"Hello!" The man who looked like Cain said brightly. "Do I know you?" The bushy eyebrows over his vivid blue eyes twitched together in a slightly puzzled frown. "I don't think I do. Gareth, do I know these two fine fellows?"
Gareth frowned down at them. "Nah. Don't think so...Sire," he added as an afterthought.
"Well, I didn't think so, but I wasn't quite sure. Are you sure?"
Gareth rolled his eyes. The...king?...held up a hand to stop him from saying anything. "Okay, okay. I was just checking! But they do seem to know me!" He leaned a hip on the table and peered at them, smiling slightly, like a child presented with a puzzle toy. He looked from Sam to Dean, eyes dancing. Dean closed his eyes, gave his head a sharp shake.
Cain. But not Cain.
"You do!" not-Cain crowed. He slapped his hands together, then held one up to forestall any words. "Wait, wait - don't tell me. I'll get it in a minute." He started striding up and down the tent. He stopped, pointed pressed-together hands at Dean.
And started singing.
"I met you at the fair? Maybe I met you there?"
Dean blinked. Gareth chimed in, in a rough bass. "No, Sire, it wasn't there." Not-Cain peered at him, ran a hand through his luxurious beard.
"It wasn't there? Then where?"
"I don't know, but it...was...n't...there." There was a beat between the two sentences, and a pause between each syllable of the second, and his gravelly voice dropped lower.
Dean stared, jaw dropped, then turned his head to Sam. Sam was staring in the same way, mouth moving as if he were trying to say something. He turned to look at Dean. He was mouthing, "What the fuck?!" Dean had to agree.
Not-Cain lifted a finger in inspiration. "Ah! Maybe when I bought the mare?" his tenor sang out.
Gareth shook his head, started pacing beside the king. "No, Sire, it wasn't there."
The king stopped and frowned at his companion. He repeated, "It wasn't there? Then where?" Gareth shrugged broadly.
"I don't know, but it...was...n't...there."
Not-Cain stopped to crouch down between Dean and Sam, pursed his lips, and glanced between them. Gareth stood behind him, hands on hips. Dean, somewhat lightheaded, felt like they had been stuffed into the strangest alternate universe possible, and wondered, briefly, if Gabriel was involved. Or maybe it was all just a weird dream brought on by the chili burger he'd had for lunch.
"Could I have met you in Cheshire?" Dean winced and briefly closed his eyes at the mangling of the town name to fit the rhyme scheme. Gareth frowned and shook his head.
"No, Sire, it wasn't there." Not-Cain looked up at him and frowned back.
"It wasn't there? Then where?"
This freakish singing conversation was too much. Dean surged up. Or tried to. Soldiers' hands slammed down on his shoulders, thrust him back into the kneeling position. One of them put an arm around his neck, choking off his sputtering attempt to stop the singing. Gareth glared at him, and gritted out - still in tune - "I don't know, but it...was...n't there." Then he snarled, in a normal voice, "Don't y'two be gettin' any ideas!" He went on, "I don't think you've met them anywhere!"
Not-Cain threw up his hands, then clapped them on his knees and stood up. "Not here? Not there? Then where?"
Gareth ground his teeth. "I don't know. Maybe...not...an...y...where!" he finished with frustration.
The sourceless musical accompaniment, which Dean realized had been playing while the two were singing, came to a crashing end. Not-Cain moved back to the table, hitched his hip up on it again. "Well. This is most odd."
"Tell me about it," Dean muttered, eyes darting from one loony-tune to the next. The arm around his neck tightened up again.
The king waved an irritated hand at the soldier doing the choking. The arm suddenly relaxed, and Dean drew in a gasping breath.
"Dean! Are you all right?!" Sam's voice was urgent and concerned.
"I'm fine, Sammy."
"Dean? Sammy? I really don't think I've met anyone with those names - "
"'Sam'," Sam grunted, eyes narrowed.
But not-Cain didn't hear him because an astonishingly handsome black-haired man with a trim beard and equally rich clothing - he was even more Blue Steel than they were, Dean thought - had come into the main room of the tent, and interrupted them all. "Richard." His exasperation came through loud and clear. "Dr. Sporin? Remember? Spell? To get us help with the murders?"
Dean's eyes darted to this new man. Murders? Sam's eyes were fixed on him, too, forehead wrinkled in a frown.
The king - King Richard? - looked at him. "Oh. Right. Right! Yes! The spell!" He leaned forward to Dean, and said, in a confidential tone, "We've been having these nasty murders. Just awful!" He shuddered. "Nobody knows what's going on. So Gal, here - Galavant - called in Dr. Sporin for help. And Dr. Sporin did some sort of spell - " He waved his hands wordlessly. "And - well! Here you are. To help us." He regarded them happily.
Dean closed his eyes. He was putting his thoughts together, just about ready to tear these madmen a new one, when Sam started it for him.
"You did a spell," he bit out. "To bring us here." His lips were tight. He was starting that muscle-beside-his-nose-twitch and huffing combination that meant he was furious. "Wherever 'here' is." He swept his hand to encompass the tent and everything outside it. "Did it ever occur to you that we might be - that we might not want to - " His voice was rising, and he couldn't finish any of his sentences.
Dean interrupted, loudly. "Dudes! We were in. The. Middle. Of. Killing. Vampires. Where we come from! To save people! Where we come from!" He stood up, took an angry step forward, and shook a finger at the king, this Galavant dude, and Gareth equally. Gareth automatically stepped between him and the king. "And one of those vamps got away! And he's going to go killing innocent people. Where we come from!" He stabbed the finger at the king, then at Gareth, then Galavant. "People are going to die because of you!"
The king's eyes fell, and he tugged at his collar. Galavant looked away. Gareth bared his teeth at Dean and growled. Dean growled right back.
"People are going to die here, too, if we don't figure out what's going on," Galavant finally said quietly. His eyes flicked up to them.
Sam visibly forced himself to relax, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. "Okay. Well. If we're stuck here, we might as well help." Then his head snapped up, and he glared at the king, "I assume you can send us back when we're done?"
There was a long silence. King Richard looked at Galavant. Galavant looked at the floor and whistled tunelessly. Gareth folded his arms, leaned his head back and stared grimly at the ceiling. Dean focused on Sam, stricken. He hadn't even considered that possibility. What if they were stuck in this insane asylum?!
Galavant sat up straight, and called out, "Sporin! Dr. Sporin! We need to talk with you." He waited a minute, then grumbled, "Dammit! Where is the man?"
A short, slender, dark-skinned young man with a sunny smile and a truly impressive, neat afro, popped his head in from the next room over in the tent. "I can go get him if you'd like, sir?"
"Do it, Sid!" Galavant snapped.
"Yessir!" The young man ducked back out.
The silence returned. They waited.
Dean's stomach growled. Sam shot him a glance.
"What?! I'm hungry!" He looked around the tent, spotting dirty dishes sitting on the table. Well, at least it looked like these singing idiots ate. "So. You guys got any cheeseburgers here?"
"'Cheeseburgers'...?" the king repeated curiously.
"Yeah. Hamburgers with cheese." He was met with blank stares. "Ground beef patty?" he prompted. Gareth's head tilted back down and his sunken eyes focused on him. "Grilled? On a bun?" Galavant licked his lips. "With cheese and slices of bacon?" The king leaned forward, entranced. "Lettuce? Tomatoes? Mustard?" The three men slid forward a step or two, and the soldiers who had been holding him and Sam down moaned hungrily behind him.
"That sounds...really...very tasty..." King Richard said softly, eyes awestruck. There were murmurs of agreement. Sam groaned and leaned his head in his hands. The king blinked at them, drew a deep breath, and called out, "Chef! Chef! I have an assignment for you!"