Spin Him to the Ground
Title: Spin Him to the Ground
Pairings: Sam/Ruby, Dean/Ruby
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1045
Summary: She's in this for the long haul, and she always wins.
A/N: Written for __hibiscus for Write For Relief Fandom Charity Fundraiser. She requested Dean tries to convince Ruby to leave Sam alone. Ruby sort of ran away with me. Thank you to dream_mancer for the beta. Title from "Devil's Spoke" by Laura Marling - hold your devil by his spoke and spin him to the ground.
When Dean gets off of the rack, Ruby feels the shift and slide of the first seal breaking beneath her back, an electric charge skidding across her skin. The sensation jolts her awake, eyes snapping open in the darkness.
Sam rolls over, the sheet dipping down below his hips. He doesn’t open his eyes as he murmurs, “What’s wrong?”
Ruby glances at the ground, as if she could see into hell straight through the cracked floorboards. She leans her head back, arches her spine, and curls her toes. She glances at Sam, then molds her body to his, pinning his hands to the bed so quickly, his eyes fly open. She feels his heart beating toofast against her ribcage, and he hisses, eyes sliding shut again as she rolls her hips.
Ruby grins, lips slowly twisting upwards, the cat with the canary in her clutches. She lowers her head, kisses him, catches his bottom lip between her teeth.
“Nothing,” she whispers against his cheek. “Everything is perfect.”
--
Except it isn’t.
Dean returning from hell with his holier-than-thou attitude should be the biggest wrench thrown into her meticulously thought out plans, but no - he had to go throwing angels into the mix.
“You boys really know how to keep things interesting,” she says to Sam, tapping her foot against the floor when he sags under the weight of using his powers, clutching his knees for support.
She runs the blade of her knife across her skin, watches the wisp of smoke fill the air as her blood beads to the surface. Sam’s lips curl under, eyes riveted, breath quickening.
He refuses because what would Dean think, the question written plain as day across his face.
Ruby stares, lowers her arm. She is well and truly fucked.
--
Except she isn’t.
Sam returns to her side, sends demons back to hell like a good little soldier, though he hasn’t bloodied a knife against her wrist in weeks. His eyes dull, hands shaking ever-so-slightly when he raises his arm, but he still supports his for the greater good motto, where the greater good stands for keeping Dean safe.
The Winchesters are always so hopelessly, frustratingly, dully predictable.
“Why are you here?” Dean asks, on the rare occasion he deems her worthy of something other than bitter hostility or slips of clever sarcasm.
“I’m trying to save Sam.” She frowns, stares at her shoes, plays the subservient, atoning demon card. She still twists the knife hard enough to bleed an already gaping wound. “You of all people should understand.” She raises her eyes just in time to catch his flinch before he schools his face back to that of care-free indifference. She barely suppresses a smirk.
“My ass.” Dean crosses his arms over his chest, attempting to loom. “You may have my brother fooled, but I don’t buy the sympathy with the devil crap. I know what you’re doing.”
Ruby chuckles at the irony of his phrasing - oh, if only he knew - and pushes herself up from the table. The old wood groans under her weight. She drags her finger down the center of his jacket, brushing his chest just so. He stiffens, doesn’t move.
She stands on her toes, whispers against his ear, “You have no idea what I can do.”
Dean slaps her hand away, but not before she feels the shiver slide down his spine. She grins.
He grits his teeth and she laughs, pushing past him into the bright, winter morning. She isn’t afraid to have him at her back.
“I mean it, bitch,” he shouts across the parking lot. “Stay away from him.”
“Make me,” she fires back over her shoulder, knowing he won’t. He can’t.
--
Except he can.
Ruby watches him break slowly but surely under the weight of his transgressions, watches him attempt - and fail - to keep his inner demons at bay. She doesn’t need the specifics; she knows hell. Intimately.
She wants to place her knife in his hand, let him feel the familiar, comfortable weight of it against his palm. “Let go,” she wants to whisper, kiss him as the blood runs fast and hot beneath his bare hands, his nails digging into her hips as he shoves her down onto the mattress, eyes black as he slams his body against hers.
She wonders what Sam would do in the face of such a macabre scene. Hopefully join them. Probably attempt to save him.
Fucking Winchesters.
But Dean said yes eventually, didn’t he? Alastair is an efficient son of a bitch.
If Michael has even a shred of Alastair’s God-complex - and considering he’s actually seen the bastard, she doesn’t doubt it - they’ll be knee-deep in hellfire in no time.
--
Except they aren’t.
Ruby anticipates every obstacle, raises the stakes impossibly higher. She tempts Dean with her body and Sam with her blood. She battles her way between them, tears them apart, plays them both with a poker face befit of Lucifer himself.
“Dean isn’t strong enough,” she says softly, throwing her legs over Sam’s lap, wrist aligned with his mouth. “You’re the only one who can stop Lilith.”
“You’re losing him,” she whispers, places her hand on Dean’s arm, “But I can save him, if you’ll let me. Trust me.”
Neither of them fold.
“Leave it alone, Ruby,” Sam says roughly, shoving her wrist away and pushing off of the bed.
“Go to hell,” Dean growls, voice hoarse, the message loud and clear all the same.
Ruby grits her teeth, digs in her heels. She’s in this for the long haul, and she always wins.
--
Except she doesn’t.
The doors to the convent slam open, and Ruby stands up straight, lifts her chin, lets her lips slide into the smirk she’s been holding back for months.
“You’re too late,” she says quietly, savoring the sweet inevitability of this moment.
“I don’t care,” Dean snarls, and she jumps with the sudden pressure of Sam's hands digging tightly into her arms.
Dean plunges the knife into her stomach, palm steady against the blade, his breath hot against her face with Sam a solid heat at her back.
She finally has everything she wanted. Ruby laughs, Lucifer’s grace burning brightly as she falls.
Pairings: Sam/Ruby, Dean/Ruby
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1045
Summary: She's in this for the long haul, and she always wins.
A/N: Written for __hibiscus for Write For Relief Fandom Charity Fundraiser. She requested Dean tries to convince Ruby to leave Sam alone. Ruby sort of ran away with me. Thank you to dream_mancer for the beta. Title from "Devil's Spoke" by Laura Marling - hold your devil by his spoke and spin him to the ground.
When Dean gets off of the rack, Ruby feels the shift and slide of the first seal breaking beneath her back, an electric charge skidding across her skin. The sensation jolts her awake, eyes snapping open in the darkness.
Sam rolls over, the sheet dipping down below his hips. He doesn’t open his eyes as he murmurs, “What’s wrong?”
Ruby glances at the ground, as if she could see into hell straight through the cracked floorboards. She leans her head back, arches her spine, and curls her toes. She glances at Sam, then molds her body to his, pinning his hands to the bed so quickly, his eyes fly open. She feels his heart beating toofast against her ribcage, and he hisses, eyes sliding shut again as she rolls her hips.
Ruby grins, lips slowly twisting upwards, the cat with the canary in her clutches. She lowers her head, kisses him, catches his bottom lip between her teeth.
“Nothing,” she whispers against his cheek. “Everything is perfect.”
--
Except it isn’t.
Dean returning from hell with his holier-than-thou attitude should be the biggest wrench thrown into her meticulously thought out plans, but no - he had to go throwing angels into the mix.
“You boys really know how to keep things interesting,” she says to Sam, tapping her foot against the floor when he sags under the weight of using his powers, clutching his knees for support.
She runs the blade of her knife across her skin, watches the wisp of smoke fill the air as her blood beads to the surface. Sam’s lips curl under, eyes riveted, breath quickening.
He refuses because what would Dean think, the question written plain as day across his face.
Ruby stares, lowers her arm. She is well and truly fucked.
--
Except she isn’t.
Sam returns to her side, sends demons back to hell like a good little soldier, though he hasn’t bloodied a knife against her wrist in weeks. His eyes dull, hands shaking ever-so-slightly when he raises his arm, but he still supports his for the greater good motto, where the greater good stands for keeping Dean safe.
The Winchesters are always so hopelessly, frustratingly, dully predictable.
“Why are you here?” Dean asks, on the rare occasion he deems her worthy of something other than bitter hostility or slips of clever sarcasm.
“I’m trying to save Sam.” She frowns, stares at her shoes, plays the subservient, atoning demon card. She still twists the knife hard enough to bleed an already gaping wound. “You of all people should understand.” She raises her eyes just in time to catch his flinch before he schools his face back to that of care-free indifference. She barely suppresses a smirk.
“My ass.” Dean crosses his arms over his chest, attempting to loom. “You may have my brother fooled, but I don’t buy the sympathy with the devil crap. I know what you’re doing.”
Ruby chuckles at the irony of his phrasing - oh, if only he knew - and pushes herself up from the table. The old wood groans under her weight. She drags her finger down the center of his jacket, brushing his chest just so. He stiffens, doesn’t move.
She stands on her toes, whispers against his ear, “You have no idea what I can do.”
Dean slaps her hand away, but not before she feels the shiver slide down his spine. She grins.
He grits his teeth and she laughs, pushing past him into the bright, winter morning. She isn’t afraid to have him at her back.
“I mean it, bitch,” he shouts across the parking lot. “Stay away from him.”
“Make me,” she fires back over her shoulder, knowing he won’t. He can’t.
--
Except he can.
Ruby watches him break slowly but surely under the weight of his transgressions, watches him attempt - and fail - to keep his inner demons at bay. She doesn’t need the specifics; she knows hell. Intimately.
She wants to place her knife in his hand, let him feel the familiar, comfortable weight of it against his palm. “Let go,” she wants to whisper, kiss him as the blood runs fast and hot beneath his bare hands, his nails digging into her hips as he shoves her down onto the mattress, eyes black as he slams his body against hers.
She wonders what Sam would do in the face of such a macabre scene. Hopefully join them. Probably attempt to save him.
Fucking Winchesters.
But Dean said yes eventually, didn’t he? Alastair is an efficient son of a bitch.
If Michael has even a shred of Alastair’s God-complex - and considering he’s actually seen the bastard, she doesn’t doubt it - they’ll be knee-deep in hellfire in no time.
--
Except they aren’t.
Ruby anticipates every obstacle, raises the stakes impossibly higher. She tempts Dean with her body and Sam with her blood. She battles her way between them, tears them apart, plays them both with a poker face befit of Lucifer himself.
“Dean isn’t strong enough,” she says softly, throwing her legs over Sam’s lap, wrist aligned with his mouth. “You’re the only one who can stop Lilith.”
“You’re losing him,” she whispers, places her hand on Dean’s arm, “But I can save him, if you’ll let me. Trust me.”
Neither of them fold.
“Leave it alone, Ruby,” Sam says roughly, shoving her wrist away and pushing off of the bed.
“Go to hell,” Dean growls, voice hoarse, the message loud and clear all the same.
Ruby grits her teeth, digs in her heels. She’s in this for the long haul, and she always wins.
--
Except she doesn’t.
The doors to the convent slam open, and Ruby stands up straight, lifts her chin, lets her lips slide into the smirk she’s been holding back for months.
“You’re too late,” she says quietly, savoring the sweet inevitability of this moment.
“I don’t care,” Dean snarls, and she jumps with the sudden pressure of Sam's hands digging tightly into her arms.
Dean plunges the knife into her stomach, palm steady against the blade, his breath hot against her face with Sam a solid heat at her back.
She finally has everything she wanted. Ruby laughs, Lucifer’s grace burning brightly as she falls.