Twenty-one bottles of beer on the wall

AN: Last year, for my twentieth birthday, I wrote twenty one-shots in celebration (and as a challenge) about questions that Sam has asked Dean over the years, starting with baby!Sam and wee!Dean to about the end of Season 5. You can check it out if you like: "Twenty Questions." I posted one story a day until the big day.

This year, for my twenty-first, I want to do twenty-one stories about people getting drunk. Or more specifically, characters and situations associated with Supernatural and alcohol. Most of the stories in this birthday anthology are going to be either really angsty or really silly. This first one is mostly silly.

So let's start this all off with a par-tay! The almost-script-style writing in this one isn't like my usual stuff, but it's meant to be funny. I'll experiment with different styles and themes along the way, to mix things up and keep it all interesting.

Here we go…twenty-one days before B-Day. I'll update daily.

Summary: What the title says: The Winchesters and their angel buddy get drunk at Bobby's.

Bobby Babysits Two Guys and an Angel (in a State of Completely Shitfaced and Drunken Inebriation)

"Dude. I'm so drunk." Manly giggle.

Equally masculine titter. "You said that already, man. You're toasted." Pause. "I think I am too." Burp.

"I believe I am also in an inebriated state as well." Slow blink, followed by a characteristic head tilt. "I find it…fascinating. The light from the lamp is quite mesmerizing."

Loud snort and a hearty slap on the back. "Welcome to being human, Cas. Getting so shit-faced you can't tell which way's up or down is one of the joys a' life, my fine feathery friend." Liquid sloshes in the bottle. "Makes everything look better when your whole world's already upside down an' sideways."

A line creases the center of the furrowed angelic brow. "By that logic, alcohol will return an upended world to its correct placement. That argument is fallible, as the Earth is a round object in a vacuum, and as such, cannot be turned downside top." Hiccup. "Upside down."

"Dude, you are so drunk." Snorting chuckles. "You're a philosophizing drunk, is what you are." A finger pokes hard at the loosened tie worn over a rumpled white shirt. "Sammy's a philofopee…philofa-…falafel too, ain'tcha, Sammy? Sammy? Sam? You…you passed out already, dude?" Bright, lopsided grin. "Hey Bobby! Sam's a lightweight! Cas! Cas? Dude, you too? Maaaan…'S 'ctually a good idea… "

Scoff and a paternal headshake. "Like I always said, none a' you dumb idjits can hold your liquor worth a damn. Keep tellin' you ta stay away from my stash!"

Rustling of fabric as it settles over the three sleeping figures drunkenly dreaming of endless libraries (Sam), big-bosomed women (surprisingly, Cas' dream), and blueberry-walnut pie slathered with a mountain of whipped cream and served up on a naked girl (Dean).

AN: This one is actually the shortest story I've written for this anthology so far, so don't forget to come back tomorrow! I've got some Dean angst planned for ya!