The Rings
Title: The Rings
Beta: squishykat, judith_88_g
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~2200
Spoilers: up to 4x22
Summary: Before Dean says no to Michael, there's something for Sam to deny himself.
Author's Notes: Set somewhere in between "It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester" and "I Know What You Did Last Summer".
Many thanks to my wonderful betas, Kat and Judith. If the text bears any resemblance to English language, it's purely their doing.
A photograph of the castle from the story -
With each passing fight they seem closer to the edge. Bruises are covered by new bruises, sores dwell one on another, stitches get in the way of more stitches. And while they're treating fresh wounds, Lilith is sending brand new demons after them and these are just the ones that didn't make the seals-breaking team.
They're beyond exhausted. Even with angels supposedly on their side, it's still a losing battle. The seals are being broken all over the world and to make things worse, it seems to work to Lilith's advantage whenever the Winchesters get in the way simply because that's how she knows where they won't be and that's when she does the most damage. Clearly this is not a two-man job.
This doesn't seem to get through to the angels. They just extend their fingers and switch them both to yet another location, like pushing buttons on a TV remote.
By now they've made it quite literally around the world, Dean realizes.
To each of them, the air is heavy with the unchanging closeness of the other. Gun cleaning, belt buckles rattling, shoes dropping. Laden gazes and hard breathing. Everything sounds, feels charged with anticipation. Sam's fingertips linger over a strip of Dean's grazed skin, gradually flattening under the weight of the atmosphere. Dean's full lower lip slips out from between his teeth under Sam's grave stare. Suddenly the air becomes too thin and they feel dizzy. They've reached the edge, Sam thinks.
They rest on a bench by a bailey to the side of a castle courtyard. It's more of a ruin really, but the view is nice and the late summer sun doesn't hurt either. They could enjoy it completely were their lives any different and they didn’t see the place as a seal at risk. The way it is, this is where an old legend originated and is now being relived. For the last couple of nights, men have been coming up here, walking upon an outer bailey and falling down in to a chasm that stretches out beneath where the wall narrows.
“They all succumbed to a demonic infection,” Uriel says. “The disease manifests itself at night, distorts the dreams of the sick and incites them to somnambulistic excursions that end in the abyss. The seal will break when every man in town has fallen victim to the plague.”
“That’s a daring diagnosis, Dr Sexy,” Dean leans on the backrest of the bench, glancing at the upright figure in front of him, overexposed in the setting sun. “And I hate to clip your wings like that, you know? But superbiological weapon defense is just not a course either of us took.”
“Then I suggest you catch up with the matter quickly,” Uriel casts a grave look between the Winchesters. “If you don't stop the infection from spreading, we will. Even if this requires killing all the male inhabitants in order to prevent them from disturbing the seal.”
Before either Dean or Sam can say a word in reply, Uriel disappears unnoticed by anyone else in the courtyard.
“I hate that guy.” Dean tilts his head over the back of the bench.
“What did he say the legend being played out was?” asks Sam.
“Something about a princess. Cunegund?”
“Kunegunda.” Sam nods.
Dean wanders around with a cell phone in his hand, checking everywhere for coverage, predictably with no success. Sam must have walked into the castle, but somehow Dean doesn't picture an internet cafe in there. They were about to come down to the town anyway, it's getting late. The research will just have to wait an hour or two.
Something brushes by Dean's face, pulling him out of his reverie. He sees it's a brochure that waves in front of him, held by Sam who has just come from behind. Dean snatches it from his brother's hand. There's a presentable picture of the castle on the front page and, when Dean looks through the brochure, he quickly finds an English translation that says “The Legend of Princess Kunegunda”.
“Oh,” Dean says, eyes fixed on the text. “Right.”
Sam smiles.
“So basically this Kunegunda story is a fake,” Dean says when they're walking down the mountain a few minutes later. “There's no way any of it could have happened.”
“How so?”
“Oh, come on, Sammy,” he skips over a prominent root. “Men going all this way around - you've seen what it looks like down there. Well, it looks like suicide. And all that for what? Because some shady figure asked them to?”
Sam actually stops walking and quirks an eyebrow at his brother. “You're kidding me, right?” He says before resuming the march. Dean looks bemused, not quite seeing where his brother is going with it. Sam just waves him off and walks past.
“Forget it,” he says. “You're probably right about this not having happened. Not literally, anyway.” They walk for awhile in companionable silence broken only by their footsteps.
“I don't even see where to begin,” Sam sighs.
“We'll figure it out,” Dean says and then he stops, grinning at the sound and then sight of a small drove of sheep. “Hey, I can think of something that might come in handy for tonight,” he beams, looking ahead.
“Really, Dean?” Sam mocks. “A sheep?”
Dean just pats him on the back, shakes his head laughing and the sound trails off as he steps into the glade.
They stay in a small boarding house which looks quite nice if a bit plain, with a hint of grandmother's touch to the decor. There's a prominent wood framed wall-clock in their room. It only has two hands. Since they checked in, the longer hand has moved away from the other, whereas the shorter one appears unmoved.
Having spilled the salt by the doors and windows of the rented room, they work on attaching a dozen certifiably noisy sheep bells to the knobs and room keys before locking the door. When they tie the bells to the curtains, their hands brush accidentally and Sam's jerk away abruptly. That sets the makeshift alarm off and they both start at the sharp noise.
“This is so stupid.” Sam grumbles, stepping away from the window and shaking his hands in frustration.
“You'd rather have me tie you down to the bed?” Dean snaps, visibly tense.
Sam glares daggers. His brother doesn't look away from the bells once.
“You're hilarious.” Sam grabs the TV remote and sinks into a chair with a sigh. He flips channels and it doesn't matter at all that the language coming from the box sounds like chewing glass. There's even ground-glass singing going on which sounds painful.
This poor avoidance attempt can't possibly be lost on Dean, who concentrates even harder on hanging the bells. He must wonder though how thin the line Sam has been walking is.
The thing is, Dean has always been the center of his brother's world, mostly because he was solid and then because nothing else in their lives ever was. Sam is the one to walk away and back on a fairly regular basis, whereas Dean is reliably there to come back to. Whether Sam is saving people and hunting things or not, Dean doesn't falter. Not even before hell. Dean is so sure it's morbidly fascinating, no less to himself than to Sam. One has to wonder what the limit Dean can take is. If there is such a thing.
Some day and soon, Sam knows he's going to tell Dean about Ruby. How, when Dean was being martyred by demons for him, Sam was indulging himself in mind-blowing sex with one neatly wrapped in a corpse. Mostly, he is terrified of that day, but part of him can't wait. Sometimes, he wants to tell Dean more about what he and Ruby did.
He wants to tell him more.
The princess behind the impenetrable wall is not to be married to anyone but the knight who has circled the castle, riding his horse upon the bailey. While at it, he shall wear full armour and keep his helmet visor lowered. The tremendous difficulty in this task lies in the narrowness of the section right over the precipice.
No one seems to rise to the challenge.
With a sigh, he puts his helmet on; it's all about getting the job done, Dean thinks.
“Dude, you're ringing,” Sam mutters. “Stop ringing.”
Dean wakes to find himself by the door with his hand on the knob. He goes back to bed, but doesn't fall asleep again.
The princess is beautiful and skilled with weapons. Since her father died she's been managing the estate all by herself. In every way possible, she's a remarkable woman and she draws suitors from every quarter. She doesn't seem to be planning on getting married though; she declares that the one to win her over must describe a full circle around her fortress.
A full circle around her fortress makes for a nearly impossible kind of venture. The wall seems like an endless background to a thin path that's as tricky as it is deadly.
With a sigh, he puts his helmet on; it's all about the possibility, Sam thinks.
“Sam,” Dean shakes his brother sharply, holding his arms in a tight grip. “Sammy, wake up.”
It's his brother who draws him back. Sam is sitting on a bed and Dean's grinning in his face like a maniac, crouched on the floor beside him.
“'s the time?” Sam mutters incoherently.
On the clock, the minute hand catches up with the hour hand once again. It's past three am.
“They, like, go together, yet each makes their own round.”
“Whatever, Sam,” Dean dismisses. “I think I got it. I know how to secure the seal.”
“What?” Sam mutters, half drifting off.
“The seal, Sam,” Dean shakes him once again. “Look, you ever heard about placing a bowl of water by the bedside of a somnambulist? In case they start sleepwalking? The water should wake them up.”
Sam yawns to it. “Uh-huh,” he says. “And what if they step beside the bowl?”
“I know. Hence the bells all over the place.” Dean rolls his eyes. “But it's a good start. I mean, what if there was no other way but through the water?”
Sam cracks an eye open. Dean doesn't disappear.
“Go on,” Sam sighs.
“Right. So I was thinking about the castle - and it's a mighty fine castle, sure - but I couldn't help but notice there's something missing.”
“Like what?” Sam asks incredulously, not quite ready to believe where Dean's clearly going with this.
“A moat, Sam!”
“A moat.”
“Yeah, I mean, I'm sure the angels could pull it off,” Dean explains.
Sam blinks. Then he smiles, looking up to where his brother's standing over him now and Dean's still watching Sam's face expectedly and there’s only so much a man can take before he bursts into a fit of giggles.
Dean just smacks his brother on the head and turns around. He's accompanied by Sam's convulsive laughter as he returns to his bed.
“It's not that bad an idea,” he mutters while Sam cries tears of laughter. “It would have to be shallow at the outer bank, so no one would drown in it-”
“Dean,” Sam tries to regain his composure to the point where he's verbal again. “Even if the angels could really pull a moat out of a hat - and on top of a mountain - the castle lies right on the precipice. How do you get around it? With a roof gutter?”
“I was thinking two small waterfalls would do.”
Still choking with laughter, Sam stares at his brother.
“Call Cas,” he manages. “I mean it, call him now, he needs to hear this,” he laughs. “What? I thought you wanted to tell the angels!”
Sam grabs the pillow thrown at his face and lies back on the bed. “Waterfalls.” He tilts his head to the side and looks at Dean.
“I gotta tell you, man, it was a touch and go for awhile there, but now, now it all makes perfect sense.” He rolls over to his stomach and props his chin up on folded arms.
“I mean waterfalls. Obviously, there should be a set of them. Why didn't I see it before?” He chuckles. “'s insane,” he mutters under his breath ending it up with a loud sniff as he drops to his back again and watches the ceiling. Wiping his tears away he quietly says, “You're insane and I love you and this is insane.”
From his bed, Dean quirks an eyebrow at Sam.
“What's with the big psychotic breakdown?” Dean asks.
“Just,” Sam raises his hands a little and lets them fall back down. “Insane.”
“This sounds reasonable.” Castiel approves of Dean's plan. The three of them sit at the courtyard the next afternoon. The sun is shining, everything looks pretty and Sam tries not to mentally place a moat into the picture. He doesn't bother asking about the bridges and other 'details', as Dean likes to call them. For the first time in a long while, Sam enjoys the sunshine's warmth in his face. It's good enough, for now.
Truth be told, many versions of the legend of princess Kunegunda differ from one another significantly. What remains constant is the passage in which after a number of knights - with their horses - die in an abyss, there comes one who actually cuts the mustard.
He then rejects the princess.
Beta: squishykat, judith_88_g
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~2200
Spoilers: up to 4x22
Summary: Before Dean says no to Michael, there's something for Sam to deny himself.
Author's Notes: Set somewhere in between "It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester" and "I Know What You Did Last Summer".
Many thanks to my wonderful betas, Kat and Judith. If the text bears any resemblance to English language, it's purely their doing.
A photograph of the castle from the story -
With each passing fight they seem closer to the edge. Bruises are covered by new bruises, sores dwell one on another, stitches get in the way of more stitches. And while they're treating fresh wounds, Lilith is sending brand new demons after them and these are just the ones that didn't make the seals-breaking team.
They're beyond exhausted. Even with angels supposedly on their side, it's still a losing battle. The seals are being broken all over the world and to make things worse, it seems to work to Lilith's advantage whenever the Winchesters get in the way simply because that's how she knows where they won't be and that's when she does the most damage. Clearly this is not a two-man job.
This doesn't seem to get through to the angels. They just extend their fingers and switch them both to yet another location, like pushing buttons on a TV remote.
By now they've made it quite literally around the world, Dean realizes.
To each of them, the air is heavy with the unchanging closeness of the other. Gun cleaning, belt buckles rattling, shoes dropping. Laden gazes and hard breathing. Everything sounds, feels charged with anticipation. Sam's fingertips linger over a strip of Dean's grazed skin, gradually flattening under the weight of the atmosphere. Dean's full lower lip slips out from between his teeth under Sam's grave stare. Suddenly the air becomes too thin and they feel dizzy. They've reached the edge, Sam thinks.
They rest on a bench by a bailey to the side of a castle courtyard. It's more of a ruin really, but the view is nice and the late summer sun doesn't hurt either. They could enjoy it completely were their lives any different and they didn’t see the place as a seal at risk. The way it is, this is where an old legend originated and is now being relived. For the last couple of nights, men have been coming up here, walking upon an outer bailey and falling down in to a chasm that stretches out beneath where the wall narrows.
“They all succumbed to a demonic infection,” Uriel says. “The disease manifests itself at night, distorts the dreams of the sick and incites them to somnambulistic excursions that end in the abyss. The seal will break when every man in town has fallen victim to the plague.”
“That’s a daring diagnosis, Dr Sexy,” Dean leans on the backrest of the bench, glancing at the upright figure in front of him, overexposed in the setting sun. “And I hate to clip your wings like that, you know? But superbiological weapon defense is just not a course either of us took.”
“Then I suggest you catch up with the matter quickly,” Uriel casts a grave look between the Winchesters. “If you don't stop the infection from spreading, we will. Even if this requires killing all the male inhabitants in order to prevent them from disturbing the seal.”
Before either Dean or Sam can say a word in reply, Uriel disappears unnoticed by anyone else in the courtyard.
“I hate that guy.” Dean tilts his head over the back of the bench.
“What did he say the legend being played out was?” asks Sam.
“Something about a princess. Cunegund?”
“Kunegunda.” Sam nods.
Dean wanders around with a cell phone in his hand, checking everywhere for coverage, predictably with no success. Sam must have walked into the castle, but somehow Dean doesn't picture an internet cafe in there. They were about to come down to the town anyway, it's getting late. The research will just have to wait an hour or two.
Something brushes by Dean's face, pulling him out of his reverie. He sees it's a brochure that waves in front of him, held by Sam who has just come from behind. Dean snatches it from his brother's hand. There's a presentable picture of the castle on the front page and, when Dean looks through the brochure, he quickly finds an English translation that says “The Legend of Princess Kunegunda”.
“Oh,” Dean says, eyes fixed on the text. “Right.”
Sam smiles.
“So basically this Kunegunda story is a fake,” Dean says when they're walking down the mountain a few minutes later. “There's no way any of it could have happened.”
“How so?”
“Oh, come on, Sammy,” he skips over a prominent root. “Men going all this way around - you've seen what it looks like down there. Well, it looks like suicide. And all that for what? Because some shady figure asked them to?”
Sam actually stops walking and quirks an eyebrow at his brother. “You're kidding me, right?” He says before resuming the march. Dean looks bemused, not quite seeing where his brother is going with it. Sam just waves him off and walks past.
“Forget it,” he says. “You're probably right about this not having happened. Not literally, anyway.” They walk for awhile in companionable silence broken only by their footsteps.
“I don't even see where to begin,” Sam sighs.
“We'll figure it out,” Dean says and then he stops, grinning at the sound and then sight of a small drove of sheep. “Hey, I can think of something that might come in handy for tonight,” he beams, looking ahead.
“Really, Dean?” Sam mocks. “A sheep?”
Dean just pats him on the back, shakes his head laughing and the sound trails off as he steps into the glade.
They stay in a small boarding house which looks quite nice if a bit plain, with a hint of grandmother's touch to the decor. There's a prominent wood framed wall-clock in their room. It only has two hands. Since they checked in, the longer hand has moved away from the other, whereas the shorter one appears unmoved.
Having spilled the salt by the doors and windows of the rented room, they work on attaching a dozen certifiably noisy sheep bells to the knobs and room keys before locking the door. When they tie the bells to the curtains, their hands brush accidentally and Sam's jerk away abruptly. That sets the makeshift alarm off and they both start at the sharp noise.
“This is so stupid.” Sam grumbles, stepping away from the window and shaking his hands in frustration.
“You'd rather have me tie you down to the bed?” Dean snaps, visibly tense.
Sam glares daggers. His brother doesn't look away from the bells once.
“You're hilarious.” Sam grabs the TV remote and sinks into a chair with a sigh. He flips channels and it doesn't matter at all that the language coming from the box sounds like chewing glass. There's even ground-glass singing going on which sounds painful.
This poor avoidance attempt can't possibly be lost on Dean, who concentrates even harder on hanging the bells. He must wonder though how thin the line Sam has been walking is.
The thing is, Dean has always been the center of his brother's world, mostly because he was solid and then because nothing else in their lives ever was. Sam is the one to walk away and back on a fairly regular basis, whereas Dean is reliably there to come back to. Whether Sam is saving people and hunting things or not, Dean doesn't falter. Not even before hell. Dean is so sure it's morbidly fascinating, no less to himself than to Sam. One has to wonder what the limit Dean can take is. If there is such a thing.
Some day and soon, Sam knows he's going to tell Dean about Ruby. How, when Dean was being martyred by demons for him, Sam was indulging himself in mind-blowing sex with one neatly wrapped in a corpse. Mostly, he is terrified of that day, but part of him can't wait. Sometimes, he wants to tell Dean more about what he and Ruby did.
He wants to tell him more.
The princess behind the impenetrable wall is not to be married to anyone but the knight who has circled the castle, riding his horse upon the bailey. While at it, he shall wear full armour and keep his helmet visor lowered. The tremendous difficulty in this task lies in the narrowness of the section right over the precipice.
No one seems to rise to the challenge.
With a sigh, he puts his helmet on; it's all about getting the job done, Dean thinks.
“Dude, you're ringing,” Sam mutters. “Stop ringing.”
Dean wakes to find himself by the door with his hand on the knob. He goes back to bed, but doesn't fall asleep again.
The princess is beautiful and skilled with weapons. Since her father died she's been managing the estate all by herself. In every way possible, she's a remarkable woman and she draws suitors from every quarter. She doesn't seem to be planning on getting married though; she declares that the one to win her over must describe a full circle around her fortress.
A full circle around her fortress makes for a nearly impossible kind of venture. The wall seems like an endless background to a thin path that's as tricky as it is deadly.
With a sigh, he puts his helmet on; it's all about the possibility, Sam thinks.
“Sam,” Dean shakes his brother sharply, holding his arms in a tight grip. “Sammy, wake up.”
It's his brother who draws him back. Sam is sitting on a bed and Dean's grinning in his face like a maniac, crouched on the floor beside him.
“'s the time?” Sam mutters incoherently.
On the clock, the minute hand catches up with the hour hand once again. It's past three am.
“They, like, go together, yet each makes their own round.”
“Whatever, Sam,” Dean dismisses. “I think I got it. I know how to secure the seal.”
“What?” Sam mutters, half drifting off.
“The seal, Sam,” Dean shakes him once again. “Look, you ever heard about placing a bowl of water by the bedside of a somnambulist? In case they start sleepwalking? The water should wake them up.”
Sam yawns to it. “Uh-huh,” he says. “And what if they step beside the bowl?”
“I know. Hence the bells all over the place.” Dean rolls his eyes. “But it's a good start. I mean, what if there was no other way but through the water?”
Sam cracks an eye open. Dean doesn't disappear.
“Go on,” Sam sighs.
“Right. So I was thinking about the castle - and it's a mighty fine castle, sure - but I couldn't help but notice there's something missing.”
“Like what?” Sam asks incredulously, not quite ready to believe where Dean's clearly going with this.
“A moat, Sam!”
“A moat.”
“Yeah, I mean, I'm sure the angels could pull it off,” Dean explains.
Sam blinks. Then he smiles, looking up to where his brother's standing over him now and Dean's still watching Sam's face expectedly and there’s only so much a man can take before he bursts into a fit of giggles.
Dean just smacks his brother on the head and turns around. He's accompanied by Sam's convulsive laughter as he returns to his bed.
“It's not that bad an idea,” he mutters while Sam cries tears of laughter. “It would have to be shallow at the outer bank, so no one would drown in it-”
“Dean,” Sam tries to regain his composure to the point where he's verbal again. “Even if the angels could really pull a moat out of a hat - and on top of a mountain - the castle lies right on the precipice. How do you get around it? With a roof gutter?”
“I was thinking two small waterfalls would do.”
Still choking with laughter, Sam stares at his brother.
“Call Cas,” he manages. “I mean it, call him now, he needs to hear this,” he laughs. “What? I thought you wanted to tell the angels!”
Sam grabs the pillow thrown at his face and lies back on the bed. “Waterfalls.” He tilts his head to the side and looks at Dean.
“I gotta tell you, man, it was a touch and go for awhile there, but now, now it all makes perfect sense.” He rolls over to his stomach and props his chin up on folded arms.
“I mean waterfalls. Obviously, there should be a set of them. Why didn't I see it before?” He chuckles. “'s insane,” he mutters under his breath ending it up with a loud sniff as he drops to his back again and watches the ceiling. Wiping his tears away he quietly says, “You're insane and I love you and this is insane.”
From his bed, Dean quirks an eyebrow at Sam.
“What's with the big psychotic breakdown?” Dean asks.
“Just,” Sam raises his hands a little and lets them fall back down. “Insane.”
“This sounds reasonable.” Castiel approves of Dean's plan. The three of them sit at the courtyard the next afternoon. The sun is shining, everything looks pretty and Sam tries not to mentally place a moat into the picture. He doesn't bother asking about the bridges and other 'details', as Dean likes to call them. For the first time in a long while, Sam enjoys the sunshine's warmth in his face. It's good enough, for now.
Truth be told, many versions of the legend of princess Kunegunda differ from one another significantly. What remains constant is the passage in which after a number of knights - with their horses - die in an abyss, there comes one who actually cuts the mustard.
He then rejects the princess.