Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, or Funkytown, or anything. Just Jensen Ackles, whom I keep in my closet… Yeah, right, I wish. No, I don't own anything.

Summary: In the recent episode "Hunted", Sam says that "funky town" is a codeword for "someone's got a gun," and that's it a long story. Here is that story.

Funky Town

Maquoketa, Iowa

A newspaper article that Sam had found online had led the Winchester brothers to the suburbs of this east Iowa town. "Gym Teacher Killed in Freak Accident." She had been crushed behind the retractable bleaches when they apparently turned themselves on when she went behind them to retrieve a basketball. They had only been about 100 miles away in Illinois, so they figured they might as well check it out. Now, they sat in a corner coffee shop while Sam reread the article.

"No one was near the switches, no electrical malfunctions… just started up on their own."

Dean stopped checking out a girl two tables over and looked at Sam. "So, what do you think? Just you average everyday vengeful spirit?"

Sam nodded. "Could be."

By that evening, they had a list of the witnesses, but still no idea who might have wanted the gym teacher, Rhoda Shram, dead. Their best source of possible information was Allison Marshall, a senior at the high school and Shram's TA.

Sam had arranged to meet Allison at a local diner while Dean checked out the school. So, after dropping his brother at Rachel's Diner, Dean parked down the block from the high school, and in the dying light, made his way through the shrubbery to the gym.

He peered through the window in a side door. Empty. He easily picked the lock and crept inside. He took his cannibalized Walkman-turned-EMF meter out of the pocket of his leather jacket and began wandering around the gym, each footstep echoing a little too loudly.

There was nothing that couldn't be explained by the building's electrical system. If the had been something there when the teacher died the week before, it didn't seem to be there now. Of course, he hadn't looked everywhere yet. Flashlight in hand, Dean peered under the bleachers. Considering that a human had been trapped and killed by this mechanism, he wasn't too interested in moving in any further.

Somewhere behind him, a door to the gym opened. Dean quickly looked around for an escape route. No time. With the footsteps quickly approaching, he had no choice other than to turn off his light and dive behind the bleachers.

Sam sat at Rachel's Diner across from Allison Marshall. The girl was a wreck, and looked like she hadn't slept in days. She had just finished telling Sam that she couldn't imagine anyone who would want to hurt Ms. Shram.

Sam sighed. He knew his next question was going to sound completely psycho.

"Have there been any… strange or unexplained deaths connected with Ms. Shram? Students, faculty…"

She looked at him like he was nuts. "Any strange… what?! What has that got to do with anything?! What the hell are you talking about?"

People at nearby booths were beginning to stare at them. Sam looked at Allison desperately. "Please… Just calm down."

"Are you with the X-Files or something?"

Sam smiled. "No, not quite."

Allison thought for a minute. "I don't know about any strange deaths. I'm a volleyball player! I don't keep track of deaths!"

Sam's attention was suddenly drawn away from Allison by a man behind her in the corner booth. His eyes darted around the room nervously. He could have been a harmless weird guy, but Sam had a bad feeling…

"Nobody move!"

The shifty-eyed man had jumped up and was now pointed a .45 Magnum at anyone who even blinked. He moved to the counter and was about to start threatening the waitress when Sam's cell phone rang. Sam froze as the would-be robber swiveled his gun towards him.

"Aren't you going to answer that?"

Sam could hardly refuse with a .45 pointed at his head. He picked up his phone and glanced at the caller ID. 'Dean Cell'.

"Any luck?" Sam asked in place of a greeting.

"Nope," Dean replied. "Nothing there but a janitor. What'd you find out?"

"Uh, not much." He had to inform his brother of the situation somehow, but as though he had read his mind, the gunman said, "Try and tell anyone and I'll blow your head off." So much for that plan.

Oblivious to the situation, Dean continued. "Okay, well, I'm heading over, so I'll be there in about 5 minutes."

Crap. "No. you don't have to come all the way over here, I'll just… meet you back at the motel."

"Dude, are you kidding? It's right on the way. Besides, I'm starving. How're the burgers there?" Sam didn't respond. "Is something going on?"

Sam looked at the guy with a gun to his head. "No. Nothing." Then he hung up.

The room was silent except for an old Springsteen song playing on the jukebox in the far corner. The gunman went back to the counter to try to continue robbing the place. Before long, he had the contents of the till in a bag, but seemed unsure of what to do. Everyone in the diner had seen him and could identify him. So, he just paced between the booths and the counter, keeping a close eye on all the occupants, especially Sam.

Meanwhile, the Springsteen tune had ended and gave way to "Funkytown," creating a deceptively light atmosphere in the diner. In his track of pacing, the gunman was facing away from the front door when it abruptly opened. Startled, he spun around and fired, shattering the glass door as Dean ducked behind a nearby booth.

"Is this a bad time? 'Cause I can come back later."

While the gunman's attention was on Dean, Sam silently stood and crept up behind his. As he was about to make his move, his shoe squeaked on the floor. The gunman reflexively threw his left elbow backward, catching Sam in the nose. He staggered backwards, and as his eyes started watering, he vaguely saw the gunman turning towards him, and his brother darting around from behind the booth.

Time stopped for a moment with the crack of a gunshot. Not a .45, but a shotgun. The brothers stared at each other with mild confusion as the gunman dropped to the floor between them. They both turned to the waitress who was still holding the smoking shotgun and shaking slightly. She gestured vaguely to the kitchen behind her.

"Owner keeps it in the back."

"Huh," Dean said as he kicked the .45 away from the man now twitching and writhing on the floor. Then he looked at his brother. "Y'okay, Sammy?"

Sam nodded and wiped away a trickle of blood from his nose. Dean stepped over the prone figure on the floor and looked down at it as he stood in front of Sam.

"You know, you could have warned me."

"I wanted to, but I couldn't! He was standing right there!"

Dean thought about that for a second. "Yeah, well, maybe we need a… codeword or something."

Sam looked slightly skeptical. "A codeword? Like what?"

Dean paused, staring into space, and then glanced at the jukebox still playing its jaunty tune, unaware of what had transpired. He looked back at Sam. "Funky Town."

A/N: This is where I end the story, because the death of a gym teacher by supernatural forces wasn't really the point. But, if anyone wants to know how that turned out, let me know and I'll cook something up.