I'm a believer [Nothing could be worse]
[Fade Away]
There’s blood on his hands; not in the metaphorical bullshit way. It’s under his fingernails, almost black and it stains the beds of his nails crimson. She’s pretty sure there’s a smudge across the back of his hand and it collects in the lines on his palms.
“Hey, Shit for Brains, go wash your hands.”
“Bite me, Ruby.”
He knocks her across the room with one blow that’s too strong to be just Sam when she bites him, teeth sinking deep into the muscle between the curve of his neck and his shoulder. Of course, she did draw blood just to taste it on her tongue, a metallic tang that doesn’t go away.
“You fucking asshole,” she spits, tasting her own blood now and she hates that taste. “I’m not sharing my fucking eggrolls with someone who hasn’t mastered basic hygiene.” And though she’ll never say it, it bothers her that the blood on his hands doesn’t bother him anymore. He used to be OCD about it, washing every spot, scrubbing until his skin was red and she thought it’d peel from his bones. “And next time you hit me, you can do this shit on your own.”
Its part empty threat and they both know it. This is what she’s here for, this is what she clawed her way out of hell twice for. Of course the gigantic idiot is screwing it up and she’s not sure why she expected him to do anything else. He was supposed to come into his own, he was supposed to gain control of his powers and he was supposed to get so fucking strong that Lilith didn’t have a chance in (pardon the pun) Hell. He was supposed to realize that war has casualties and push on anyway. The fuckwad wasn’t supposed to start enjoying those casualties. Sam was never meant to be evil.
And yet every day the part of Sam Winchester that loves puppies, chick flicks and friggin’ humanity is fading away. And Ruby can’t even express how fucking wrong it looks on him. Her puppy was supposed to be a pit-bull, not a fucking hellhound. Sometimes there are still glimpses of him. He breaks down in the middle of the night, guilt stealing his breath. The first half a dozen times it happened, she told him to grow a backbone; she called him a girl and told him when he grew a pair to call her. Now she holds him when he cries. She tucks that tiny bit of Sam’s humanity close and holds onto it when he’s doing something that even she finds unspeakable.
Ruby knows they’re going to save Dean. There’s no way they can’t save him now. The pieces are in place, the pawns have been taken and the King is just waiting for the right moment to sweep in. She just hopes there will be something of Sam left for Dean to save.
There’s blood on his hands; not in the metaphorical bullshit way. It’s under his fingernails, almost black and it stains the beds of his nails crimson. She’s pretty sure there’s a smudge across the back of his hand and it collects in the lines on his palms.
“Hey, Shit for Brains, go wash your hands.”
“Bite me, Ruby.”
He knocks her across the room with one blow that’s too strong to be just Sam when she bites him, teeth sinking deep into the muscle between the curve of his neck and his shoulder. Of course, she did draw blood just to taste it on her tongue, a metallic tang that doesn’t go away.
“You fucking asshole,” she spits, tasting her own blood now and she hates that taste. “I’m not sharing my fucking eggrolls with someone who hasn’t mastered basic hygiene.” And though she’ll never say it, it bothers her that the blood on his hands doesn’t bother him anymore. He used to be OCD about it, washing every spot, scrubbing until his skin was red and she thought it’d peel from his bones. “And next time you hit me, you can do this shit on your own.”
Its part empty threat and they both know it. This is what she’s here for, this is what she clawed her way out of hell twice for. Of course the gigantic idiot is screwing it up and she’s not sure why she expected him to do anything else. He was supposed to come into his own, he was supposed to gain control of his powers and he was supposed to get so fucking strong that Lilith didn’t have a chance in (pardon the pun) Hell. He was supposed to realize that war has casualties and push on anyway. The fuckwad wasn’t supposed to start enjoying those casualties. Sam was never meant to be evil.
And yet every day the part of Sam Winchester that loves puppies, chick flicks and friggin’ humanity is fading away. And Ruby can’t even express how fucking wrong it looks on him. Her puppy was supposed to be a pit-bull, not a fucking hellhound. Sometimes there are still glimpses of him. He breaks down in the middle of the night, guilt stealing his breath. The first half a dozen times it happened, she told him to grow a backbone; she called him a girl and told him when he grew a pair to call her. Now she holds him when he cries. She tucks that tiny bit of Sam’s humanity close and holds onto it when he’s doing something that even she finds unspeakable.
Ruby knows they’re going to save Dean. There’s no way they can’t save him now. The pieces are in place, the pawns have been taken and the King is just waiting for the right moment to sweep in. She just hopes there will be something of Sam left for Dean to save.