A/N: So, I've had this for a while... so long in fact that I have no memory whatsoever where I got this list of words. I tried to make each "story" a sentence, but that might not have worked out so well since I am a wordy, wordy person.

A/N2: It's been a long freakin' time since I've posted anything. My bad. No promises that this is the beginning of my return, because I'm sure I'll disappear again...

A/N3: I do appreciate all the readers and reviews though, so, so, so much. You guys make my heart smile a huge, 'Dean-with-a-slice-of-pie' smile. Truly.

A/N4: No beta, I'd feel like a jerk asking anyone to beta for me since I'm not around and I hardly review because I suck. All mistakes are on me, I welcome corrections from you guys.

Disclaimers: I own nothing. These prompts were not mine, and I'm sorry that I cannot give credit where credit is due!

Warnings: Probably language... I don't think there is any character death... that is all. None of the 'stories' are necessarily connected.

Black and White

John saw the world as black and white—good and evil— while Sam dwells in shades of gray and Dean—well Dean doesn't see shades or colors at all, he sees only his family and what he has to do to keep them safe.

Will Never Be

It's cold and raining and smells like wet pavement, but standing at her grave Sam doesn't smell that or feel the water soaking into his pants at his knees, he only smells her shampoo and remembers how she felt beside him as he stares at her headstone and what will never be.

Hit or Miss

He only had time to fire off one bullet before the thing would be on him, but the wound high on his leg had already gone numb and stolen the heat from his body so he knew he was screwed either way, hit or miss.

Touch Me

"If you touch me one more time," Dean hissed through raw, cracked and bloodied lips as tried to get away from the probing, claw-like hands—but the ropes cutting into his wrists kept him place, "I'm going to rip you apart."

Me or Them

They were closing in around them and Dean stood tall despite the massive blood loss but Sam still towered over him while Dean yelled, his finger tightening over the trigger, "it won't end like this, Sammy, because I promised you it wouldn't and so now you've got to choose: me, or them."

Naughty or Nice

Sam knew it wasn't good to lie, his Daddy had told him so, but he also knew that Santa only brought presents to good little girls and boys so when Dean took him to see Santa at the mall by the hotel and the jolly man asked if he had been naughty or nice this year, Sam lied because he really thought this might be the year Santa could bring him a Mom.

Coming Out

John just smiled at Sammy when Dean yelled through the door that we was definitely never coming out of the bathroom because John still remembered his first dance and how stupid he had felt in a suit and tie.

Talk to Me

Dean shook his head because Sam couldn't possibly ever understand, and even though he'd said "talk to me," it was one of those default Sammy-puppy-dog-eyes-bitch-face requests and he wasn't going to want to hear what Dean had to say and Dean didn't want Sam to blame himself for all the fear and pain.

You're Mine

Sam had run off after the other demons, but Dean stayed behind to deal with Meg, an easy smile on his face as he spoke, "and you, Bitch? You're mine."


"Dad is going to save us so stop being a baby," Dean snapped as Sam whimpered and buried his face into Dean's shirt when the thing outside the Impala made another lap around them, but Sam had heard the tremor in Dean's voice and he knew he was scared too.


The girl at the bar looked like sex on legs and his kind of trouble but all Dean could think about was how she would have screamed in hell and how easily her bones would have broken and what her blood would have tasted like.


They might have put the Roosevelt Asylum in their rear view mirror, but Sam left a piece of himself back in the room where he'd tried to kill his brother.


The doctors had wanted to know if Dean had any enemies that might have tried to hurt him—three broken ribs, internal bleeding, forty stitches, severe concussion, "we won't know until he wakes up, if he wakes up"—and Sam thought it might be easier to list the people they knew that didn't want to hurt his brother ever since Dean had taken responsibility for all of Sam's mistakes.


Sam hated T.S. Eliot and refused to read The Hollow Men in school because something about the last few lines—"not with a bang but a whimper"—left a painful sickness in his stomach.


When he was rebuilding the car, Dean left cleaning the passenger seat for last because the blood on the leather was like having his Dad around for a little longer.


Dean offered to stick around, because she was sweet and funny and smart and beautiful and it was obvious she liked him and she was exactly what Sam needed right now, but Sam told him to "just drive" while he watched in the rearview mirror until she disappeared from sight.


The pain was so heavy and encompassing that he felt like he could drown in it, but he knew what she would want so he got off his knees and tried to breathe through it.


While at school, Sam dreaded summer because it meant that everyone went home and it was just another reminder that he didn't have anyone to go home to anymore.


Jess had a tattoo on her side that was supposed to say 'serenity' in Latin and it was probably Sam's favorite thing about her body because it was on a hidden bit only he got to see and it served as a reminder of everything else he loved as well—Dean—even if they had spelled it wrong.


He got really good at hiding the bruises after CPS nearly put him and Sammy into foster care because a teacher thought he was being abused.


Sam had always been afraid of the dark—Dean had always told him that fear came with the knowledge of what was really out there and he'd be stupid if he wasn't afraid—but Sam's worst fear came true in the middle of the day when Dean was gunned down and it was completely light outside.


Sam was always awed by the ocean and he'd spend hours staring at it with Jessica, talking about the sheer immensity of it, but all Dean could say when they stood with their toes in the Pacific was; "that's a lot of fucking water."


Dean didn't like to need things, needing meant relying and it all sort of felt like weakness and John Winchester didn't raise his sons to be weak.


The women who cleaned the hotel room had soft hands and smelled like dryer sheets and called him 'Sugar,' and Sam cried silently for two hours in the bathroom after she didn't survive the exorcism.


He'd been desensitized after all those years on the job, but even John's stomach flipped when he opened the door and a rush of warm blood pooled at his feet.

That is all, for now. Review if you enjoyed =] I love to hear from you.