A/N: snfan228 - Thank you for being my first reviewer! The "strange guys" Sam and Dean meet aren't who you are expecting, but they will be mentioned. ;)
Please review my first story!
"Where do you think they came from, Mike?" asked a young man with brown hair as Sam and Dean slowly raised themselves to sitting positions.
"Yeah, and why are they on our floor?" piped up a small Englishman hiding behind a tall guy in a green wool hat.
"Isn't it obvious?" said the only blonde guy with a self-satisfied look on his face. "They needed to borrow a cup of sugar, but didn't want to wake us up. So they waited in the living room to ask us."
Dean gave him a weird look and stood up. Sam followed him up and noticed the three dark-haired guys giving the blonde a look just as confused as Dean's.
"Before we interrupt a family squabble," Dean said, "we'd like to know where we are and how we got here."
"Look, I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean. He gets cranky when he wakes up in strange places." Sam gave Dean a significant look. He had recognized these guys as the Monkees, who they listened to as kids.
"Oh, well, Peter understands all about that," said the little Englishman. "He went to bed one time and woke up in the kitchen cooking eggsཀ"
"Don't tell them that, Davy," said the man with the hat, "they won't want to stay here with sleepwalking cooks. I'm Mike, and the crazy one there is Micky. We're the Monkees."
Sam said, "Yeah, I've heard of you." He saw Micky pick up Dean's cell phone from the floor and start dissecting it.
"Crazy? You von't call me crazy vhen I'm through vith this," Micky said in a bad German accent, holding the reassembled phone high above his head.
"Hey, give me that," said Dean, snatching it back to make sure it still worked. "I don't got a signal, Sam."
"If you don't mind my asking," interrupted Davy, "what is that thing? It sort of looks like a phone, but there's no wire."
All of a sudden, Mike, Micky, Peter, and Davy were in telephone repairman uniforms. Mike grabbed the phone from Dean's shocked hand and plunked it on the mini operating table that had just appeared.
"Well, now, gentleman, let's see if we can't fix this thing up as a workable, usable telephone," Mike said, raising a hammer to smash on the phone. Sam came to the rescue.
"That's OK, no need for that," he said, grabbing the phone before the hammer could connect with it. "Dean, we need to get out of here," he directed at his brother quietly.
"No, don't leave, guys," Micky cried, looping an arm around both of them. "You just appear out of nowhere with futuristic technology? The FBI will come after you for sureཀ Besides, do you actually have a place to stay?"
The brothers had to admit no, they didn't. Dean asked as they were making sleeping arrangements, "So you guys really never saw a cell phone before? I thought some people we've met were out of touch, but this is ridiculousཀ Next, you'll tell me you don't believe in the moon landing."
A loud cricket began chirping as Sam stifled his laughter. He grinned at the expressions on everyone's faces and looked forward to what was coming next.
"Who landed on the moon?" asked Davy as Peter chased the chirping cricket with a butterfly net. "When did they land? We never heard about this."
"Maybe it was when the Beatles appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show the first time," Micky said, holding the cricket Peter was hunting.
"That explains Davy not remembering it, but what about the rest of us?" said Mike, Sam and Dean ignored for the moment.
Sam snorted and had to turn away at Dean's face as he asked, "What are you guys talking about? It happened in 1969, not 1964." All Dean got in answer was the loud cricket again. Peter threw his butterfly net over Micky's head, finally capturing the cricket.
"Uh... 1969?" Micky said as he got himself free. "The year is 1966. You're from the future, aren't you?" He triumphantly thrust his finger in the air, poking Mike in the eye in the process.
"Don't do that," Mike deadpanned. He turned to Sam, who was laughing out loud by now, and asked, "So, is it true? Are you from the future?"
Dean looked Sam in the eye and said, "Dude, we're screwed."
"Whose fault is that, Dean?" said Sam, going from mirth to annoyance at his brother's gross understatement of their situation. "You should've known--"
Sam was interrupted by a crash of tambourines landing hard on Davy's head, like a crown. "Owཀ Guys," said Davy, as he removed his instrument, "what just happened?"
Before they could even move towards Davy, guitars and cymbals started flying at their heads from the bandstand at the back of the room.
They tried to escape their flying instruments, running around and around the main room of their pad and yelling. Sam and Dean, meanwhile, hid behind the spiral staircase.
"OK, standard haunting. You," said Dean, poking Sam in the chest, "how do you know these guys? You been holding out on me about something?"
Sam smiled. "Remember that old goofy TV show I used to watch about a band? You thought it was MTV when you were 8. Well, this is them."
Dean's eyes widened in realization. "You mean it was real?"
"I guess so. Come on, let's check on the band." Sam looked out to see the instruments were settled on the bandstand with the Monkees gathered around them, scratching their heads.
"So, this sort of thing happen often?" asked Dean, clapping Mike on the back. This caused all four Monkees to scream and jump about a foot in the air.
When they recovered, Micky squeaked, "No." He cleared his throat and said in a ridiculously deep voice, "Uh, not really."
"We could probably help you with this," Sam said, looming over Davy. Davy jumped at the appearance of a 6'4ཁ body near his 5'3ཁ one and ran to the kitchen area.
"Really? You could?" asked Mike as everyone moved to the kitchen to check on Davy. He was putting ice on his head where his tambourine had landed. "You're not going to ask us to sign a contract, are you? We usually have problems with those."
"We don't really work that way," said Sam, carefully avoiding Dean's eye. "We don't charge for what we do." Dean was giving Sam the evil eye now, so Sam shut up just in time to get tackled by all four Monkees.
"You're not taking our money? Yayཀ" They all danced around Sam, completely ignoring Dean. Davy's ice pack flew through the air and landed squarely on Dean's head, making him even more annoyed than he already was.
"Yeah, yeah, we're so saintly." Dean grabbed the ice off his head and flung it in the sink full of plastic dishes with "DIRTY" written on them. "Sam, let's go. We got research to do. Let's go geek it up at the library, huh?"
"At the library?" said Micky, peeling himself away from the dancing. "We'll hold down the fort here, then. Right, guys?" There was a chorus of "yeah's" as the rest of the band stopped trying to lift Sam to their shoulders, dropping him to the floor.
Dean offered Sam his hand and pulled him from the ground. Sam staggered a bit as he said, "You don't have to stay here. You can come help us with the research if you want." Everybody jumped when Dean pulled Mr. Schneider's string and he said, "That would be unwise."
Mike answered, "Yeah, uh, we're not allowed in the library anymore. Apparently we're too loud or something. Now where's my hat?" Suddenly a green wool hat flew to his hand. "Oh, thanks." He put it on his head and he and his friends started yelling and running around again.
"Man, this is ridiculous. How did you watch their show? Heyཀ" Dean clapped his hands and got their attention. "How about you guys go get some supplies for us? What do you think, Sam, rock salt and some quartz?" Sam shrugged, and the Monkees got ready for their trip to the store.
They started pulling the couch apart looking for spare change. Mike took Peter's piggy bank and broke it open to find a quarter and a piece of gum. Peter cried on Micky's shoulder and Davy patted him on the back, trying to console him. Eventually, they found enough money and piled out the door with a bemused Sam and Dean in tow.
"OK, here's the library," said Micky, sweeping his arm in a grand gesture and hitting Davy in the face. "Sorry. We'll see you back at the pad in three hours, right?"
"Yeah, sure," said Dean vaguely, looking up the steps at a pretty blonde in a miniskirt and tight blouse.
Sam elbowed his brother in the ribs and said, "Don't forget - five pieces of rose quartz and two pounds of rock salt."
They waved as the Monkees made their noisy way down the street. Sam shook his head at their wacky new friends as they entered the impressive public building.
"Feeling at home, Sammy?" said Dean as they made their way to the periodicals section. A little old lady librarian glared at them and pointed to a sign that said, "Be Quiet Please." He grinned at her as Sam steered him into the stacks.
"You find anything yet, Sam?" asked Dean as he approached their table with a new pile of newspapers.
Sam looked up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "No. I hate this - no laptop, no Internet - we're living in the Dark Agesཀ" A couple of people looked up at this outburst and Sam gritted his teeth in what he hoped looked like a smile as they went back to their work.
"Dude, chill," hissed Dean as he sat down, his green eyes narrowed in frustration. "There's Beatles, Stones, Kinks - it's a great decade for anyone with taste. Besides," he said with a cocky grin on his face, "I think I may have found our ghost. Here – 'Local girl Valleri Sanders dies of heat exhaustion waiting outside local rock group's home--' that must be our buddies-- 'for autographs. Her parents have had her remains cremated and buried on the beach as per Ms. Sanders' wishes.' That figures."
"Let's goཀ"