You, me and the Ford V8 [a Ruby and Crowley friendship fic]
Title: You, me and the Ford V8
Series: Supernatural
Characters: Ruby, Crowley
Rating: PG-13 for language
Word Count: 1,280
Spoilers: Takes place in the 1930's, so no real spoilers for the series. If you know the two character exist you should be fine.
Notes: This fic is loosely connected to my other "Ruby and Crowley are BFF!" fic: Hitler, Dracula, and You. Even though this story technically takes place years before that one, I still feel like the other should be read first. This fic is also just a little bit crack-y. Thanks to my lovely beta mad_teagirl, to whom this is once again dedicated to. <3
Summary: "1933 had turned out to be anything but the Great Depression for the demons Ruby and Crowley."
Rat-tat-tat.
Rat-tat-tat.
Rat-tat-tat.
Ruby had a list of favorite noises, and at the moment her Sub-gun's Rat-tat-tat was at the top. It had a rhythm, and she could dance to it.
Four injured, three dead, two hostages, and one Crowley at her side. The important numbers of the day. Sure, they also had a bag full of bank notes, but that wasn't the fun part. They had money, they've always had money. It was the act of the heist itself that was their reward. That, and the two lookers in the back seat. Her and Crowley would take them on the ride of their lives, and then safely deposit them on the side of the road when the week was up. That's the way their game was played. The game of Bonnie and Clyde.
From Texas to Missouri, Minnesota to Louisiana, the two made a name for Parker and Barrow. Sure, the two humans had got the ball rolling themselves, but it wasn't until Ruby and Crowley took the reigns that they became legends.
She loved living in Bonnie. And honestly, Bonnie didn't half mind Ruby living in her.
1933 had turned out to be anything but the Great Depression for the demons Ruby and Crowley.
***
A few months down the road, Ruby and Crowley were seated in a booth at their favorite mid-western diner. A middle-aged waitress who didn't ask questions laid two plates in front of the duo. Ruby was leafing through a newspaper, a cigarette hanging from her lips. When she found what she was looking for she let out a muffled "Aha!" and held the paper up for Crowley to see.
"We've made the news again!" She smirked around the cigarette.
"So we have, Poodle. So we have. I especially l love the accompanying photo of you," Crowley grabbed a comb from his jacket pocket and began to fix his hair while he gazed into his own reflection on the metal napkin holder. "However, it's a pity they choose to leave out this beautiful mug of mine," He set the napkin holder back down and pocketed his comb.
"Want to pay them a visit and convince them not to leave you out again?" She traded her cigarette for a fry off his plate.
"Ruby, Ruby, Ruby. I love that mind of yours," He gave her a smirk of his own, "I say we do just that. After lunch, of course."
"Of course," Ruby looked back at the paper laid out across the diner table. Bonnie's face was giving her her own cheeky glare, printed in ink. She made a point of collecting every mention of them she could find. It was a pity some of their more impressive jobs never made it into the press. But she supposed the kind of destruction left behind by a giant Hell Hound was the sort of thing the American people didn't like to bring attention to.
***
Nine known jobs, thirteen known murders, twenty-seven other heists that the public would never acknowledge, and one mistake named Henry Methvin. These were the important numbers of the past two years. It was May 23rd, 1934 and the ride was over.
Ruby had been enjoying a rather glorious sandwich when the bullets began to pierce their Ford V8. And poor Crowley, he didn't even have his shoes on. Mere seconds had passed and they had already been shot full of so many holes that they had begun to resemble Swiss cheese. Humans really were such fragile creatures, and being wanted criminals definitely made the magical healing benefits of being a demon a tricky resource to use. Every time they healed themselves they were pumped with even more lead and it soon became clear that it was no longer worth the effort. They had spent all this time making legends of themselves and it looked like they were going to let Bonnie and Clyde go in this rather unglamorous way. Ruby just prayed that if they ever decided to display their story on the silver screen, that they would have to common decency to not have her meat-suit die with a sandwich hanging out of its mouth.
They both hightailed it out of the bullet-riddled flesh and planted themselves into two male looky-loos who had just arrived on the scene. Crowley appeared to be in a mustachioed man who was most likely a builder. Ruby looked at her reflection in the shattered glass and pulled a face. She had ended up in ridiculously good-looking young man with impressively well-maintained hair.
Once they stepped away from the bloody display, Ruby's head dropped on Crowley's shoulder as she huffed out her annoyance.
"I miss wearing Bonnie already."
"I think this one suits you, Poodle." Crowley gave her a smirk.
"It's not that I’m not a fan of this body, it's just that I'm not a fan of me in this body." Ruby ran her hands down the front of her- I mean his- shirt and looked up at Crowley with distaste painted on her- I mean his- face.
Crowley just looked her up and down, and then threw his head back in laughter. Ruby punched his arm.
"Come on, let's go shopping."
"And by shopping do you mean picking out proper new meat suits?"
"Exactly. Oh Crowley, how well you know me." She linked their arms together and they found themselves far away from the bullet-riddled Ford and the two bodies they had both grown quite attached to. States away from the wreckage, Crowley opened the door to their favorite mid-western dinner and they headed to their usual booth to the left.
"What about that one?" Crowley pointed to a woman seated at the counter.
"For me? I think not. For you, however---"
"I meant for you. There is no way I would ever wear a ginger." He scoffed.
"And I would? Crowley dear, I think it's possible you might be a bit brain damaged from the fifty-some-odd bullets you just ingested back there. She's pretty, but no."
"Now now, Ducky. I think you would look marvelous as a redhead. I could call you Ginger Snap." She made a disgusted face at him, which only caused him to continue, "Gingy. Fire Truck. Matchstick. Copper Penny."
"I almost like that last one. Almost."
"You'll learn to love it."
"No I won’t. I refuse. Simply refuse. Besides, I want to wear someone like Alice White next."
"Well then love, why don't you just wear Alice herself, she is a choice bit of calico and we could go find her for you in a heartbeat."
"Atta boy! This is why I keep you around." She smiled at him.
"And here I thought it was for how good I always look in my well-tailored suits?"
"That too, Crowley, that too," She lit a cigarette. His lips turned up in smug satisfaction.
"All right, once you're ready we'll find you your Alice suit, and then after that we'll find us some booze. We'll get ourselves hoary-eyed and show off the new you. But first off, hand us a ciggy." He held out his palm to her expectantly.
If there was anything Ruby knew, it was that she was never happier than when she was here. Away from Hell. Away from the demons who wanted nothing more than to please Lucifer. Just being here on Earth with Crowley; nothing else was important.
Except for fucking that particularly fine specimen of human male over by the front window senseless. That might be important too.
Crowley exchanged a look with Ruby and she knew he was thinking exactly the same thing.
A few random notes: Alice White was an adorable actress from the time period who I decided Ruby wears at some point (and gets into trouble). After leaving Bonnie & Clyde's bodies, our dynamic duo end up in some past-version of Noel Fielding and Julian Barratt. Why? I suppose just because I though it was funny. That's what crack fic is all about, right? Right. Also, you know a few decades later Crowley and Ruby used Serge Gainsbourg and Brigitte Bardot as meat-suits to film this music video.
And while you're here, please check out some of the other fandom-y things I've worked on:
more fanfics + more things supernatural
Series: Supernatural
Characters: Ruby, Crowley
Rating: PG-13 for language
Word Count: 1,280
Spoilers: Takes place in the 1930's, so no real spoilers for the series. If you know the two character exist you should be fine.
Notes: This fic is loosely connected to my other "Ruby and Crowley are BFF!" fic: Hitler, Dracula, and You. Even though this story technically takes place years before that one, I still feel like the other should be read first. This fic is also just a little bit crack-y. Thanks to my lovely beta mad_teagirl, to whom this is once again dedicated to. <3
Summary: "1933 had turned out to be anything but the Great Depression for the demons Ruby and Crowley."
Rat-tat-tat.
Rat-tat-tat.
Rat-tat-tat.
Ruby had a list of favorite noises, and at the moment her Sub-gun's Rat-tat-tat was at the top. It had a rhythm, and she could dance to it.
Four injured, three dead, two hostages, and one Crowley at her side. The important numbers of the day. Sure, they also had a bag full of bank notes, but that wasn't the fun part. They had money, they've always had money. It was the act of the heist itself that was their reward. That, and the two lookers in the back seat. Her and Crowley would take them on the ride of their lives, and then safely deposit them on the side of the road when the week was up. That's the way their game was played. The game of Bonnie and Clyde.
From Texas to Missouri, Minnesota to Louisiana, the two made a name for Parker and Barrow. Sure, the two humans had got the ball rolling themselves, but it wasn't until Ruby and Crowley took the reigns that they became legends.
She loved living in Bonnie. And honestly, Bonnie didn't half mind Ruby living in her.
1933 had turned out to be anything but the Great Depression for the demons Ruby and Crowley.
***
A few months down the road, Ruby and Crowley were seated in a booth at their favorite mid-western diner. A middle-aged waitress who didn't ask questions laid two plates in front of the duo. Ruby was leafing through a newspaper, a cigarette hanging from her lips. When she found what she was looking for she let out a muffled "Aha!" and held the paper up for Crowley to see.
"We've made the news again!" She smirked around the cigarette.
"So we have, Poodle. So we have. I especially l love the accompanying photo of you," Crowley grabbed a comb from his jacket pocket and began to fix his hair while he gazed into his own reflection on the metal napkin holder. "However, it's a pity they choose to leave out this beautiful mug of mine," He set the napkin holder back down and pocketed his comb.
"Want to pay them a visit and convince them not to leave you out again?" She traded her cigarette for a fry off his plate.
"Ruby, Ruby, Ruby. I love that mind of yours," He gave her a smirk of his own, "I say we do just that. After lunch, of course."
"Of course," Ruby looked back at the paper laid out across the diner table. Bonnie's face was giving her her own cheeky glare, printed in ink. She made a point of collecting every mention of them she could find. It was a pity some of their more impressive jobs never made it into the press. But she supposed the kind of destruction left behind by a giant Hell Hound was the sort of thing the American people didn't like to bring attention to.
***
Nine known jobs, thirteen known murders, twenty-seven other heists that the public would never acknowledge, and one mistake named Henry Methvin. These were the important numbers of the past two years. It was May 23rd, 1934 and the ride was over.
Ruby had been enjoying a rather glorious sandwich when the bullets began to pierce their Ford V8. And poor Crowley, he didn't even have his shoes on. Mere seconds had passed and they had already been shot full of so many holes that they had begun to resemble Swiss cheese. Humans really were such fragile creatures, and being wanted criminals definitely made the magical healing benefits of being a demon a tricky resource to use. Every time they healed themselves they were pumped with even more lead and it soon became clear that it was no longer worth the effort. They had spent all this time making legends of themselves and it looked like they were going to let Bonnie and Clyde go in this rather unglamorous way. Ruby just prayed that if they ever decided to display their story on the silver screen, that they would have to common decency to not have her meat-suit die with a sandwich hanging out of its mouth.
They both hightailed it out of the bullet-riddled flesh and planted themselves into two male looky-loos who had just arrived on the scene. Crowley appeared to be in a mustachioed man who was most likely a builder. Ruby looked at her reflection in the shattered glass and pulled a face. She had ended up in ridiculously good-looking young man with impressively well-maintained hair.
Once they stepped away from the bloody display, Ruby's head dropped on Crowley's shoulder as she huffed out her annoyance.
"I miss wearing Bonnie already."
"I think this one suits you, Poodle." Crowley gave her a smirk.
"It's not that I’m not a fan of this body, it's just that I'm not a fan of me in this body." Ruby ran her hands down the front of her- I mean his- shirt and looked up at Crowley with distaste painted on her- I mean his- face.
Crowley just looked her up and down, and then threw his head back in laughter. Ruby punched his arm.
"Come on, let's go shopping."
"And by shopping do you mean picking out proper new meat suits?"
"Exactly. Oh Crowley, how well you know me." She linked their arms together and they found themselves far away from the bullet-riddled Ford and the two bodies they had both grown quite attached to. States away from the wreckage, Crowley opened the door to their favorite mid-western dinner and they headed to their usual booth to the left.
"What about that one?" Crowley pointed to a woman seated at the counter.
"For me? I think not. For you, however---"
"I meant for you. There is no way I would ever wear a ginger." He scoffed.
"And I would? Crowley dear, I think it's possible you might be a bit brain damaged from the fifty-some-odd bullets you just ingested back there. She's pretty, but no."
"Now now, Ducky. I think you would look marvelous as a redhead. I could call you Ginger Snap." She made a disgusted face at him, which only caused him to continue, "Gingy. Fire Truck. Matchstick. Copper Penny."
"I almost like that last one. Almost."
"You'll learn to love it."
"No I won’t. I refuse. Simply refuse. Besides, I want to wear someone like Alice White next."
"Well then love, why don't you just wear Alice herself, she is a choice bit of calico and we could go find her for you in a heartbeat."
"Atta boy! This is why I keep you around." She smiled at him.
"And here I thought it was for how good I always look in my well-tailored suits?"
"That too, Crowley, that too," She lit a cigarette. His lips turned up in smug satisfaction.
"All right, once you're ready we'll find you your Alice suit, and then after that we'll find us some booze. We'll get ourselves hoary-eyed and show off the new you. But first off, hand us a ciggy." He held out his palm to her expectantly.
If there was anything Ruby knew, it was that she was never happier than when she was here. Away from Hell. Away from the demons who wanted nothing more than to please Lucifer. Just being here on Earth with Crowley; nothing else was important.
Except for fucking that particularly fine specimen of human male over by the front window senseless. That might be important too.
Crowley exchanged a look with Ruby and she knew he was thinking exactly the same thing.
A few random notes: Alice White was an adorable actress from the time period who I decided Ruby wears at some point (and gets into trouble). After leaving Bonnie & Clyde's bodies, our dynamic duo end up in some past-version of Noel Fielding and Julian Barratt. Why? I suppose just because I though it was funny. That's what crack fic is all about, right? Right. Also, you know a few decades later Crowley and Ruby used Serge Gainsbourg and Brigitte Bardot as meat-suits to film this music video.
And while you're here, please check out some of the other fandom-y things I've worked on:
more fanfics + more things supernatural