gifs: spn

Just For Funsies

All my life I’ve been good,
But now whoa, I’m thinking what the hell
All I want is to mess around!!!

   The song “What the Hell” by Avril Lavigne was blaring in the background as I got up on top of the table and started dancing. I giggled and threw my head back laughing as I almost slipped to my death and pointed to Sam and Dean in the corner of the bar, and started shaking it. I watched their expressions raise, and Dean’s eyes got big as he came towards me. Trying to get me down from the table. I cracked up and jumped to the next table, and the crowd was cheering me on as I sang along to the popular song lyrics. “This is what Dean gets for bringing his little sister to a bar to pick up woman.” I thought smugly to myself. I just wanted to go home and watch Netflix, but nooo we had to what Mr. Dean wanted to do. Ugh, he always gets his way.

My laughter rang throughout the cheap bar as I hopped onto the next table. I flailed my arms so I wouldn’t fall face forward on the floor. Dean lunged towards me at the same time, trying to catch my leg but he failed miserably. Instead, he knocked someone’s drink off the table and the glass shattered all over the floor. He was gradually getting more aggravated by the second with me.

Keep reading

If supernatural characters worked at mcdonald’s

Dean: Nah, it’s true sir, that really is our biggest burger. I know, it really is embarrassing.

Sam: Are you sure you want this greasy, unhealthy meal? Maybe you didn’t notice our salad options?

Claire: *stands outside, smoking and scowling cause she won’t work for capitalist swine*

Crowley: Here you go love, here’s your meal! If there’s anything else you want well then you can bugger off!

Cas: *drops meal on the floor*

First Hunt

Warnings: None I believe
Characters: Daddy!Dean Winchester, Uncle!Sam Winchester, Daughter/Niece!Reader, Johnny Winchester
Summary: You and your twin brother go on your first hunt.
Reader’s Age: 16 years old
Word Count: 1373

Y/N: Your Name

A/N: Whoo another request I’m on a roll! I decided that Dean would name his son after John so I thought Johnny was a good name! Enjoy!


“JONATHAN!” you screamed at your brother. “GIVE IT BACK!”

Jonathan ran down the bunker halls as you chased him. Jonathan turned into the library, realizing his mistake as you cornered him. “Give. It. Back!” you growled through gritted teeth.

Keep reading

Stay (Dean x Reader)

Pairing: Dean x Reader
Other Characters: None
Genre: Fluff; angst
Warnings: Nightmares; some mentions of violence
Summary: Dean comes to you after waking up from a particularly nasty nightmare. You comfort him, and let him open up to you.


Unfortunately for himself, Dean wasn’t a light sleeper. Even when he knew he was dreaming, nothing seemed to wake him up until the nightmare was over, save for maybe you or Sam clanking about the bunker at the ungodly hours of the morning. He complained regularly about this, but he was secretly grateful that, more often than not, you or Sam making coffee or leaving for a morning run would pull him out of the nightmarish clutches of sleep.
Even as a child, Dean had restless nights, his mother or father usually having to calm him down more than once a night. But, he was forced to grow up. To deal with the nightmares that only got worse the more things he saw. For years, he pushed down the night terrors and acted as cheery as he could every morning. You and Sam would pretend that you hadn’t heard him screaming and calling out for help only moments before he’d walk into the kitchen. Though you’d confronted him on it, more than once, he told you not to worry, that he was a big boy; he could take care of himself. Neither you nor Sam argued, afraid to upset him further.


Someone screaming woke you up. Even though he was halfway across the bunker, you woke up to it nearly every night. Although you knew it was just Dean having another nightmare, you instinctively reached under your pillow, holding the cool metal handle of your gun. Eventually, you began to doze off again, almost too exhausted and worn out from the hunt to worry about Dean, when you heard a timid knock on your door. You pushed back your soft sheets, slowly sitting up and planting your feet on the chilly stone floor of your bedroom. You needed a carpet. Shivering a bit, you padded over to your door, cracking it open and poking your head through.
Dean stood there, puffy eyes moving in a panicked frenzy, panting as though he’d just run a marathon. His goosebump-covered arms were wrapped around his torso, the thin shirt and boxer-briefs he was wearing not nearly warm enough for the cool January weather that always managed to seep through the walls of the bunker. You opened the door wider, pulling his arms from where they were clutching his chest, holding his cold hands in your warm ones.
“I… had a nightmare,” he whispered, voice hoarse from the screaming and crying, “I didn’t want to wake you, but I just…” Dean trailed off, his gaze lowering to look at your pale feet. He drew a shaky breath, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he choked out, finally meeting you eyes.
You could see his pain through the tears that were threatening to spill over again. He pulled his hands out of yours, wiping at his eyes in frustration. He inhaled through his stuffy nose, and continued, “(Y/N) I’m so sorry, I know I make you’re life here shitty. I know I’ve shut you and Sammy out but- but I can’t keep doing this,” Dean’s voice cracked.
You pulled him into your room and shut the door softly behind him. Dean took shallow breaths, balling up the ends of his shirt in his hands and twisting it, trying to do anything that might distract him. You turned on your bedside lamp and the room illuminated with a dull, comforting orange glow. You sat him down on your bed, his head propped up on a couple of soft pillows, before crawling in beside him and pulling the covers over both of you.
“Dean,” you began softly, “I can’t tell you how wrong you are. You and Sammy took me in and made my life wonderful. I so incredibly happy being here, being home, with you guys. Dean, I love you so much, and no matter what, I’m always here for you. If you want to talk, or let me talk, or just lie down and do nothing, I’m here.”
He drew a shaky breath, moving his head so that he was laying on your chest, and you wrapped your arms around him, running your fingers through his short hair. For a while, neither of you said anything. Dean’s breathing eventually slowed, and his hands let go of the sheets he hadn’t realized he’d been clenching. Dean just listened to your heartbeat. Each of you were comforted by the warmth of the other in the chilly bunker.
Dean inhaled deeply and began, “I have the same dreams… Or at least, they all have the same premise,” he took another breath, and continued, “I dream about losing my family. You, Sam Cas, you’re all I have left. I cannot lose you. I dream I’m back in hell. It’s been years, but the dreams never go away. But now, you’re all there with me, and-” Dean was crying, he paused for a minute to slow his breathing. You waited patiently, stroking his back, and he finished, “-and… You all blame me for putting you down there…” His voice was softer than a whisper.
You held him closely as he let a few more tears slip. You let him know how loved he was. How much you cared about him, how important he was to his family and to the world. He fell asleep in your arms, and for the first time since he could remember, he woke up the next morning happy.