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Papa Bear's Pub Crawl

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Summary: The first thought that crossed Hogan’s mind was: ‘This isn’t Gestapo Headquarters.’ The next thought however, was a very colorful array of curses. A Hogan's Heroes/BtVS Cross. A companion to chapter 209 of 'Tales from the Barman.'

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Television > Hogan's HeroesHarmMarieFR131727011,81117 Aug 0717 Aug 07Yes
A/N: This is a companion piece to my chapter (209) of Tales from the Barman. Those of you unfamiliar with the story (however few you may be) the basic premise is that Xander owns a bar in Cleveland after season 7 and gets strange visitors who leave souvenirs for the wall behind the bar. Also, his closet is a dimensional portal.

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Well, as simple as five POWs breaking into Gestapo Headquarters in Hammelburg can be anyway. So, it was supposed to be simple; storm in, take everyone by surprise, tie a few people up, swipe a few documents, and hopefully give Hochstetter an aneurysm in the process.

The key phrase was: supposed to be.

The first thought that crossed Hogan’s mind was: ‘This isn’t Gestapo Headquarters.’ The next thought however was a very colorful array of curses in at least three different languages. Thankfully, he didn’t say them out loud. His thoughts skidded to a halt, however, when he heard the one eyed man’s falsely bright words. Cleveland, Ohio?

The man identified as Xander nodded. Hogan couldn’t believe it. He pulled down his bandanna and pushed up the uniform hat and looked around at the…bar. It really was a bar. “We’re in Cleveland, Ohio.” He stated in shock. His mind scrambling to come up with some sort of explanation.

“You mean to tell me that we’re in America!?” Newkirk stated incredulously from his right side.

“Well this sure the hell isn’t Gestapo Headquarters.” Kinch said, sarcastically, as he tugged off his own bandana. Trust Kinch to recover first.

Hogan took a quick glance around and realized that they were technically holding a room full of civilians hostage. And the girl behind the bar was pointing a crossbow at them. A crossbow. Strangely enough, so was the woman by the juke box. He’d think about that later though, right now, the situation needed to be resolved.

“Obviously something strange is going on, but we aren’t here to hurt anyone.” His tone was honest and genuine and the barman seemed to understand.

“Just put your weapons on the bar and the nice ladies with the crossbows won’t hurt you.” Hogan complied and gestured for his men to stand down, as the barman did the same. The woman with the pool cue received a glare before wandering back to the pool table, muttering under her breath.

The place was slowly returning to its normal volume. Hogan watched the girl behind the bar picking up their rifles and side arms. She looked to still be in high school. A voice drew his attention back to Xander. “Well, as I said before, welcome to 'Nights’, my name is Xander. Can I get you boys something to drink?” he waved them over to a recently emptied table. Looks like their entrance scared a few people off.

“That would be swell, do you have any root beer?” Hogan briefly closed his eyes, before taking a seat. He heard, rather than saw Newkirk hit Carter on the head.

“Carter, we’re in a pub in America and your askin for root beer?” The concept was unthinkable to Newkirk.

LeBeau made a rude comment in French about Newkirk as they all settled at the table. Unfortunately, Newkirk had heard this one before and knew it was an insult. Hogan interrupted before the two of them could get started again.

“Hold it fellas. Are you forgetting that we have no way to pay for these drinks?” He didn’t carry money on raids like this and knew the others didn’t as well. The four men all shifted and checked their pockets, coming up empty. I guess they would be going without tonight. Damn.

As Hogan resigned himself to a dry night, the barman spoke up. “Its okay, sometimes I get people to trade me a good story and a souvenir for some drinks. You all wouldn’t happen to have a story, would you?” The question was accompanied with an appraising glance.

“A story huh.” A story couldn’t hurt, could it? “Well this is some what of a fairy tale about a Papa Bear and a Mama Bear…”

Later, Hogan would go to bed and wake up the next morning, convinced this was all a dream. Xander would have called it “Sunnydale Syndrome.” He wouldn’t talk about it to his men, and they would all eventually shrug it off as a dream as well. All of them none the wiser.

Though he would still have to ask Carter why he brought one of their lighters as a side arm.


Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Joss owns Xander, this is Methos' bar and Hogan's Heroes belongs to Bernard Fein and Albert S. Ruddy.

The End

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