If you give me a prompt, I will write you a humorous gen Supernatural drabble. Because when Eric Kripke is in charge of your favorite characters, you need teh funny. So. Give me any or all of the following: an abstract sort of prompt, character(s), situation, lyric, quote, link to an image. I will try my best to write you something amusing
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"It'll be over soon."
"I have to keep this damn thing on my head for how long?"
"Until the ghost shows up." Sam adjusted the tiara on Dean's head, the rhinestones glittering in the light of the durabeam.
"Can I take it off yet?"
"Not yet."
"How about now?" Dean squirmed.
"Just wait. Here, have another pixy stick."
"Dude. How many of those have you had?"
"Dunno. Ten?"
"There is a ghost, right? Sam?"
"Sure, Dean." The giggle burst out of him.
"You piece of shit."
Sam took off across the gym, Dean on his heels.
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:)
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He watched as the blood rushed into Sam's face.
"It's a perfectly respectable job!"
"It's a car shaped like a pizza."
"It's not shaped like a pizza, it has a pizza-shaped...thing...on the roof."
"There are giant pepperoni slices glued to the doors, Sam. It's a pizza on wheels."
"Oh, yeah? Well..."
"Yes?" Dean smirked.
Sam's mouth went into a tight, angry line.
"Sad, very sad. Not even a snappy comeback?"
"I make more than you an hour."
"Ouch."
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Thank you!
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Sam looked up at his father, then over at Dean, who glared at them. In his pajamas with comic books strewn around him on the bed, Dean looked almost normal except for the weird marks on his face.
"I'll get the socks," Sam said.
"You can't do this," Dean shouted. Dad gripped his shoulders, holding him still while Sam tugged socks onto his brother's hands.
Finished, they stepped back.
"You can't scratch the chicken pox," Sam said. "It'll just make it worse."
Dean pouted, and Dad opened the bottle of Calamine lotion.
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young Dean and Sam, an elementary school play, cardboard swords. :-)
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"Wait, it needs another staple," Sam said, lowering his blade.
Rolling his eyes, Dean got the stapler from among the scraps of cardboard littering the table.
"You done messing around?" Finished, Dean lifted his blade. "How can you do this if you don't know how to fight with a sword?"
"I wanted to play Peter," Sam said, as cardboard knocked against cardboard.
Dean snorted. "Captain Hook's way cooler." He swung.
Sam ducked. "Peter Pan can fly."
"But Hook's a pirate," Dean said firmly, scoring a hit. "And you're not keeping your guard up."
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Dean belted out songs loud enough that Sam could hear the lyrics distinctly through the motel room wall. Possibly people in the rooms on either side could hear it too. Sam had learned to live with it.
If he had to listen to Rubber Duckie one more time, though, Sam was going to go insane.
Time for some drastic measures.
Dean laughed when he saw the dozen red rubber devil ducks arranged across the Impala's dashboard.
But he stopped singing that song.
Afterwards, Sam always felt a little guilty.
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