This is a very short story and a self-rec, but might fit your #1 request: Final Stand (http://verucasalt123.livejournal.com/63952.html)

It definitely does, thanks so much! :)

What is the name of the story that you mentioned in request # 1?

On a Wing and a Prayer (http://sinestrated.livejournal.com/44354.html)

Thanks, I couldn't remember what it was called :)

:)

Yeah-got a link? I'd like to read it.

If you don't mind AU/Wincest, these two might suffice for #1:

* Tabaqui's Wolfpack (http://tabaqui.livejournal.com/113022.html)verse: Everybody called them the Wolfpack – every hunter, at least. Civilians likely called them trouble, and kept well away. Ellen privately thought they were more like a pack of feral dogs; sly and quarreling and vicious, without a drop of human kindness. But then she was a little biased, seeing as how her Bill had died hunting with them and they'd never once said sorry or showed a minute's remorse. Junkyard dogs, she thought, biting the hand that fed. But the Winchesters were the Wolfpack to everyone else and Ellen didn't share her private thoughts on them much, anyway. (There are five stories total, I believe; each should link to the next at the bottom or follow the Wolfpack tag.)

* And also Kings of the Night (http://archiveofourown.org/works/1029836): There was a man at the front, spearheading the little arrows-head formation that they’d fallen into; his hair was dark, shot through with the faintest glint of silver, and his eyes were dark and cold. Behind him, two younger boys stood shoulder to shoulder. There was something in the clench of their jaw, the similar way that they stood, that alerted her to the fact that they were probably the stranger’s sons; the shorter one was grinning cockily, mischievous grin and green eyes that just seemed to radiate trouble. His brother was taller by an inch at most, and his eyes were sweeping steadily over the room; when they locked with hers she was surprised by the intensity there, and the almost hypnotic way that they seemed to shift color in the dim light. They would have been beautiful as individuals. Together they were just as much intimidating as they were striking. “Holy shit,” Someone breathed. "They're the goddamned Winchesters." (Werewolf fic)

In a non-Wincest vein, there's also:

* Dust in the Wind (http://lyra-wing.livejournal.com/100679.html): They are the gods of the open road and the hunt, of classic rock and stupid luck, of truck stops and greasy diners, of dollar beers and pool halls.

For #5 (Dean goes to Stanford), again if you don't mind Wincest, there's:

* The Clock 'Verse (http://hunters-retreat.livejournal.com/38112.html): Sam tells his father he's going to Stanford. Then something unexpected happens... Dean goes with him.

Edited 2015-05-09 03:39 am (UTC)