Disclaimer: Nope, still own nothing Supernatural.
Author's Note: Sammy's 21! Woo-hoo! So what does a normal Joe College kind of guy do on his 21st? Only things he'll regret, I'm sure. Don't ask me why I felt the need to write this. I haven't the foggiest.
One Tequila, two Tequila, three Tequila, floor!
Really? Really! Well, if that's the case then how come I'm on my eighth, huh? Yup, that's right, EIGHT!
Oooh, that shit's nasty.
"Nice going Sam." Who was that? "Only twelve more to go, Buddy." Twelve. Twelve more shots. I can do this. I can do this.
"Baby, you okay?" Jess. Jessica? "He looks a little green." Who does? Who looks…you know, it ain't easy being green. Ha, ha!
"Kermit rocks!" And…nine! No, ten. Ten?
"Yeah he does! See, Jess, he's fine." Jess? She's here? Where?
Hey…Kyle! I know you! I know…what was I doing?
"Number eleven. Go on Sam, toss it back."
"You're smiley-smiley." Did I say that? "You laugh? You laughin' at me?" You're laughing at something. Don't just sit there laughing. Sit. Laugh. Oooh, a shot. For me?
"Ten to go."
"No, no, no. I'm a twenty – " Twenty…? "Twenty…" Twenty? "Twenty-one!"
"Yes you are. Hey, everybody, Sam Winchester is Twenty-one tonight! Hell yeah!"
"Hell yeah!" Woo-hoo! Woo…I don't feel so good.
"Come on, Sammy, next up…" What's that? What is that? Is that a shot of something? Is it? It's all…fuzzy.
"Don't call me Sammy." Yeah, what he said. Wait, who said?
"Kyle, I think that's enough. I think…"
"ThereforIam!" Who said that? Who keeps…oooh, some alcohol? For me? Why thank you.
"Sam, you should stop. Baby, look at me, can you hear me?" Jess, please, I'm not death. Deaf. I'm not…oh, God…
"Oh, nasty! Sucks for you, Jess. Ha, ha! Hope those weren't new pants." She's wearing pants? I like Jessica out of her pants. Out, out, out.
"Shut up, Kyle! Shit." I think it was puke, actually. I think…no, yeah, definitely tastes like puke. And Tequila. Man, that stuff's disgusting. Who would drink…
"I'm going to the bathroom to try and…clean up. And then we're going home. I mean it, Kyle. No more."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Hey, where's blurry blonde girl going? Hey! "Here, you go, bro, lucky thirteen. Hurry, before she comes back." O-kay.I don't want anybody else…
Blondie! Turn that shit up!When I think about you…
Wow, how'd they do that? A spinning bar. This place is awesome!
"I touch myself!" Round and round, she goes… "When I think about you…" Where she'll stop… "Itouchmyself!" Nobody knows!
Dude, I fucking love this song!
"Hey, hey, Sam, she's coming back. Here." I'm singing, can't you see? "Hurry."
Down the shoot!
"Ah, ha, ha, ha!"
"Nailed ya again! Fucking priceless!"
"Lucky thirsheem!" Thirsheet. Thirteesh. Thirteeth. Thir-teeth, teeth!
"Fucking asshole! I told you not to give him any more! Come on, Sam."
"No." But…hey, don't take that away. That's mine. My shot, shot of… One time I shot a werewolf. Silver bullets, baby! "Kyle! Help me with him, you ass. Jesus, he can't even stand up." Up, up, up…
Down. Hello floor, how are you?
"Ha, ha, ha!"
"Sam?" Okay, rolling over. Aw, check it out, the ceiling spins too. Like a top. Top. Top me off, barkeep! "Sam?"
"You pretty, you…hair, pretty."
"Yeah, thanks. I always feel pretty when I wear my boyfriend's puke." Ewww. You have a boyfriend? Shit. She's hot. Fuzzy, blurry, spinning hot. "Come on, Sam."
And she knows my name.
"Up we go, Pal. There, see? He can stand."
"Just help me get him home. You did this, you know."
"Hey, don't blame me. He's the one who said he just wanted to be normal and have a normal twenty-first birthday. This is what normal people do on their big two-0's." Big two-0! Hell yeah! Big boy now! "Not my fault he's such a lightweight."
"Whatever." Jess? Jessica! It's you!
"Jessishica, guess what?"
"When I thick about you, I tough myself." Yeah, I do!
"That's great, Sam."
Great. Great…happy birthday to me!
Why, hello there Mr. Floor. We meet again.
Oh. My. God. My head. My…tskt, tskt…mouth. Stomach. Throat. Oooooh.
"Sam, hey, wake up, party boy."
What? Evil, evil woman. "G'way."
"Come on. I have water. I have dry toast. I have coffee. And I have Kyle's supposedly sure-thing hangover cure." This is not a hangover. This is death. I'm dead. I'm just in too much pain to cross over yet. Give me a minute.
"You're cell's blinking. You've got a voicemail. Here, catch."
"Oooh, sorry, babe."
"If you're so sorry, why are you laughing?" Ugh, yeah, I even sound dead.
"I'll bring you a tray." As long as it doesn't have anything on it I'm supposed to ingest.
Okay. Phone. Cell phone. I can work this. One missed call, from…okay, yeah, no way I'm gonna be able to make that out. One new voicemail. Call voicemail? Okay.
Hey, Sammy, it's me. I guess you're probably out with your friends, getting hammered. Ha, shouldn't take much though, right? Remember that time in Arkansas? You were, what, sixteen. Yeah, something like that. We had try out that fake ID. Remember, I told you the only way we'd know for sure that people thought it was real was if they'd serve you alcohol? So we went out to every bar for miles? Oh, man, only about half of them even gave you anything and you still got soooo wasted! Ha, ha.
Ahem. Well, anyway, just wanted to say happy birthday. Dad says so too, even if he doesn't, you know, say it. And, listen, Sammy, take it easy, really. I mean I know you're limits. Don't let them talk you into that whole 21 shots thing. No good can come of it. Seriously. Even I regretted that one.
Yeah, well, anyway, I should go. Happy birthday, and all that shit. Bye.
Nice hearing from you, finally.
Too bad we'll never talk again. Never, never…oh, God. I. Am. Dying.
Thanks a lot Dean.
Next time you wanna offer up some brotherly advice, call a day earlier.