Disclaimer: Me? Owning Gilmore Girls? Hah, I wish! But I did borrow The Beatles' 'Yesterday' for the purpose of this chapter…

*

Cheers

Chapter 11: Help! Mr. Lennon's Got Footlockers in His Pockets!

"Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play – now I need a place to hide away. Oh, I believe in yesterday…"

"Dean."

"Yeah, buddy?"

"On behalf of the rest of humanity, I'm begging you–"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Shut up."

A moment of silence filled the air, and Tristan saw Dean grin at him, albeit somewhat lopsidedly.

"You're a funny man, DuGrey. Funny, funny man." The slurred sentence was punctuated by a bout of hysterical laughter, causing Tristan and Jess to trade worried looks. "Come on, Jessie Boy! Sing along!"

"That's Jess," the other man stiffly corrected his companion, although concern still tinged his deep brown eyes.

"I know that," Dean hiccupped, slapping Jess a little too enthusiastically on the back. "Did you know that, Tristan?"

"Uh, yes, I did," affirmed Tristan, shrugging helplessly at Jess. When Dean suddenly lurched to one side, the other two lunged forward to catch him. "This sucks."

"Yeah well, how was I to know he'd end up like this?" In the dark, there seemed to be a hint of defensiveness in Jess's voice.

"Okay. Fine. Forget it." Tristan exhaled heavily before turning back to Dean. "Come on, man. We're taking you home."

"Home?" Dean blinked, as though deeply confused.

"Yeah." Tristan threw a glance over his shoulder at Jess, who was standing with his hands in his pockets. "Do you know where he lives?"

"What do I look like, some sort of Bag Boy stalker or something?"

Tristan glared at him. "Would it kill you to lay off the sarcasm for one second?"

"Alright, I'm sorry," Jess grumbled, hoisting Dean's shoulders once again. "Dean, you're gonna have to tell us where you live." Nothing. "Dean?"

"It's no use asking him," Tristan grunted, straining under the weight of his 6 foot 2 inch burden. "I think he's passed out."

"No shit, Sherlock," Jess wheezed. "Damn, what's the guy got in his coat pockets? Footlockers?"

"Just keep walking, Mariano."

The men struggled on in silence for the next few minutes. Finally, Tristan sighed dolefully. "You know something…"

"What?"

"When I told Dean we were going to put some distance between him and Rory's fiancé back at the party, I'm pretty certain this wasn't the scenario I'd imagined." A fleeting grin crossed Tristan's lips. "It's kind of funny, when you think about it."

"Yeah," Jess chuckled quietly. "I guess it is." He glanced up sharply, relief dawning on his face. "There's a bench up ahead."

"Thank God for small mercies," Tristan quipped, eliciting a weary smile from his friend. Dumping Dean on the seat, the two men took the opportunity to stretch their aching muscles, their breaths coming out in smoky puffs in the cold morning air. Jess strained to look at his watch.

"It's 2.00am, and Bag Boy's out cold on a bench," he muttered. "What do we do?" 

"I don't know," Tristan looked perplexed, and a little annoyed. "We don't know where he lives, and he's down for the count, so…" Another shrug. "I don't know." Running a hand over his tired eyes, Tristan was silent. "It'd take a miracle to get us out of this one." Suddenly, he stiffened.

Jess raised an eyebrow inquiringly. "What?"

"Shh," Tristan cut him off, his tone urgent, his eyes awake. "Someone's coming."

Sure enough, Jess could make out the faint sounds of footsteps, and voices – two, it seemed. And as the noises steadily increased, it occurred to him that they were getting closer. Tristan knew this too, and both men waited tensely, their senses on alert, ready for whatever – or whoever – was headed their way.

"Ugh, remind me never to go to another one of my parents' shindigs – ever."

"Oh, quit whining. You know you had a good time."

"Yeah, maybe I did, but that's just how I am, you know. Dramatic."

"Ladies and gentlemen, the drama queen of Connecticut."

"And yet, you adore me for it." 

Jess frowned. He knew that voice. It could only be–

"Jess? Tristan? What are you two doing here?"

Startled, Jess and Tristan snapped around in the direction of the voice, and immediately, sheepish grins crossed their faces. Tristan cleared his throat. "Uh, hi Lorelai."

Coming to a stop in front of them, Lorelai folded her arms, her eyes narrowed. "Now, this is just a wild guess, but is that Dean I see asleep on the bench behind you?"

Guiltily, Jess dropped his gaze from an unconscious Dean to a suspicious Lorelai. "Would you believe me if I said he's just resting?"

"Oh, so he's resting, hmm?" Lorelai turned to her companion. "That certainly clears things up, don't you think so?" Shaking her head reproachfully at Tristan and Jess, she walked over to where Dean lay. "Anyone want to tell me what happened to poor Dean?"

Tristan and Jess traded awkward looks. "We, uh, we took him drinking," Jess admitted shamefacedly.

"Drinking?" Lorelai frowned. "When?"

"During the party," Tristan piped up. "He was a little tense, so we thought a few drinks would loosen him up."

"Looks like you did a good job there," Lorelai's friend commented.

"Well, you should get him home then." Seeing the looks on the young men's faces, Lorelai stopped. "What?"

"That's the problem," Jess explained, the frustration evident in his voice. "We don't know where he lives."

"He lives on Peach," Lorelai supplied, the half-forgotten memory floating back into her consciousness.

"Yeah," Jess smiled wryly. "And how many houses are there on Peach?"

"Damn," she huffed. "Okay, there goes that plan."

"How about letting him spend the night at your place, Jess?" Lorelai's friend suggested, but Jess shook his head.

"Where would I put him? In the cupboard?" Jess ran a hand through his hair. "And he can't go to Tristan's – it's all the way in Hartford."

"Point taken," Lorelai conceded thoughtfully. Then her eyes lit up. "How about he sleep over at my house, then?"

"You don't have a guest room," Jess pointed out patiently. "And he probably wouldn't fit on the sofa."

"He can use Rory's room," Lorelai said jubilantly. "She's staying the night with Robert."

"Well, that should be okay then," said Tristan, still looking a little dubious.

"Alrighty. It's settled." Lorelai rubbed her hands together, gleeful. Stepping back to Dean, she tapped him on the shoulder, rousing him from his alcohol-soaked sleep. "Dean, it's Lorelai. We're taking you back to my place, okay?"

"Lorelai?" A slow grin spread across Dean's face, and he attempted to sit up. "Hey, Lorelai. You're here too. Everybody's here."

"Yes, Dean," Jess nodded. "Everybody's here." 

"Wow. Hey," Dean allowed Tristan and Jess to pull him up. "Hey, do you guys like The Beatles?"

"Sure," Lorelai shrugged. "What's not to love?"

"Great," Dean grinned, stumbling a little as he took a few steps forward. "Do you know that song, Yesterday? Man, I love that song."

"Don't get him started," Tristan said warningly. "He's been singing it all night. Thinks he's John Lennon or something."

"Really?" An evil grin flickered across Lorelai's lips. Casting innocent eyes at a groggy Dean, she smiled sweetly. "So, how does the song go again?"

"Oh, for goodness' sake," Tristan groaned, throwing his hands up in despair, watching as the others ambled off, Lorelai's voice mingling with Dean's in a rambunctious song.

Jess smirked, coolly surveying the scene in front of him. "What a night, huh?"

"Yeah," Tristan absently agreed, taking in the way Lorelai and her companion struggled to keep Dean on his feet. Lorelai's voice drifted back to them.

"Sing it, Mr. Lennon!"

Another glance passed between Tristan and Jess, and both smiled deprecatingly. Jess shook his head.

"You know, I never thought I'd say this, but after today, and after watching him throw back all those beers in the space of one night, I can honestly say I prefer ol' Dean sober."

Tristan grinned. "You know what's scarier? I think I agree with you." 

*

To Be Continued…