Tír na nÓg 4/5

[bellatemple]

Chapter Four: La Résistance

There were no easy answers to that question. Lola clearly hadn't known who the prince was, and even if Rita knew, Dean didn't trust her to give an honest answer. It wasn't as if they could ask the mirror to show them every prince in the world, and if it couldn't get access to wherever Ben was, it sure as hell wouldn't be able to show any royalty the sidhe might be holding on to.

Lisa didn't say so out loud, but Dean knew she doubted it was true. Dean would be the first to admit he wasn't exactly prime prince material. Princes were supposed to be romantic characters, honest and selfless and noble -- it was where the damn term came from, as far as Dean knew. Dean wasn't any of those things. Sure, he had the whole "destined by blood" thing going there for awhile, but Michael-vessel-tude came from John, not Mary, and Dean didn't think there was anyone willing to argue that his father had been royalty.

Though he had, apparently, managed to join the Wild Hunt along with Mary, which, from what Dean could tell, was pretty much reserved for the VIPs of the human world. He tried asking the mirror to show him his parents, but got only another swirl of confused mist in response. Either the Hunt had themselves blocked like the sidhe did, or John and Mary were somewhere far away, well past whatever the mirror's range was. So many things had used their shapes to try and get under his skin, Dean didn't know what to believe.

He was thinking himself around in circles over it all, slouched once more on the couch, when Lisa sat down next to him, resting her hand on his shoulder.

"Hey," she said. "They're still going to need an answer. Do you want to help their resistance?"

Dean groaned under his breath. He didn't want to. He couldn't even explain why, really, other than his natural distrust of large scale battles between nonhuman creatures. He might have been quicker to join up before the angels had entered his life. Or maybe he would have been even more adamant against it. What it really came down to, though, was a simple question. "You're going to do it either way, aren't you?"

"Yes. It's my best chance to get Ben back."

"Lisa." Dean ran his palm over his chin, not quite able to meet her eyes as he spoke. "What if we can't get him back?"

Lisa jerked, her whole body going rigid. The look she gave him was one he'd last seen on his mother's own face some six years and a million miles away, as she faced down the poltergeist holding Sam pinned to a wall. "That's not an option."

Dean nodded slowly. "I'm not going to let you do this alone. I'm in."

Lisa nodded back, a quick jerk of her head, her body still tensed. "Thank you." She turned her head back toward the kitchen. "We're ready!"

Rita and Lola came out immediately, both carrying bundles of clothes. Rita wore a small, enigmatic smile, like she'd known that they'd agree all along. Lola bumped her shoulder gently into Rita's side, grinning like a fool.

"We brought you these," she said, setting the clothes down on the coffee table. "I thought you might want to change. Rita says her clothes should fit you, Hero, and I brought some of Morcum's old things for Groucho."

Lisa smiled back graciously, lifting a tank top off of the top of Rita's pile of clothes. "Thank you. It'll be nice to put on some clean clothes."

Dean fingered Lola's pile, trying not to wrinkle his nose. He had little hope that Lola's son's clothes would fit him, but even if they did, they were light years away from being his style. The kid apparently liked pinstripes, for one, and the button down shirt had turned a soft yellow with age.

"You can change in the back," Rita told Lisa. "Lola put Kilda in her crate, so it's basically sheep-free."

Lisa thanked her again and scooped up the clothes. Rita turned to lead her back, and Lola started to follow.

"Hey," Dean said, reaching out to catch her wrist before she could go far. "Lola. Stay a minute."

Lola stopped, half turning back. Her wrist twitched in his grip, but she didn't try to pull away. "So you like me again, huh?"

Dean didn't know how to respond to that, so he decided not to. He let go of her wrist and spread his hands. "If we're going to do this," he said. "I need to know that what we're getting is the truth."

Lola tilted her head, then moved to perch on the arm of the couch. "I haven't been lying to you," she said.

"That doesn't mean you've told me everything." Dean rubbed his hands together, glancing away toward the mirror, picturing the scene with the toddler, then the man walking out over the field. He looked back. "Brienne," he said softly. "Please."

Lola sucked in a breath. "Oh," she said. "You heard that."

Dean nodded. Lola's shoulders slumped.

"You know my real name," she said. "It's only fair if I get to know yours."

Dean's mouth quirked up. "What, you don't want to keep calling me 'Groucho'?"

"Well, it doesn't really suit you. You're not nearly that funny."

That startled a laugh out of him. "Yeah, but my brother already has dibs on 'Grumpy'." He hadn't thought of Pamela in awhile, and was surprised to find that he could think of her fondly now, though he still winced internally when he thought of how she'd died. He rubbed a hand down his face, weighing the situation. On the one hand, he knew it was dangerous. Lisa had been careful to keep their real names out of conversation when they weren't alone, and all the fairies he'd met here seemed to be running the same nickname game. On the other, he wasn't a big fan of wrenching the truth out of Lola just by virtue of using her name. If they were going into battle together, and everything pointed to the fact that they were, then there needed to be some trust on both sides of the equation.

"I'm Dean," he said finally. Hopefully, she wouldn't get much out of just his first name.

Lola smiled, a real, pleased look rather than one of her manic grins. She looked almost human when she smiled like that.

"Nice to finally meet you, Dean." She folded her legs underneath her, still balanced on the arm of the couch, and settled her hands in her lap. "So. What do you want to know?"

*

As it turned out, Lola -- the name had stuck in Dean's head, and he rather thought she didn't look much like a "Brienne" -- hadn't left much out. Her son was half-pixie, half-sidhe. It was a combination that would have been unheard of in the old days, and the family had been shunned from the Seelie Court when the kid was born. They'd lived peacefully for years in the fairy village before the Reformation, but Morcum had never been truly happy here, and when the Seelie and Unseelie had joined forces, the old taboos of halflings had been set aside in favor of beefing up the ranks of their Earth-bound soldiers. So Morcum, never a fan of the pixie ways, had gone to join them. Lola hadn't heard from him since.

"He doesn't even show in the mirror," she said, staring sadly at the piece as she spoke, gnawing on her thumbnail. "We could follow the early expeditions for awhile, but then the sidhe decided that anyone who wasn't actively working for them had to be against them, and shut off the feed. It became next to impossible for those of us here to get into your world without following sidhe channels. We can get a few folks through every now and then, like when we answered your Hero's call, but it's risky. The sidhe've already taken back control of that gate, and they won't let anyone at it unless they've sworn fealty to the Court. They created a monopoly for themselves. Those of us who want to stay independent have to either make everything ourselves, or wait for whatever the sidhe have decided they don't want any more."

"That's why you were in the castle," Dean guessed. "That's why you were taking my food."

Lola nodded. "There's cracks here and there that us smaller folk can fit through. Usually, the dungeons are just the easy way in. It was pretty surprising to find an actual prisoner in there."

"So the resistance, it's to, what, reopen the pathways to my world?" Dean didn't much like the sound of that.

Lola shrugged, pulling her thumb from her mouth and wiping it on her jeans. "Things are never going to go totally back the way they were. Your people have progressed too much. You don't need brownies or boggles or tommyknockers to help you, you've got, like, vacuum cleaners and sewing machines and fancy air detectors, now."

"You're telling me fairies were maids?"

"Some of us." Dean noticed she'd stopped trying to correct him every time he called them fairies. "It was nice work, if you could get it. Clean up a bit, mend some clothes or furniture or carts, get a nice bowl of cream laid out for you in return. Some fae got real protective of their human households. It wasn't unheard of for a brownie to keep out spirits and demons and things, when they came by. Not all of us were big on stealing babies, you know."

"Right. You liked turning leaves into fake gold."

Lola smiled. "Guilty. But, yeah. It'd be nice to get back to some of the old days. Maybe find a poor family who need a good harvest, willing to spare some milk and honey in return."

"So that's it." Dean couldn't keep the skepticism out of his voice. "You guys just want to come and be migrant labor for us."

"Well, maybe bother some sheep."

"Sheep?"

"I like sheep."

"I never would have guessed."

"Have you ever seen an annoyed sheep?" Lola asked. "They're hilarious." She made what Dean guessed was an annoyed sheep face, puffing out her cheeks and crossing her eyes, and burst into laughter.

It was hard to believe she was somebody's mother.

"Anyway." She sat up right, rocking back and forth on her perch on the couch. "You need to get changed. You're starting to smell."

Dean suspected he was more than just starting to smell. He resisted the urge to sniff his own armpit, and instead picked up the clothes she'd brought. Lola bounced up off the couch.

"I'll leave you to that. I really think they'll fit. You're about Morcum's size."

"Right." The top of the pile was a pinstriped vest, looking like something out of a thirties mobster movie. He tried not to scowl visibly. "Thanks."

Lola smiled at him again. Dean realized her quills were lying flatter than he'd ever seen them, sweeping back off her face like dreadlocks. She practically skipped back down the hallway, calling nonsense words at her sheep. Dean turned back to the clothes. He picked at his t-shirt, still stiff with river mud, then looked back at the clothes.

Well. He'd probably worn worse.

*

The pants were about three inches too long in the legs, and the waist pulled uncomfortably tight around his hips, but they were wearable. The shirt smelled like mothballs but closed well enough, though Dean suspected he was a bit broader through the shoulders than Morcum had been. He left off the vest and pulled Bark-Face's boots back on his feet. According to Rita, they still had most of an afternoon to kill before the next meeting of the resistance. She and Lola went upstairs to mind the shop, bickering cheerfully and leaving Dean and Lisa to their own devices in the apartment. Well, Dean, Lisa, and Kilda, who seemed to have quite a fondness for Dean -- or, he suspected, for the person the clothes he was wearing smelled like. Kild climbed up onto the couch next to him and burrowed its head into his lap, nearly goring him with its third horn, and no matter how many times he pushed it away, it kept coming back, until Dean finally gave in and let it stay, absently stroking the coarse wool behind its ears.

There wasn't much to do in the apartment all by themselves. Rita and Lola didn't keep any books around as far as Dean could tell, and no matter how many times he tried asking the mirror to show them Doctor Sexy, it couldn't do more than a vague, lab-coated blob. Dean finally gave up, and for lack of any better ideas, told it to show him Sam again.

Watching hunters try to rid a town of a fairy infestation was surprisingly entertaining, though thoroughly cringe-inducing. They'd worked out some interesting ways to make sure they could see the fairies -- Rufus' had more DIY panache, but Dean had to admit, Gwen's seemed a lot less fiddly. At least until she had to brew a new pot of the stuff, anyway.

Sam kept pausing to flip through a hardcover book he carried with him everywhere. It took Dean a little while to place it, but he finally figured out that it was the book of fairy spells they'd picked up from the old clockmaker. Several times, Sam flipped to one particular page, but a sharp look from Bobby stopped him from using whatever was on it.

"It works," Sam insisted, as Rufus herded a swarm of glowy naked chicks out of a Christian family book store by waving a copy of Moses' Big Adventure at them and shouting about plagues.

"It closes the door, Sam!" Bobby reached out and shut the book himself. "We gotta give Dean more time!"

Dean winced. Lisa stared at him.

"This -- this is why you had me call Bobby," she said, her voice high and soft. "Why you told me not to trust Sam."

Dean swallowed, but didn't respond. In the mirror, Sam found another spell, sending the little Tinkerbells scattering, and the scene followed the group back to the Impala.

"I'm never going to look at that store the same way again," Lisa said, in a clear effort to lighten the mood. Dean was pretty sure she hadn't looked at it much, in the first place.

The mirror seemed to favor certain angles on the action, which Dean realized were all windows or reflective surfaces. One particularly odd moment had shown Sam from the perspective of his gun barrel. That one had made him dizzy enough to demand another angle. Now, as Sam and Gwen climbed into the Impala, they seemed to be looking through the rearview mirror. Sam reached up to adjust it, making the view twitch this way and that, then froze, staring out at them.

After a moment, Dean realized Sam was looking straight at him.

"Dean?" Sam leaned closer to the mirror. "What the hell are you wearing?"

Dean shoved himself up from the couch, dumping Kilda onto the floor, and vaulted over the coffee table to get closer to the mirror. "Sam! You can see me?"

Gwen, now out of the sight line, asked what Sam was doing, and Sam adjusted the mirror again until Gwen was staring into it, too. "Do you see him?" Sam asked. Gwen's mouth tightened.

"It's gotta be some kind of trick," she said. Dean scowled at her.

"Hey Gwen," he said. "You wanna tell me what the hell you were doing with my gun earlier?"

Sam and Gwen both frowned, then Sam's brows went up. "Two days ago," he said. "Time's kind of screwy, there." Gwen nodded.

"I was just cleaning it, Dean. It got all mucked up when you dropped it in the park. Don't worry. I know not to mess with a man's piece."

Damn straight. Dean lifted his chin in somewhat reluctant acknowledgement. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Gwen shot a glance at Sam, then looked back. "So, how the hell are you in the rearview mirror?"

"Magic mirror on this side. It's a long story."

Lisa came up next to Dean and waved. Sam's hand twitched in return.

"So that's where you went. We had a theory."

"Yeah, what the hell is up with that, Sam?" Dean wished his brother was actually in front of him, so he could throttle the guy. "Since when does 'look after Lisa' turn into 'let her go running off to Fairly Land on her own'?"

Lisa smacked him in the arm. Gwen smirked.

"What," she said. "You don't think a woman can do the job?"

Why did women always assume he thought that way? "No. But yoga instructors with no training?"

Lisa smacked him again, then folded her arms over her chest. "We've got a plan to get Ben back," she said. "So no closing any doors until I get my son on the right side of it, you got me?"

Sam stared back, his eyes hard. "You haven't seen what these things are doing over here. It's like after they got Dean, they decided to have a fairy free-for-all."

"Actually," Dean said. "We've been watching you guys all day. Or -- two days. Whatever." He rubbed his head. "Look, just. Hold out, okay? We're almost there."

"How close is almost?" And there was Sam's pragmatic side. He glanced down, and Dean realized he probably had the book open in his lap. When he was about to drive his baby. Jesus, that kid would be the death of Dean. Again. "There's some summoning spells in here, but we'd need a better grasp on the where and when on your end."

"Lola and Rita can probably help with that," Lisa said. "We can check with them at the meeting."

"Meeting?" Gwen asked.

"Long story," Dean said again. The last thing he wanted right now was to try to rehash everything that had happened here in Fairy Land. "Okay. We'll get the intel to you. When we do, I want you guys to gather up the parents of all the missing kids."

"Dean." Sam pursed his lips. "Some of those kids have been gone for weeks. I don't know what that translates to on your end, but in all that time -- they must have eaten something."

Right. The food thing. Of course Sam knew about the food thing. And he hadn't warned Dean. Not that Dean had given Sam, or anyone else, a chance to warn him about anything before he'd gone running off to get himself abducted.

In retrospect, that had maybe not been the best plan.

"I know," Dean said. He glanced over at Lisa, who was worrying her lower lip again, her whole body held stiff, then looked back at Sam. "I've been thinking about that. There's got to be a loophole, and I think I might've figured one out. Lola made a pretty big deal out of me 'laying claim' to Ben when I told her he was who I was here for. Human families may trump fairy food law."

Sam blinked, looking down again. "I haven't found anything on that. You could be wrong," he said.

"I'm right." Dean sounded more sure than he really was, but in everything they did, there was one thing he'd always tried to have faith in, and that was family. He looked over at Lisa. "If anything can get those kids home, it's their parents."

Lisa smiled a little stiffly at him, resting her hand on his arm. They heard the door open at the top of the stairs, and he looked back at Sam. "We've gotta go. Stick close to mirrors, okay? We'll contact you again as soon as we can."

"We will," Gwen said. Sam frowned, but nodded as well. Dean pressed his palm to the mirror to shut it off, just as Rita rounded the last corner of the stairs.

She raised an eyebrow at where Dean and Lisa were standing, one corner of her mouth turning up. "It's time," she said. "Come on and meet the Resistance."

*

Rita and Lola led them out through the town to a small shop situated just before the cobblestone street dead-ended into an enormous stand of trees. The fairies weren't much for signs, Dean had noticed, but the front window featured an array of soaps and buckets, with a washboard and a decorative clothesline. "Your resistance meets up in a laundromat?"

Rita gave him a sidelong look. "Would you look for one here?"

Well. He guessed she had a point. She pushed the door open and held it, letting Lola, Lisa, and Dean precede her into the shop. The front room was small, and unadorned save for the window display. A long counter lined the far wall, and behind it sat a bored looking, frumpy woman with red, scarred arms. She looked up as they entered, and Lola scurried right over.

"Heya, Benny," she said. She reached into her jeans pocket and started pulling out what Dean realized was his t-shirt. His theory about her pockets proved to be spot on, as she followed the t-shirt with his jeans, then his flannel. Of all the strange things he'd seen here, watching a tiny woman yank his clothing out of the front pocket of her skinny jeans might just take the cake. Benny held up each item disdainfully before folding it and setting it to one side.

"You're early," she said.

"We wanted to beat the rush," Lola answered. "How's tricks?"

Benny patted her completed pile of clothes and gave them a measuring eye, then pulled out a small metal token and handed it to Lola. "I'm thinking business is going to pick up," she said.

"You're always such a downer," said Lola. She waved a hand back at Lisa and Dean. "This is Hero, and the guy in the striped pants is --"

"I know who he is," Benny said. She looked Dean up and down disdainfully. "I've washed your clothes before."

Dean didn't know what she meant by that, but by her tone, he guessed it was nothing good.

"I'll have 'em ready by the meeting's end," she told him. "Fresh as a newborn colt."

"Uh." Dean took the token when Lola held it out, mostly just to have something to do. "Thanks?"

Benny nodded. She pushed some sort of button behind the counter, and a section of wall behind her swung open. "Davie!" she called. "Look sharp! We've got some live ones out here."

Rita circled the counter, making a beeline for the opening in the wall. "You've kept him off the cream, I hope?"

"Much as anyone could." Benny waved the rest of them back. "Go on, then. Get on with it."

Dean took the lead, as much to get a look at this Davie character as anything else. It hadn't escaped his notice just how many of the fairies around him were female. It'd be good to have another guy around, even if the guy did turn out to be a gnome or a goblin or something.

The wall opened up into a large warehouse space, far bigger than the outside of the building let on. Everywhere Dean looked, there were washtubs and water spouts. Some of them were running, filling the air with a sweet-smelling, cloying steam. The tubs came in a variety of sizes, made from all sorts of materials, but Dean didn't see anything more modern than a hand-cranked wringer.

The tubs were empty and unattended, save those that sat under the running water. Some of the fairies working were tall, like Bark-Face or Rita. Some were built more like Lola. Most of them were basically human-looking, though the man stomping around in the tub near the far wall had pale blue hair, the likes of which Dean had never seen before, from nature or a bottle, and the woman working the hand-crank was thinner than most runway models, without the odd, visible bone structure many of them ended up with. Some of the fairies weren't human looking at all. There was a creature hanging clothes up to dry to the left of the door that seemed to have exactly one of every part -- one leg, one arm, one giant eye in the middle of its face. Dean tried not to stare.

Lola and Rita circulated around the room, sticking close together as they exchanged pleasantries with each of the workers, clearly used to working as a team. Dean wondered how long they'd lived together as he and Lisa followed after -- they almost reminded him of him and Sam in the old days, they were so comfortable working in tandem.

Goddamn, but Dean missed the old days.

They reached an unattended metal tub. Rita sighed, giving a full head roll of exasperation. Lola kicked the tub. "Oy! Davie! Look alive!"

A tiny man no taller than the length of Dean's hand heaved himself up on the side of the tub. He was drenched, and unless Dean missed his guess, thoroughly sauced. "Beeree, my love!" He threw his arms wide and nearly fell back into the tub. "You found them!"

Lola picked him up between two fingers. "Yes, Davie. You were right."

Davie beamed. Dean guessed it wasn't something he heard all that often. "How's about a kiss, then? Reward for my good deed."

Lola lifted him to her lips and kissed his cheek daintily. Rita scowled.

"If you two are done? We do have business to attend to, here."

Davie wrapped both his hands over the tip of Lola's nose. "It's early yet," he declared. "It's not even nine-oh."

Rita shook her head, turning away and leaning in to Lisa. "I can't believe we elected him official time keeper. Just because he worked in a watch shop, on your side."

Dean looked over. "What, Brennan's? Old dude, shaky fingers?"

Rita shrugged, looking at Dean like he was insane. "Wherever it was, it went belly-up. Someone managed to work a door-closer on them, and Davie's whole crew was sacked. Something about drinking on the job, wasn't it, Davie?"

Davie slumped in Lola's grip, looking bedraggled. "Wasn't our fault. Sidhe never said we weren't supposed to work for cream."

Lisa glanced at Dean. "Brennan's?"

"First fairy sighting," he told her. "Maybe a month ago?"

"Damnable sidhe," Davie was saying. "Whoever heard of an elf doing work without getting any cream in return?"

Lola patted him on the head with the tip of one finger. "There, there," she said. "We'll get them."

"Right." Rita clapped her hands. "Let's get to it, then. Is everyone here?"

Dean turned, thinking that a handful of laundry-fairies wasn't going to be much of a rebelling army, and was surprised to see that while they were talking to Davie the number of people in the room had increased tenfold at least. Fairies were gathering together in little clumps, all talking low, their voices disappearing under the splashing of the water. He felt Lisa press a little closer against his side. He knew the feeling.

Rita clapped again and everyone turned to face her, staring openly at Dean and Lisa. At the back of the room, he spotted Benny, pulling the door to the front of the shop shut. She pulled a lever, and the water to the various tubs stopped. Some of the fairies looked back, and she regarded them darkly.

"Don't mind me," she said. "Just got a little washing to do."

A nervous murmur rushed through the crowd, and they turned back to face Rita.

"That's right," she called, her voice pitched perfectly to reach every corner of the enormous space. "The time has come, my friends. The sidhe have lorded their rule over us for too long, keeping us from our rightful places. Even Benny." She pronounced the name strangely, putting the emphasis on the "ny" and throwing in an extra "uh" on the end. "Denied passage to the human realm, she must do her washing here, in secret. And what good is a death omen if she remains unseen, unheard?"

Dean stiffened. Lisa's hand clenched around his arm.

"I knew it," she muttered. Lola shushed her.

"Who among you will stand beside us?" asked Rita, looking around as though to catch the eye of every fairy present. "Who among you has the courage to stand up to the sidhe, to demand what is rightfully ours for the taking?"

There were a few cheers of assent throughout the crowd, while the rest of the fairies fidgeted, or looked the other way. Dean was beginning to see why Rita was so keen on finding a rallying point for them all to get behind.

Rita pursed her lips, tapping her finger on her leg. She glanced sideways at Dean and Lisa. "Come on," she whispered. Lola gave them a light push, and when they stumbled forward, Rita grabbed them each by the arm, pulling them to either side of her. Lola overturned Davie's washtub with a loud clang, sending sudsy water out across the floor, and Rita smiled at her, stepping up onto it and pulling Dean and Lisa up with her.

"These humans stand with us," she said. "They've come to our world to take back what is theirs. A son, taken in the night by the sidhe's minions. They risked imprisonment, enslavement, even faced the Wild Hunt itself, all for the love of their boy. Is there any fae here who would not do the same?"

Another murmur through the crowd, and even more fidgeting. Dean noticed the fairies in the front looking down and away.

"They'll kill us!" someone shouted.

"Death is preferable," said another.

"Is it really so bad?" asked a third, setting off a loud rumble of angry voices as the fairies began to turn on each other.

Rita looked over at Dean and tilted her head toward the crowd. Dean shook his head, and she tilted hers more firmly, running her hand up his arm and over the back of his shoulder.

Her fingernails hit his neck and something sparked in the back of Dean's head. His body relaxed under her touch, and when he breathed in, the air was filled with that flowery musk he'd noticed when he'd first met her, overpowering the sharp tang of soapy water. He rubbed his hand over his chin and looked at Lisa, then took a breath and stepped forward.

"Uh, look." The words hung in the air, awkward above the suddenly silent and expectant crowd, and Dean cleared his throat. "I'm, uh. I'm not real big on the speech making. But, well. It seems like you guys all have kind of a thing for princes and heroes and things. Fairy tale stuff." Crap. They didn't like to be called fairies. "And I know -- I know it seems to you guys like those things don't really exist, any more." He shot another glance at Lola, who was watching him, her eyes wide. "Hell, most days, I'd agree with you. But these last couple of days, I've been seeing and hearing things that I would have sworn never existed. Couldn't be true. And I'm starting to wonder how much of that is what you make of it." He frowned, trying to keep track of his own train of thought. "Now, you all have started calling my friend here a hero, and, well, that's probably true. She's got no training in this shit. She showed up with a golf club and a bunch of teeny bopper stories, but she's made it this far. Saved my ass more than once. And, uh. There's a possibility I might be the prince these sidhe guys are up in arms about."

That got the crowd moving, the low rumble of their voices rising in a swell before falling away when Rita lifted her head. Her fingertips rubbed light circles over the nape of Dean's neck. "So, you know, you've got that going for you," he said. "A hero and a prince, both ready to take the sidhe on, themselves." And probably die trying, but, hey. Dean faced those odds on a daily basis. "Look, you guys have a seriously crappy deal here, okay? From what I hear, things used to be pretty sweet, and now you've got these sidhe guys all up in your business, trying to tell you what to do. And that's a load of crap." Another ripple, rising into another swell, this one sounding a bit more positive. It seemed to fairly wash through Dean, and he flashed the group a smile. "Seriously. Screw that. I mean, are you guys the fucking fae, or what?"

The swell of voices crested and broke over the crowd, turning into a roar. Someone pumped a fist in the air. Someone else started clapping. Dean's grin grew, and he lifted his own fists in return. "Fuck the sidhe! Fuck 'em!"

If there were any dissenters, they were drowned out by the chaotic cheers, which were slowly transforming into a chant of "fuck the sidhe". More fists lifted into the air. Dean looked over and saw both Lola and Lisa smiling at him, and he grinned back, almost feeling like laughing.

Then Rita's fingers dropped from the back of his neck, and the rush of energy fueling his crass little speech vanished, leaving him feeling light headed and drained. It was all he could do to keep from swaying as he stepped down off the washtub. Lola grabbed his arm once he was back on the ground, and Lisa followed him down, taking the other. They led him over to a nearby wall.

"Sorry," Lola whispered. "She gets carried away."

Dean's bad knee buckled, and he slid awkwardly down the wall until he sat, his legs stretched out in front of him, taking Lisa down with him. He stared back at Rita, still standing in front of the crowd on the wash bin. She had her hands up, calling for quiet again as she laid out the plan, something about a stockpile of weapons and maps of the castle and we leave at daybreak. She was especially radiant, now, her hair sparkling even in the low light of the warehouse, her scent wafting back even to where Dean was sitting.

Jesus. What the hell had he and Lisa gotten themselves into?

*

Lisa and Lola helped Dean into a small office off the side of the main warehouse, sitting him down on a threadbare armchair. Lola ran her hand over his head as he leaned back and tried to think through the whirligig sensation still spinning his head.

"Just relax," she said. "The first time's always the hardest."

"They're planning." Dean tried to get back up, but Lisa and Lola kept him pinned in the chair. "That's the part I can actually do."

"No, no." Lola kept stroking his hair. The light brush of her long nails over his scalp was helping, but Dean couldn't help but feel weird about the little glimpse of her motherly side. "You did good."

"Pretty good." Dean hadn't seen Rita come in -- she just seemed to suddenly be there, leaning against the desk. "I think we lost a few when he collapsed, but we have enough, now."

Dean did his best to glare at her. It wasn't easy when the room kept twirling behind her. "What did you do to me?"

Rita smiled. "I made you brilliant. It's only fair that I get something in return."

Lisa straightened from her crouch beside Dean. "You're a leanan sidhe."

"What?" Dean didn't understand most of that, but he caught the "sidhe" part. "You're one of them?"

"It's alright," Lola said. Dean twitched away from her hand, and she drew it back, looking guilty. "She's on our side. She lost Morcum, too."

Lisa's eyes went wide. "Oh."

Rita inclined her head. "The sidhe courts are fools. They called us back and sent children in our stead."

Dean pressed his hand to his head, as though he could push coherency back into his brain. "You were out in the world?"

Rita straightened her shoulders, folding her arms over her chest. "Your kind may have machines, but they will always need muses."

"That's sick," Lisa said. "You use people's imaginations and for what? For food?"

"'Sick.'" Rita sneered. "You know of Chaucer? Yeats? Shakespeare? What would become of humanity without inspiration?"

Dean let his head fall back over the back of the chair. "Reality TV."

Lisa smacked his arm. "I'm being serious," she said.

"So am I."

"How many of your stories have become formulaic?" Rita asked. "How many terrible retreads of once amazing works? My poets may be short-lived, but their legacy is eternal."

"Yeats lived into his eighties," Lola said.

"That wasn't my fault," said Rita. "They closed the gates before I could finish."

"That's why you needed us," Dean realized. "You needed someone to use, to prop up in front of your resistance like a puppet."

"Mixed metaphor aside, yes. And you did it so well." Rita smiled. Dean wondered how he'd missed the predatory gleam in the expression. "Perhaps you could be my type after all."

"Hey." Lola frowned at her.

"Touch me again," Dean said, "and I'll rip your arms off."

"Hey!" The frown turned on Dean.

"Touchy." Rita pushed off of the desk and walked to the door, hips swinging, her ass begging to be squeezed. Dean shook himself, and the moment passed. "Rest up," Rita told him. "They'll want to see their heroes again, before the night is over."

Dean groaned and rubbed his forehead. "Lola?"

The long fingers started running through his hair again. "Yes?"

"I hate you."

Lola sighed and took her hand away.

It took another twenty minutes before the room settled completely around Dean and he decided he'd "rested up" enough. His knee had gone from feeling stiff and achy to actively screaming at him any time it had to hold his weight, and he kind of felt like he was eighty years old (again), but he wasn't about to let that stop him from knowing what the hell the fairies had planned. He tried to tell himself he didn't actually care about their revolution, just whether or not he could work with it in getting Ben back. Mostly, he even believed himself.

Lisa stepped in front of him as he started to get up, blocking his way out of the chair. "You just almost had your life sucked out of you by a fairy vampire, Dean. I think you're gonna wanna sit a bit longer."

"Lisa." Dean looked up at her, both hands braced on the arms of the chair, ready to push himself up. "I love you. But if you don't move, I will kick your ass."

"Right." Lisa didn't sound the least bit convinced. Dean wondered if he looked as bad as all that, then remembered he was still wearing Morcum's old clothes and decided he probably did. Still, Lisa at least got out of the way, though she didn't go far, apparently believing that Dean could collapse at any moment. Dean made it to his feet, then leaned immediately against the nearest wall when his knee kicked up a protest. Lisa tried to take his arm, but he shrugged her off, and started limping determinedly toward the door back to the main warehouse. She could only put up with his bad moods for so long before she left him to his own devices. It'd always been true, but it seemed especially so now that they weren't a couple. She tapped Lola on the arm and tugged her out of the office. "Leave it," she said. "He'll make his own way."

Dean had never been so pleased to see the back of her. He didn't need an audience to watch him kick himself. This gig was supposed to be simple: get abducted, find Ben, and force the fairies to let them go. Maybe it wouldn't be easy, but he'd only have the kid to look after. Now, thanks to Lola and Rita, he had a whole army of lesser fairies to worry about.

A revolution. He was to be responsible for a new fairy world order. As if knowing he'd inspired a heavenly revolt wasn't enough. He made his way slowly across the office, taking his time for more than the sake of his knee. He had to get his head in gear. Maybe Lola and Rita just thought he'd make a good figurehead, but he was more than that. If they wanted his help, they'd get it. He'd make sure they did this thing right.

The old woman from the front desk stopped him before he could get all the way out the door. She held out his clothes, now looking bright and fluffy, well-worn but soft, neatly folded, and stain-free.

He almost didn't recognize them.

"There you go, Winchester."

Dean blinked. "How --"

"Told you, I've done your clothes before. Took less time to do these than I thought. Not used to there being so little blood." She pressed the stack of clothes into his arms, then patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, I won't tell. That's why they come here. I do secrets as well as I do laundry."

Dean clutched the clothes to his chest, leaning against the door frame. 'Uh. Thanks. Benny, right?" She shrugged. Dean lowered his chin, looking at her suspiciously. "Do I owe you anything?"

"Free of charge," she said. "You and your brother are good customers."

Dean decided it was probably better if he didn't know what she meant by that. She gave him a light push back into the office.

"Get changed," she told him. "They won't be making the big decisions just yet. Besides." She gave him a once over and leered. "Those don't suit you at all."

Despite her reassurances, Dean changed as quickly as he could. Benny's place -- hell, this whole world -- gave him the creeps, and he was anxious to get on with things so he could hopefully get on his way home.

The crowd had thinned enough for Dean to decide that Rita had been downplaying the reaction to his sudden infirmity. There were now maybe fifty fairies filling the space, crowded in a circle around twinkling lights hovering by Rita's head. "We'll circle around here." She gestured, and the lights swirled into the lines of a detailed map. "Using Old Man's forest for cover until we get to the main gates. We've already got his permission, but don't count on the trees for anything more than that."

A murmur of agreement rose from the crowd. Dean suspected he wasn't the only one who thought the trees here were kind of assholes.

"We'll form a broad line here, along the edge of the forest." A span of lights lining one side of the mapped castle turned blue. "We'll wait for daybreak, when the night fae have come back to bed and the day ones are just getting up. That's the best chance for an attack."

Dean limped closer, and the fairies blocking his way stepped aside, forming a narrow path to the center. A few offered him words of condolence or encouragement as he went, though most kept silent. Davie took a flying leap from someone's head to land on Dean's shoulder.

"I get it, man," he said. "Even princes need a little help in the speech department."

Dean resisted the urge to flick the tiny man from his perch and made his way right up to the glowing map. Lola stepped up next to him and plucked Davie off his shoulder with two fingers, resettling him amongst the quills over her brow.

"That's Gregor's work," she said, her voice low so as to not interrupt Rita. She nodded to the map, then to the one-eyed, one-armed, one-legged thing Dean had spotted earlier. "He's a master of the glamour."

Dean leaned toward her, keeping his voice at the same low volume. "I thought glamours were meant to make you guys look pretty."

"He'd say he already is."

Dean supposed he couldn't argue with that. He looked around for Lisa, caught her eye, and nodded her over. "Where's the door we came out?" Lola pointed to a portion of the castle near the south end of the blue resistance line. "That's where we'll go in," Dean decided. "Think Gregor could lend us a glamour? Make us look like we're part of your lot?"

Lola nodded. "Easy. But it won't fool the sidhe for long."

"Every little bit helps."

Lisa bumped her shoulder against his, craning her neck to look at his back. "The tears are all stitched up," she noted. "It almost looks like they were never there."

Dean nodded. "Benny does good work, for a creepy old lady."

"Don't let her hear you say that."

"It's okay," Lola said. "She's proud of it. I asked her to do your clothes, too, Hero. They're probably ready."

Lisa nodded. "I'll get them on our way out."

"Now," Rita was saying. "Let's talk about weapons." She turned, and the fairies behind her opened up a path again, this time letting in a ten foot tall bruiser of a man, carrying several lumpy sacks almost as large as he was. Dean couldn't believe he hadn't noticed the guy before. Where the hell did a giant hide in an open warehouse?

The giant set down the sacks with an enormous crash. An assortment of swords, pikes, and maces fell out. Dean rubbed his hands together.

"Finally," he muttered. "Let's arm up."

*

Bobby came downstairs after he finished showering off the pixie dust he'd gotten coated in at the Christian Family Store -- the crap was worse than glitter, and he kept floating disconcertingly every time he thought of something pleasant -- to find Sam seated at the kitchen counter, the fairy spell book laid open in front of him, a notebook off to the side.

"There you are," Bobby said. "What took you two so long, you get stuck in traffic?"

Sam looked up from his notes, smirking slightly when he saw the towel Bobby had wrapped around his head. "Dean contacted us. We lost track of time."

"Dean?" Bobby hurried over to the counter. "How? What'd he say? Did he find the kids?"

"Slow down, there, Bobby. I'm gonna start to think you don't like me."

Bobby kind of didn't. Not this weird pod person version of Sam, anyway. "Don't be stupid. Spill."

"He and Lisa found some kind of magic mirror, lets them see into this world. Turns out it works both ways, as long as we're looking at a reflective surface."

Bobby smiled. "Well hell. I told you he'd find a way."

"Yeah." Sam didn't look too happy, but then, he never did, these days. "You were right. I guess having a soul really isn't a liability."

"What? Jesus, Sam, of course it isn't."

"Hey." Sam raised his hands. "I just . . . wasn't always sure. Anyway, Dean has a plan. He and Lisa are going to go after the kids soon, but they need us to work a spell on our end, open up a door so they can get over. I'm working on finding a good one, now."

If Bobby were still covered in pixie dust, he'd be on the ceiling. Dean was coming back. He wouldn't have to be the only one trying to rein Sam in, any more. And Dean would be back.

He pulled out a stool and sat down, trying to get a look at Sam's notes. "What've you got?"

Sam passed the book over, tapping the page. "This one should work. Most of the components should be easy to get -- salt, primrose, ragwort and cowslips -- but we need some blood for a focus, Dean's or someone else's on that side, to make sure it opens in the right place."

Bobby frowned, rubbing his beard. "That's a tough one. It say it's gotta be fresh?"

"Doesn't specify."

"You boys bleed all the time. You must have something with his blood on it."

Sam tilted his head, then nodded. "I'll check his clothes. He didn't bring much with him."

"When are we looking to set up?"

"As soon as possible. Time is definitely screwy on his end, so there's no telling when they might be ready. I'm thinking we should do it in the park, since we know the barrier is thin, there. Rufus and Gwen can guard the circle in the garden, then close it when everyone's through."

"Sounds solid. A better plan than you boys usually cook up."

"There's one more thing." Sam tapped his list of supplies with his pen. "We need to get the parents of the kids to the park, too. Dean thinks they can lay claim on their sons, counteract the pull of the fairy food."

"Forgot about that. You sure it'll work?"

"No." Sam closed the spell book. "But it's the only idea we've got."

"Right." Bobby stood, pulling the towel off his head. "We'd best get started, then."

*

There wasn't much night left by the time the meeting broke up, but Lola promised they could get a few hours of sleep in before it was time to get moving. A pink-haired boy calling himself "Ruther" had offered his services for transport, apparently able to open a door in the air that would get them as far as Old Man's oak in a matter of moments. Any closer to the castle, he said, and they risked getting spotted.

Lola took Dean and Lisa back to her place, leaving Rita behind to finish up at the laundromat. "She doesn't need much sleep," she said. "You guys can take our room. If I need to, I can sleep on the couch." She looked askance at Dean. "There's one in the room, too, if one of you wants to take that."

Dean looked at Lisa and saw her glancing back.

"Thanks," Lisa said. "That'll be great."

The bedroom was on the small side, like most every room Dean had encountered here in Fairy Land. He wondered why space seemed to be at a premium -- it wasn't like there wasn't plenty of undeveloped land around to work with.

Dean paused in the doorway and rubbed the back of his head. "There's only one bed."

Lisa looked over. By the look on her face, she wasn't even remotely surprised. "Yes," she said. Dean must have looked fairly blank, because she went on, as if explaining something to a particularly slow child. "Rita lost Morcum too, remember?"

Lola had said that, hadn't she? "Okay, then." He filed that information away to process later.

The bed was large, big enough to accommodate even Sam comfortably alongside at least two other people. It took up almost the entire wall across from the door and was covered in assorted pillows. Bolts of fabric hung from the wall behind it, draping down to either side like a tent. The couch, on the other hand, was little more than a loveseat, beaten down and crammed into a corner. Dean sighed inwardly, thinking of what a pain it would be to sleep even a few hours on the thing. The floor would be preferable -- if there were more than a few feet of space between the pieces of furniture. He thought longingly of the Impala. His baby was no less cramped, but at least he knew exactly how to get comfortable when he had to sleep in her.

Lisa headed straight for the bed, already stripping off her borrowed tank top. Dean watched long enough to admire the curve of her back and note her purple bra before he remembered that he didn't get to see her like that, anymore.

"Right," he said, looking at the couch again. "Goodnight, then."

Lisa didn't answer and Dean glanced over to see that she'd stripped down to her panties and was rearranging the pillows on one side of the bed. "You might be more comfortable if you're not wearing your jeans," she said.

"Slept in them before," Dean pointed out. "It's not a big deal."

She smirked and patted the other side of the bed. "Come on," she said. "This thing's huge. And I promise not to cuddle you in your sleep."

Dean gave the bed a longing look. "Lisa, I -- that's not my place, any more."

"I think we can make an exception. Unless you really want to fold yourself up on that thing." She shrugged. "Or I could take the couch. I'd almost even fit on it."

He really, really didn't want to try to take the couch. For one thing, he didn't think his knee would ever forgive him. That water dragon had managed to really do a number on it, and spending most of the day up and about hadn't done it any favors. On the other hand, there was no way in hell he was going to let her take it. He stood there in the tiny bit of space between the couch and the end of the bed. If Lisa thought she could handle sleeping next to him when they weren't actually dating, then he supposed he could, too. He finally relented and went over to help Lisa toss the decorative pillows aside.

They climbed into the bed in silence. Dean stretched out on his back and suppressed a moan. He'd nearly forgotten what a real bed felt like, and Rita and Lola's was heavenly. He couldn't even begin to guess what it might be made of, only that it wasn't like any bed he'd been in before. The wonders of having grown up in cheap motels, he supposed. Still, though he was exhausted and the mattress was practically cradling him, he knew he wouldn't be getting to sleep any time soon. Not with Lisa lying only a few feet away. It had taken him ages to get used to sleeping next to someone who wasn't Sam, and that feeling of oddness was back a hundred-fold, now. Things were too unsettled between them. He couldn't relax.

"I'm sorry I pushed Ben," he said at last, staring up at the folds of fabric draped above him. He felt Lisa shift, rolling onto her side.

"I know," she said. Dean turned his head to find her watching him, her lips pressed into a tight line, though her eyes were soft.

Dean swallowed and looked back up at the ceiling. "I shouldn't have come, that night. I thought I could control it." And he hadn't been able to handle the idea of dying without seeing her and Ben one more time.

"Control what?" Lisa pushed up to one elbow, leaning over so she could look him in the face. "Dean, what the hell was that?"

Dean closed his eyes, not wanting to see her face when he told her, but not wanting to turn his back on her, either. "We were on a hunt," he said, and since that much was pretty much a given, he barreled on. "Vampires. One of them -- It was screwed up. One of them turned me."

Lisa didn't say anything to that, and Dean finally cracked one eye open, wondering if she'd managed to slip out of the bed without him noticing. She was still there, though, staring down at him, her mouth open, her brows pulled together. It wasn't hard to figure out what had her confused.

"I'm not a vampire," he said. "Turns out the Campbell family has a cure."

"For vampirism."

"Yeah, surprised the hell out of me, too." Dean sighed, turning his head toward her again. "I thought I was dead. If Sam wouldn't kill me, I was going to go out to find someone who would. But I -- I couldn't die without seeing you guys again."

Lisa stared at him for a moment longer, her eyes searching his face. "Let me get this straight," she said. "You were turned into a vicious, bloodthirsty monster, one evil enough that you were going to find someone to kill you, but first you had to come into my home and watch me sleep?"

Dean winced, turning his head back toward the ceiling. "Yeah, well. Vampire. Get force fed a bit of their blood, and suddenly you've got their hearing, their thirst for blood, and their seriously douchey idea of romance."

He felt Lisa drop herself back down onto her back on the bed and wondered if he maybe overdid the flippancy. He looked back over at her, rolling over onto his side. Her hair splayed out over her pillow, and he resisted the urge to run his fingers through it.

"My life is screwed up," he said. "It always has been. You guys were so . . . normal. Peaceful. I wanted into that world. And instead, I dragged you both into mine. And I'm sorry for that. If I could do it again, I'd never bring that down on you two."

"I liked that, you know." She looked up at him. "I liked knowing that we could help you. I want Ben to be the kind of kid who doesn't just watch when people have problems. Just, you know, not by getting himself into the same trouble."

Dean winced. "He's a good kid. He did exactly what I would have done. He just doesn't have the training for it." He heaved a sigh and pressed his face into the pillow. "And now you're going into battle to try and save him from it."

"I'm his mom," Lisa said. "There's nothing else I could do. It's not something you really understand until you've got a kid of your own." She searched his face, then nodded, seeming to have found what she was looking for. "But you do. You're about to do the same thing, even when you thought it was a terrible idea. You really care about him, don't you?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I do."

Lisa rolled onto her side to face him, reaching out one hand to run it down his cheek. "I really never thought that anything other than Sam could mean that much to you."

"Neither did I."

Lisa shifted forward on the bed, laying her hand flat against Dean's face and rubbing her thumb over his temple. "You were right, before. This -- it doesn't really change things. It doesn't make you safer for us. But." She took a deep breath, pulling her hand back to fold it up beneath her chin. "I just want you know. We do miss you."

Dean laughed once, a bitter, painful sound. How the hell had he ever stumbled onto a woman like Lisa, or a kid like Ben? It couldn't be karma. He wasn't that good of a person. "That doesn't really help much."

"I know." Lisa crossed the last of the distance between them, pressing her lips against his. As far as kisses went, it was one of the more chaste that Dean had ever had, in no small part because he was afraid to move, afraid to push it too far. Lisa broke it off, moving no more than an inch away. "It wasn't supposed to."

Dean's laugh came out clearer this time, though no less ironic. "You're a cruel woman, Hero."

"Mm." Lisa smiled. "You've finally learned my secret. I'm the cruel, nerdy, heroic mom." She started to roll away again, then paused, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm scared, Dean."

Dean swallowed, unable to pull his eyes off her face. "I know," he said. "I'd be more worried if you weren't."

She met his eyes. "Promise me we'll get him back."

He couldn't do any such thing. He was gambling with all of their lives, just like he had the first moment he'd shown back up on her doorstep, back before he'd even known Ben existed, and every moment since. They were going to die, and it was Dean's fault.

"I promise," he said.

"You're a fucking liar." She kissed him again, and this time, Dean let his mouth fall open under hers, losing himself in the sensation. Irresponsible, melancholy sex had been something of a staple for them, even in that first weekend so long ago. It seemed only natural when she moved on top of him, and he ran his hands up the length of her spine.

Tomorrow, they'd be back where they were, staring across each at each other over a canyon of bad ideas and wildly different lives. But tomorrow was tomorrow, and for now, they both needed to lose themselves, just a little.

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