AN: Well hi y'all! Look at me! I didn't take forever like someone I could mention. Hey, I did the best I could! Peter is stubborn! As is Micky! Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter, try and count how many times I overused "man" as a friendly term... Cheers!

"Hey guys! Let's go to San Francisco." Micky blurted.

Davy just happened to be in the middle of a sip of ginger beer and after hearing that, he practically choked. Peter started to tap Davy on the back, a gesture that was probably meant to help with the coughing...

"Davy, man, what's up?" Micky asked, utterly confused.

"Maybe you just startled him, Mick?" Peter wondered.

"Oh, jeez man, I'm sorry, I mean, it was just an idea, I didn't realize that you were in your own little world, I mean, you are little, no offense, but I just thought that -" Davy cut his very energetic friend off.

"Micky, Micky, Micky!" The Brit got Micky's attention after the third try "You didn't startle me, man, it's just that, well..." Davy mumbled something that neither of the other two understood.

"What Davy? There's pickles in your ear?" Peter guessed.

"No," Davy tried again "I don't want to go to San Francisco because...well..." Once again the last part of Davy's sentence was cut off

"Davy, San Francisco is rad, man! Why don't you want to go?"

"Hippies!" Davy snapped, a little too loudly.

"But Davy, I-" Peter's eyes gave off the puppy-dog look and he hung his head.

"Davy?! You're scared of hippies?!" Micky questioned.

"Micky!" Once again Davy felt like a broken record.

He didn't want Peter to know about this deep seated fear, and was feeling really awful after blurting it out.

"Well, Davy, I mean, if you're scared of me, maybe we shouldn't hang around each other anymore..." Peter sadly took a bite of his waffle and sniffled.

"No man, that's not what I mean." Davy desperately looked to his curly-haired friend for help.

"What Davy means is, Pete, is that he doesn't like big hoards of flower-waving-long-haired-weirdos." Micky tried to comfort his young friend.

"Yeah Peter, it's in the numbers, man."

Peter weakly smiled. "Okay Davy. Then maybe going to where there are a lot of them would help. I mean, sometimes facing your fear is the best thing to so when you're scared of something."

"Hey, that's a good idea Peter. Are you feeling okay?" Micky asked, trying to break the tension.

"Is there something going around? Oh no... what if I get so sick I can't go to San Francisco, and what if I get Auntie Grizelda sick too?!" Peter's eyes got huge again.

"Peter, it was a joke." Davy patted his friend's shoulder.

"Oh..."

"You're what?!" Auntie Grizelda screeched at her nephew.

"I'm going to San Francisco with Micky and Davy. We'll be gone for three days. Maybe you should get some hearing aids Auntie Grizelda. I'm talking at a fairly normal volume." Peter smiled at his Aunt, even though he was inwardly cringing from the sound of her voice.

"I don't need hearing aids, idiot boy! And you came here to help me, not flounce off to some city filled with drugs, sex, and God knows what kind of people!" The ancient woman crossed herself.

"Alright Auntie Grizelda, I guess you're right. I won't go." Peter sulked upstairs and grabbed the phone.

After what seemed like about seven rings, Micky picked up, "Hiya Pete!" As always, the young man was extremely hyper.

"Hi Micky." Peter said sadly.

"What's the matter, Peter?"

"Auntie Grizelda won't let me go to San Francisco." Micky could hear Peter's puppy-dog eyes over the phone.

"Hey, don't worry Pete. Davy and I will get you out of there! You're going to come with us, no matter what!"

"How?" The young man tried not to get too hopeful.

"Well, we can always bring back the lion tamers..."

Three young men could be seen driving on the highway, piled into a Mini Cooper. The cars behind them seemed to be keeping a considerable distance away from the Mini because of its very sporadic, curly-haired driver.

"Micky, man, how did you ever pass your driving test?" Davy asked from the seemingly roomy backseat.

"I didn't." Micky responded.

Peter promptly put his hand over his mouth and turned a shade of green that no one could have pulled off.

"Hey-hey Mick? Maybe we should stop and let Pete take a rest, what do you think?" Davy was starting to turn a lovely shade of grey himself.

"Sure, how about here?" The long-haired driver swerved in front of a few cars and bumped over something that may or may not have been a traffic island.

They pulled up to a service station and Micky slammed on the break. Peter ran to the bathroom, but not before forgetting to take off his seat belt.

"Maybe I should take the wheel when we get going again?" Davy offered.

"Davy, man, you couldn't reach the pedals. Plus, I'm doing fine! Don't worry, we'll be to San Francisco in no time."

Two days later Davy, Peter, and Micky were lost. They'd been following all the little blue lined on the map that led to San Francisco, but they ended up in the middle of countless woods.

"Left." Peter commented about two feet before the turn "Micky, look, there's a big blue line here, maybe that will help." The curly haired young man took his hands off the wheel and pulled the map up in front of him, tracing lines with his finger.

"Micky..." Davy began. Once again the broken record sensation washed over him. "Micky! MICKY!" He yelled just before the car hit the ditch.

"Well, that got us somewhere." Peter remarked.

"Hey, y'all! Watch where you're going!" Said a very Texan voice.

The three friends peered out their respective windows. Micky and Davy to be met with a tall, slender figure in high waisted pants, a button up shirt, and a green wool hat. Peter, being on the other side of the car found himself having a nice, long staring contest with some friendly trees.

"Sorry, man, we weren't paying attention." Davy apologised to the rather imposing figure.

"Yeah well, it's alright. You all want some help getting this old carriage outta this here mud?" He asked.

"Gee, that'd be great!" Micky enthusiastically pulled his two friends out of the car.

"Micky! I was have a lovely conversation with those trees!" Peter exclaimed, feeling put-out.

"Isn't that dumb?" Micky asked no one in particular.

After getting said car "outta" said mud, Davy noticed the very totaled Winnebago in front of them. The hat man saw Davy staring.

"Yep, that was my car. Now it's ready for the junkyard." The young man had a fleeting look of sadness on his face before returning to the stoic Texan he was. Peter sniffled at the sad story.

"Maybe we could get some waffles to make things better?" He asked.

"Sure Pete." Davy patted his friend on the back.

"Where're you headed, stranger?" Micky asked Hat-Man.

"Well I was on my way to San Francisco, but I suppose I've gotta call Aunt Kate and see if we can arrange for me to come home..."

"Hey! We're going to San Francisco too! Come and join us!" Davy exclaimed.

"Gee, that's awful nice of you," The young man stuck out his hand. "Mike Nesmith."

"Micky Dolenz."

"Davy Jones."

"I see a diner up there, they'd have waffles."

"He's Peter Tork." Micky said.

The Mini Cooper was full of four young men pouring over a now mangled map swerving their way to San Francisco.

AN: Well there you have it, all four Monkees together! :) PETER! I'm sorry, but agh! I will never look at waffles without feeling an overwhelming sense of adorable-overload.
...wow... um... pretend you didn't just read that. Hey, Cat, redundant much? Anyway, review before I squeal over the general amazingness of this chapter even more. And YAY! They're together as they should always be! (...in case you weren't paying attention.)