A/N: Hi Everyone. Once again I have to apologize for such a short chapter, but my mom actually had a mild heart attack last night and I spent most of the day with her at the hospital. I'm off work this weekend, and the intention is to make some serious headway with all my stories, so please just bear with me.

Also, my angsty story ended up with a chapter that reads a bit more like a comedy than is probably appropriate for this story, but what can I say, the Winchester boys have minds (and mouths) of their own.

As Always,

EverReader

Disclaimer: Not my sandbox. My sandbox is shaped like a giant green turtle.

Prisoner of War – Chapter Nineteen

"Comedy of Terrors"

Sam studied the grizzled old hunter with a skeptical eye. Dean may have been right about this case after all. First the kooky waiter at the Chinese restaurant talking about the lucky fountain, and now the hunter that Dean had accused of being a drunk actually was a drunk. Sam could detect the tell tale odor of whiskey from where he was standing as he talked to the man.

"Don't know how many times I have to tell you fools. Weren't no big foot I saw up on Crosshatch Road. Were a bear, told the Sheriff so myself, for all the good it did me." The grumbling man continued with his work as Sam tried his best to question him.

The man didn't seem to mind talking, but he certainly wasn't making much sense.

Sam tried not to frown. "In the news article I read, they reported that you claimed that the bear...talked?"

"Sure sounded like talking..." The man muttered as he continued packing his gear up in the bed of his pick up truck.

"Not that he made a lot of sense..." He added.

Sam couldn't help but frown this time. "Umm...he?"

"Sure as hell sounded like a man. Talked like a woman, but sounded like a man. A drunk one, too, at that." Gary Jessop looked Sam straight in the eye.

"He was muttering about socialism and the decay of American values and something about an existential crisis of faith." He finished.

Sam blinked, nonplussed. "I...hadn't figured Big Foot for being so...political." He said finally, feeling completely out of his league.

How drunk had this man been?

And what kind of drunk had delusions that were obviously more intelligent than he was?

"Weren't no big foot." Gary insisted stubbornly.

"IT WAS A BEAR." He added again in a more frustrated voice.

"Okay, okay!" Sam said soothingly, stepping back half a step, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "What kind of bear? Grizzly, brown, black...kodiak?" Sam was reaching now, but he was running out of ideas.

"Well...'bout that." Gary scratched his head, looking suddenly embarrassed. "Best I reckon, it were a Teddy."

"A...teddy." Sam repeated stoically.

Gary nodded. "My girl had one just like it when she were little, though Shelia's was normal sized, 'bout the size of a rabbit. And it didn't drink no light beer."

"Light beer? You were hunting, and you ran across a giant, walking, talking teddy bear...drinking light beer?" Sam was incredibly glad Dean wasn't with him at that moment, because this was...something else.

"Hadn't got to the hunting part, really." Gary offered. "Was just leaving the Snack & Go, up on Crosshatch. The owner, Marty, was complaining about his new help stealing a couple of cases of beer, but I reckon he was just too embarrassed to admit he sold it to a Teddy Bear. Bear probably didn't have I.D."

"That...is a very common problem with bears nowadays..." Sam said wisely, internally threatening himself with every dire consequence he could think of to keep from laughing.

Must...be...professional...

"Go see for yourself..." Gary said sourly. "Just saw Marty a few hours ago, complaining about some more vandalism at his place last night. Damn bear's probably up there drunker than a skunk."

Sam nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Jessop. I think that's exactly what I'll do."

Gary got into his truck, and Sam turned to walk down the sidewalk. He debated whether or not he should really go up to Crosshatch Road, but the alternative was going back and meeting up with Dean empty handed.

Hooking a right at the next corner, the way Gary had explained, he pulled Dean's jacket a little tighter around his bad shoulder as he headed towards the far edge of town.

He pulled out his cell phone as he walked, shooting off two quick messages one handed to his brother.

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Dean approached the Snack and Go at the end of Crosshatch Road cautiously, weapon drawn. From where he was, he could already see several broken windows as well as the shattered door.

What the hell had Sammy stumbled into now? It was like he had a knack for trouble.

As he came closer to the ruined storefront, he heard a rustle from within. Reacting instinctively, he ducked behind a tree, pulling his weapon.

Suddenly a hand clamped over his mouth and he stiffened before relaxing almost immediately.

Sam.

Sam removed his hand and leaned forward, whispering directly into his brother's ear.

"Whoever they are, they were here when I got here. They haven't come out yet."

Dean looked over at Sam. "Did you call the cops?" He mouthed. It looked like a straightforward b & e to him.

Sam gave him a funny look, shaking his head. He moved quickly around his brother, sliding toward the store at a half-crouch.

"Sam!" Dean hissed, before crouching down himself to run behind his little brother.

That was when he noticed Sam was carrying a weapon in his good hand, and in his surprise he nearly tripped over his on feet.

When had Sam started carrying a hand gun regularly? Did Dad know?

Had John given Sam a weapon of his own, a permanent one, like he had with Dean and never even told Dean about it?

The half-second's delay was all Sam's long legs needed to distance himself ahead of his brother and he reached the storefront while Dean was still processing the fact that Sam was armed, had, apparently, been armed this entire time and Dean hadn't realized it.

Sam peaked over the window sill of one of the broken windows, and Dean saw him stiffen in surprise, face going slack as his mouthed opened in a silent "o".

Alarmed, Dean hurried over to his little brother, peering carefully over the ledge also.

Almost immediately, his own brows raised in shock.

The inside of the convenience store was even worse than the outside, with shelves tipped over and food spilling across the aisles.

The lights were mostly out, and in the dimness, Dean could barely make out the shape of a young girl at the counter.

Her forehead was lined in concentration as she painstakingly counted out change from what appeared to be a piggy bank she had set out on the counter.

Almost as one, the brothers turned and sat down on the ground in surprise, backs flush against the outside wall of the store.

"I thought you said it was Big Foot!" Dean hissed.

"I never said it was Big Foot. You and Dad said it was Big Foot. I said it was a talking bear!" Sam hissed back.

"That doesn't look like a talking bear!" Dean replied, taking another peak over the window ledge. "Christ, is she buying beer?"

"Light beer." Sam confirmed, glancing at his brother.

"What is she, eight? Is this entire town full of gamblers and alcoholics?" Dean asked incredulously.

Just then they heard the quiet sound of tiny steps coming towards the front door, and they scrambled around the corner just as the little girl came blinking outside.

She lugged the six pack of light beer, the weight nearly overbalancing her small frame. The brothers watched as she wrangled the cans into the basket of the little pink bike she had pulled upright from the scraggly weeds at the end of the sidewalk.

She climbed on, weight shifting precariously as she adjusted her balance to account for her load, before she started pedaling slowly down the street.

"Follow her!" Sam said, running quickly to a group of trees that his his tall frame as he watched her pedal down the road.

"Creepy, much?" Dean asked, coming to stand behind him.

"Dean, where are her parents? Where's the shop owner? Where are the police? Something crazy's going on in this town." Sam said, never taking his eyes of the tiny figure in the distance.

He started moving again, and Dean had no choice to follow.

The girl stopped only a few blocks away at a tidy, two story white house. She let her bike fall to the ground haphazardly as she lugged the six pack up the stairs of the front porch, letting herself in with a slam of the door.

Dean studied the house, looking for any other signs of activity.

"Where are her parents?" He asked indignantly.

"Maybe they won the lottery." Sam muttered, crossing the street with Dean right behind him,

Sam rang the bell before Dean could stop him, though he glared daggers at his younger brother's head as they waited to see who answered the door.

Only a few moments later, the same little girl answered the door.

"Can I help you?" She asked with a fearless curiosity.

"Are your parents home-" Dean had barely gotten the words out before Sam had slammed his foot on Dean's boot.

Dean hissed in pain, turning to glare at him. Ignoring his older brother's glare (again), Sam said the most ridiculous thing Dean had ever hear.

"We're here to see Teddy."

The little girls eyes opened wide.

"Are you guys the Teddy Bear doctors?" She asked hopefully.

Dean turned wide eyes on his brother. "I don't know, Sammy. Are we Teddy Bear doctors?" He said with a forced smile.

Sam smiled a strained smile right back at him.

"We are on the weekends." He replied.

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Sam had thought that nothing short of Dean's imminent death would ever be enough for him to willingly want to call John Winchester in to help him on a case.

He was wrong.

As he and his brother stood in the doorway of the little girl's bedroom, Sam's mind tried to reconcile what he was seeing with every possible fact and figure he'd ever read, ever seen, ever even heard spoken.

Anything that would make the sight of an eight foot high, walking, talking, crying (drunken) Teddy Bear make some kind of sense.

He failed.

In that moment, Sam felt spectacularly under-trained, under-prepared, under-something, anyway.

Dean slammed the door shut once again, and the brothers leaned against it, breathing hard.

"We should call Dad." Sam said, wide eyes turning to face his brother.

Dean continued to stare straight ahead, but he shook his head nonetheless.

"We should never tell Dad about this. Ever." He contradicted.

"Are we..." Sam swallowed.

"Dean, are we going to shoot the teddy bear?" He whispered in a horrified voice.

Dean turned appalled eyes to him. "We...should." He said finally. "I think."

Sam shook his head. "I don't want to shoot a Teddy Bear."

Dean nodded. "We should call Dad."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I just said that. So call him."

Dean's eyes bugged out even wider. "No way, man. You call him!"

"He told me to drop the Big Foot case!" Sam argued, shaking his head.

Dean chewed his lip before holding out his fist and his palm decisively.

Sam arched a brow. "If it makes you feel better." He murmured, knowing that no matter what happened, Sam always won. Even if Sam were trying to lose, he'd still win.

It was just one of those things, and they both knew it, but his stubborn older brother never relented.

They counted to three in unison, Sam's paper trumping Dean's rock, and Dean turned away, cursing.

Pulling out his cell phone, Dean punched in some numbers, but he hesitated before hitting the call button.

He looked over at Sam.

"We should have gone shopping." He muttered piteously, but Sam just shooed him on with an impatient hand gesture.

Dean made a face before turning away before holding the phone up to his ear.

A moment later, the other end was picked up.

"Bobby! Hey, it's Dean, listen, me and Sam got a little...dilemma. What do you know about...Teddy Bears?