Sam scowls. “So, what, I’m just so predictable that I could be replaced by a - a Sam mandroid, and you wouldn’t notice?”
"I’d notice! I noticed when you were possessed."
"Yeah, when I had someone tied up and put a knife to their throat. Apparently you don’t know me well enough to suspect something until I start going all Ted Bundy on people."
"Dammit, Sam." His face goes dark, and he draws the corners of his mouth up in this irritated expression. "I know every freakin’ thing there is to know about you. I know you don’t eat pizza without pineapple on it. I know you only use one kinda shampoo, and consider hair products beneath you. I know - " Dean’s voice is getting all growly now, and Sam sinks a little lower in his seat - "Jodie Foster gets you all hot an’ bothered, and you’re the only person on Earth who beats it after watchin’ Silence of the Lambs. So don’t go tellin’ me I wouldn’t notice if you were friggin’ replaced by a mandroid. Forgive me if, yeah, lately we tend to have a lot of our conversations more’n once. That’s your fault, not mine."
Sam goes kind of sullen. “Eat your damn danish,” he finally mutters, and unfolds the newspaper in front of him.
"Are we friends?" he asks in South Dakota, as they make their way through a dilapidated building. Five kids disappeared inside in the last twenty years.
"Oh, we’re BFF," Dean says, fiddling with the dial on his infrared scanner.
Sam scowls and uses his flashlight to cut though a gauzy mass of cobwebs. “Did you order that off the back of a comic book, or what?”
"What’re you talkin’ about? This thing totally works." He brings it up to eye-level and turns in a circle, casting reddish light all around the dank room.
Ten minutes later, Dean looks up from the knobs. “Anyway, what the hell do you mean, are we friends?”
"Do you think we’d - I don’t know, get along, if we weren’t related?"
Dean jimmies a stuck door knob, and finally slams his weight against it, opening up another musty, stale-smelling room. “Dude. We wouldn’t be who we are if we weren’t related.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Okay, for argument’s sake, let’s say that we were.”
"So," Dean says, waving his scanner around again. "You wanna know if I think we’d get along if we were the same people we are now, and weren’t related?"
He looks thoughtful for a moment. “No.”
"What?" Sam turns his flashlight into Dean’s face in surprise.
"Dude, come on. The music you listen to? The chest-beatin’ atonement every day? The only reason I haven’t left you by the side of the road with a, ‘Will Fortune-Tell For Food,’ sign is ‘cause I sang you to sleep when you were five. There’s no freakin’ incentive to not weed you outta the gene pool if you’re just some person."
Sam huffs. “Why do I even talk to you?”
Dean laughs, and his stupid scanner make a promising beeping sound. He shoves it victoriously in Sam’s face. “‘Cause we’re buds.”
one time my school hosted a laser tag tournament and so me and my friends went and we were owning the place until we realized one of our friends was missing. we found him building a baracade out of benches and plants at the top of the stairwell and whenever anyone approached he’d shoot at them and yell “DO YOU HEAR THE PEOPLE SING???”
Anonymous asked: not to be rude, but are you a boy or a girl? sorry, i can't tell from your pictures ><"
my gender can be summed up approximately as *gestures vaguely* *stares into the nothingness of the void* *gets engulfed in slime that emits a soft pulsating glow* *non-committal noises*