AN: I don't know if sfaulkenberry is reading, but if you are, the epilogue is for you. On a different story, you said we never get enough drunk or stoned Sam, so here's some for you, with an order of stoned Dean thrown in for dessert. Enjoy!

Shazza19: Oh, Bobby had a lot to say to the boys. LOLOL

BitterSweetJoy: Aw, thank you! I like Darren, too, though I wonder if any of his peppiness wore off after exposure to Bobby. LOL

Blondie: I know you love protective Dean, and that you love Bobby as much as I do!

Kathy: I do see your reviews! And I love them! Glad you're surviving the angst I always throw in there.

"He sh-should've taught the orang- ora- monkey to fight," stuttered Sam, long legs stretched in front of him and head tipped way back against Bobby's old orange couch.

Dean laughed. "Yeah, no kidding. Clyde coulda kicked those gang guys' asses." He was on the recliner, feet up as high as the foot of the chair would go. They had found Every Which Way But Loose on TV. Better yet, they'd found a cache of Jim Beam. Bobby had shocked the boys by enforcing the "no mixing alcohol and pain medication" rule, and he'd been so cantankerous, they hadn't refused the pills. To be fair, two days into his get better bootcamp, they were feeling much better.

But then Bobby had run into town, and Sam had been able to see the hidden stash on top of the kitchen cupboards, and Dean had been so grateful that he'd told his brother, "I never thought I'd actually be glad that you're freakishly tall."

Now they'd left 'three sheets to the wind' in their rearview mirror and were well on their way to totally stoned. No wonder the pills had all of those warnings. They'd never enjoyed a movie more. They cheered every punch Clint Eastwood threw, Dean recited the dialogue half a beat behind the characters, and Sam made hooting noises every time the orangutan showed up.

At some point, Sam tipped over sideways on the couch. He was still more tired than normal, though like everything else, that was improving. "Dean, your face is all green and yellow." He seemed highly amused by that observation.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face questingly, as if he'd be able to feel the colors. "Still better lookin' than you."

A door banged and a fuzzy face appeared above Sam. "Clyde's home," grinned Sam, and hooted like a monkey.

"BAH-bee's gonna KILL Sam," sang Dean. "KILL him DE-AD."

"Uh-oh," was Sam's response. The words were serious, until he giggled.

The disbelief on Bobby's face couldn't be contained as he took back the bottle of whiskey. "It's a miracle you boys are still alive." He quickly turned toward the kitchen so they wouldn't see the smile break out, though they were probably too soused to notice anyway.

"Bobby, did you bring us anything? Like food anything?" asked Dean his deep voice managing to sound childish.

"Sure, idjit. Here." A bag landed on Dean's lap.

Sam and Dean began to laugh. They laughed so hard and so long that Bobby wondered if the gwyllgis had somehow stolen any sanity the Winchesters had.

It was a bag of fortune cookies.