A/N: I backed this up a tiny bit to Sam's point of view for the second dose of the ritual drink, stabbing Dean and what comes after.
Ring Out Solstice Bells
Chapter Four
The Hunt, Horses and Brothers
The fog had drifted in again. The soft call of frogs chirping through the mists was a happy noise in a gray and dark landscape. The wind had dropped, the whispering echo of its voice gone, replaced by a soft chanting and the ringing of bells, faraway, but there, under everything like a heartbeat in his veins.
Sam got off of the bed and walked to the balcony. It was cold, very cold, the damp bringing the cold in a little closer. He looked down at the red stain on the railing. Did I do that? Dean said I did, and I think I remember the raven. It called me, it said "Sam, I need you to help me, and I will help you." It wanted something from me. A brief flash, obscure, but there, of a knife, his own hand slicing his arm open. Sam blinked, trying to focus on the memory, it drifted away like the fog. It was almost as if he were watching it happen through someone else's eyes. He sighed, frowning a little. It doesn't feel like possession, it feels different, something more complete, maybe?Dean seems a little too calm about all this, eating the meal with me, and why was he eating the same thing? Does that have a meaning? Have I missed something? His heart started pounding a little, a brief flare of pain running through his body alerted him. He understood the meaning of the symptoms immediately. Time for more of the drink.
He pushed himself off the railing and walked into the room, dropping back down on the bed. Should I get Dean? The door to the bathroom opened, steam billowing out around his brother, the warm mist blending with the cold fog coming in from the balcony. "I was just going to come get you," Sam said. "It's time for the second dose."
"I know," Dean said, sitting down beside him.
"Think it will put me to sleep?" I don't, Dean, but hearing you say it might make it a little better.
Dean tried to smile, Sam saw through the attempt, but he tried."We'll see, I guess."
Sam opened the bottle, sniffing the bittersweet liquid before drinking it. As it slid down his throat it traced a fiery path, pulling bits of his body along with it. He leaned his head back as the warmth moved on through him. It's odd, you wouldn't think something taken orally would hit me so fast. Because it had, the soft chanting was growing louder, the bells calling him. He turned his eyes away from Dean looking towards the window, listening to what was there, what the drink brought him.Soon, part of him whispered. Sam felt slight joy bubbling in his veins with that thought. No, no. Sam thought. Yes, soon. Another voice, his voice, but not his, whispered with rapture. The night was moving on, the ritual needed to begin.
The vision of what was to happen uncoiled in his mind, a poisonous snake bearing joyous tidings. The picture of the knife waiting for him, the stone altar outside the room, the place of the raven, waiting.
Waiting for his brother's blood.
"No," Sam said anguish filling his heart, the bells pulling him away from the agony of the vision. He drove his fingernails into his palm, pain bringing him back. Sam cast a wild glance and Dean and ran—from what was coming, from what he would do.
He heard Dean behind him as he tried to run away, his steps headed away from the refuge, from the stone altar, but his body refused to go, it followed the sound of the voices and the soft whisper of a raven's laugh, out into the wet ground. Sam stopped and looked up, at the edge of the sacred area theeach uisge was waiting to take him to the other place, the place where it could begin. Soon, very soon. The blood will begin it. Let it begin. Joy and fear fought for equal purchase.
Dean walked up to stand beside him, to stand in front of the raven's stone, the altar that would catch his blood. Yes. "They promised," Sam said, meeting Dean's eyes. They promised me, Dean.
"It's ok, Sammy, it's part of the ritual," Dean said gently.
What? How do you know that? I never found that information. How can you know? HOW CAN YOU BE SO CALM! My god, Dean, do you know what…"They promised, Dean. They said…"
Dean smiled at him, giving his arm a gentle squeeze to pull him back for a moment. "What did they say?"
The bells were chiming. He could hear the horses gathering. They are waiting. The chanting was growing louder, a longing was beginning. A longing so deep, so profound, he felt it as a physical sensation. Pain mingled with exhilaration, knowing what would come. Soon. He was starting to lose focus, the world was falling away. Sam tried to focus on his brother. "They said the each uisge wouldn't take you." He knew the truth of it as he said it, the each uisge was there for him. The knife on the altar was for Dean.
"They didn't lie about that, Sammy. I think when you agreed to go through with it, the older parts of the ritual could be met. The each uisge didn't have to take me, because you agreed."
"I never agreed to this, Dean." No, Dean, no. You have to believe me. If I had known this was coming, I would have fought them, I would have…I would have done anything, anything to stop it and now it is too late. Oh, god, Dean, I am so sorry. I never agreed to this. "I didn't." Tears had formed in his eyes, he could feel them, hot against the cold flesh of his face. Time, it is time to begin. The longing, the joy, the pain, filled him. Sam was nearly gone, the chanting of voices, the soft sound of the horses waiting for him pulling him away.
"It's ok, Sam," Dean said gently. He picked the silver knife from the altar and looked at it with an odd smile on his face. Suddenly, Dean pulled Sam against him in a tight hug, holding him for a moment. It felt like goodbye. He pressed the knife into Sam's hand with a gentle pressure. "It's ok, Sam."
It is good, it is right, it is joy.His hands moved of their own accord, the ritual movements known to him. Part of him watched in horror, in utter terror and defeat, as his hands shoved the blade into his brother. The other half was singing, the ancient words forming in his mind as he began. He heard his voice whispering, "I'm sorry." It was another chant, a counterpoint to the soft song in his head.
He reached out, pushing Dean down onto the rock, positioning him on the altar. His brother's eyes were glazing over, staring at the sky. It is good, it is taking him already. We will be strong. The joy nearly caused him to cry out. The each uisge had come to watch the final moments. Sam pulled the blade from his brother, watching the blood as it welled up before dipping his finger in the blood, tracing the patterns again. It has been too long since we had this, too long since the ritual was met like this. The song was getting louder, he looked down at Dean's emptying eyes. "I'm sorry," something said, it sounded like his voice.
"It's ok, Sammy," Dean said.
The each uisge nudged Sam gently. He turned and smiled at it, running a hand along its soft gray flesh, the cold touching him. He swung himself up on the horse with the ease of millennia of practice. It moved away from the raven's altar, walking into the fog, into the night. He turned one last time, the man, my brother, was lying on the altar, empty eyes staring at the sky.
The trail wound through the trees. He could hear the movements of the night creatures there beyond where they walked. The small things of the forest moved from the each uisge, but other things, those beings that walked in the ever-dark, joined them, moving behind them, coming to the ritual to be there as it began.
Did I kill Dean? Oh, god, I think I might have. The knife, did it go into his heart? I don't know. I knew, I know, what to do, did I kill my brother? The voice was whispering in his head, it sounded familiar, like it was part of him, but it was also not—it was a voice of what was, not what would be.The ritual is good, it is right. The joy and the longing welled up, silencing that other voice as the anticipation began to build.
They passed by the blood-red bog, the few fruits left on the plants withered to black, the details clear to him as they moved on, the night no longer a dampening dark, but something seen and understood. The road turned towards the place of the ritual. His heart was beating wildly, the joy pounding through him as they approached. Yes, welcome, the chanting voices said.
The clearing was before him, the altar already waiting with its gift, left by the each uisge before it came for him at the raven's altar. Sam slid off the horse and stood beside the stone, a smile on his face. It is good. He turned to face them, the riders and the others, waiting for him. One came forward a bright smile on her face.
"Welcome," she said, gently. She took his hand in hers, running her fingers through the blood on his palms.
"Yes," he said, knowing the answer to the question before it was asked. "The ritual has been met."
She smiled at him again, then turned to the others, holding his bloody hand up for all to see. A cry resounded through the clearing, the note echoing back from the water to swirl around them like dancers.
The lead rider approached leading a black horse behind his huge mount. "Ride with us, brother, before the final joy of the night," he said, the words foreign to Sam's ears, filling his mind with meaning.
His heart pounded. "Yes, please," he said, swinging up onto the horse. The others gathered around him, skeletal hands patting him on his back as they chanted welcome in the ancient tongue, the words beautiful as the song rose around him.
"We ride together tonight," the rider said, his face shifting, young to old and back again.
"Together, brother," Sam said.Brother? Dean? Are you dead? The voice whispered in his head the words forming, but taking a moment before coalescing into words that held meaning. Then they were gone again as the hunting cry was ripped from a dozen throats, his own voice joining in as the howling of the hounds blended with the voices in rapturous welcome.
They moved out, the dark horses coasting through the night like the fog, the dark things flitting with them. Sam's heart was beating wildly, the longing to ride with his brothers filling every fiber of his being, his mind chanting the war cry as easily as if he has always known it. We are together this night. The dogs ran ahead, baying, chasing the small creatures that moved from the hunt. It is as it should be. The laughter of his brothers filled the air, his own voice joining them with glee. Bright eyes on fleshless skulls turned to smile at him as they rode. It is good. Hands touched him, a pat, a slap, a welcome.
Finally the longing was too much, the other longing, that deep and profound pain. He smiled at them. "My brothers, it is time to return to the ritual place, it is time to finish this night's joy." They shouted around him, the ancient song beginning, the words of triumph floating on the air as they galloped back, the cold wind streaming over his face, blowing through his hair as his heart shouted in joyous freedom and he sang with them, his bright laughter ringing out loudly in the silent night.
The fire was already burning when they arrived. Good, it is time. He pulled the horse up and slid off, running a grateful hand over blackened flesh and naked bone. "Thank you," he whispered to it. The horse gently nuzzled his ear. "Tomorrow we will ride again." It threw its head back in happy affirmative. He patted the nose one last time before turning to the lead rider, the king.
"It is time," his king said.
"Yes," he said looking into ancient eyes. The two gray each uisge walked to stand on either side of him. The woman came forward with a silver chalice and held it to his lips. He drank, the sweetness of the liquid filling his mind with velvet. Holding out his hands he turned and walked into the icy water of the pond, the each uisge moving with him until he was chest deep. They took his wrists into their mouths and pulled him under, the pain of the bite mingling with the agony in his chest as his lungs fought for air. They held him there until darkness danced before his eyes, until he was fighting to keep his breath, until the desire to draw air into his lungs was nearly overwhelming, and then they pulled him up and out of the water.
As he emerged, the chanting began again. His king and the woman were waiting for him. She guided Sam down to the large stone by the fire. It had been hidden when he and his brother—brother? My brother? Dean?—had been there the first night. He smiled as the warmth from the fire touched him, the fog shifting around them. The soft chiming of bells began as those waiting began to dance, skeletal riders with humans, dancing together in the dark night as the fire burned.
He could hear his voice chanting soft words as he lay there. The woman came and held a silver bowl, the ancient metal nearly worn through in places. The king smiled at her, then down at Sam. Yes, it is time, it is good.
"My brother, myself, we begin," the king said.
"My brother, myself, we begin," Sam repeated the ritual words. He felt the first kiss of the knife, gently tracing the pattern on his chest. Yes, it is good. The woman stepped forward and handed the bowl to the king. He reached a fleshless, yet fleshed, hand into the bowl and smeared the paste onto the pattern on Sam's chest, the fragrant unguent sparking memories of rituals past. They laid a wreath of the sacred bough on his chest and the singing got louder.
"My brother, myself, soon, soon the night comes, soon you will end, so my brother, myself, you can begin," his king said softly.
"My brother, myself, I welcome the night when it comes, I wait for it to begin," he answered.
"The king will soon be dead," his king said loudly into the night, his voice carrying over the chanting over the ecstatic ringing of bells.
"Long live the king," Sam's voice rang out. He let his head drop back down onto the ground, his king bent over him. "Let the night come, my brother, myself," he begged.
"Soon, you must wait, only the first touch of night under these stars," his king said softly, the ritual playing out gently between the two of them, the words, remembered, ancient, flowing around them like the black water of a flood, caught in a deep pool.
"My brother, myself, let it begin," he begged again.
The king placed a hand on his head, the touch agony, burning into his brain, a violation, welcome and terrifying. "My brother, myself, it is begun," his king said.
The dancers increased their pace, swirling around them like the sparks from the flames, the horses were grunting softly in the night and the dark things were there, joyous, at the edge of the trees. The sounds filled him before the first touch of the night claimed him and he was pulled away. "It has begun," he heard himself chant as the world slid away.
Pain, an eternity later, returned first.
Burning his chest, his throat, his head, his hands.
Then cold.
Filling his body, seeping up from the ground under him and from the icy mist surrounding him.
The light came next.
Against his eyelids, the brightness burning his eyes. He tried to put a hand over them to stop the burning light.
Smell awakened.
The remnants of a smoldering fire, the sweet unguent on his chest, blood, something acrid and vile.
Memory, last of all.
The riders, the king, the ritual. My brothers, my king.
He paused, a groan of pain pulled from him as his memory shifted. Dean! I think I killed him. No. Please no. Sam tried to move again, his body refused to answer his commands. Dean? Hot tears ran out of his eyes. I tried to save you. No, Dean, no. I never agreed to that. He tried to move again, the despair holding him in place, anchoring him in a well of icy fear.
Sam could hear someone coming. He braced himself, wondering what would happen. It is good, the ritual will be met. A voice whispered in his head, the words in the ancient language, but known nonetheless. The voice brought the fog and the ringing of the bells.
Someone dropped down beside him, a hand, warm, rough, shaking, was placed against his throat. "Sammy?" Dean said, anguish in his voice.
He opened his eyes and met the panicked look of his brother. "Dean?" You're ok? I thought I killed you, I thought…You're alive. "Dean?" he said again, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded. "You're alive?" Dean had a mark on his face that looked like a burn—except it was shaped almost like a hand.
Dean let out a breath, his shoulders sagging a little before he smirked. "Yep, still here. Let's get you back to the room and then maybe get some breakfast," Dean said as he pulled Sam to his feet.
Sam leaned against his brother, feeling the warmth of Dean's shoulder through his shirt. Reality was shifting, the fog still there, the voices gently singing to him. He tried to push them away. "Breakfast?" The voice sounded like his. "That sounds good."
XXX
Awareness crept back, slowly, like the morning fog, swirling around Dean, not quite fully there, but moving in. The night was full of sounds, soft rustling all around him, the creatures hidden in the fog that had swallowed Sam. The stars were gone, the mists had closed in, darkness had the upper hand.
My eyes feel weird.He blinked. Oh, ok, they were open. He blinked again, trying to focus on the sky above him, there was nothing to look at, the world was blanketed in fog. What happened? His mind cast lazily through visions, the fog moving in, a gray horse carrying his brother away, the strange floating sensation and the sound of bells. The touch of the knife. Oh, yeah, this keeps getting better. Sammy? You need to be ok, hear me? Dean tried to push himself up, on the third try he managed to lever himself into a sitting position. His head was pounding.
He stood up and waited as the world moved, he swayed, putting a hand down on the rock. Hey, blood, I bet it's mine, yep, just keeps getting better. A wave of dizziness hit him hard enough to rock his stomach. If I get sick on the altar will it piss them off? Would that be good or bad? Probably bad. He managed to turn away from the stone before his food reappeared.
I have to find Sam, where would he be? Dean walked slowly towards the Impala. Emptying his stomach had helped, but only a little. He stood by the door of the car looking down at the lock. Keys? Oh, in my coat, in the room, up the damn stairs. Great. Next time I'll remember to grab them before I chase Sam out into the cold before he stabs me. Even better? I think I will just avoid the next time on this one. Sam? You had better be ok.
After retrieving the keys from their room, Dean headed out of the parking lot, the soft rumble of the engine comforting in the foggy stillness. He glanced at his watch. It'll start getting light soon. He was creeping down the road, visibility gone, the hood of the car mostly hidden in the swirling mists. Better and better, oh yeah. Those bells are really getting on my nerves. The soft chiming hadn't ceased, the sound was quiet, but still there. How long does that last I wonder?
Dean realized he could see a little into the night, small dark eyes were peering at him from the edge of the road. Creepy. What are those things? Suddenly the eyes vanished, Dean sensed their fear. Oh, yeah, creepy and fun. He stopped the car and rolled down the window, eyes and ears straining to catch what had frightened the eyes away. Not able to hear well enough he stepped out of the car.
Then he heard them, horses and the baying dogs. They were moving fast, coming towards him. There must be a field over there. The sound was coming from his right, the pounding hooves getting close. The fog shifted as the horses plunged into view, a dozen, maybe more, mostly gray fleshless horses with riders on their backs. They moved apart as two huge black horses came up with them. One of the riders on the black horses was the man who had slit Sam's throat, Vivian's son—the other was…
Oh, god, no.
"Sam?" Dean said, his voice loud in the silent night. Blank eyes turned to look at him, one of the horses approached, its bulk pressing him against the car. The man said something, the words were meaningless, but still Dean heard them in his mind. "Look away from our once and future king."
Dean glanced up at Sam again and the rider slapped him hard, the blow tracing burning agony across his face. "Sam?" he said, looking at his brother, there was nothing of Sam in the eyes that looked down at him from the huge black horse. No. He braced himself for the blow that was coming, felt it connect with his head, and his skull slammed against the car door. Dean let himself slide down the car and stayed still, leaning against the cold metal of the Impala. After a minute the riders moved off, he could hear Sam's voice raised in song, the words flowing easily off of his brother's tongue as if he had always spoken the language. Sam's laughter chilled him. He felt tears prick at the edge of his eyes. No, no, no. Sam, please, no.
He pushed himself up and looked at his reflection in the rear window. There was a mark that looked like a burn on the side of his face. Fun freaking times. I have to get to Sam, I have to stop this. What's that? He could hear chanting clearly. And not in my mind, with my ears. The chiming of bells was almost gone, replaced by the whisper of wind in the trees. The watching eyes were still gone.
Dean wrenched open the door of the Impala and dropped into the seat, letting his head rest against the steering wheel. Sammy, oh, god. What do I do? How do I stop this? Oh, please, can I stop this? He swallowed, trying to push the growing panic away. The spider-web cracks in his world were slowly widening, shattering at a snail's pace. This isn't getting me anywhere. He sat up and put the car in drive, creeping along the road again, looking for the turn onto Winthrop Road.
He tried to speed up, watching the fog line, but visibility was such that he could barely make it out at more than twenty miles an hour. Dean slowed down again, creeping along the dark road, half hoping to see the horses again, half dreading that moment. I have to stop this, I have to before it's too late for Sam. The memory of Vivian's son in the richly decorated room came unbidden to his mind, he nearly wrecked the car when Sam's face replaced that of her son. NO! No, I won't let it happen. He wrenched the car back onto the road.
In spite of the panic slowly coiling itself around him, it took nearly an hour to find the turn onto the road. When he finally found the turn, relief flooded through him briefly, replaced by an icy fear. What happened tonight? What will I find when I get there? He stopped the car at the end of the road. Opening the door, he got out, then reached back in the car, digging in the glove box for his .45. I don't know what I'll shoot, but I feel like shooting something, anything at this point. He shoved the gun in his waistband.
As he walked down the path to the bog, a realization suddenly struck him. It was silent. The bells were gone, as was the chanting. Nothing was moving in the slowly lightening mists. The small sounds of morning were even missing until the harsh laughter of a raven caught him and held him motionless for a second. Shaking his head, he moved on, the fog was thinning as he reached the clearing by the pond. He ran desperate eyes over the small area, finally coming to rest on the motionless figure lying beside the remains of a fire. Oh, god, Sammy.
Dean ran, dropping onto his knees beside his brother. Oh, god, oh, no. Sam. He reached a trembling hand out to check for signs of life. Please, please. He feels so cold. A tiny pulse beat against his waiting fingers. "Sammy?" he said, hearing harsh emotion in his voice. I might be a little freaked. Or maybe a lot freaked.
"Dean?" Sam said, his voice a hoarse whisper. His brother opened his eyes, focusing on him a little. Dean could still see the shifting fog behind Sam's eyes. "Dean? You're alive?"
You're alive and with me, Sam. He let out the breath he'd been holding as he frantically waited for that first heartbeat."Yep, still here. Let's get you back to the room and then maybe get some breakfast," Dean said as he pulled Sam to his feet. Not that I really feel like eating, but I bet they have something extra special planned for today.
Sam leaned against him. Dean could feel the cold seeping into his shoulder. His brother was trembling, stumbling as he tried to walk. "Breakfast?" Sam said, his voice still hoarse, but losing the distant quality. "That sounds good."
Dean guided them back to the car. The sun was beginning to break through the clouds, bathing the mist with golden light. The laughter of the raven was joined by a chorus of crows. He could just make out their dark shapes in the trees above him, watching their slow progress back to the Impala. I hope this doesn't turn out to be a Hitchcock moment.He kept his eye on the birds as they walked. The fact that they are following us from tree to tree is beginning to bother me a little.
When they reached the car, he gently lowered Sam into the seat. "We'll be back at the room soon, Sam," he said, closing the door.
"Good," his brother said, looking over at him as he got behind the wheel. "I could use a shower, I think."
The fog was still there in Sam's eyes. Oh god, I'm losing him, I have to stop this, I have to. Dean snorted. "You just think you need a shower? Dude, please."
Sam smiled. "Thanks."
"Yeah," Dean said as he pulled the car onto the highway, heading back to the motel. The fog had thinned enough for him to cruise back as a decent speed, what had been an hour-long trip the night before reduced to a few minutes. As he pulled into the lot, he noticed the curtain in the office drop closed. Someone was waiting for us to get back. He parked the car and helped Sam up, his brother frowning at him, but accepting the hand he offered. It's ok, Sam. Dean kept a hand on Sam's back as his brother walked slowly up the stairs to their room.
What the hell? A room service table stood in front of their door, the top covered with silver dishes. Well, we don't have to go out to breakfast at least. Why don't I find that comforting? "Looks like breakfast is ready," Dean said as he opened the door.
"Not sure I find that very comforting, Dean," Sam said, pushing himself off the wall where he had leaned while Dean opened the door. "Someone must have been watching for us to get back."
"Yeah, nice," Dean said, maneuvering the food into the room and pushing the tray over to the table by the windows. He put the dishes on the table, along with a coffeepot and the other items. One covered plate had a sprig of mistletoe on it. Dean started to pull the cover off.
"That's mine," Sam said, his hand grabbing Dean's wrist in a tight, painful grip, keeping him from touching the dish.
Dean turned to look at Sam. His brother was gone from the eyes that looked back with anger. "Sam?"
Sam blinked. "Sorry," he said, letting go of Dean's arm. "I…sorry."
"It's ok, Sam." Dean plopped down in one of the chairs and grabbed the coffeepot. He sniffed it. "Not coffee," he said, looking up at Sam. He poured the brown-gold liquid out into their cups. I guess I'm supposed to drink it, too.
The meal was silent. Dean kept looking at his brother. Sam met the look once or twice. More than once Dean caught his brother looking out the window, the fog shifting in his eyes, seeing something that wasn't there.
"Dean?" Sam said suddenly after a silent hour.
"Yeah?"
"I…" He paused, looking out the window and then back at Dean. "That burn on your face? What happened?"
One of your horse-riding buddies slapped me. "I fell."
"Into something that left a hand-shaped burn mark on your…" Sam's eyes unfocused, Dean watched horror blossom in them as Sam suddenly stood. "Oh my god," he whispered, looking at Dean.
"Sam? What?"
"I remember." Sam reached a hand out and moved Dean's jacket aside, revealing the dried blood on his shirt. "Oh, god, Dean, I stabbed you last night."
"Sammy…"
"I did, didn't I?" His hands were shaking as he looked at Dean, tears pooling in his eyes. "I'm so sorry."
"It's ok, Sam, it was part of the ritual."
"I could have killed you," Sam said, tugging at his shirt.
"Dude, what are you doing?" He tried to push Sam's hands away.
"Let me take care of it for you. It might need cleaning, you don't know what was on that knife."
I have a pretty good idea. Moss, mud, raven spit and something that made me not blink for hours. Do ravens spit? "Sam…"
"No, Dean," Sam said. He gave up trying to pull the shirt off and walked over to his bag and pulled out the first-aid kit. "Bathroom?"
"You just aren't going to leave this alone, are you Sammy?" Dean grumbled as he got up, stripping off his jacket and shirt as he walked to the bathroom.He remembered stabbing me. What else does he remember? He sat down on the toilet as Sam gently prodded the wound.
"This might need stitches, Dean," Sam said, a haunted look in his eyes as he cleaned the dried blood away.
So someone can slice them open tonight? Nah, don't think so. "Just bandage it, I'm sure it's fine." He looked at his brother. Sam's hands we shaking and the tears were still there at the edges of his eyes. When Sam reached over to swab the wound with alcohol, Dean grabbed his wrist. "Sam?" His brother ignored him, looking down at the wound. "Sammy?" he said, a little louder. Sam finally looked up and met his eyes. "It's ok."
"No, it's not," Sam whispered. "I could have killed you."
"You weren't meant to, Sam."
"How can you know that, Dean?"
"You aren't the only one who can do research, you know," Dean said as Sam put a bandage over the wound.
Sam raised his eyebrows with a little smirk on his. "Oh?"
"Yeah." He grinned at his brother as he stood. "Nice work, Sammy."
"Is that your phone?"
"Yep." Dean walked back into the main room and grabbed his phone off the table, glancing at the number on the caller ID. Arizona, might be Dizzy getting back to me. "Yeah?" he said, answering the phone.
"Dean, still in one piece?" Dizzy said with a laugh in her voice.
"Mostly."
"I have a bit more information for you. I don't know how much it will help, but I have been head down in this stuff for about twelve hours."
"Thanks. What did you find out?"
"That there isn't a lot of information, reliable at least, about this sort of thing. Do you know how many books, only available in Latin, I have been through for you?"
"Guilt doesn't work on me," he said, smiling at her tone.
"Yeah, just have to stay in practice," Dizzy said. "Ok, ready?"
"Sure." Not really. Can't you just say we can run away and it will all be better?
She took a deep breath and started talking. Sam wandered out into the room and met his eyes. He smiled a little and Sam dropped onto one of the beds. My brain is melting. I think it is melting. The idle thought ran through his head as Dizzy launched into another round of information. None of this is making me feel better. Wait, what did she just say? Could that be true? I wonder if she's right, can I get Sam out of this tonight?
"I'll keep looking, Dean" she finally said after forty-five minutes.
"Thanks," he said as he flipped the phone closed.
"Yeah, you know how to do research," Sam said with a grin. "Call someone and have them do it for you."
Dean shrugged. "It worked, didn't it?" As he watched his brother Sam frowned and swallowed. "What?" Oh, god, it's time for another dose.
"I think I need to take the next dose," Sam said, reaching for the bottle on the nightstand. He poured half the bottle out into the glass and looked at Dean. He tried to smile and then gulped the liquid down, grimacing a little as he did. Sam set the glass down and leaned back against the headboard. "Fast," he said as his eyelids fluttered a little, then closed over eyes already shifting with the fog. He started humming softly, a gentle smile playing on his lips.
This is so not good.Dean turned on the TV to drown out the sound of the song. He flipped relentlessly through the channels. Why is there nothing on when I need it and when I don't have time something great is on? The universe hates me. He gave up and wandered out onto the balcony, still listening to the TV and his brother's humming.
"Go away," he said to the raven sitting on the roof above their room. The bird looked at him with dark eyes and gave its harsh croak, laughing at Dean. "Yeah, well I don't want to hear it." And talking to the birds, nice. Worse that its making fun of me.
Sam's voice came from below him, speaking words that were unintelligible. Dean looked down, his brother was walking to the flat stone by the pond. How did he get down there fast? I didn't even hear him go. Sam looked up at the raven and spoke again, the words tripping easily off his tongue. The raven cocked its head. I swear it just smiled. What the hell, is that damn bird smiling? The bird opened its wings and gave a happy cry. Sam spoke and the bird fluttered gently down towards his brother. Sam leaned against the stone as the bird approached him. It dropped onto the stone and hopped towards Sam with little skipping steps. Sam smiled. Dean saw the flash of something metal in his brother's hand. I have a funny feeling this is going to be bad. Dean was moving, out the door and down the stairs before the thought was fully formed.
He took the stairs in large bounds, trying to get to the bottom as fast as possible. Running along the corridor he heard the raven's voice and then Sam's answering it. Not good, not good, not good. Dean tore around the corner towards the refuge, Sam was kneeling before the stone, blood covering the rock, the raven standing before him. Another raven landed on the stone. Sam reached out bloody hands to touch each bird gently, a gesture of affection and reverence before lifting his head a little exposing his throat.
Dean ran faster, trying to get there before…
The ravens pulled flesh from his brother's neck, near the slash from the curved knife. Each had a tiny piece held in their beaks like a trophy. Sam smiled at the birds again, running his hands down each sleek black body. He said something to them. The birds touched his face gently with their bloody beaks before stretching their wings and fluttering into the sky like silken paper.
Dean reached Sam as his brother pitched forward onto the rock. He managed to grab him before he hit his head on the stone. "SAM!" He pulled his brother up, trying to get a good look at him. Sam's eyes were closed, a happy smile on his face. No.
A soft rustling noise drew Dean's eyes away from his brother, from the blood marring the stone. The each uisge was standing under one of the strange stunted trees. Is gray flesh transparent in the soft winter sun, the bone standing out in clear relief against the black background of the trees.
Sam groaned. "Dean?" he said, the words thick.
"It's ok, Sam, I've got you."
It's not ok, not at all. I have to get him out of this, god, please, I have to get him out of this.
The each uisge drifted a little closer, its head up, tasting the air.
I have to get him out of this. I have to.
Sam groaned again, pain soaking the sound.
"It's ok, Sammy."
I have to. No other option. I have to.
Please.
To Be Continued
