Hello! So I recently realized my next story posting would be my 50th story! I wanted to do something special and this story is the result. This is a collection of fifty random one-shots. Each chapter will be a different story. I have stories that take place in each season and some that are pre-series. There is no particular order to the stories because I'm just not that organized haha. But I'll try to give an indication of what episode the story connects to, or which season it's set in. Some of the chapters are humorous, some are sad, some are a mixture of both but every single one of them is filled with brotherly love (or brotherly annoyance and squabbling as the case may be).

Hope you will enjoy! :)

Chapter One: Guess Who

Setting: Mid to Late Season One

"Uh...do you have glasses?"

"Nope." Dean popped the p on the word, then grinned. He looked at his game board, then back at his brother and asked, "Are you a hot blonde?"

"Define hot."

Rolling his eyes, Dean said, "Are you a blonde chick?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "That's two questions. You only get one per turn."

"Fine. Are you blonde?"

"Nope." Sam popped the p.

Dean glared at him and knocked down all the blondes on his board. He reached for the bag of M&Ms knowing it was going to take Sam forever to scientifically determine the best way to narrow down the suspects.

"Don't eat all of those," Sam said without looking up.

"Dude, I bought-"

"No, you didn't. You bought the peanut M&Ms. Those are the ones I bought so lay off." Sam leaned forward and yanked the bag out of Dean's hand. "Do you have a mustache?"

"Nope." Mouth full, Dean chomped on the candy, then asked, "Are you a chick?"


"Really?" Dean grinned. "Could've fooled me."

Sam frowned, staring down at the game board, obviously a bit slow on the uptake. Dean started laughing and Sam glared at him, bouncing an M&M off his forehead. Grabbing it before it hit the floor, Dean threw it into his mouth triumphantly.

"Haha," Sam remarked dryly. "You're hysterical."

One of the washing machines buzzed before Dean could respond.

They stared at each other for a moment.

"You do it."

Dean scoffed. "Why me?"

"Because I loaded-"

"You loaded one machine and I-"

"Over-loaded the other machine," Sam interrupted, gleefully settled on his high horse.

He, of course, had unloaded the machine and carefully divided their clothes into four machines.

"It wouldn't have been overloaded if you wore normal sized pants," Dean griped, staring at his board and trying to come up with his next question. "You're such a freakin' giant that one pair of jeans takes up twice as much space in the washing machine."

"You're beatin' a dead horse, man. You got the short end of the genetic stick and you've never forgiven me."

"If there was such a thing as a genetic stick," Dean said mildly, "I'd beat your ass with it."

Sam laughed, then said, "You're still unloading the washing machine."

"I'll unload if you win. If I win, you're unloading."

"Deal." Sam nodded. He glanced at his board, then asked, "Are you Anita?"

"Damn it!" Dean slammed all the tiles down.

Sam smiled smugly and threw a handful of candy into his mouth.

"Fine." Dean huffed, jumping off the washing machine. "But you're coming, too. I don't trust you not to cheat."

"Cheat? What are you talking about? We just ended a game-"

"And I don't put it past you to...I dunno...rearrange the tiles or something to give you an advantage." Dean waved his fingers at the game. "You always cheated as a kid."

"I did not! You just don't like the fact I'm better at playing Guess Who than you are."

Dean grinned. "Yes, Sammy, I'm jealous that you can beat me at a kid's game."

"Whatever." Sam rolled his eyes, but nevertheless slid off the top of the washing machine he'd been sitting on and dutifully followed Dean across the aisle to the machine they were using.

He didn't help, of course. Just stood there stuffing his face with candy and watching as Dean pulled out their load of light colored clothes and threw them into a dryer.

"We could have just thrown everything into two loads, you know," Dean grumbled, throwing a t-shirt at Sam's face.

"And if we had, our clothes wouldn't be as clean," Sam remarked, tossing the t-shirt into the dryer, "our t-shirts would be grey, and-"

"And we would have saved like twenty bucks." Dean slammed the dryer closed and fed the machine a ridiculous amount of quarters. "What we could've done in two loads, we're doing in four. Four washing machines. And four dryers."

"Yes. I can count."

"Good. Because you're going to be counting out your savings to pay me back for this."

Sam held up his hands. "Hey. You're the one who bet laundry duty for the month away on a game of pool."

Dean glared at him as he started the machine. He was going to have to keep this in mind for the future. Because apparently college had been a good opportunity for Sam to up his game when it came to pool. Maybe betting against him wasn't going to be the best plan these days.

"You do know I didn't even have to come," Sam said, hopping back onto his washing machine as Dean started transferring their second load into a dryer. "I could be at the motel right now. Sleeping."

"So, what? You came to provide moral support?" Dean teased, knowing full well Sam had come along because he was sleeping for shit these days. Any excuse not to sleep, he welcomed with open arms.

"No." Sam shook his head. "I came to make sure you did it right."

"Dude, I've been doing our laundry before you could even walk."

"Really?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "You were doing our laundry at five?"

"Well. Uh...I might have folded a shirt or something."

Sam busted out laughing and Dean had to turn away and hide his smile behind an armful of jeans.

It was the middle of the night, two forty-five to be exact.

They'd been out till midnight working a haunting and then spent an hour decompressing on the hood of the Impala with their last bottle of beer shared between them. They'd stopped at a convenience store on the way back to the motel to restock their supply of alcohol and candy. Then, still too wired to sleep, Dean had decided to bundle up every stitch of clothing they owned - clothing that had gone without a wash for far longer than either of them were ever going to admit - and found the nearest twenty-four hour laundromat. He hadn't been too surprised when Sam had decided to come along.

So he'd suffered through Sam bossing him around regarding which item of their clothing went into which load, how much detergent to use, how not to overload the washing machines and generally just being a pain in the ass.

And then he'd stared, slack-jawed, as Sam had stripped down to his boxers and threw everything else he'd been wearing into the appropriate washing machines. Sam had shrugged at his disbelieving expression and said they might as well wash everything. Since he was right, Dean shucked out of his clothes and hoped they wouldn't get arrested for public indecency.

Since then, they'd been sitting on opposite washing machines, in nothing but their boxers, battling it out with the only distraction in the place: a beat-up game of Guess Who.

The last washing machine beeped and Dean just sighed and went to switch the load to a dryer.

"What do you think normal brothers do on Saturday nights?" Sam asked out of the blue.

"I don't know." Dean straightened and shrugged. "You tell me. You're the one who was livin' the normal life."

He didn't get a response and Dean wished he'd left well enough alone. Bringing up Stanford was a sticky, painful, risky move on a good day. And there weren't a lot of those. He finished loading the dryer, switched it on, and turned around.

Sam was sitting on the washing machine, flipping tiles up and down on his game board. He looked pensive, but not upset. Since Dean couldn't read his mind to figure out what Sam was thinking, he just pulled out two more beers from the cooler and hopped back onto his own washing machine.

Accepting the bottle held out for him, Sam said, "You know, except for digging up the grave, I guess we're pretty normal."

Dean snorted, resetting his board. "I don't think most brothers sit around doing their laundry in their underwear."

"Maybe not. But they don't hunt ghosts, either."

"Uh...back to not normal," Dean pointed out.

Sam shrugged. "Maybe there's no such thing as normal."

"Gettin' existential, there bro."

"They do say normal's just a setting on the dryer."

Dean almost spit beer all over his brother. "Who? Who says that?"


"Sounds like something you read in a Reader's Digest."

Sam smiled and nodded at the game. "You up for a rematch, shorty?"

"Excuse me?" Dean shook his head. "I am not short."

"Whatever you say." Sam shrugged innocently. "We gonna play or what?"


"Next month's laundry."

Dean frowned. "What?"

"Whoever loses does the laundry next month."

"Deal." Dean grinned and they tapped their beer bottles together. "You won last round, you get first guess."

Sam studied the board for a long time, then asked, "Are you Alfred?"

"Damn it!"

This story was based on a quote I'd seen by Jensen (I'm not sure when he said it), but it was something to the effect of they needed to do an episode where the brothers were doing laundry and sitting around in their boxers playing poker. I tried looking for it so I could be a little more accurate with my reference but of course couldn't find it. :) Anyway! That's where this story got its inspiration.

In addition to this story, I have quite a few other stories I'll be posting over the next few weeks, so hope you'll enjoy!

Thanks for reading! :)