Ring Out Solstice Bells
Chapter Three
I Heard the Raven Call My Name
The sun was out, the fog had lifted for the time being and the world was washed in bright winter light. Fields lined part of the road they were driving along, horses calmly walking in golden grass. Water shimmered in many pools, some filled with huge glacial rocks, others outlined in trees with white trunks like bones, placed there by a cautious hand. In one open space crows and ravens had gathered, pulling at something on the ground. As they drove further, the strange stunted pine trees lined road, their black trunks and odd, bulbous puffs of greenery somehow sinister, even in the bright light.
Dean tried to relax the tension in his shoulders, tried to get his hands to release the death grip on the steering wheel. It wasn't working. Shortly after they had left the hospital Sam had whispered "It's ok." Then he had started humming. Which wouldn't really be a problem, except I think it's that song they were singing at the bog last night and that is anything but ok, Sammy. Something happened at the hospital, what? I should tell him about Vivian and what I found in that room. He could start researching that. He glanced over at Sam. His brother had his eyes closed with his face turned towards the sun. Something is wrong. Not going to let it slide for long, Sam. After we eat, although I think we will avoid the hotel restaurant for a day or two.
As he drove through town he started looking for somewhere to eat. Dean ended up bypassing every restaurant in town and continuing down the highway, beyond the turn to the hotel and even past the turn onto Winthrop Road and the bog where they had been the night before. He was getting ready to turn around and head back towards the town, when buildings started appearing along the road again. The dense forest thinning and then they were in another town. Just like that. Weird. A large feed store was on the corner of the main intersection and across the street…Does that say…? It does. Dean pulled into the parking lot of the small restaurant.
"Time to eat, Sam," he said, gently shaking his brother.
"Ok." Sam opened his eyes and sat up. "Pizza? I thought you said breakfast."
"Look at the sign, Sammy," Dean said with a grin. His brother dutifully looked out the window at the large hand-painted sign over the door.
"Does that say…?" Sam said with disbelief.
"Yep. Fried chicken pizza," Dean said with a happy sigh.
"For breakfast?" Sam said, getting out of the car with a little grimace of pain.
"Why not?" Dean opened the door. The small restaurant was immaculately clean and smelled of fresh bread and spices. The place was empty. Dean sat down at a table by the window. "Smells good in here." Dean was watching Sam, his brother did not seem like he was all the way there. "Sam?"
"Huh?"
"What?" Out with it, Sam. Time to spill.
"What do you mean?" Sam said, half focused on him.
"Hello," a thirtyish man said as he approached the table. Sam looked relieved by the interruption. Not for long, Sam. "Can I get you something to drink?" he said, putting menus on the table.
"Coffee," Dean said and glanced at Sam. He frowned when his brother ordered "just water." Dean glanced down at the menu, giving Sam a minute to relax before he jumped on him again. The man came back with Dean's coffee and Sam's water and they ordered their food. Sam declining the pizza in favor of the homemade cinnamon rolls the restaurant offered. "I think we should check out of the hotel."
"No," Sam said.
"Yeah, I think we should. I think we should leave town," Dean said. Sam frowned at him. Oops, might have said too much. He's giving me the look.
"Why?"
Dean put his head in his hands, the weight that had settled on his heart the night before now seeming to slow the steady beat in his chest. His head ached. "Sam…"
"What happened at the hospital, Dean?"
Oh, yeah, you ask me, right. Fine. Will you tell me if I ask? "Swapsies," Dean said.
"What?"
"Swapsies. I tell if you tell."
"Very mature, Dean," Sam said with a little smile.
"I mean it, Sam," Dean said, stopping what he was about to say as the waiter approached the table with their food.
The man put the food down and then glanced at Sam. Almost as if it had moved on its own, his hand rose and touched the odd burn mark on Sam's forehead. "Oh my god. How did you escape?" he said softly. He dropped his hand and turned to leave, Dean grabbed his wrist preventing his escape.
"You want to tell me what the hell that was about?" Dean snapped as the man struggled to get free.
"Please, let me go," the man whispered.
"Nope," Dean said with a friendly smile. See how friendly I am? And if you don't tell me what you meant a minute ago I will tear your arms off in a very friendly fashion. Sweet, kind, and rip, there they go.
"Please," the man said, trying to pull away.
"No, sit down," Dean said as he dragged the man towards a chair. "Tell us what you meant."
"I can't…" he said, running a hand over his eyes. "How did you escape the hospital?" he said, looking at Sam.
"Escape?" Sam said. Dean heard something in his brother's voice. What, exactly are you hiding, Sam?
"Once…" the man looked away, then back at Dean. "Once they had Chris, he never left, or so they said. They found him a couple of days later out by the bog on Winthrop Road. He was…" Tears formed in his eyes. "He never…and then last year he died, his body just stopped working."
"Brother?" Dean said gently, letting go of his wrist. The man rubbed it absently.
"Cousin, might has well have been my brother. I'm Jeff, by the way. You should eat the pizza before it congeals," he said with a soft laugh.
Dean turned to the food. He picked up a piece and bit into it, chewing thoughtfully. Ok, panicked about Sam, worried what this guy is about to tell us, but still, this is a great pizza. "Dean, that's my brother Sam," he said, pointing at Sam with the slice of pizza. His brother was picking at the cinnamon roll and staring at the table. We could be talking about baseball for all the reaction on his face. And you know how much that worries me, Sammy?
"How did you escape?" Jeff asked again.
"I didn't," Sam mumbled.
"What?" Jeff said his face white. "They let you go?"
"Yeah," Sam said to the roll.
Dean looked at his brother with a frown, then turned back to Jeff. "Can you tell me more?"
Jeff shrugged. "I can tell you what I heard, don't know what's true and what's not. I heard it's some kind of cult that drugs people. They know people at the hospital."
"Do you believe that?"
"I do," Jeff said. Dean saw something flare behind the man's eyes.
"Except?"
He looked at Dean with haunted eyes. Everyone has that look here, great. Just freaking great. "You'll think I'm crazy." Jeff swallowed.
If you knew how many times I've heard that in my lifetime. "Probably not," Dean said, watching Sam. His brother was methodically tearing the cinnamon roll to tiny bits.
"I thought I saw him."
"What?" Dean said. Sam had finished with the roll and started in on the napkin.
"I went out there one night. I guess I was planning to leave a stone or something for a memorial, you know. I…" He paused for a moment. "I heard horses, they caught me there and dragged me to the edge of the water."
"The horses?" Dean said. Sam had reached across the table and snagged a piece of pizza, which he had begun to shred.
"Yeah, these two scary gray horses. Then riders, you know. One of them got off his horse, he had a curved knife in his hand. The horses held me," Jeff said, rubbing his wrist. Dean noticed faint scars on both wrists. "And he got to me, and I swear…no I know. It was Chris. He whispered 'run' to me, then his face changed, he said something to the horses in this weird language and they let me go, and I ran. I went back once or twice after that, I thought I saw him watching from the big black horse. I don't know. He was Chris and he wasn't if you know what I mean?"
Dean thought of the man who had slit Sam throat, the same man Vivian sat vigil over at the hospital. "Yeah, I do know." She said they had never let him leave either. Sam? What the hell did you do? He looked over at his brother. Dean picked up another piece of pizza. This day is just getting better and better. Sam had found another napkin and was tearing it apart. Dean noticed his brother's hands were shaking. Not good, Sammy. Ok, we have to talk about this.
"Sorry," Jeff said, looking at Dean.
He means sorry about Sam. "Yeah," Dean said, the weight on his heart increasing, pulling a tight knot in the back of his neck. "Thanks."
"If you need anything let me know," Jeff said, standing. "More coffee?"
Dean looked down at his empty cup with surprise. When did I drink that? "Sure." He smiled as Jeff went to get the pot. "Good pizza," he said to Sam. His brother was shredding another piece of the pizza. He didn't look up, just stayed focused on the act of destruction he was accomplishing. Jeff brought the coffee back and a pile of napkins which he dropped in front of Dean with a small smile.
Dean took another bite of pizza. Sam was shredding his way through the new pile of napkins. Three napkins later, Sam picked up his fork. Good boy, Sammy, eat your food. And drove it into his left hand, the tines piercing the flesh between the thumb and forefinger.
"Sam!" Dean was out of his chair, pulling the fork from his brother's hand. "What the hell are you doing?" he said, pressing one of the last whole napkins down on the wound on Sam's hand.
"Dean?" Sam said, confused, sounding almost he had just woken up. He looked down at his hand, where the blood was already saturating the napkin, then up at Dean. "What happened?"
"What?" Dean said, holding the napkin in place. "Hey, Jeff," he shouted. "You got a first aid kit?"
"Dean?" Sam said again. His brother sounded like he had when he was five and something had happened that he didn't understand and he needed Dean to fix it.
Jeff ran out of the back with a white box in his hands. "What happened?" he said, looking down at Sam's bloody hand.
"I guess napkins got boring," Dean said, digging through the first-aid kit one handed. He dragged out a large bandaid and put it on Sam's hand. "Thanks," he said to Jeff, handing him the box. Jeff took the hint and left. "Sam?"
His brother was staring down at his hand. "Did I do that?"
Dean scrubbed his hands across his face. "Let's go. I'll pay the bill. You wait in the car, ok? No forks." Dean watched Sam walk to the car and get in before he went to the cash register. "Sorry about the mess," he said to Jeff as he paid the check.
"It's ok," Jeff said. He frowned and grabbed Dean's wrist. "Try and get him out of here, I don't know if you can. Don't let Sam end up like Chris."
"I won't," Dean said. I won't, simple as that, Sam dying is not an option. And I think that might be what I'm fighting here. Sorry, Sam, don't know what you did, but we have to undo it now. Dean walked out to the car. Sam smiled as he dropped into the driver's seat.
"Sorry," Sam said, rubbing his hand a little.
"You should be, you shredded two perfectly good pieces of the best pizza I've eaten in a long time," Dean said, letting the subject drop until they were back at the room. Then while he tells me what's going on, I'll pack and we can put this town behind us.
He watched the buildings thin and then the forest pile against the road again. Mist was beginning to gather in eddies, swimming among the blackened trunks, obscuring the tops of the stunted trees. The undergrowth looked black as well in the damp where light rarely touched. They drove past the blood-red cranberry bog and finally turned into the lot at the hotel.
Dean followed Sam up the stairs. His brother stumbled once on the way up. When Dean opened the door Sam walked to his bed and sank down on it, the brown bag from the hospital clasped in his bandaged hand. Dean fussed around the room for several minutes, aware of his brother's stillness as he sat on the bed, the bag still in his hand. Dean tried to gently take it from Sam, but his brother held on to it.
"Ok," Dean said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Talk."
Sam looked at him with slightly unfocused eyes. "I…"
"When I was trying to get back to you, I found this room," Dean said. The look in Sam's eyes worried him. Not drugged, maybe, but something is off. "The man who cut your throat was there, unconscious, according to his mother he's been that way since last solstice."
"The Sleeping King," Sam said more to himself than Dean. He looked down at the bag he was holding in his hands.
"Sam?" Dean reached out and pulled Sam's head up so he could look in his brother's eyes. Sam's eyes were shifting, like the fog, something behind them, distant, terrifying. "What?" Dean snapped, the word coming out harsher, angrier, than he intended.
Sam looked at him for a minute, then shook his head a little. "What?"
"Ok, I'll try again. What's going on, Sam?" he said the words calm, patient. And considering I am screaming in my head, that's a good thing. I want to grab him and shake him and make him talk.
"I…uh…" Sam frowned a little. "Dean? My hand hurts."
"Stabbing a fork in it can make hurt," Dean said, watching Sam's face. Ok, heading towards freaked.
"Fork?"
"At the restaurant?"
"Did I do that?"
"You already asked that," Dean said. Sam's eyes drifted towards the window. Dean grabbed his brother's shoulders and gave him a hard shake. "Sam, come on."
Sam focused on Dean for a moment. "Sorry, it's the…" He stopped himself. "You found a room?"
It's the what, Sam? Well? WHAT IS IT? Dean took a deep breath, trying to stop his voice shouting in his head. "Yeah, the guy in there looked like the one on the black horse last night." Wait, didn't Jeff say he saw Chris on a black horse? Same horse? What's going on? "His mother said he's been there since last year. He was hurt one night and ended up at the hospital and he never left again, accept like Jeff's cousin, the night of the solstice."
"Jeff?"
"The guy at the restaurant?"
"Oh," Sam said, looking confused. "The man in the room?" Sam said, his eyes suddenly looking more like Sam. "Tell me about it."
Are you back with me, Sam? Dean carefully described the room to Sam, his brother's frown deepened as Dean told him about the altar, the man's rich robes and the furnishings in the room. "You said something about the Sleeping King?" Dean said, watching Sam carefully. His brother still seemed to be focused on what he was saying.
"I did?"
"Stay with me, Sam," Dean said as his brother looked confused again. "Yeah, you did."
"The Sleeping King, it's old lore, very old. The Winter King, he watches over, protects, the community he is from. I think he might also be Lord of the Hunt."
"Ok," Dean said.
Sam smiled, his "you don't get it, but nice try" smile. "The Hunt. Sometimes called the ghost hunt, or, well, it's known by many names. It's odd though, I never realized that the each uisge were part of the Hunt. It fits, though, most of it."
"Fits?"
"With the lore. The King, the Lord of the Hunt, was sacrificed on the solstice."
"If he's sacrificed how come he's laying in the hospital?"
"It's the way the sacrifice works. The body stays alive for the 'reign' of the king. It has to, if the body dies so does the king. Traditionally, the community cares for the body. It must be easier now, with IVs and everything."
"Yeah, Vivian's son had an IV and maybe a feeding tube." Dean paused. "What happens at the end of the year?" Only two days left till he rests, that's what Vivian said. What happens then?
"A new King is chosen and goes through three rituals, then he ascends and becomes Lord of the Hunt and the other is released."
"He dies," Dean said, meeting his brother's eyes.
"He was already dead, Dean. When he becomes King there is no going back," Sam said, his gaze intent, pleading. "Actually," Sam said softly. "Once he is chosen it's too late." His brother's eyes drifted away, shifting like the mists, like the man's face the night before. His head was cocked a little as if he were listening to something.
"Sam!" Dean said. He gave Sam a little pinch on the arm.
"Ow," Sam said, looking at him. "Sorry, it's the…"
"The what?"
"I need to take a shower." Sam was off the bed and had the bathroom door closed before Dean could grab him. Dean heard the snick of the lock settling into place.
"Sam!" Dean hammered on the door. His brother ignored him. I should just kick in the door, it might make me feel better. He pushed his foot against the door, thinking about it. Maybe not a good idea. I think I will dump that medicine down the drain, though. He walked back to the bed. Damn, he took it with him. We need to talk about this, Sam. I am completely panicked. I think…Were you trying to tell me…? Dean swallowed. Dying is not an option, Sammy.
Dean wandered to the sliding door and opened it, stepping out onto the balcony. The fog was beginning to flow in a little. Just tiny silver wisps on the ground, but starting to thicken. A tiny flash of black and white caught Dean's eyes. He followed the flight of a small dark bird with white feathers in its tail. A frog was croaking somewhere in the grass and a duck was quacking with the indignation that only ducks seemed to achieve. There were crows wandering around a small pond, and a pair of ravens was sitting on a large flat rock beside the pond overseeing everything. Dean leaned on the balcony rail and put his head in his hands.
"Dean?"
"Yeah?" he said without looking up.
Dean heard his brother walk out beside him, then Sam's shoulder touched his. "I…" He sighed. "I need to take…"
"No, you can't" Dean said, looking over at Sam.
"I have to."
"No, hell no, Sam. God knows what that stuff is," he said. Sam had a sad smile in his face. Oh, Sam, no. God, no. "You know what it is, don't you?"
"I…" Sam sighed again, his shoulders slumping. "Yes and no. I know what it's for. I don't really know what's going to happen when I take it."
"You can't." Dean said, grabbing Sam's arm.
"I have to."
"No you don't, Sam, we can leave, let's just go."
"You don't understand, Dean, they've already…"
"What?" Dean said, feeling his blood turn to ice and his heart stop beating. He held his breath.
"In the hospital, the first shot of 'painkillers' sealed it. The other was…"
"Other, Sam? What other?"
"The second shot," Sam said. "It was part of the first ritual."
"Part of the first?" No, no, part of the first? Does that mean he has already gone through one ritual already? NO! NO! PLEASE, NO.
"The one that started in the bog, when he slit my throat, Dean. It started then." Sam said sadly. "Well, that's only half true. It started when the each uisge stopped the car."
"And we didn't mention it because?" Dean snapped.
"I wanted to do a little more research before I told you."
"Great." Dean said, still leaning against Sam.
"I need to take the medicine, Dean."
"No."
"Once they gave me the first shot, Dean, there's a failsafe, a way they have always protected the ritual. I have to drink it to be part of the ritual."
"You can't be part of it, Sam, you'll die."
"But if I don't? That's where the failsafe comes into play, if I don't take all the doses I die anyway."
Dean looked at Sam, searching his eyes, looking for the truth and he found it. His world started shattering. It wasn't broken, not yet, but there were hairline cracks like a spider's web, touching the edges of his reality. "Sam…" No, no, no, no.
"Agreeing to go along with it got me out of the hospital," Sam said with a faint grin. "It was going to happen one way or another and at least this way I could…" Sam paused. "I could research a little more and maybe we could figure a way out of this."
And that is so not what you were going to say, Sam. Lying to me? Great. Just freaking great. This day just keeps getting better and better. Yep. Just freaking great. "Good thinking. We'll figure a way out, Sam."
"Yeah." Sam swallowed. "I need to take the dose." Sam stood. Dean followed his brother in and sat on the edge of the bed. Sam opened the bottle. "She said half now, half at ten." He poured the liquid out into one of the plastic cups the motel provided. "At least it's not going directly into my veins," he said with a half-hearted smile. Sam tossed it back in one swallow.
"What happens now?" Dean said, watching for any change on his brother's face.
"I don't know," Sam said. "I felt a little better after the shower. I couldn't hear the bells anymore."
"Good reason to shower more often," Dean said, trying to grin.
"Yeah." Sam leaned his head back against the headboard. "Dean…"
"We'll figure this out, Sam, we will. I promise." He gently squeezed his brother's knee. "Maybe I'll even hit the books myself."
"It's a miracle," Sam said. He swallowed. "I…" His eyes closed.
"Is it starting?" Dean said softly.
"Yeah. It's funny of all the things I worried this first dose would do, I never thought it would do this."
"What?"
"Put me to sleep," Sam said, his voice thick.
"Sam?"
"It's strange. I…I can't fight it, Dean."
"It's ok, Sammy, sleep. I'll be here." Dean watched as Sam drifted away. He carefully shifted his brother down a little and put a pillow under his head. Dean grabbed the blanket from the other bed and pulled it over him. Sam was shivering a little, his skin ice cold to the touch.
After several minute Dean stood and dug Sam's laptop out of the case and flipped it open. Ok, not the genius at research, but I can hold my own. Occasionally, with help. Sam hadn't cleared his browsing history and Dean began digging through the pages Sam had been surfing. Most of the information Sam had already given him, albeit in very abbreviated form. None of this really tells me all that much about the ritual. Nothing about how to get Sam out of it. Ok, now what? He typed in the address for the online phone book and found a number. I wonder if she still wants to remove my heart and feed it to wild dogs? He dialed.
"Baxter Institute," the crisp female voice answered.
"Uh, can I speak to Dr. Donovan?" Dean said.
"May I ask who is calling?" the efficient voice said.
"Dean Winchester."
"One moment please."
Dean waited, listening to the classical music. Trust her to have classical music. Nice touch. If anyone knows about this, she might. Assuming she'll even talk to me. She wouldn't hold a grudge for this long would she?
"Dean," a female voice came on the line. The tone was a little sardonic.
"Hey," he said. That didn't sound too unfriendly, at least not for her.
"What can I do for you?"
"I need information."
"The classic Dean Winchester pickup line if I remember right," she said with a laugh.
"Yeah, you do," he felt a smile starting in spite of the situation.
"Well?"
"What do you know about the Winter King? Or the Lord of the Hunt?"
"What have we gotten ourselves into, Dean?" she asked. "Let's see." He heard her moving around, something clattered to the floor. A loud thump. "Ok, what do you need? Significance? Archaeological evidence of? No, you probably don't want that. Ritual?"
Leave it to Dr. Dizzy Donovan to be able to just pull that stuff off of her shelves and out of her head. "How about all of the above, everything, as much as you can give me."
"How bad is it?" she asked. He could hear a knowing sympathy in her voice.
"Bad. Give me everything you got," he said, grabbing a pen and paper so he could take notes. Knowing her it's going to be an encyclopedia before she's done. "Ok, shoot."
Half an hour later Dean had filled one of the small pads the motel provided with notes. "Are you sure? About the second ritual?" he asked when she finally slowed the lecture down.
"Well, as sure as I can be, as far as I know no one has witnessed these rituals for hundreds of years."
"Thanks," Dean said with a sigh. Oh, yeah this keeps getting better and better. "But you are pretty sure that you have it right, for what happens in the second ritual?"
"Since when has 'I'm sure' meant anything else? Huh? Five parts, Dean. The first drink from the cup, the ritual meal of grain, fruit, meat and mead; the second drink from the cup; the sacrifice and the final part of the ritual."
"What happens at the final part?"
"I can't tell you that. I am madly translating from the Latin but I don't think anyone witnessed it, even then. Not sure witnesses survive."
"What happens for the third ritual? The one on solstice?"
"Madly translating, here, even I can only go so fast through three sources. Give me till tomorrow. I'll call a friend at Oxford who knows more about this than I do."
"I doubt that," Dean said with a little laugh.
"You're just saying that because I'm an expert," she said, laughing back. "Be careful, Dean."
"I will."
"When you're done doing whatever you're doing, you should come visit. It's warm and sunny here."
"Always is in Hell," Dean said.
"You're just saying that because last time you were here it was 125 in the shade," she said. "I'll call you in the morning with what I've found out. Don't do something stupid."
"Who me?"
"Yeah, you. Talk to you later, Dean."
"Bye, Dizzy," he said as he flipped the phone closed. He scrubbed a hand across his face and absently rubbed one shoulder, trying to ease the pounding in his skull. And all of this information just makes me feel that much better. Not. Dean got up and wandered into the bathroom, running the water until it was ice cold and then splashing his face. He put his hand in his head for several long moments. A sound in the room made him turn off the water.
Sam was standing on the balcony, a raven was sitting on the rail. Dean moved cautiously through the room, trying to see what was happening. His slow movements became a mad dash when he noticed the blood running out of Sam's arm and down onto the railing. The bird was dipping his beak into the small pool of red that had collected on the railing. The raven was watching Dean's approach and flew at the last second. Dean grabbed Sam's arm. "Sam!" He pulled his brother back into the room and into the bathroom, grabbing a towel and pressing it down on the slash in his brother's forearm. "What did you do?"
Sam was looking at his arm with mild curiosity. "I heard the raven call my name," he said in a faraway voice.
"What?" Dean said, checking the wound, it was still bleeding, but wasn't as deep as he had feared.
"The raven called me," Sam said. "He wanted me to do something."
"Yeah, like cut your arm open, nice bird, Sam," Dean said, his trying to keep his voice a little light. Which is getting increasingly hard. Nice, I leave you alone for a few minutes and you are talking to the birds and feeding them your blood. Nice. Ok, heart is not quite at the exploding point, but it is getting close. And we can't leave. That had been one thing Dizzy was sure of, if they tried to leave it would be bad.
Sam was leaning against him. Dean held the towel on his brother's arm for another minute, then guided Sam back to the bed. Sam's eyes were unfocused and foggy. Dean put his brother's hand over the towel and then went to his bag for the first-aid kit. He quickly bandaged the cut, closing it carefully with butterflies. I don't think it is deep enough to need stitches. By the time he had finished he realized Sam was watching the procedure.
"You back?" Dean said.
"Back?" Sam said, confused. He looked at the bandage on his arm. "What happened? Did I fall?"
"What happened? Well apparently you decided to have a Dr. Doolittle moment and then fed the birds."
"What?"
"Never mind, Sam. You hungry? It's about dinner time," Dean said, standing. "We might as well go to the hotel restaurant, I'm sure they have your meal all planned out." And one for me, too. I hope this doesn't kill you tonight, Sam.
Sam nodded and they walked to the small restaurant. Dean watching Sam the whole way. His brother's steps were unsteady, wavering a little. A table was waiting for them, decorated with the golden branches, bright silver bells and evergreen boughs. Sam fingered the centerpiece.
"Mistletoe," he said.
"Is that what that is? I should have recognized it, I guess."
A sly grin spread on Sam's face. "I think you are usually more worried about who's standing under it than what it looks like, Dean."
"Yeah, probably," Dean said, watching the waitress approach. They hadn't ordered, but there was food on the plates. She put two crystal glasses of golden liquid on the table. Dean shrugged and picked up the glass and held it out to Sam. His brother smiled and they clinked glasses. Dean took a sip, the rich, sweet liquid burned a fiery trail down his body. "Mead? Good stuff, Sammy."
They ate mostly in silence. The waitress appeared and refilled their glasses on a regular basis. By the time the meal was over Dean was a little tipsy. Of course, that's the plan. He and Sam managed to get back to the room, Sam sinking onto the bed and Dean happily running a bath in the spa tub. Might as well. Be nice and clean for when the fun starts. He settled back in the tub with a sigh. When he got out an hour and a half later the knot at the back of his neck had relaxed fractionally. Which is better than not at all, I guess.
"I was just going to come get you," Sam said. "It's time for the second dose."
"I know," Dean said, sitting down beside his brother.
"Think it will put me to sleep?"
No, Sam, I don't. I think…god, no, if she's right I know what's going to happen. I hope it doesn't kill you. "We'll see, I guess."
Sam drank the rest of the bottle, not bothering to pour it into a glass. Dean watched for the first signs that it was affecting his brother. Slowly Sam's eyes turned away from him, shifting like the fog. "No," Sam said in an agonized breath. "No." He was off the bed and out the door before Dean got his feet on the floor.
He followed his brother down the stairs and through the walkway that ran along the edge of the ground floor. There was a pathway from the building to the wildlife refuge behind. Dean followed Sam out into the wet ground. The fog had rolled in again, the lights from the hotel breaking through a tiny bit. Dean could see, just at the edge of his vision, one of the gray horses. Sam had stopped and was staring at it. Dean walked to his brother.
"They promised," Sam said, the words forced out of him.
"It's ok, Sammy, it's part of the ritual," Dean said gently. Now that it's here I am not as calm as I was a little while ago about this. What if she's wrong?
"They promised, Dean." He turned haunted eyes to Dean. "They said…"
Dean smiled. "What did they say?"
Sam was starting to drift, Dean could see that, but his brother tried to focus on him. "They said the each uisge wouldn't take you."
"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," Sam said desperately. "I didn't." Tears had formed in his eyes.
"It's ok, Sam," Dean said gently. He picked the silver knife up from the flat rock the ravens had been sitting on. He met his brother's eyes, very little of Sam was left behind them, he had drifted away, fog touching his eyes, shifting like the mist. Dean pulled his brother into a tight hug, then pressed the knife into his hands. "It's ok, Sam."
The knife was sharp, he barely noticed as the metal slid into him. He looked at Sam, tears were running down his brother's face. The part of Sam that was left whispered "I'm sorry." Over and over again. He pushed Dean down onto the rock, guiding him back until he was lying, looking up at the stars.
Sam bent over him, but Sam was gone, there was nothing of his brother in the eyes that met his. The gray horse approached as Sam pulled the knife out of Dean.
There was something on that knife. The idle thought formed as he started drifting on the fog. He was aware, still, of his brother, of the horse, but only just. He could hear the bells ringing and the soft chanting of a song from far away. Dean was aware of his blood slipping down his body, and the fact that Sam's hand was tracing a pattern in blood.
"I'm sorry," the whispered reached him in the cold fog.
"It's ok, Sammy," he said. His last vision was of Sam mounting the skeletal horse and riding away into the fog that slowly claimed him, pulling him away into icy darkness.
To Be Continued