The Heck You Say… An attempt at a comedic SN fic.

By J.A. Carlton

aka sifichick

Still Disclaiming…. still loving… aaahhhh life has its moments.

Part 1.

This has got to be the worst motel bed on Earth! Damn my head is killing me, why do I feel so… oh God…Dean groaned, his hand flopping onto a cold cement floor. I thought the room was carpeted… ungh my head! he turned his head setting of what sounded like a marching band full of drummers and became aware that he was about to experience one of the worst hangovers of his young life. I had three beers! that's Not Right!

His eyes cracked cautiously against the light and knew something wasn't right, he was seeing stripes and they were steel.

"Coffee first, then water," a disturbingly alert 'not-Sammy' voice instructed as an all too familiar rolling metal and clang yanked a groan from somewhere in the middle of his heartburn.

"What time is it?" he groaned forcing himself to sit up and take in the kindly weathered face before him.

"You ready?" the Sheriff, who's name bar read A. Griffin asked compassionately.

"Mmm for what?" he asked suspiciously, God I'm gonna get the 'lectric chair or something… what the hell did I do? he tried searching his memory but only came up with his last incredible dart grouping he'd thrown. He felt the sheriff's warm grip take his hand and press a steaming hot cup of coffee into it.

"T'hold the cup… got some cheesy toast for you too… trust me it helps," he added knowingly.

Dean's brows furrowed as he squinted into the deep brown, kind eyes before him, "Okay… when did I get to the Twin Peaks and where's Coop?" he asked breathing the rich roast scent deep inside, "Oh yeah, thanks."

"Welcome. For the record, you're in Twin Lakes not Peaks and as far as I know Agent Cooper is back inside David Lynch's mind where he belongs… As for when you got here, I don't know but after last night you might want to consider not sticking around too much longer… not that most folks'll remember it themselves…but still…"

"What're you talking about?" Dean asked feeling a slimy rolling in his guts. He wasn't usually partial to civilized conversations with cops but that was mostly their own fault. Strutting around like they have it all figured out… yeah… cock of the walk becomes a feather duster… hmmm thank you Beyond Thunderdome…great flick, but this guy's different…

"Nothing you need to worry yourself about son, it's just… you might not want to stick around too long is all," he reiterated handing Dean one of the two thick cut French bread slices laden with butter and firmly toasted Swiss cheese.

"Thanks…the last thing I remember was shooting a game of darts with my cousin… oh jeez, Sam…" he hung his head.

"Which brings me to the next question… anyone I can call to come and get you?"

"Uh… not that I'm ungrateful…" Dean said around a huge wad of toast, I think this is the best damned cheese bread in the world! God this tastes good!

"Drunk 'n disorderly… ya got into a scrape with Carl… His wife Millie picked him up late last night. Neither of 'em are willing to press charges. I just didn't want to take the chance of you trying to drive and really hurting someone y'know?"

At the mention of a fight, small discomforts began to make themselves known, an achy pulsing in his left cheek bone, some hot scrape-ish feeling on the knuckles of his right hand, "What the hell happened?" he asked completely dumbfounded, "I really don't remember anything after maybe halfway through the last game of darts…"

"You're absolutely certain?" the Sheriff asked.

"Yeah… look I was with my cousin… three beers and he's doing karaoke so I gotta drive y'know? I have a three beer limit myself when I'm with him because of it…" he looked into the weathered face before him and recognized that the man was reluctant to give him the details. Well it can't be all that bad if there weren't any charges pressed! Then why are my guts crawling? he wondered to himself.

The face before him cocked an eyebrow and looked like its owner was having a hard time answering the question.

"Well… uh… Ray, the bartender called over, said I needed to pick up a rowdy out of towner… that'd be you…" he smiled kindly.

"Good to know… I guess…" Dean nodded slightly, each movement drawing a squeak from his dehydrated joints, "…but rowdy how?" What the hell did I do?

"From what I gather you were trying to hustle some of the boys at pool… then some old Def Leppard song came on and… well… you started singin'… and stuff…"

Dean felt his heart leap and his stomach flip over, whatever it was it must've been bad for a man the sheriff's age to have a hard time spitting it out.

"Stuff? What kind of stuff?" God do I really want to know? Maybe I can remember… uh… I got nuthin' damnit!

The sheriff closed his eyes, drew a deep breath and sighed, "Well you climbed up onto the bar and started kinda… dancin and singing Pour Some Sugar on Me… and… some of the guys said you started doing kind of a striptease to it…" he grimaced watching Dean's reaction carefully.

"Oh God…" Dean moaned as he felt his expression freeze into one of pure horror and threw his head back into the cinderblock wall, "Ouch crap!"

"Now just relax son… Carl pulled you off the bar before you even got to your t-shirt so don't you worry about that… thing is ... you really kinda… wanted to finish the dance… and that's when the fight started…"

"Oh God I think I'm gonna puke…" Dean groaned flushing scarlet as Sheriff Griffin pressed a bottle of water into his hands.

"Don't worry too much about it son… you're not the first and you probably won't be the last…" he tried to ease the young mans' embarrassment.


"Every once in a while something like that happens round here… it's just kinda par for the course if you take my meaning."

"You talking about the 'lost time' stuff around here?" he asked trying to bury his embarrassment in the normalcy of his paranormal life while the rational part of him was clamoring, What the hell are you doing? Shut it stupid! He's a cop! You can't trust him!

Sheriff Griffin cocked an eyebrow and nodded, "Lemme guess you 'n your cousin are UFO chasers or something…"

Dean smiled awkwardly, "Not really but we are interested in unusual phenomena and we were passing this way so we decided to see what we could see."

The kind hearted older man nodded his head, "Well I hope you've seen enough… but folks like you just aren't equipped to be sticking their noses into this particular brand of phenomenon so… once you can see straight again I'm gonna suggest you and your cousin high tail it out of here… now… where can I reach him?"

As he dialed the number Dean recited he completely missed his 'Taken Aback' look at the assumption that they weren't prepared for this, Sure… kick my pride when it's hung over! he thought derisively, Tell me I get busted trying to do a damned striptease to Def Leppard no less! then tell me I can't handle whatever it is that's going on? I got news for you Sheriff A. Griffin… I'm gonna figure out your little 'missing time' problem and I'm even gonna solve it for you… just as soon as my guts stop spinning… he vowed shoving the last piece of the cheese bread into his mouth and relishing in the taste of it, Damn that's good! he moaned as he heard Sammy's voice on the other end of the phone as the Sheriff told him how to get to the station.

"Dude! A striptease!... Ah… you kill me!" Sam sighed grinning hugely as he turned into the motel parking lot and Dean slumped further down into the passenger seat, his darkest sunglasses barely dark enough to allow him to open his eyes against the obscenely bright day.

"Keep it up Sammy and I will kill you…" he snarled.

Sam tried to get back to the business at hand but couldn't get the mental image out of his head. He saw Dean swathed around the hips in a sky blue towel with a matching towel wrapped around his head, a la Carmen Miranda… kinda like he was wearing when they flopped in that house with the steam shower he liked so much… and in this image he was waggling his hips holding a hair brush and singing macho man… Sammy couldn't say where the image had come from… but every time it capered across the stage of his mind he couldn't stop himself from snorting laughter that made his belly ache.

"Aahhh… You and your little blue towel…" he sighed again and put the car into park in front of their room.

"What?" Dean grunted fumbling for the door handle.

"Ma cho ma cho man…" Sam taunted opening the door to their room and making a bee line for the bathroom still humming the classic as Dean pushed himself out of the car and lumbered to the door.

"It was Pour Some Sugar on Me… freakin' butt muncher…" he groaned shutting the door firmly and face planting on the bed where he promptly passed out.

If anyone thinks I should NOT continue with this please let me know… I fear comedy… it frightens me.

Please R&R I need to bounce in my seat occasionally. What? TMI?