This is a collaborated effort between my boyfriend and me. Two thirds of this was my original idea; the rest came from him. I hope that we can pull this off.

For all the international flights I've been on, I never have liked flying. A stiff drink helps, and a pack of gum from the airport. That all helps, but there's always the feeling of twenty thousand feet between you and the ground. Of all the things to be worried about, you'd think that would be the least of my concerns. Go figure.

Hellboy sighed and tinkled the ice in his near empty glass in regret. One of the things that he hated about flying, besides the height above the ground, was the limited refills on the good drinks. He had about only two refills and now the stewardess wouldn't fill whiskey on the rocks. He had tried using the call button to get the attention of one of them; but they pointedly ignored him.

Hellboy soon acknowledged that they were put off somehow by his rugged good looks. But, what was not attractive about him? Could it be the blood red skin, or the stunted horns on his head? The slightly pointed ears, the cloven hooves maybe? Or his tail or maybe his huge stone that passed for his right hand. Whatever the reason, everyone either stared at him openly or made it a point to pretend that he didn't exist.

And he was forced to use that stone hand as the plane lurched and caused the cabin to shudder sideways severely. Hellboy clenched his teeth and wrinkled his nose as some of his fellow passengers last whatever was in their stomachs and made use of the complimentary airbags. Those who had too much to drink soon followed suit. Why do they call them 'airbags' in the first place?

"Attention, passengers. This is your captain speaking. We are experiencing some violent turbulence..."

No duh, Hellboy thought.

"And I have been told that a terrible storm is approaching along our vector. I'm afraid that we'll have to make an emergency stopover in Ireland. From there you'll have to make other arrangements to reach your final destination."

Damn, this will cut into my tanning time.

"We apologize for the inconvenience and hope that you'll use AirKenya again in the near future." There was a click as the pilot turned off the mike that he was using.

Yeah right. He grimaced and downed the rest of his drink. Hellboy had a feeling that he would need whatever alcohol he could get for the next few hours.

"Attention everyone. Due to the ferocity of the oncoming storm, all flights have been delayed indefinitely. Thank you."

The sounds of dismay echoed through the airport. At the bar, one man just shook his head and turned back to his drink. The bartender eyed him carefully, counting the empty shot glasses in front of him. One, two, three, four...and yet the man looked up and said without a hint of slurring to his voice, "Another scotch."

He wore jeans, a dark shirt, and a duster, and none looked to be in the best shape. His face was scruffy, in dire need of a razor and maybe a bar of soap. But the euros kept coming, and as long as the man could hold himself up and pay his tab, he wasn't one to argue. Besides, whether or not he was holding his liquor, he definitely was not sitting there and bemoaning his troubles, something the man had had to deal with far too often in his line of work. And for money and a bit of blessed silence, the scotch kept pouring.

There was an increase in footsteps as apparently another plane had been forced to land due to the horrible weather conditions outside. The bartender smiled slightly underneath his mustache and readied several glasses for potential customers. Although he knew that they would come in here lamenting and complaining about the unnecessary layover and how they would have to rearrange everything to accommodate the new circumstances; he would gladly welcome the extra profit for the day. Things had been a bit slow actually, what with the damn weather and all.

Amidst the normal sounds of feet and squeaky wheels, there was a distinctive tread that almost made him drop the shot glass that he was wiping. Sweet Titania, not him. Of all the airport bars in all the bloody world, that beast was going to walk into his!

"Hey, barkeep! Set me up with some Guinness; I need it," said the last voice that the bartender wanted to hear. Fortunately, he apparently didn't recognize what the bartender really was. That was a small relief. Now all he had to do was keep up the glamour...

His scotch drinker had the glass at his lips but at the sound of the beast's voice, the glass stopped and was lowered back onto the bar. The man turned and took a good look at the newcomer.

"It was a vodka in '63," he said. "in the Schwartzwald." Most of the crowd didn't blink, too immersed in their own woes to pay attention to the scruffy man's words, or the fact that he couldn't have been more than thirty, perhaps thirty-five under the stubble.

Hellboy paused. The Guinness could wait. "I've had a little trouble with Russia lately." He said. He turned, and raised his pint slightly with a smirk. "Long time no see."

"Tell me about it." He raised his own glass. "Hellboy."

"Van Helsing."

The bartender coughed, and decided to focus on the other customers. His instinct for survival told him that the best chances of surviving the rest of the day would be to leave those two alone unless either of them wanted another drink. And the bartender would gladly let both of them drink for free if they didn't focus on him too closely.

Hellboy sat down next to Van Helsing and the first smile in months on his face. "What are you doing here? Last I heard about you, you were in somewhere in Scandinavia. Something about trolls asking for a 'toll' from travelers?"

Van Helsing chuckled and showed a bandaged hand. "We were able to 'discuss' our differences and he was finally able to see my side of things. And he won't be asking for anymore tolls."

"Put him out of business I take it?"

"Damn straight. And what about you? I heard that there was some trouble in the Alps not too long ago. Had anything to do with that?"

Hellboy nodded, "Nazis, demons, the usual for me. Decided that I needed a vacation."

Van Helsing frowned and gave Hellboy a long look. "Vacation? I didn't realize that the B.P.R.D. gave vacations..." He quieted down and looked harder. "You are still with the B.P.R.D. right?"

Hellboy frowned himself; it made his face look like it was etched from stone. "I just needed a break, that's all. There are some things that a fella can't take from his bosses before snapping."

Van Helsing nodded. He knew exactly what his old friend was talking about. A century had almost passed since that incident, but he had never allowed himself to forget it.

"Besides," Hellboy mused, "they've still got Abe and Liz and Roger—"

"Roger?"

"Oh, yeah," said Hellboy, "you haven't me him. He's new. Homunculus. Good guy."

"Ah."

"Yeah. And there's some new guy on the way, so I figure they've got their bases covered." He shrugged, and took a swig of his beer. "So I gave 'em my two hours notice, came back o the states to get my stuff, and here I am."

"Why did you choose to come to Ireland?"

"I didn't. I wanted to go to Africa. Been there before. Lovely country; thought that I could have a relaxing time there. But my plane got caught in that damn storm outside and we're forced to land here. Now I have to find something to do until I can find another flight to Kenya. So, what are you doing here, Van Helsing?"

"Faerie troubles." Said the more normal looking of the two. "Some rich family's lost their little boy, and they turned to a private monster-hunter instead of the B.P.R.D. Sometimes people are funny like that. But it keeps me paid."

"Need any help with it? I've had dealings with the Fair Folk before."

Van Helsing smiled and raised his glass. "That would be greatly appreciated, Hellboy. I've never had to deal with those creatures before...At least that I can remember."

"Hell, it'll give me something to do. Let me pay the tab and let's get started." They finished their drinks and stood. Hellboy rifled through his pockets as the bartender drew near. He pulled out one bill, another. A golden cross came next, followed by two exorcism strips. A handful of silver caltrops piled on top of these. Hellboy was glad he had put those in his right pocket; they would have cut into his hand like nails into a tire.

On top of the pile came an iron horseshoe, and the bartender jumped back with a gasp that didn't fit his six-and-a-half foot frame. Hellboy paused, and reached for the ingot, sliding it toward the bartender, who in turn stepped backward, until he threatened to knock a bottle of gin over. Hellboy quirked an eyebrow, and pocketed the horseshoe again.

The bartender grimaced. He knew. And he knew he knew. And he knew he knew he knew. So rather than lie, or do something a bit more obvious, he just grimaced. "All right, beastie." He said. "What do you want?"

"See, Gabe?" Said Hellboy as he turned to his companion. "There's your first lesson: you never know where the little guys are." He turned back to the bartender. "So," he said with a smile, "hear anything through the fair folk grapevine?"

The other patrons didn't seem to notice the conversation. A few noticed their drinks were empty, tapping the hollow glasses on the bar or drumming their fingers as a subtle hint. But the big red man seemed to be holding his attention. Bloody celebrities. They always got the attention and service of the help.

The bartender fidgeted for a moment before answering. He kept his face down; at the moment he couldn't face the other...man in the eye. "I have heard something...but ya canna tell the others that it was me that told ya." He said, the knowledge of the iron in the pocket only marginally better than the brandishing of it moments earlier.

"Ye're in the right city." He said. "An' the child an' his keepers'll be at the crossroads."

"Which one?"

"Any one, ye fools!" He hissed. "We're creatures of tradition, and any place that is neither one nor another calls to us. Go to any place where one road meets another, seeking what you do, an' ye'll find 'em. Though that's only half the doing, I think you should tell yer friend."

"I know." Said Hellboy. "I've done this before." He leaned closer to the bartender and his face grew quite fierce. "You people better not give him the same shit that you gave me last time. Or else...well, I'll leave that to your imagination."

The bartender paled and nodded quickly. "I'll hope fer that." He said. "But this is not my crime, and you're as good threatenin' me as you are the man next to you."

"Too bad for you." He said. "I've had a really bad week, and just you being here says something about you." With that, he turned and walked toward the crowd, his hooves echoing on the wood paneling of the floor. He stopped and turned around just as the bartender had begun to breathe again. "Sorry." He said. "Forgot some stuff." He picked up the talismans, the caltrops, and finally the money before vanishing without a word.

The bartender gritted his teeth, and almost—almost—let his glamour slip. Van Helsing shook his head, producing a small handful of bills. "This should cover his pint." He said. "And the information." And with that, he grabbed a short hat with a wide brim, and turned to leave in turn.

"So," he asked when he caught up to Hellboy, "what did you mean about him just being there?"

Hellboy twisted his mouth as if tasting something sour. "You don't find the good folk just sitting around like normal people, most of the time." He said. "He's a changeling. Either his parents were afraid of him, or he was smarter than most and kept his mouth shut. Either way, he's here, and some regular kid's grown up in the faerie lands."

"Poor kid."

"Actually, they tend to be pretty good to the kids." Hellboy admitted. "Treat 'em like their own. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"That's the truth. We all have to bear with things that we do not like. I've been on this earth longer than you; I know what I'm talking about."

"Is that why you left the Vatican?"

"Part of the reason," Van Helsing said under his breath. Hellboy was content to leave it at that...for the moment.

"Now let's go get that kid."