Disclaimer: The six main characters are the property of Mutant Enemy, and any Disney characters who may be mentioned are property of Disney. The name Disneyland, as well as ride and attraction titles are also copyright of Disney.

Very important note: This may come off as really obvious and I apologize for that, but I do need to cover this for my own protection. This story depicts the characters riding actual attractions at Disneyland Park. At times, they may engage in behavior that is not consistent with park rules (though I am trying to limit this as much as possible and it may not even end up being an issue.) This story is NOT an endorsement of such behavior; it is done strictly for comedic purposes and should in no way, shape, or form be replicated by visitors to the park. Disneyland rules should be followed at all times, and the author is not held responsible for any consequences of not doing so.

Story Note: This was supposed to be a chapter of my other story That's Entertainment, but as it is going to be too long for that I've made it it's own story. The same basic principles apply, though. The final battle was won—just choose whatever theory for that you want. It's not important to the story. Angel Investigations is back in business at the Hyperion. Illyria has all her powers and brought back Wes and Fred. Again—choose theory. Probably the most important note is that the characters are played for comedy in this, so much of the angst that plagues them just isn't there. While I believe they are in-character, its more of a focus on their comedically-exploitable traits (this particularly applies to Illy.)

Disneymania!

"Now remember everyone, we're parked in Donald 24. Perhaps someone should write that down."

"Wes, I have a photographic memory, remember?"

"Right. That's what you said in Romania at the opera house, and we ended up looking for our bloody carriage for two bloody hours."

"Spike! I didn't ask you!"

"Has that ever stopped me before?"

"Who is this Donald 24?"

"Does anyone else think that we're in for a really long day?"

Five other members of the Fang Gang—Angel, Spike, Illyria, Wesley, and Winifred-- silently echoed Charles Gunn's observation as they trooped through the multiple levels of the mammoth parking garage. When a grateful client had given them a one-day protection spell that allowed the two vampires to go out in sunlight, Spike and Angel had been eager to take advantage of the opportunity and do something they would be unable to do at night. After two days of arguing, griping, and sniping, they'd finally hit on an idea they both could agree on... Disneyland. Despite the years of living within fifty miles of the internationally-known park, they'd never got to go before due to the vampire-unfriendly early-evening close time during the off seasons. During the on-seasons of summer it didn't close until very late—but the crowds would be so heavy that they likely would have been driven to eating people within an hour and a half. There'd also be the problem of Illyria's reaction to the literal floods of humanity, and Spike wouldn't go without her. There was no telling what she would do.

Of course, there was really no telling about today, either. It was a worrisome thought.

"Ya'll are just grouchy 'cause of the car ride," Fred stated with authority, picking up the conversation.

"What is ya'll?" That was Illyria, of course.

"A butchery of the English language," Wesley was forced to comment. "No offense, darling."

"I'm surprised you didn't figure it out after an hour and a half of Dixie Chicks blaring in your ear," Gunn mumbled under his breath.

"See—grouchy!" Fred exclaimed, overlooking Gunn's slam of her favorite group in her triumph over having been right.

"I'm not grouchy."

"Yes you are, Charles."

"Well, we shouldn't have tried to put all six of us in one car! I had to ride with Spike's boots in my face. And the car smells. I think it needs to be shampooed after that last fight with those nasty purple goo things."

"Actually, those were Grenlar demons," Wes supplied. "'Purple goo things' is not exactly specific to— "

"There's nothing wrong with my car!" Angel broke in, indignant. "It's a classic." He had caught nothing but slack from his grandchilde over not having at least brought the Viper from Wolfram and Hart, and it was a sensitive topic.

"All I'm sayin' is, it's ripe."

"Not that I'm agreeing with the poof here—'cause believe me, that's never going to happen," Spike cut in, "but the car probably smells because Her Royal Blue Badness ate the pine tree air freshener."

"Thank you, Spike!" Angel exclaimed, not sure whether to be happy for the backup or disgusted at that fact that he now owed gratitude to his constant rival.

"Great, an orally-fixated ancient demon. This oughta be fun," Gunn said.

"Wait a minute... she ate my air freshener?" Angel backtracked, crestfallen.

"Yeah, well, after that petrie dish this morning, it must've been like an after-breakfast mint," replied Fred. "Oh, by the way-- Illyria, that petrie dish had an experiment growin' in it. You probably ate radioactive chemicals." Fred did not sound particularly distressed.

"It tasted like the food you humans call... chicken," Illyria said, equally unconcerned by the possibility of toxic poisoning. "But what is 'orally fixated?' And it was not I who consumed this minty tree you all speak of."

"It wasn't?" asked Angel.

"No, half-breed. Are your mental functions so weak that I must repeat myself?"

"So who did?"

Fred suddenly ducked her head, then became very interested in the license plate of the Toyota Camry to her right.

"Fred...?" Spike laughed.

"Fred who is orally fixated, or Fred ate the tree freshener?" Angel tried to clarify.

"Get up to speed."

"I'm not orally fixated!" protested Fred.

"But you did eat the tree freshener? Is that what we're saying?"

There was a long, long pause, with all eyes on the tiny Texan. Fred considered lying, but knew she'd never get away with it. She was, after all, quite possibly the world's worst liar.

"What, I was hungry! We should've stopped," she mock-pouted, hoping that going into cute-Fred mode would sufficiently charm all concerned. It had a good track record. She concentrated on making her wide eyes go from doe to guilty-but-sorry puppy.

Wesley, naturally, looked completely won over in the space of half a second, but Angel was not so easily swayed. "You had sixteen breakfast burritos an hour ago! I'll be lucky if I have enough money left for the tickets. Remind me why I decided to make this a company-funded trip?"

"Great, Peaches is being a cheapskate—as usual."

"Speaking of which, Illyria, you have some scrambled egg in your hair."

"Oops—did I cream Illyria with a burrito? Silly me." Fred's expression changed from wounded puppy to nonchalant innocence.

"Wait a minute, Wes—what does that have to do with Angel being a cheapskate? Which you are," Gunn added.

"I am not!" Angel argued. "I didn't see any of you offering to pay. And Fred, really—an air freshener? I mean, you ate that plastic lid that one time when it fell in your taco, but isn't this going a bit far?"

"I have a high metabolism!" shot Fred.

"That's it!" Gunn exploded, throwing up his hands. "No more car rides. Next time, we're letting Illyria time-portal us."

The group fell silent.

Angel's voice cut through the blissful calm. "Why didn't I think of that? It would've saved a fortune on gas."

Main Street, USA/Entrance

" 'M not puttin' away my leather!" Spike declared adamantly, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his back on the locker rental room. After finally navigating the perils of the parking garage and having watched Angel cry as he forked over the money for their tickets, the gang had passed through the entrance of Disneyland to Main Street, USA. Though the park was not yet open, the early crowds were allowed to explore the shops and service buildings until the gates leading to the "lands" were open, giving them full access. The street was a replica of a quaint turn-of-the-century town, complete with old-fashioned storefronts and horseless carriages.

And-- judging from the whispers and stares-- Angel, Spike, and Illyria stuck out like Mickey Mouse in a Warner Brothers cartoon. While everyone else was dressed for a warm Californian fall day, the three of them had shown up looking like... well, like two vampires and... whatever it was Illyria was supposed to look like. Neither Angel nor Illyria looked any more inclined to change than Spike, though Fred was certainly giving it the good college try.

"I know you three are impervious to temperature and all, but will the sky fall if you don't wear leather and dark colors for one day?" she argued, giving a meaningful sigh.

"Yes!"

Wesley, usually quite the dark dresser himself, stood beside his wife resplendent in a light-colored striped cotton shirt and jeans.

Spike leaned towards him with an aside. "She dressed you, didn't she, mate."

"Quite literally," Wes admitted, looking a bit defeated—but very, very happy about it.

"Whipped."

"I talked her out of the paisley!"

"Still whipped."

"Speaking of whipped," jumped in Fred, overhearing, "Spike, couldn't you talk your wife into something less.. ummm... Catwoman?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing," the blond vampire fairly purred.

Fred was not charmed. "You know what I mean."

"Look," Spike conceded, "she got rid of the blue skin for today—I think that's all you're gonna get out of her." He'd been hard-pressed to convince her to do even that much. Her eyes and the streaks in her hair, though, were still blue as could be, much to his delight.

"Where is she, anyway?" Angel questioned, looking around. "Spike, you were supposed to keep an eye on her!"

"She's not a little kid, y'know. She's a god-king... she can take care of herself."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Protestations aside, Spike took a quick look, just to be safe. "You see—no problem. She's right over there... taking apart the Sno-Cone trolley."

"Sno-Cones—where?" Fred lit up like a Christmas tree, then crossed her arms in amused impatience. "Nice try, guys, but no more trying to distract me. All I know is, three of us—" she indicated herself, Wesley, and Gunn—"look normal, but the three of you look like the next act at Tommorowland!"

" 'M not checking my leather!"

"Okay, fine," Fred acquiesced. The truth was, she couldn't have cared less what the three of them wore, usually. She liked dark leather as much as the next girl. It was just that, as one of the only two members of the gang who had been to the park before, she knew very well what could happen, and she did not want to be stuck in it. "But when you get swarmed with five hundred little kids thinking you're characters from Treasure Planet or somethin', don't come crying to me. Why do you think Lorne decided not to come?"

Spike considered this.

"You think they could get me an extra lock for one of those cubbies?"

"Thanks Spike," Fred grinned. "And you other two—you're comin' with me."

"I look stupid," Angel announced about fifteen minutes later, monotone, as Fred pulled him out of the Emporium shop and into full view of his friends. Wes and Gunn tried their best to contain their mirth, hiding their laughs behind well-timed coughs. It was a lost cause. The dark and broody vampire was dressed in tan khakis... topped with a downright sunny polo shirt printed all over with Tigger and Eeyore from "Winnie the Pooh." "When did she get so bossy?" he lamented, catching the look of doting triumph on Fred's face. Her platitudes of how 'cute' and 'summery' his shirt looked on him did little to ease his embarrassment.

Illyria had changed, too, into black jeans and the one piece of apparel in the place she deigned fit to 'clothe her sacred person.'

It was a bright blue baby tee with Ursula from "The Little Mermaid" screen-printed on the front.

Angel's one consolation in the entire matter was that she'd simply "morphed" into the outfit, rather than him having to shell out more cash. Unfortunately, she had chosen to do it right in the middle of Ladies Apparel. They really were going to have to have a refresher course with her on the public morphing issue.

The little group came back to find Spike, sans leather, leaning casually against the locker room door. His black t-shirt, usually hidden by the duster, was so tight it looked painted on over his sharp muscles.

"Most pleasing," said Illyria, running one hand over his chest in possessive satisfaction.

" 'Course, luv," Spike grinned.

Illyria's brow knit. "But would be more so had I remembered to bring your collar."

"Oh, I so don't want to know," Gunn dismissed himself, raising his hands.

"And now... is this your card?" Wes asked softly, holding up a two of hearts.

Fred, the recipient of his question, nodded. "Uh-huh," she replied just as softly, and the two of them shared a mutually-impressed look.

Then again, Spike considered, watching, those two looked impressed with one another if their respective partner put their shoe on the correct foot in the morning. Fred was looking over Wes in a way vaguely akin to the way she looked a good taco, or the mega-jumbo popcorn tub at the movies.

"And now, for my next trick..." Wes continued, his voice dropping to definite husky.

"This guy can conjure up fireballs, and now he's doing card tricks?" Gunn commented in bored disbelief, watching his two friends as they stood by the entrance of the magic shop. Gunn himself had quickly tired of the Penny Arcade and was anxious for the park to open.

Illyria was a little more direct in her commentary. Going up to the couple, she announced "Both of your bodies are warming. You scent the air with pheromones."

"And?" Wes asked her with an amused little smile.

The demoness looked at him over-obviously. "Get a room."

"Hey, look guys," Angel came in, walking over. "They're getting ready to open up the gates." The vampire was indeed correct. The crowds, noticing, had begun to move farther down the street. Ahead of them rose the impressive sight of Sleeping Beauty Castle, flags flying.

"That is a fine palace," Illyria observed thoughtfully. "I wonder which warlord holds dominion over it." One could practically see the wheels turning in her head.

"And again—I repeat—it's gonna be a long day," Gunn sighed.