Chapter Text
Dean slammed the book shut. “Useless,” he muttered. He shoved it aside and reached for the next one on the pile.
He’d just barely cracked the cover when he was interrupted. “I think I found something,” Sam said from the doorway.
“What is it?” Dean asked.
Sam came over and sat down next to Dean, holding out a book that was so old the edges were starting to literally crumble. “Look here,” he said, and pointed to a blurry woodcut illustration. A host of dogs and riders pursued a bleeding stag across the page. “The Wild Hunt. If you want to find someone, they’re your best bet.”
Dean squinted at the tiny, crabbed print under the illustration. It was smudged by time and many hands. He couldn’t even figure out where words started. “What does this even say?”
“It describes how to summon them, and what to do when they arrive.” Sam leaned back in his chair, staring at the book. “The window is really small—they have to be called on the Solstice.”
“Based on our luck…that would be, what tonight?” Dean tried to identify letters in the book. Impossible. He didn’t know how Sam managed to read that stuff.
“Yeah,” Sam said. He ran a finger along a wavering line of words. “Tonight.”
“Fine,” Dean said. “So we summon ’em, we ride out with ’em, we find Cas, and everything turns out okay for once.”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t know, though. I know I brought up the option, but it’s dangerous, Dean. If we screw up the summons, they’ll chase us down instead.”
Something jerked tight in Dean’s chest at the idea of leaving this alone. Cas was out there somewhere, with Heaven and the Darkness and who even knew what else chasing him down. He swallowed hard to get rid of the sudden lump in his throat and said flatly, “It’s Cas. He’s worth it.”
Sam studied him for a moment. Dean tried not to squirm under the scrutiny. “Okay,” Sam said at last. “Let me get some stuff together.”
It didn’t take long for Sam to get his crap together. By the time he was ready, though, Dean was already in the car. They drove out to the middle of nowhere. Dean wanted to floor it—let the engine roar and melt the snow with the heat from the tires—but he couldn’t. Baby just couldn’t handle icy roads well enough to make doing that a smart choice, and if he wanted to find Cas he had to be careful.
Sam told him when to pull over. They walked into the silent woods, side by side. Sam had a duffel bag full of summoning crap. Dean had several guns. To each his own, Dean thought, and checked the sawed-off again.
When they hit a clearing, Sam stopped first. Dean halted just ahead of Sam, waiting for the verdict. For a second, they just stood and watched. The snow fell straight down into glimmering piles around the trees, filling up the clearing. It was up to Dean’s knees. The trees were almost perfectly arranged in a ring. Frost hung heavy from the branches. Everything was perfectly still. Nothing moved but the faint flecks of snow. It was eerie.
“This’ll work,” Sam said at last. His words came out in clouds that glittered in the white light of Dean’s flashlight.
They didn’t talk much while Sam set up the ritual. Dean paced around the edges of the clearing, shining his flashlight into the empty blackness between the trees, listening to the crunch of his boots on the snow. It was cold out here. Dean did his best not to think about Cas, out there in the dark, when the temperature was dropping…he didn’t think about that too much.
The summoning was a chant in German, which, wow, Dean didn’t know that Sam spoke German, so put another mark in the “Awesome Things Sam Does” column. There was a bit with spilling blood on the snow, and lighting a small fire, dropping something that belonged to Cas into it so that the Wild Hunt would know its prey, and so on and so forth. When it was over, they stood in silence, listening to the snow falling in the darkness.
A distant sound, the faint blast of a trumpet, echoed through the sky.
“Was that it?” Dean asked.
“I don’t know,” Sam said.
They waited more, listening to the darkness. Dean’s teeth hurt with anticipation. His breath fogged out in great clouds. He wasn’t ready, but he wanted this to happen. They had to find Cas.
A new sound faded in, right on the edge of Dean’s hearing. Barking and yelping, with the faint sound of horses’ hooves and the jingling of small bells. He checked the sawed-off again and made sure the other guns were within easy reach.
“They’re coming,” Sam said. He was still, tense, staring with wide eyes out of their clearing.
Dean drew in a deep breath and tried to relax. If they were hostile, if the ritual had gone wrong, he’d have one good shot. One shot to get it right.
His heart drummed faster, speeding to match the sound of hooves drawing nearer and nearer as the baying of the hounds came closer. It was fear the likes of which Dean hadn’t felt in a long time. Primal, bestial, a fear that made him want to run and run and never stop. But he held his ground, even though his hands were shaking.
A shadow flashed past, at the edge of the flashlight, and Dean flinched. A dog. A big dog, bigger than a wolf. They were going to die. The ritual had gone wrong, hadn’t it? More of them appeared, all shadows and flickering red eyes. Dean took a step closer to Sam and felt Sam’s shoulder brush his own. “Calm, Dean,” Sam breathed. “Just…stay calm.”
The snow had stopped, at some point. The clouds had cleared just enough to bring the moon out. It threw silvery light through the clearing. The dogs were nothing more than shadows in the faint gleam, but the shadows were more than enough to make Dean want to run away screaming.
A loud neighing bugled through the forest. Dean half-raised the shotgun and Sam pushed the barrel down again. Dean didn’t take his eyes off the woods to glare at Sam, though he wanted to. A group of horses trotted into the clearing. Their bridles, saddles, and breastplates were adorned with bells that jingled merrily as they moved. There were three riders and…Dean took a quick count…five horses. The riderless pair were being led by one of the other horses. Every one of the horses was magnificent, tall and proud, as black and gleaming as the Impala’s paint.
“The hell are they doing here?” Sam muttered.
“Damn,” Dean said with deep feeling. He seriously contemplated just pulling the trigger right now. Rowena and Crowley were riding two of the horses, leading the pack of hounds into the clearing.
Rowena reined in her horse, which stopped with its ears back and shook its head irritably. She waved at them. “So good to see you, darlings,” she said merrily. She wore a black gown that seemed a bit inappropriate for riding horses, and a crown of…was that mistletoe on her head? The pale leaves and white berries shone in the light of the lantern she carried.
Crowley’s horse sauntered up next to hers. “Hello, boys,” he said. He also had a crown of greenery, this one with small red flowers like drops of blood, perched at a rakish angle. He wasn’t wearing the trademark suit-and-tie, but some outfit that looked like it walked right out of Game of Thrones.
“Don’t shoot them,” Sam said. He was glaring at Rowena like he wanted to shoot her, but continued: “They’re probably here for the same reason we are.”
Dean grimaced and lowered the shotgun. “If I’d have known we were going to see you two tonight, I would have stayed home,” he said.
Rowena leaned forward over her saddle with a maternal smile. “Oh, would you now? Little Sammy is precisely correct about why we’re both here.”
“Son of a bitch,” Dean growled.
Before anything else could be said, the third rider dismounted his horse and came forward into the center of the clearing. Dean and Sam both took a step back at his approach. He was huge—taller than Sam, actually. He was dressed in furs and pine needles, naked from the waist up. He bore a spear in one hand, which was itself at least as tall as Dean, tipped with iron. A hunting horn hung at his side. The part about him that actually sort of scared Dean was the fact that he had antlers, real antlers like an elk’s, growing from his head. Whatever he was, he wasn’t human.
“The Huntsman,” Sam said quietly. “The one who leads the Wild Hunt.”
He stopped a few steps from Sam and Dean and observed them for a moment. When his eyes—narrow and cunning and as black as night—met Dean’s, he wanted to drop the shotgun and run. He didn’t. If Sam was going to stand his ground, Dean was damn well going to do the same.
“You are the ones who summoned the Hunt?” The Huntsman’s voice was surprisingly soft.
“Yes,” Sam said. “We need your help.”
The Huntsman raised his eyebrows. “The Wild Hunt is not given to aiding mortals. We would prefer to chase them, if we could. Your angel is prey only. Why should we help you?”
Sam faltered. The silence stretched for one beat, two beats, three. Dean forced words out of his mouth. “Because it’s a challenge. A competition. That’s why you brought the Gruesome Twosome. You’re gonna let them chase him, aren’t you?”
A wide, savage smile snapped across the Huntsman’s face. Dean flinched. Dude had teeth like a goddamn shark. “You have good instincts,” he said. “It is true, you will not be the only ones pursuing your fallen angel tonight.”
“Damn,” Sam muttered.
“There are rules, though. When we ride, each of us has a chance to catch the angel,” the Huntsman said. He looked around at the four of them. “Whoever makes the catch must claim the catch, by blood or by bond.”
Dean looked at Sam. “What does that mean?” he whispered.
Sam shrugged, never looking away from the Huntsman.
“Is that all?” Crowley drawled. His eyes, Dean noticed, shone red in the light of Rowena’s lantern.
“Those are the only rules you must know,” the Huntsman said. He turned, dismissing Crowley, and looked right at Sam. “Why do you choose to ride with the Wild Hunt tonight?”
“I—um—” Dean saw Sam pull himself together, set his jaw and straighten up. “Castiel is my friend,” he said firmly. “I’ve abandoned him too often. I’m not going to let that happen again.”
The Huntsman nodded. “A good reason,” he said. “You shall wear ivy, for constancy.” He lifted a crown of twisted ivy strands and set it on Sam’s head. Dean fought the urge to laugh—Sam was so ridiculously solemn, and that ivy crown looked totally hilarious. But then the laughter died because the Huntsman was turning to Dean and staring directly into his eyes. “And you, why do you choose to ride with the Wild Hunt tonight?”
Dean froze like a scared rabbit. He knew what the answer was, but he didn’t want to say it out loud, not in front of Sam and Rowena and Crowley. He was aware of the tension, the fact that if he didn’t answer he might very well end up being chased down himself. The dogs were breathing down his back. He had to say something—“He’s my best friend. He’s family. I can’t just leave him out there, not if I can do something to help him.”
“Fair,” the Huntsman said. He held up a crown of shiny holly leaves, adorned with bright red berries that all but glowed in the moonlight. “You shall wear holly, for love.”
Dean suddenly understood why Sam had been so freaking solemn when the Huntsman had handed over his crown. A weight settled over his shoulders, a heaviness that was definitely magical, compelling him to understand the seriousness of what he was about to do.
Lazy applause came from behind the Huntsman, from Crowley. “Excellent show,” he said, “but shouldn’t we be off? Little Cassie has quite the head start.”
Sam was already mounting his horse. Dean started to head towards the one that he assumed was his, but he was stopped by a huge hand on his arm. He spun around to find the Huntsman all up in his space, looming up to fill his vision.
“Winchester,” the Huntsman said softly. “It is not often that the Wild Hunt rides at the command of a heart such as yours. If you catch your fallen angel, make certain that you claim the catch. I would see this hunt end well for you.”
When the Huntsman walked away, Dean realized that somewhere in there he’d forgotten to breathe. He fumbled his way up into the saddle, light-headed and dizzy.
“You okay?” Sam asked.
“Yeah,” Dean said. “’m fine.”
Sam’s brows were furrowed, but before he could say anything there was a weird rustling noise and Dean got the distinct feeling that his clothes were getting handsy with him. He looked down and had another moment of dizziness. “The hell?” Sam said.
They were both dressed like they were ready for a LARP, in tunics and hose and boots that had a distinctly medieval feel. Dean was just as warm now as he’d been in his winter coat, but he was wearing a voluminous green cloak instead. Sam, on the other hand, was wearing a rich, dark red.
Rowena nudged her horse up beside them. “I supposed that you might want to be dressed for the occasion,” she said sweetly. “Does it suit?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Dean said. He was out of his depth here. “Um.”
She patted his knee. “I do hope you find your angel before darling Fergus or I find him,” she said, and urged her horse forward.
The Huntsman’s horse trotted ahead, into the moonlight. There was a second when they were illuminated, looking like some sort of strange frozen sculpture. Then the horse reared, and the Huntsman lifted his spear high. “Hark for’ard!” he cried, and lifted the horn to blow two short, sharp blasts.
Dean’s blood pounded in his ears as the dogs bayed and surged forward around the hooves of the horses. He just barely touched his heels to his horse’s sides and the animal leaped forward, racing along with the dogs.