SLAINTE!
WOW: beer and green. We all know that Dean likes a drink ...
A St Patrick's Day celebration in 300 words
Disclaimer: I don't own them
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Carrying a glass of fizzing liquid, Bobby stomped through his house to the couch which currently contained the wrecked figure of Dean Winchester where he had fallen the previous evening.
"How is the idjit?" Bobby asked Sam, already seated beside the couch.
"No better than he deserves," Sam sighed; "still pretty green around the gills."
"I heard that," Dean groaned into the drool-stained cushion beneath his face, seemingly unaware of his arm dangling into the puke bucket on the floor.
"Good," Sam snapped. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"St Paddy's Day Sam," Dean mumbled; "gotta have a few beers on St Paddy's Day."
"A FEW?" Sam replied furiously; "you challenged a leprechaun to a drinking contest, you moron."
"Got my pride," Dean grumbled.
"Yeah, well now ya got a stinkin' hangover." Bobby interjected; "here, drink this, ya idjit."
"Whassit?"
"Nothing alcoholic." Bobby prompted impatiently; "now, drink it. It might make ya feel better in a month or two."
"Make that a year or two," Sam added, rolling his eyes in exasperation.
"Stop bitchin' Sam," Dean grumbled, lifting his head high enough to squint at his frowning brother. "Admit it, you're only sore tha' you were too lame to join me on a great nigh' out … did y'enjoy all that excitin' research you an' Bobby decided to do instead?"
"I'm not sore that I missed your stupid night out, dumbass." Sam replied; "I'm not even pissed that you ever thought it would be good idea to get involved in a drinking contest with a leprechaun…"
Dean muttered something incomprehensible as his head dropped back down onto the cushion.
"No, ya friggin' halfwit," Bobby roared; "we're not sore about the freakin' leprechaun drink off. In fact, we don't know whether to be shocked or impressed – we just can't believe that you won!"
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