts aside the toys and scoots to the edge of the seat, leaning on the back of the front seat.

“If the Impala was a transformer, do you think she’d still be a girl?”

John glances over his shoulder, chuckling softly. “Course she would be. The Impala’s a girl no matter what she is.”

“There aren’t any girl transformers,” Dean says skeptically.

“That’s because if the Impala were a transformer, she’d be special,” John responds, his attention going back to the road.

His words make a smile creep over Dean’s face though and he sits back in the seat, his hand curling around the matchbox car. The Impala purrs underneath, lulling him to sleep but his grip on the car remains tight. He’ll keep her secret and she won’t tell his but if Optimus Prime ever needs a secret weapon, he knows where to look.