A/N: Thank you everyone who is sticking with me through my little weird story. I know it has gotten a little odd, and frankly it might get a little odder, but I promise it will be resolved soon! I appreciate all your reviews immensely and for those of you who have decided this is a little too very weird, I will be back with a lovely new story very soon! Oh and a gentle reminder—I don't write death fic!
Ring Out Solstice Bells
Chapter Five
The Once and Future King
The winter sun lit the land around Dean, reflecting off the pond and casting bright golden sparks of light into the pool of blood puddled on the stone in front of him. The each uisge had stopped several yards from them, the dead scent of the thing eddying around him like the mists that swallowed everything in the night. Dean was watching it. And it is watching me, or rather us. I think it's waiting for something.
Sam groaned. Dean looked down, even though his brother sounded like he was in pain there was a happy smile on his face. He spoke, the words unintelligible, the language unknown, but still Dean understood. And how fun is that? "They are waiting," Sam said with a happy sigh. "Soon, soon it can begin." He laughed, a bright happy note mingling with the soft calls of birds in the trees.
"Sam?" Dean said, half surprised when his words came out in English. Dean shook his brother a little. Sam's eyes opened, fog shifting behind them, but he saw them focus on him.
"Dean?" Sam blinked, his eyes closed for a moment, then he opened them again. "What happened?" He struggled to sit up, allowing Dean to give him a hand. Sam braced his back against the flat stone. "Why am I out here?"
"You decided to have another 'feed the birds' moment, Sammy," Dean said, gently prodding the wound on Sam's neck. "We need to get this cleaned up and your arm re-bandaged."
"Feed the birds? What do you mean?" Sam's eyes unfocused for a minute. "Something with the ravens?"
"Yeah. And Sam, about that? Gross." Dean yanked Sam to his feet, pulling his brother's arm over his shoulders to help him back to the room. He pulled Sam into the bathroom and set him down on the closed toilet. "Don't go talking to any birds for a minute," Dean said, walking into the room and digging in the first-aid kit for bandages, alcohol and antibiotic cream. He stopped for a minute, putting his head in his hands. Oh, god, Sammy. How am I going to get you out of this? Dean sighed, straightened and went back into the bathroom. Sam had his head against the wall, eyes closed, the smile back on his face. No, I'm losing him already. "Sammy?"
Sam's eyes opened, the mists still there, but he managed to pull himself back, Dean saw the change in his brother's eyes. "Yeah?" Sam said, his voice sounded a little weary.
"Let's get that fixed, okay?" Dean carefully cleaned the cut on Sam's neck and the two tiny points where flesh had been nipped away by sharp beaks. What the hell is with the damn birds? That's just freaking weird. And I will say it again. Gross, just plain gross. He bandaged the wound and then turned to the slash on Sam's arm, cleaning it and putting a clean bandage over it as well. "All done, Sam, how do you feel?"
"A little better," Sam said, his voice sounding more like Sam. He stood and wandered into the room. Dean followed closely behind. You are not going out that door again, Sam. Sam sank down on the bed. "Why are we here again, Dean?" He looked at Dean with a wan smile.
"Twelve dead before solstice, all that's left are the livers?"
"And the thirteenth in a coma at the hospital until they die at the exact moment of the solstice." Sam looked out the window. "Ten twenty-seven."
"What?"
"The exact moment of solstice, Dean. Ten twenty-seven." Sam met his eyes, a bleak look covered by the shifting fog. "Tonight."
"I'm figuring it out, Sam. There might be a way to get you out of it, to stop the ritual. We just need to…"
"Assuming I even want to stop the ritual?"
The statement brought Dean up sharply. "What?" What the hell, Sam?
"When it starts, Dean, it's like I am two people at first. Me and the other, the one who is…I remember bits of last night, stabbing you. I remember…" He closed his eyes. "The woman, the nurse, from the hospital was there, the one who gave me the shot."
"Really?" The one who dies when I get my hands on her?
"Yeah, she is important." Sam sighed. "But Dean, I also remember the joy, the need, the longing for the ritual to go on. I wanted it so badly. God, Dean, I still do. I can hear them, even now, singing for me, waiting. My mount is waiting, we will ride tonight, together with my brothers." Sam started humming.
"SAM!" Dean grabbed his brother and shook him hard, and kept shaking him until the fog lifted in Sam's eyes and he focused back on Dean.
"Dean?"
"Stay with me, Sammy."
"I'm trying, Dean. I really am, it's just…" He drifted again, his eyes closing, humming softly. That's enough of that, Sam. Before Dean thought about it, before he could stop it, his hand had slapped his brother's face. Sam's eyes snapped back to irritated awareness. "Dean?" he said annoyed, the tone a little hurt.
"You were humming off-key, you know I hate that, Sammy."
"Yeah, thanks," Sam said, playing along with the game. "Sun's starting to set."
Dean glanced out the balcony doors. The fog was rolling in, the sun turning the mists into swirling blood. Better and better. Sam stood and wandered out onto the balcony. Dean followed, not sure of what would come once his brother got outside. Sam was standing with his head cocked, listening to something Dean couldn't hear. He leaned on the balcony rail beside his brother, letting his shoulder come into contact with Sam. It didn't go unnoticed. Sam leaned against him a little, his eyes focused on the each uisge still standing at the edge of the trees.
"I have to take the final dose soon," Sam said softly.
"What? I thought you didn't have to take it until later," Dean said, his heart pounding. His hands were shaking again, a minute tremble, but there nonetheless.
"That's what she said, I know. But I also know when I have to take it, and it's soon, very soon." He sighed, resting a little more against Dean. "How can we stop it?"
"When you get to the final moment of the ritual, just wait. Don't do the final bit."
"What's the final bit?"
"When the king dies, I'm not sure, she wasn't sure. No one who has witnessed the ritual has been clear about it, I guess. Can you do that?"
"Can't you?" There was a desperate note in Sam's voice. Fear overlaid with something else.
"I'll try, but I don't think they'll let me get that close."
"If you're even there," Sam said.
"I'll be there, Sam." And he knew that now, as surely as Sam knew what was happening. The bells had started chiming again, the sound still far off, but Dean could hear it. Sam's humming was beginning to take on meaning in his head and he could hear the pounding of hooves as the hunt waited for the final ritual, as they rode, unseen, through the fields, waiting.
"You're sure?" Sam looked at him, listening to that other voice as well. "Yes, it is right, it is good, you will be there as it once was." Dean understood the last part, even though Sam had spoken the other language, the words falling into air like droplets of blood. The each uisge tossed its head and gave an odd cry. Dean shivered as the sound touched him, chilling him. It felt like his bones resonated with the sound. This is just freaking great.
A knock on the door pulled his attention away. He walked through the room, grabbing his .45 on the way. Cautiously easing the door open, he looked out. Another room service tray stood outside the door. Great, final meal, right? He pulled the tray into the room. The dishes were golden. Oh, that can't be good. Sam came in as he rolled the tray over to the table. There were covered plates, a bottle of the golden mead and a flask made of gold. Creepy, just freaking creepy. But, hey, creepy food is fun.
"Time to eat," Sam sat at the table and waited as Dean served him. Even a he did so, Dean wondered at his actions. Not your servant, Sammy, don't get used to it. When he had served Sam, he sat down opposite of his brother and poured the mead into the goblets. They toasted each other and drank, the meal passed in silence. Sam was watching the window, Dean was watching Sam. Trying to ignore those damn annoying bells.
When the meal was ended, Sam picked up the gold flask and poured the liquid into the goblets. Dean took the cup Sam held out to him, and try though he might to not drink the contents of the cup, he couldn't stop himself. Finally, Sam stood and picked up the bottle, the final dose of the ritual drink. He drank it from the bottle with a last smile at Dean.
I don't like that look, Sam. Dean was tying to ignore the sounds he could hear in his head, trying to stay focused on his brother, on trying to figure out a way to get Sam out of what was going to happen. Not good, not good. What's happening?
"Sam?"
"Soon, Dean. Sorry," he whispered.
"Try and stay with me," Dean pleaded.
"I'm trying." Sam had started humming. Stop humming, damn it Sam. What's that? Oh, god, I'm humming. The song had started in his head, transferred to his vocal chords without even realizing it. No, I have to stay focused. I have to save Sam.
His brother smiled again and then turned, walking quickly out of the room. "Sam!" Dean followed, trying to keep up. He is walking fast, very fast. What happens now? Sam was walking back to the refuge, back towards where the each uisge waited. Dean was hard on his heels. Sam had stopped by the flat stone. The raven's altar. The words formed in Dean's mind. Oh, great, and now I'm hearing voices. Just freaking great. Sam, you hang on, you stay with me.
"Sam?" he said, coming up beside where his brother stood.
"Dean?" Sam looked at him, the little left of Sam behind the shifting fog. "I'm sorry."
"Hang on, Sam, we'll get you out of this. I promise."
"Please, Dean," Sam said, his voice terrified. "Please, Dean."
"I promise, Sammy," Dean said fiercely, willing it to be true. I will save you Sam, I promise, somehow, someway I will save you.
"Dean?" Sam whispered.
"I know, Sammy. I was expecting it, it's why I didn't have you stitch it up."
The knife was in his brother's hand again. "I'm sorry, Dean, god, I'm sorry."
"It's okay, Sammy." He put a gentle hand against his brother's face. "It's okay, I'll be there soon." Sam smiled, his eyes meeting Dean's as he slid the blade into him again. Something stung on the knife, a coldness moving away from the wound. Sam guided him down onto the altar again. Dean thought he heard the call of a raven in the trees as Sam traced a pattern on him in blood. A fluttering noise filled Dean's ears. A raven had dropped to the stone beside him, chuckling to itself. It touched Sam's hand with its beak and then touched Dean's face. Sam was singing softly as the each uisge approached.
The mists were calling Dean, he held on long enough to see Sam mount the each uisge with a last desperate look over his shoulder at Dean. Then Sam was gone, the fog swallowing him as the raven circled over his head. Oh, god, this is not good. He lay there looking at the dark mist, his awareness swirling on the eddies that moved over his head. I have to get to him. I was sure I was supposed to be there. Sam, you just hang on until I get there, okay? You hear me, Sammy? Please, please hang on. The fog in his mind had started to lift a little as his blood stopped flowing over his chest. That's a plus, I don't think the wound is all that deep, they just needed the blood of the family. And weird that I know that. Oh, yeah, this just gets better and better.
He heard them approaching, the pounding of hooves getting closer, and then they were there. Fleshless faces staring down from gray steeds. One of them dismounted and pulled Dean up, indicating he should mount the horse. Dean swung up and the rider settled behind him, cold arms holding Dean in place, the touch of the limbs burning his wrists. The horses moved out, riding along the path that Sam had gone down sometime before. Dean could see into the dark, he could see the night eyes of things disappearing as the horses moved past. They passed the cranberry bog, getting closer and closer to the ritual. Dean could feel that closeness, knew when they were nearly there. Hang on, Sam, cavalry, really creepy cavalry, is on the way.
XXX
It was cold outside. The each uisge was patiently waiting for him. It had moved closer, the moment of joy coming. It would feed well tonight, it would join the hunt on this one night. Fear was curling through him, a tingle mixed with the unbearable joy. The terror diminished as the joy built.
"I promise, Sammy," Dean said. His voice carried the truth of the promise in it.
"Dean?" Sam whispered, suddenly seeing what needed to be done, the knife in his hand somehow. Where did that come from? part of him whispered. It is right, it is good, the other part answered. He tried to focus on Dean
"I know, Sammy. I was expecting it, it's why I didn't have you stitch it up."
He knew, oh god, he knew, and he was just going to let it happen? "I'm sorry, Dean, god, I'm sorry." Why, Dean? Why? He was desperate, panicked, trying to stop himself, trying to save Dean. He understands, he knows, let him rejoice with us.
"It's okay, Sammy." Dean laid a gentle hand against Sam's face, meeting his eyes. For the last time with these eyes, one voice said. No, no, another said, quieter. "It's okay, I'll be there soon." Thank you, Dean. Then a pause. Yes, yes, he will rejoice with us, it will be as it was.
Sam smiled, holding his brother's eyes as he slid the blade into him. His hands understanding the ritual, his voice whispering the words as he drew the pattern in blood. It is right, it is good. A raven laughed joyously from the trees. No, Dean, I'm so sorry, please let me stop this. The raven landed and smiled at him, looking at the man—Dean, my brother—on its altar. The raven chuckled happily, touching his hand and the man's—No, Dean, it's Dean—face before laughing gently again. Let us sing. The each uisge approached, its silent voice joining in his song as he mounted. The raven rose above them, calling them to the place of ritual, calling them to the new hunt, the end and the beginning.
He looked back, the man was on the altar, open eyes staring into the mists. No, Dean. He hadn't moved since he had been placed on the stone. They will come for him, he will join us tonight, it is right, it is good. The raven called from overhead, the small creatures of the night flitting upwards to join it. Please, Dean, please. Sam turned his eyes from the man—DEAN!—on the altar. He will soon be with us and share our joy.
The each uisge moved on, joined by increasing numbers that flitted and called as they approached the ritual place. The bells were chiming, calling him as he rode, his song floated over the forest, blending with the raven's call. Soon, soon. The longing was beginning, profound, painful. Yes, soon. As he passed the cranberry bog the each uisge stopped. He dismounted and pulled the cup from under the plants, the cold water sending ripples of pleasure up his arms. Soon, and so pure, the way it was, the way it hasn't been for so many ages. The ache of longing increased as he heard the voices of those already gathered singing, the bells chiming and the drum sounding its heartbeat rhythm as he approached.
All sound, all movement stopped as he rode into the clearing. The raven flying ahead and landing on the Great Altar, the flat stone in the earth, called his name as he approached. Those gathered dropped down, their knees touching the ground before they rose. It is right, it is good, it is joy. The each uisge took him to the altar and he dismounted, running a loving hand over the gray flesh.
"You and yours ride with us tonight, we hunt and you will feed." It nuzzled him gently, blowing cold breath over his face in tribute. "Soon, my friend, soon." The each uisge moved to the fringes of those gathered, joining its kind as they waited patiently.
They were approaching, all heads turned to the field behind them and the Hunt came near. The gray horses were prancing in the soft night, their breath mingling with the fog, the rider on the black horse leading them. They stopped in front of him. Sam, I'm Sam. On a snapped order, the horses parted, his own steed danced happily between the others. The gray horses dipped their heads as his horse walked past. Finally, it stopped before him, his heart was singing with joy. He gently touched its nose with his forehead, breathing in the musky scent. He felt the soft rush of air as it breathed in the sighing breath he released, taking in the soft scent of the horse as he inhaled. Hello, my friend, my love. It ruffled his hair with its breath, snuffling softly as he ran a hand down its black-boned neck. "Welcome," he said to it.
He could hear the other horses, the ones bringing the other man. Dean. They came up behind him, the horses pausing, their noses bowing as their riders dipped their heads as well. The man was swung off the horse, a young woman walking to him and pulling him to his proper place before they could begin. The man tried to shake her hands off, but she held on guiding him to his place. She said something and he obeyed. Good, he hears our words, he understands, he will share our joy. He met the man's eyes. Dean, please. Sam tried to break free, the rider of the black horse had dismounted and stood before him.
"My brother, myself, this is the night of our joy," his king said.
"My brother, myself, this is the night of our joy," he repeated.
His king laid his hand on his face, the movement flickering a memory into focus. Dean, please. His king smiled at him, the eyes meeting his as the face shifted young to old, living to dead. Yes, soon.
"I am old, my brother, myself," his king said.
"I am young, my brother, myself." The ritual words flowed out of him as the longing ached joyfully in his bones.
A woman, my priestess, stepped forward, a bronze bowl in her hands. She first stopped before the man, waiting by the altar. Dean. The man drank from the bowl and then she offered each rider a drink, solemnly handing the bowl up to them, they as solemnly handing it back. She stopped before his king and handed him the bowl. The king drank and turned to him, passing the ornate bowl from his own hands into Sam's. Sam, I'm Sam. He drank. The liquid was warm velvet, tracing through his body like the mists. He sighed.
"I ask one favor of you this night, my brother, myself," his king said gently.
"I grant one favor to you this night, my brother, myself."
"Let me ride with my brothers one last time before I sleep under these stars." His king's eyes were pleading, the ritual words filled with a gentle sob and longing.
He laid a hand gently on his king's face, the cold, skeletal flesh sending joyous shivers down his spine. Soon, soon. He laughed, his voice ringing out over the clearing. "My brothers we ride!" The ritual words were met with a cheer, loud, reverberating around the clearing and over the dark waters of the bog. He took the reins of his mount in his hands as one of the riders led a gray horse forward, it nuzzled his horse, then snuffled his hair. He led both horses to the man standing beside the Great Altar.
The man—Dean—met his eyes, dipping his head in acknowledgment. "We ride tonight, young and old. Beginning and end under these stars. Will you join us, my brother?"
Joy flickered in his brother's—my brother, Dean—eyes. "My brother, I will join you this night under these stars." He smiled, black sparks lighting his eyes. "We ride together." He took the reins from his hands, letting his own hand run down the soft gray neck. The man swung up on the horse.
He—Sam—turned back to his brothers. "We ride together this night, one last time, under these stars, beginning and end," he called out. The answering cry from every throat filled him with joy as he mounted his horse and pulled up beside his king. The hunting call rang out, voices blending with the baying of the hounds and the neighing of the horses as they moved out. He lifted his voice in the song, the song of this night, the other voices joining him. He heard the man's voice join as well. Laughter filled the night as the dark things flitted ahead, leading the hunt across the fields.
The moments flowed over him like the wind in his face, like the breeze moving his hair. Sometime later as the night moved on towards the moment when the sun stopped, when his life would begin, he pulled up his horse, looking up into the mists, seeing the dark stars overhead. Time. The knowledge shivered up his spine, moving through his body, fear touching him momentarily then pushed aside as the riders stopped beside him.
"My brothers, it is time," he called out. Skeletal hands pounded him on the back. As one they turned, the great hooves tearing into the earth as they rode back through the fields to the clearing, ready for the final ritual.
He pulled his horse to a stop just outside the ring lit by the fire. The dancers were waiting, chanting softly. His king dismounted and waited for him, two each uisge stood patiently by the water for the final cleansing. He swung down, his king took one hand and led him to the edge of the water, the each uisge gently taking his wrists in their mouths, pulling him into the water. The icy-cold liquid closed over his head as they pulled him first to the bottom of the pond and then out to the large stones in the middle. They waited as he retrieved the cup, the one he had earlier pulled from beneath the blood-red cranberry plants, and then carried him back to the shore.
His king was waiting at the Great Altar. He—No, I'm Sam, please—walked towards the king, the man—Dean, my brother, Dean, please—coming to stand in his place by the edge of the decorated stone. The priestess began the chant, walking to the king and holding a crown of the golden bough over his head. "The king will soon be dead," she called out, kissing the king's cheeks, then his mouth. Turning she came to him—Sam—and held the crown over his head. "Long live the king." And she put the crown on his head, kissing his cheeks and his mouth before moving away.
The king stepped forward with the cup in his hands. "My brother, myself, we share a last drink under these stars."
"Yes, my brother, myself, this last night is ours under these stars." They drank from the cup, a wave of cold shifting over him as the liquid traced its way into his body. "Let the night come," he begged.
"Sam," a voice whispered, harsh, full of emotion.
"The night can come under these stars," his king said, laying hands on his shoulders.
"Let it come, my brother, myself," he pleaded, the longing, the ache nearly unbearable.
"Sammy," the voice whispered again. He's talking to me. Dean, my brother.
"It is here, I can rest. You can begin."
"We ride together always, my brother, myself." The ritual words sparked a cry from those watching, waiting. The bells were ringing again and the drum was pounding through his blood, a new heartbeat, tearing him away, sending him into the shifting fog.
"Yes," his king said before pulling him into a gentle hug. "It is time." His king placed the sword in his hands.
"My brother, myself, my king," he said, raising the sword.
"My brother, myself, my king," his king repeated.
"No, Sam," the whisper again, pulling him back from the fog. Dean, I can stop this. I can stop this. Fear was suddenly awake. Sam glanced out of the corner of his eye, Dean was standing at the edge of the stone, the altar was covered with fruit and branches and silvered ornaments. I can stop this. He hesitated.
His king put loving hand on his shoulders. "My brother, myself, he will join you soon, he will ride with you under these stars."
It is as it was, it is as it should be, my brother will join us under these stars, he will ride with us. It is as it was. "Thank you, my brother, myself," he said, laying his hand over one of the king's as it rested on his shoulders. He saw the dancers pause with the break in the ritual. They began again, quickly, the song swirling upwards blending with the mists and the sparks flowing up from the fire. The instant is upon us.
"Sam," hoarse, rough, tortured.
He lifted the sword. No, I can stop this, I can. It can end here. He hesitated, the moment was nearly gone. Yes, only a moment more and it is over. Sam held on, the fog calling him as the bells chimed, driving him mad with the joyous longing.
Hands, suddenly on his back, shoved him forward. No. Part of him screamed. The blade slid into his king, running him through. They both dropped to their knees.
"My brother, myself, my king, I sleep this night," his king whispered, black blood frothing on his lips.
"My brother, myself, I wake this night," he said as the king dropped from the blade, his body dissolving in a flash of shifting fog.
His own body was falling. He felt it as it moved sideways. "SAM!" The name was ripped from a throat, crescendo. Warm arms caught him. "No," the harsh voice whispered, tears breaching the dam of his eyes.
He rose, looking down at the man—Dean?—the man looked up from the body he held in his arms. It is as it was, it is good. I am whole again after these many ages. "Sammy?"
"No more," he said, gently, to the man with tears on his face.
He turned to his brothers, laughing, the joy filling him completely, the hunt calling him away. His mount approached, the only remaining black horse, the other passing with the old king as the new was born. He swung onto the horse as the song reached an ecstatic frenzy, the bells ringing in the night and the drums like dancers' steps sounding over the clearing.
"The king is dead," he called out.
"Long live the king," they cried out, answering with joy.
To Be Continued