Written by Peace7 and myself


Shar: We do not own Supernatural, Sam, Dean or John. Or Jessica, Cassie or Sarah. We do, however, own Lauren, Sharika, Joyee, Fiona, David, Kyle…and any other character that we made up randomly to fill our story.

Lozz: Actually, I own everything. Especially Sharika.

Shar: Lauren, I thought we agreed that we get equal royalties!

Lozz: I lied. It's part of my charm. This is the first chapter in our story. Also the shortest, possibly craziest chapter. Enjoy!

Shar: Please ignore her. And read and review our story.

Lozz: Yeah, it took much effort. So, if you are going to take the effort to read it (which will also take much effort…) you can make the effort to comment for us!! Hurray, comments!!

Shar: You couldn't think of a word besides 'effort'?

Lozz: I was being lazy. Anyways…ratings are M for sexual content, violence, language, and all that other good stuff.

Shar: The lyrics aren't ours either. We just use them. Don't sue us.

Lozz: No, just don't sue me, sue Sharika.

Shar + Lozz: ENJOY!


The Neanderthals Are Starting To Notice

You see an image that's sweet, well be prepared 'cause I'm not that way…

Work every day of the week, when Friday comes it's my time to play…

You might be tempted by everything you're feelin' now,

I feel obliged to warn you you're on dangerous ground…

I'm big trouble…

Big Trouble (Lots of Fun) – Rebekah Ryan


Looking around, I see the usual sort you would expect in a small town tavern; the drunks, the workers, the men avoiding their wives, the young blokes looking to rouse the barmaids, and the passer throughs.

Like us.

It was me who insisted we come here tonight – I couldn't stand our cheap room at The 'Mermaid' Motel any longer, and I'd shoved Sharika out the door, to this place.

The conversation went something like:

L: Shar, I'm going to the pub we saw down the road. This place is worse than a Roach Motel. There are supposed to be roaches in those.

S: But –

L: I'm glad you agree. Get your coat.

And so we'd come here. And were debating whether we could actually trust the glasses – let alone the drinks in them – in this place. Well, Sharika was debating, and I was cajoling her, as usual.

"Lauren, everything here looks extremely dirty, we could catch a disease from this place and–"

"Sharika, live a little. It's not going to kill us."

"It might, for all we know."

"Are the locals falling on the floor in convulsions yet? No. And stop sounding so like you," I whispered. "The Neanderthals are starting to notice."


"Hello ladies."

"Told you," I mumbled next to Shar's ear. She hid her laughter behind a skillfully employed cough.

The man in front of us didn't exactly look like a local, but how can you tell in America? Everyone masquerades as something else. In Australia you can classify men satisfactorily. Here you cannot.

He was tall, about six foot, blondish, and was wearing a leather jacket – oh wait, there's the plaid shirt. I've noticed that this is a credible way of distinguishing the locals from the passer throughs.

"Shar," I whispered, once again in her ear, one hand covering my mouth. "Get me one of him for Christmas." She smiled faintly, but I could tell that she was distracted.

I followed her gaze to the left and up… and up… and up... and up.

My God. This guy was like, so cute, and could pose for a yeti. Tall. Did I mention tall? At least six foot four. He even topped the hottie next to him – no mean feat. He had messy brown hair. And was TALL. Sorry, but I can see why there is much distraction on the part of my best friend. Besides suddenly raging hormones, if you know what I mean…

The blonde guy smiled at Sharika in a way that made me want to hold a towel in front of her shirt. "So, just passing through?"

Sharika, tearing her eyes away from the brown haired guy and said, in one of her attempts to fit into American society – "Yes, we're 'passing through'. We're only staying for a few days. Just hanging out and traveling, nothing too serious. Sort of like a one night stand with America I guess. In Australian terms I mean."

It was a Shar joke. You have to be an insider to get it.

I rolled my eyes and the really tall guy grinned.

Blondie didn't get it.

"Yeah…" and he switched his attention to me. I do love being everyone's second choice. I suppose he'd realized that Sharika wasn't the typical dumb pretty girl that passer throughs like to hook up with, and I looked like an easier candidate. Ha.

"I'm Sam, and this is my brother Dean. We're, er, one-night-standing too," the yeti said, in a slightly husky, very American voice. Cute.

"I'm Sharika, and this is Lauren," Sharika introduced us.

"Sharika, you do know that in America one night stand means –" Dean started.

"Duh," I interrupted, rolling my eyes. Men. Can't keep their mind out of their pants for even one second, can they?

"Lauren, the bartender is calling us. He has our drinks."

I raised my eyebrows at the entity next to me. Surely it couldn't be my hesitant, health conscious best friend. "Oookay then. I'll –"

"I'll help!" Sam interjected before I could get the words out. "You'll need another set of hands to carry the drinks."

I watched them head towards the bar, my face disbelieving. "A man that believes in chivalry, or seizing the opportunity?" I wondered aloud, deciding to keep a closer eye on Shar.

Cynicism is all.

"Chivalry. You've no idea how hard it is to get that boy laid," Dean said, and gave me the most disarming grin I have ever seen.

I answered with my Blank Face.



"She's giving him her blank face," I told him.

"Blank face?" he asked with a confused look in his eyes. "Two beers please," he said, giving his order to the bartender.

"Yea, she has that face on when she is pretending to be bored." I explained as I grinned in Lauren's direction. I tried not to look up at him as long as I could. Since I was from Bangladesh I was used to short guys around five foot six, and if they were lucky five foot seven. My father was only six feet and he was the tallest Bengali in the Australian region. I was standing at the short height of five foot five, and yet I was considered tall!

But this guy, he was the size of a freakin' Sasquatch!

"Pretending?" he asked, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Yes, pretending. It's a Lauren McMartin thing. I'm one of her closest friends and I still don't understand why she does half the things I've seen her do," I answered as we waited for the bartender to finish conversing with another customer so he could serve us our drinks.

"Dean is going to hate that. Well, all I can say is at last he has a challenge," Sam told me.

I still hadn't looked at him, but I could feel his eyes burning a hole on my back. I turned away from the site of an agitated Dean desperately trying to engage Lauren, who was trying her best to act cool and was starting to grow bored from holding her craziness in. Even from this large distance I could tell easily.

"Sharika?" Sam nudged me, holding onto two glasses.

I took grabbed the other two glasses and smiled, as sweetly as I could, to Sam. "We better go back before, something unpleasant happens."

"Unpleasant, you have no idea," Sam murmured under his breath.

"What did you say?" I asked. What could he mean?

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head.



Dean insulted me, and I punched him in the face. (So cute, but so…) "Didn't expect that did you?" I asked the unconscious boy. His head had hit the table on the rebound from the back of the bench, and now his body slumped in front of Sharika's feet.

"Shar watch o-"

She tripped over Dean, and the drinks flung out of her hands to connect wetly and -OUCH- with my t-shirt. Talk about bad luck. Trying not to fall forwards, she leant back, crashing into Sam, who then cracked his head on the table behind him.

"How unlucky," I said sweetly. "I vote we leave them here."

"Oh my god! Are they ok?" Sharika asked, as I picked her up from the floor. (Obviously, she hadn't heard me.) She looked at the two unconscious men and gave me her best panicked Sharika look. Don't ask. "Lauren –"

"Oh, don't start," I said, searching Dean's pockets, and trying not to notice the eyes of the locals, (I was wearing a wet, previously white shirt, and for all they knew, robbing a man I had just knocked unconscious. Anymore explanations needed?) Sharika knelt over Sam to check if he was still breathing.

"Aha!" I said, holding up a room key. I then looked at Sharika, and the body she would have to carry. I wasn't even to going try. Sam was – well, I have mentioned.

Their room was also at The Mermaid Motel, by the look of the keys, but farther away than ours from the pub.

"I'll take Dumbass here to their room and try to wake him up. You take Sam."

"Shouldn't we call a doctor?" she asked me, I could she that she was scared.

"No Sharika, I've seen bad falls and these ones were pretty mild in comparison."

I picked up the cause of all this fuss from under his arms, and started dragging him out of the bar. Lord help any man who offered help.



Lauren had her 'Fuck off" face on now, as she left the room, tugging at least 150 pounds of muscle behind her.

I looked Sam's body. How did she expect me to move all this dead weight?

She had gotten way ahead of me, considering the weight I would have to carry and the lack of strength in my body.

"Leave me with the big one," I muttered, starting to pull as I'd seen Lauren do, yet I didn't mind as such; after all this meant I could continue to stare at his wonderfully cute face. Two metres outside the front door, and many snorts from the locals later, I was more tired then I could remember being for a long while. Since –

"Hey, need some help?" A teenager considered me from the sidewalk.

His uncaring posture and $300 shoes reassured me at once. He was not here to rob me, or attack me in any other way. Especially since I had an extremely large, extremely strong, and extremely, well, unconscious man on the floor before me. For all the boy knew, I'd knocked him out myself. Ha, as if.

"Yes," I said. "How much for the board?"



"I hate men," I muttered to myself, pulling Dean across the concrete. Why couldn't we have taken the car instead of walking? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

It gave me a sense of satisfaction to hear his jeans scraping along the ground. Hopefully by the end of this, he'd have a huge hole in the back of them.

He deserved it.

Tug, tug, and breathe. Tug, tug, tug, and breathe.

How did he drag himself around everyday? I was getting tired of it after barely five minutes.

Tug, tug, tug and breathe…

Finally I was outside room 29. Propping him against the wall, I grabbed the key from my pocket, unlocked the door and rolled Dean inside. Kicking him into the centre of the room, I headed for the kitchen.



Twenty dollars and a promise to do lunch with him when ever he needed me to (to make his ex-girlfriend jealous I suppose) the boy had agreed to give me his skateboard. Unfortunately the board had broken three quarters of the way there. I didn't blame it one bit, seeing the weight it had to carry. It was a miracle that it even lasted that long.

I was finally outside mine and Lauren's room. Room 15.

My arms ached. A lot. And now I still had to get this guy, who was twice my height, and at least twice my weight to his room?! No way, I'm just going to take him to my room. On my bed and hopefully he will wake up, with out a concussion! And no lawsuits following either.