A HEAD FOR TROUBLE

Chapter 3

xxxxx

Sam let out a deep sigh as he heard the unmistakable crunch of tyres rolling to a halt at the kerbside behind him.

"What now?" snapped Dean, fidgeting testily against the railings.

"Uh, not sure, man," Sam replied airily, lowering himself down to talk at Dean's level; "might be some help, or it might not be."

Dean made a sound that was the lovechild of a growl and a sob; "could you be any less useful?"

Shaking off the abuse without a second thought, Sam took a moment to reflect that even if his new companions did want to arrest them, they'd still have to remove Dean from the railings first.

Now that's what you call making lemonade …

Standing up from the crouch he had settled into, Sam winced as his knees crackled in protest, and slowly turned to see two police officers emerging from the car.

He took a glance behind him to check that Dean was still okay; well, as okay as possible under what were, basically, totally un-okay circumstances. The stream of muttered invective emerging from Dean's scowling lips told him all he needed to know so he turned back and strolled toward the two approaching figures.

"Uh, good afternoon officers," he began as politely as he could manage; "is there a problem?"

The taller of the two men had to look up to glare at Sam. "I don't know," he replied snottily; "you tell me."

Sam gave him what he hoped was an enquiring look and shrugged; "well, yes, there's a problem but …"

The second cop, a short balding man whose waistline clearly identified him as a danger to donuts, spoke up, interrupting Sam's reply.

"We received a complaint of public indencency from a concerned citizen," he snapped abruptly; "the lady reported two young guys, right here, in this spot, doing what young guys should only be doing in the privacy of their own home."

"As I was saying," Sam began, as calmly as he could manage; "there is a problem, but not the one your concerned citizen was concerned about.

Two pairs of law-enforcing eyebrows raised in union.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam turned and pointed toward Dean, kneeling on the ground, some way behind him.

The two cops squinted past Sam at the kneeling figure.

"What's he doing?"

Sam shrugged again; "well not a lot, considering he's got his head stuck in the railings."

There was a brief pause.

"Say again?" The barrelesque donut murderer replied eventually.

Sam sighed.

"My. Brother. Has. Got. His. Head. Stuck. In. The. Park. Railings." he enunciated irritably. "That's what I was doing when that old lady walked past. I was crouching over him, trying to pull the railings apart to help him get free.

He couldn't help but notice the upwards quirk of the cops' lips, as they glanced at each other and then back at Sam.

"Got his head stuck?" They repeated as if Sam had been speaking to them in fluent swahili.

"Yeah."

"How?"

Sam resisted with all his might the urge to say 'because he's a goddamn idiot," and instead explained patiently; "he said he was texting me to come and join him because he'd seen a good diner across the road and he was watching a game going on in the park at the same time. Then he dropped his phone, and as he stepped forward to get it, he said he stumbled over a tree root and …" He tailed off, gesturing in Dean's general direction and knowing that there were no words in the English language that could make this sound in any way excusable.

The cops glanced at each other again, barely bothering to hide their smirks, and set off toward Dean, beckoning Sam to join them.

"I guess we'd better go and see what we can do then."

xxxxx

Dean's heart sank into his guts when not one, not two, but three pairs of boots planted themselves around him.

"Okay, laugh it up," he snorted to the two new spectators; "are you gonna stand there enjoying the show, or are you gonna help my brother get me out of this fix?"

"You say you've tried pulling the railings apart?" The taller man asked, turning to Sam.

"Yeah," Sam replied, "but they're too solid, I can't shift them; plus I'd have to pull them too far apart - look, he's trapped by his ears."

"Yeah, they're pretty big," the officer muttered as all three men stood looking down on the offending ears which were now glowing a fetching shade of nuclear crimson.

Sam swiftly nudged his brother in the ribs with the toe of his boot when the expletives threatened to start flowing again.

We probably need to cut them, the shorter officer mused; "the railings I mean, not his ears," he added swiftly. "I'll call the local Parks Authority, and get permission, then we'll have to get the necessary equipment from the Fire Department."

Sam could have sworn he heard a whimper of despair escape from Dean's lips, as the man's spherical silhouette waddled off into the distance talking into his handset.

"You said you weren't going to make a big scene," Dean hissed furiously, his face rapidly turning as crimson as his ears; "why don't you hire a friggin' reporter, then I can be on fox news too!"

"D'y think they'd pay us for an interview?" Sam asked, withering under the fury radiating from Dean's alarmingly bulging eyes.

"Dean, be fair," he snapped; "this isn't my idea - although I think it might be our only option."

"It sucks ass," Dean croaked through clenched teeth; "I really, really need a pee, and all this stupid circus isn't freakin' helping my bladder control!"

Sam reflected that the thirty year old man with his head stuck in the park railings didn't really get to say what was stupid or not.

As their exchange wrapped up, Sam saw the rotund figure walking back toward them with a sombre look on his face.

"Okay," he began on the back of a deep sigh which had 'bad news' written all over it; "I phoned the Parks Authority. The problem is, these railings are a designated item of historical importance. The park and its railings were inaugurated in 1894 to celebrate the Town's centenary, and so the Parks Authority can't give permission to cut them until they've referred it up to their Executive Manager and he's on vacation at the moment."

Sam spoke up in an effort to prevent his grimacing brother from doing so. "But you're the law – surely you can override that decision. My brother can't stay here stuck for days until some pen pusher gets back from sunning his ass in the Caribbean!"

The cops turned to each other and conferred briefly.

"I guess so," they eventually replied in unison; "but let's see if we can't get him out without damaging the railings first."

"JUST FRICKIN' DO WHATEVER YOU FRICKIN' GOTTA DO!" yelled Dean, furiously rattling the railings.

Sam sighed; this was the oncoming eruption of Mount Dean that he'd been working so hard to prevent, and it was probably only going to get worse.

"I know the diner your brother was talking about," the shorter cop announced, news that was hardly a revelation to Sam; "I'll go over there and get some butter."

"Yeah," snorted Dean; "get donuts too."

xxxxx

tbc