A/N: I've backed this up to the point where Dean comes to the final ritual. I think we need to have a little of his POV to understand what comes next. For those of you who asked, this takes place before AHBL.
Ring Out Solstice Bells
Chapter Six
Playing Horsies for Eternity
The night was cold, the fog shifting through the trees, eddying in pools of graying darkness. The path wound ahead of them, a ribbon of black blood running through the forest. Dean could see bright eyes watching the passing of the horses. Some disappeared when they got near, others flitted out from under the trees to join the growing procession, the bodies dark spots against the night. Some were crooning, a rasping joyful song. "This night the king is come," they sang. The hell he is, this ends tonight. No more playing with the horsies or feeding the damn birds.
"The king, he is there," the rider in front of him said, his voice a happy laugh in the night.
"He is there, my king waits for me," Dean said, he heard the strange language from his own mouth. What the hell. No. Sam, I'm coming, hang on.
The procession rode into the clearing where he had found his brother that morning. There was a large group of people gathered around a huge flat stone. Other horses gathered with the people. Sam stood at the center of the circle, the man who had slit his throat sat on a huge black horse beside him. My king, Dean's heart sang. No. Sam. My brother. The horses bowed to Sam and the other one waiting there.
The rider in front of him swung Dean from the horse. A woman, dressed in white with a wreath of evergreen around her neck and bells on her ankles came and took Dean's hand to lead him to his place in the circle. "Let go," he hissed under his breath, trying to shake her hand loose. She dug her nails into his palm, "Respect the king, take your place or die before our joy," she said to him. He understood the words, even though they were in the other language.
Dean watched as the rider of the black horse dismounted and approached Sam. "My brother, myself, this is the night of our joy," the rider said.
"My brother, myself, this is the night of our joy," Sam repeated. Sammy, no, snap out of it.
The rider laid a skeletal hand on Sam's face. "I am old, my brother, myself," he said to Sam.
"I am young, my brother, myself," Sam said. Dean could hear the longing in his brother's voice. No, god, no.
The woman from the hospital stopped before Dean, a bowl in her hands. You die, very soon. She held the bowl out to him. Yes, drink, it is right, it is joy, we can ride with the hunt, with our Kings this night. Dean hesitated for a minute. Something strange is happening to me. Should I drink? Will it help Sam? He reached for the bowl. It is right, it is good. He drank, the liquid was sweet on his tongue, tracing a path of molten velvet through his body. His eyes closed as the ringing of the bells around him filled him. There was a soft song coming from somewhere behind him, the dark creatures were humming, their soft music drifting on the air with the mists. His heart joined the song, the sound resonating through his body. He heard a sound in front of him and opened his eyes. The man who would be his king stood there, holding the reins of a gray horse. Dean dipped his head in acknowledgement. My king.
"We ride tonight, young and old. Beginning and end under these stars. Will you join us, my brother?" he said, holding the reins of the horse out to Dean.
Joy bubbled through him. My king, he wants me to ride with him and the Old King, it is as it was, as it should be, I am honored. "My brother, I will join you this night under these stars," he said with a smile. No, part of him said. No, Sam. It's not the damn king, it's Sam. My brother Sam. "We ride together." He took the reins from the waiting hands, letting his own hand run down the soft gray neck. It snuffled his hair, he let it breathe in his scent so it would know him. He took a deep breath, reveling in the sweet smell of the skeletal creature.
Dean swung up on the horse, his heart singing as his king called, "We ride together this night, one last time, under these stars, beginning and end." Dean heard his voice answer the call as they moved out. Skeletal hands thumped him on his back. "Welcome, brother," they sang. "Welcome." He laughed joyfully, his voice joining the song of the hunt as they rode the fields. The kings, old and new, rode ahead. He laughed as he sang, reveling in his place as a rider with his king—Not a rider. Dean, I'm Dean. And this is starting to freak me out.
The night flowed around him, the song changed seamlessly, one into another as they rode. The wind in his face was cold, exhilarating, as the horse galloped through the night, the dark creatures flying ahead of them, singing their song. Time flowed around him, moving like the wind, like the horses. I ride with my brothers, I am happy, part of him said. No, I ride to save my brother. To save Sam. SAM, another part of him said.
The horses stopped. "My brothers, it is time," the new king called out. No, it's Sam. Not the freaking king, Sam. Dean rode up beside his king and joined his brothers as they pounded the king's back in joyful anticipation. 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 mount to a stop just outside the ring lit by the fire. Swinging off the horse he went to stand in his place beside the Great Altar. He watched as the ritual proceeded. No, Sam, no, you can stop this. As the rite moved forward, dread began building. Can he stop this? Can I?
The old king stepped forward with a cup in his hands. "My brother, myself, we share a last drink under these stars," he said to Sam.
"Yes, my brother, myself, this last night is ours under these stars." They drank from the cup. No, Sammy, stop. "Let the night come," Sam begged, the longing in his voice breaking Dean's heart.
"Sam," he whispered, he barely recognized the voice as his own, the emotion harsh, raw. Sam, listen to me. Come on.
"The night can come under these stars," the king said, laying hands on Sam's shoulders.
"Let it come, my brother, myself," Sam pleaded. No, Sam.
"Sammy," he said, desperately trying to reach brother. My king.
"It is here, I can rest. You can begin." The old king sighed.
"We ride together always, my brother, myself," Sam said. Dean was aware his voice had called out in joy with those words. The bells started ringing and a drum was pounding, the sound like the hoof beats of the horses
"It is time." The old king said, placing a sword in Sam's hands. No, Sam, no.
"My brother, myself, my king." Sam said, his voice radiating joy.
"My brother, myself, my king," the other repeated.
"No, Sam," Dean whispered. Sam, listen to me. You can stop this. He saw Sam hesitate, and his brother's eyes met his, a sideways glance, but for an instant Sam was there. Sam, come on.
The old king stepped forward and put his hands on Sam's shoulders. "My brother, myself, he will join you soon, he will ride with you under these stars." Yes, it is right, it is good, it is joy, part of him sang. No, what the hell? Not playing horsies for eternity, Sammy, time to end this.
"Thank you, my brother, myself," Sam said gently.
"The time is upon us, we sing our joy," the dancers swirling around the altar lifted their voices to the stars. Dean heard his voice join them.
"Sam." He forced the word out, desperate to reach his brother.
Sam lifted the sword, the tip hovering in the air before the old king. No, Sam, you can stop this. Dean saw Sam hesitate. That's it, you just have to wait until the solstice is over, just a second or two more. Good job, Sammy, hang on, just a second more. The woman from the hospital suddenly stepped up and shoved Sam, his brother stumbled forwards. NO! NO! Sam! The sword slid into the king's body. Sam moaned as they both dropped to their knees. Black blood was pouring from the old king's mouth as he dropped from the blade.
"SAM!" His brother was falling. Dean caught him as he fell. "No." No, Sam, not like this, no. Come back Sam, please. Dean felt tears running down his face, hot, like trickles of acid. No, rejoice, he is born tonight. He looked up as his king stood. "Sammy?"
"No more," his king said gently. No, Sam. Please. Oh, god, no. Sam swung up his horse. "The king is dead," he called out.
"Long live the king." Dean heard the voices call out in joy as the dancers spiraled around him. No, please. The bells were ringing as the drums beat in time with his heart. Sam. He could feel the tears, running across his face and down his neck, it didn't matter, it meant nothing. Sammy? Please, please don't be gone. The joy-filled sound meant nothing, the joy was gone, nothing was there for him but his brother's body in his arms, living, but dead. Sam? Nothing of Sam remained. What do I do? He had ridden into the night with the others, the dark creatures singing their joy. How can I go on? Darkness closed around him, his head dropped heavily to one side as the emotion drained from his body. Please let this end. Sam? Why? Please. He was aware when one of the each uisge came towards him as his vision blurred. Oh, god, Sam. No, please, no. Don't be gone. The last thing he saw was the creature's death head bending towards him with its teeth bared.
His head ached. Actually I think someone is trying to get out of my brain and they're using an axe. Dean shifted a little, he was leaning on something soft. Someone was holding his hand. I'll kill you for that, Sammy. Reality slowly drifted back. No, it can't be Sam, he's…Dean opened his eyes. He was in the king's room at the hospital.
"Dean?" a gentle voice asked from beside him. Dean looked over, Vivian was sitting quietly, holding his hand.
"Vivian? What…" He struggled to sit up.
"They brought you in last night." Her eyes were red and puffy, traces of tears still marked her face. "My son died…I was leaving and I saw them bring you—and is this your brother?—into the hospital." She sighed. "I'm so very sorry, my dear."
Dean looked over at the bed. Sam was lying motionless, an IV in his hand. He was dressed in rich robes, the bed was covered with a lush spread, flowers sat on the table beside the bed and on the tray at the foot of the bed. No. Sam, I'm sorry. No. You like this? Not an option, sorry. Not an option. "No, no, no," Dean said aloud. Vivian looked at him with her grief-filled eyes. "I'll figure out a way to save him." Hear me, Sam? I'm getting you out of this.
"It's too late for saving, Dean. He's gone, like my son, like the others before them."
"No." Dean pushed himself up out of the chair. He put his hand down on his brother's arm. It was warm, Dean could feel the beat of Sam's pulse under his hand. Alive, but gone. I saw him leave. "Sam? I'm on it. I'll get you back." What do I do? You want to tell me how you are going to get out of this? Any brilliant ideas? Damn it, Sammy, I need my trusty sidekick geek boy.
"Dean?"
"Don't give me the acceptance lecture," he snapped. "I can't, no. Sam leaving like this is not an option."
"He's dead."
"No." Dean shook his head. Not dead, not an option. "He's not, he's here, his body is alive, that means there's a chance." There has to be.
"How?" Vivian said gently, her hand on his arm.
"I don't know. Not yet." Sammy? What the hell do I do now? You're off playing horsies and I'm here. How can I fix this? Any brilliant ideas? Dean pulled out his phone and dialed. When the call went through he asked to speak with Dizzy.
"Still alive, Dean?"
"Yeah," Dean said. He could hear the weariness in his voice. I'm alive, Sam…Oh, god, Sammy.
"Dean? What?" Dizzy said, concerned.
"My brother…" Dean cleared his throat. "Have you found anything else out? Is there was way to stop it?" Brilliant ideas needed. Hell even half-assed ideas would help.
"You realize this is a myth, right?"
Dean laughed bitterly. "Yeah, right, a myth." He sighed. "Tell me about the myth."
"Okay, sure. According to what I read, once the king is crowned at the solstice the hunt, the riders, the king, the other creatures that ride with them, are corporeal for twenty-seven hours."
"So after that they disappear?"
"Not necessarily, they're just untouchable. Before that they're part of the physical world."
"Anything else, Dizzy?" There has to be a way to get to Sam.
"I did find some interesting lore about how the hunt gets new members. It's from the writings of a Roman who witnessed the ceremony in about 30 A.D." She paused, Dean could hear pages turning.
"Dizzy? Waiting here."
"Oh, sorry, started reading." Dizzy laughed. "According to our Roman friend, the brother of the king joins the hunt. He is part of the sacrifice, and then after the king rises, his brother joins the hunt."
"Joins the hunt?"
"Yeah, he rides in a special place until the king's year is over. After that he is stays, but is just a rider, the next king's brother takes his place." My brothers wait for me. They are waiting at the Great Altar for me to ride with them, part of him said. "Dean? Hello? You there?"
"Uh," Dean said, looking around the room. Just freaking great, this just gets better and better. Now I'm hearing voices. "Anything else?" Come on, anything that might help?
"The king can be challenged by one of the hunt, but only during the twenty-seven hours that they are corporeal."
"Challenged? And what happens?"
"I don't know, according to the myth…Well, no one has seen the challenge and lived to tell of it. I'm not sure if the challenge is issued. I might have it wrong, but it's something of an honor to ride with the hunt."
Dean remembered the longing in his brother's voice as he begged that the ritual proceed, the look of joy lighting his face as he drank from the cup, the look of gentle pity as his king looked down at him as he held Sam's body. No, not my king. Sam. Not the freaking king. "Thanks, Dizzy."
"Dean? Why do I think you are going to do something a little suicidal?"
"Who? Me?" Dean laughed, or tried to, it was a forced, harsh sound. "I'll be okay, thanks for all your help."
"I expect to see you soon, Dean. You owe me at least one giant coffee for all this."
"As long as you promise not to tear my heart out and feed it to wild dogs."
"No, promises, but I'll try and restrain myself."
"I guess that's the best I can hope for," Dean said. "Talk to you later." He flipped the phone closed and looked down at Sam. "Sammy…" The door opened, Dean turned, the woman who had pushed Sam at the ritual walked into the room. Before he could stop himself, he had slammed her against the wall, his hands closing on her throat. Vivian was pulling at his arm urging him to let go. No, she dies, she dies for this. His hands were closing of their own volition, the woman was slowly turning from red to purple.
"Let me go," she forced out. "Or you will not be allowed here."
"Dean," Vivian said urgently. "You need to be here for your brother."
"No, this bitch did it to him," Dean said, still applying pressure.
"It won't help your brother," Vivian said gently.
The door opened again and the huge security guard came in and pulled Dean from the woman with seemingly no effort. Large hands held him immobile as he struggled to get his own hands back around the woman's throat. Next time I make sure I have the damn gun. "Your brother wanted this. He agreed to it."
"What did you say to make him agree to it?" Dean hissed.
"It would have happened either way, he was chosen. But by agreeing to enter the ritual willingly, he saved your life."
"No." Dean deflated, hanging limp in the hands that held him. Sammy, why the hell didn't you tell me? You did, didn't you? When you said the each uisge wouldn't take me? Damn it, Sammy. What do I do? How can I… "Let me go," he said quietly. "I won't try anything again." The guard dropped him heavily onto the floor. Dean stayed there as the woman checked on Sam, lovingly arranging a new bowl of flowers and dropping a gentle kiss on Sam's forehead as she left.
Dean put his head into his hands. What do I do? Sam? Any bright ideas? Although your last one wasn't all that bright. How could you? I'm the one who gets to do the suicidal shit, not you. Sam, I…I'm not sure I can go on without…He sighed. You can join him, ride with him, share his joy, part of him whispered, the bells chiming gently as the voice played in his head. Great, now I have another voice in my head. Just freaking great. What's next talking to the birds? Feeding them bits of myself? The soft chuckle of a raven filled his mind. That is exactly what you can do, join us, join us brother, ride with your king, the raven said. Dean, join us. The king needs his brother, your brothers wait for you, the raven continued. Dean's heart was starting to pound a little harder than it should. The damn birds are talking to me, just freaking great.
Dean scrubbed a hand across his face. What do I do? Well, I know what I need to do, I have a few hours left to do it. Can I keep enough of myself to manage it? He pushed himself up off the floor and walked to the bed, looking down at his brother. He gently opened the robe and let his finger trace the design, now black like a fresh tattoo, on Sam's chest. "Damn it, Sam. Why didn't you say something?" He could hear the grief in his voice, the words dropping thickly into the silence of the room. Sam? Are you gone? How can I fix this? If I can't, what do I do. He sighed. I know what I have to do, Sam. I know.
"Will you say with him?" Dean said, turning to Vivian. "I need to try something, I'll be back by morning." Or I won't be back at all.
"Of course, my son is dead, I have no one. I'll stay with your brother, it will be hard to leave this room," she said, tears falling from her eyes. Dean smiled at her and gave her shoulder an awkward pat.
"Hang on, Sam, just for a little longer," Dean said, giving his brother's arm a little squeeze before turning and striding out of the room. He wandered through the hallways wondering how he could find the woman. He'd just about given up when he caught sight of her turning a corner ahead of him. Dean turned the corner, the hall ended at a chapel. A chapel? Weird. Dean pushed the door open and went in. The chapel was decorated with evergreen boughs and mistletoe, there was an altar at the front of the room covering in bronze and silver bowls, there were several small bells on the altar. The room was lit with flickering candles.
The huge security guard grabbed him as he walked into the room. He started to drag Dean out. "No, wait," Dean pleaded.
The woman turned to face him. "I thought we made it clear if you caused trouble we would bar you from the king's room."
"No, you don't understand," Dean said, still keeping the desperate pleading note in his voice. Yes, it is good, part of him whispered. Shut the hell up, the other part said.
"What?" she said, walking towards him. A purple band of bruises marred her white throat.
"Please," Dean whispered.
She waved the guard away. "What is it?" she said, a new, gentle note in her voice.
This is for Sam, just remember that. "Please," Dean said. "I wish to join my brothers."
She put a hand on his face, looking in his eyes. "Why?"
"Please, I want to ride with my king." Yes, it is right, it is joy, I will ride with my brothers. Dean suppressed the sigh. I said shut the hell up. And you ravens? I don't even want to hear from you. The soft chuckle of the bird's voice sounded in his head. Uh, hello? I said no.
She took his hand and pulled him towards the altar. When he reached the front of the room Dean sank to his knees, his body following a ritual his mind refused to recognize. "Will you drink?" She held out a crystal chalice. He took the cup in his hand, drinking the liquid down in one gulp. She bent forward and kissed his forehead, running a gentle, loving hand through his hair. "It is right, it is good, it is joy," she whispered in the other language.
"It is right, it is good, it is joy," he replied.
"We will meet at the Great Altar."
"Yes," he said, standing. He turned his back on the altar, on the king's priestess and walked out of the room. That just tasted like the mead we had for dinner. Was there something more to it? Hmm, I wonder what happens when I get to the clearing? Dean walked out of the hospital into a day slowly filling with mist. As he approached the Impala he noticed something sitting on his car. Damn birds. "Hey, get off my car."
The raven chuckled at him, hopping along the top of the car and then stopped by the driver's side door, looking at Dean with a cocked head. Just freaking great. The raven looked at him and barked. "Dean," it said. Not listening to birds. Sorry. He put his keys in the door and unlocked it, the raven was still sitting watching him. Dean waved his hand at it to shoo it away. The bird hopped on his wrist, the talons cutting through his skin like a knife through butter. The bird bent forward and dipped its beak in Dean's blood, and with another barking laugh, filled with Dean's name, it flew away. He watched as the raven turned in the direction of the clearing.
"This day is just getting better and better," he said aloud, dropping into the seat of the car. He could still hear the laughing of the raven, and underneath that, underneath the familiar rumble of the Impala he could hear the soft chiming of bells, the pounding of hooves as they galloped joyfully through the fields, reveling in the day and the soft mists winding through the forest. His heart pounded in anticipation. Soon, soon I ride with my king, with my brothers. He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, his knuckles showing white. No, stop. I need to hang on. I need to get Sam out of this. No playing horsies for eternity.
Dean drove slowly through the town, ignoring the call of the bells and the singing of the small creatures, invisible during the day, but there nonetheless. He drove past the cranberry bog, looking like a pool of congealed blood beside the road. Fog was closing in, the world bathed in the soft light of twilight, though it was still early in the day. The strange stunted trees with their black trunks were dripping with moisture, the undergrowth was dark, the canes of reeds sticking out from the bogs lining the road. Oh, god, Sam, I hope this works. Sammy? I'm sorry. Next time we hear about something like this we are going to run in the other direction. I know, I know, Sammy, but I don't care, twelve dead, twenty, a hundred? Stopping that is not worth your life. Never, Sam. Sorry, just not an option.
He pulled into the clearing, parking the car at the end of the road. There was another car already there, waiting. He got out and walked slowly towards the flat stone in the middle. She is waiting, it is right, it is good, soon I can join my brothers. I ride with my king. Dean shifted his shoulders. I need to hold on long enough to challenge the king. He walked up to the altar, there was a wreath laying on the black stone. Dean stopped by it, he could hear the horses approaching. My king! Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the each uisge gallop into the clearing, its skeletal muzzle red with blood. The riders followed, parting to make way for the king.
The king swung off his horse and came to stand beside his priestess. Dean saw the face, no longer shifting like the mist, but Sam there in the death's mask visage. Oh Sam, no. "My king," he heard his voice. What the hell? "I beg you, let me join you, let me ride with you and serve you under these stars." What? Shut up.
His king stepped forward. No, it's Sam. My brother, Sam. He laid a hand on Dean's shoulder, dead eyes meeting Dean's. "My brother, you will ride with us, I have been waiting for you." He smiled. "It has been a long wait."
"My king," Dean dropped his head in a small bow. "I have waited long." What? What did I just say? He looked back up into his king's eyes. "We will ride together."
"Yes," his king said. Then, just for an instant Dean saw something flicker in the dead eyes—recognition. "No, Dean," Sam's voice whispered, the English sounding strange from the skeletal mouth.
"Hang on, Sam," he whispered. The next second Sam was gone and the king was there.
"We do not have much time," his king said. "Please, ride with us, I am tired of waiting."
The woman stepped forward and met Dean's eyes. "We don't have time for all the ritual, if I had known you wished to serve our king, I would have prepared you, as it is…" She held up a syringe shimmering with a metallic liquid. "The drink would take too long to affect you." She reached for Dean's arm, he was transfixed by his king's gaze. Yes, it is right, it is good. The other riders surrounded him. As brilliant ideas go, this might be a big mistake. The needle slid into his arm, he watched in fascination as the plunger depressed and a soft metallic glow ran up the length of his arm.
He was falling, dropping down thousands of feet into darkness, into the abyss. Gentle hands caught him and lowered him onto the Great Altar. His king bent over him. "Rest my brother, soon, soon you will ride with us." His king reached a hand out and gently closed his eyelids over eyes that no longer functioned.
He could hear them singing as he opened his eyes, a fire was burning in the clearing, the song of old swirling around the clearing filled with smoke and the sound of his brothers' laughter. "My brother," his king stood over him. "Welcome, welcome…" he laughed in joy as he held a hand out and pulled Dean to his feet. Dean smiled at his king and looked down at his body, motionless on the flat stone. Oh, that can't be good. He looked back up at his king. No, Sam, it's Sam.
"My king, we will ride this night," Dean said. Not really. He walked over to the horse he had ridden the night before, running a gentle loving hand over the dead gray flesh. Gross. He slid his hand over the saddle and pulled the great sword from the scabbard. "Before we ride, my king…"
His king turned to face him, again, just for an instant he saw Sam, his little frown on his face. "My brother?" his king said, a smile lighting his face. "You challenge me?"
I hope this is a good idea. I'm getting the feeling it isn't. "I challenge you, my king. I stand before you and offer the challenge, asking for the worthiness of your reign before we begin." The words rolled off his tongue easily. And where did that come from? He stood in the center of the stone. It is right, my king must stand for the challenge, it is right, it is good, it is joy. Dean shifted, balancing the heavy sword in his hands. Okay, where did that come from? And why do I suddenly think this is a bad idea? And hey, my body laying there? Just creepy.
"It is good," his king said.
"My liege," one of the riders said. "I stand in your stead as your champion this night."
"I will allow it, my brother," his king said, clapping the rider on the back.
Okay, that didn't go as planned. Just freaking great. How am I going to get Sam out of this?
The rider walked towards him, a bastard sword in his hands. "My brother." He bowed to Dean, raising his sword..
"My brother." Dean bowed back.
Do I even know how to fight with one of these?
What the hell?
Brilliant plan, there, Dean, just freaking brilliant.
And Dean stepped forward, raising his sword, as his opponent took the first swing with the large blade.
Oh, yeah, just freaking brilliant.
To Be Continued