The Doctor is a wonderful man.

Just a small poem I wrote concerning Sam, Dean, and the ninth season. I mean, wow. Some angst there, hey? You'd think they'd get a break sometime, but no dice. Next thing you'll know, Armageddon will come in the form of small, unkillable bunny rabbits.

Dean just got out of Purgatory and he can't find Benny's bones. Mostly because the portal dropped him off just outside of the motel he found Sam at when he got out of Hell. Five years ago. Or rather, now. Except he doesn't know that until he gets a room right next to his brother and knocks on the door. Now how will he get back to his time while fooling Sam into believing he's fine?

This is a poem for Bucky and the Winter Soldier, 'cause let's face it, they're way more than all that and a bag of chips.

This is just a poem I wrote for Benny. I mean, do all of Dean's friends have to die? Really? Suckerrr.

Just a funny little something I wrote about Sam, Dean, and forgiveness. Lots and lots of forgiveness.

"Dude, you've got wings." Dean just woke up in an abandoned warehouse with no idea how he got there. His brother finds him, and Sam has . . . wings? Wings that only Dean can see. With no memory of what happened past walking out of the motel room, what's Dean going to do? Well, he's going to . . . try not to touch the pretty feathers and hope Sam doesn't notice. Wing!fic. No Slash.

This is a short poem I wrote for the Cal Leandros series, by Rob Thurman. See if you can find which lines belong to which characters. If you get them all right, you win . . . absolutely nothing. And you'll be grateful about it, too.

Sherlock is tripping. He's tripping hard. Drugs may not be such a good thing, if he's blurting all this out. Dang, Sherlock, you are going to be composing yourself like hell when you remember. This isn't crack, mind you. Hope you like it anyways.

Dean just climbed out of Hell, he's found an abandoned convenience store, he has pie, and he's started searching for his brother. There's just one problem. Dean's a demon, and he doesn't know how he'll convince his brother that he's still himself. (It's surprisingly easy, actually.) I tried, but it's still shamefully OOC. NOT Slash. Demon!Dean,'cause I can and I gleefully have.

Basically, this is something I wrote for a story I read on deviantArt. The story is by Zoffoli, and wow, is it emotional. My gosh, the torture, the despair, the ANGST. I absolutely loved it. Keep in mind that this isn't actually about the story itself, so much as the things going on with Sherlock. This is pure emotions, angst, nonsense and brokenness. It's short. Hope you like it.

Basically, this is something I wrote for the story "Nutrisco et exstinguo", by Zoffoli. The story's on both deviantArt and . This is by no means an attempt at replicating the story. No one can do that completely. This is mostly just angst, emotion, and brokenness. The actual story was amazing, and so, in my glee, I wrote this. It's short, but I hope you like it.