He Who Fights Monsters - Chapter Six
back to chapter five
CHAPTER SIX
When Sam comes back around, he’s got morning wood and he’s too weak, uncoordinated, from his seizure to relieve himself. It makes him cry out, whether out of pain or frustration she isn’t sure. It doesn’t matter. She’s there, though, and wraps her hand around the stiff erection. It takes hardly any effort, a few strokes of her thumb, and it’s relaxed again, but it leaves Sam breathing in wet, raggedy hitches. She switches out the cool compresses. The one on his forehead makes him whimper. The ones on each of his thighs make him flinch and shiver. He tries to bat away her hands but he’s too clumsy and she easily subdues him, a task made even easier by the fever burning through his system. Sam doesn’t drift off right away. He stays conscious, shuddering and watching her through glazed, glittery eyes, fingers twitching as though he longs to scratch at something.
“Easy,” she tells him. “You’ve had some pretty potent shit. Your body couldn’t handle it. He shouldn’t have done that. You weren’t ready…” She pauses, dabs a wadded-up, dripping facecloth along Sam’s throat. “Not yet. Won’t be for a while, but soon.” She doesn’t tell him that it’d been one step below Lilith, that she’d tasted it herself when she’d picked up the discarded syringe and broke the glass in her bare hands to get at the last droplets, to tap into Demon Network. The power in those few drops had been enough to take her breath away and it’d taken all of her training to rein in the torrent that’d threatened to overtake her. She still feels a little unsettled - she hadn’t taken enough to know whose blood it was but whoever it was, it’d been somebody old. Somebody strong. No wonder Sam had gone supernova. “It nearly killed you. You had a grand-mal seizure but you’re going to be okay. I’m going to look after you. Just rest,” she presses the rough fabric against Sam’s armpit and he inhales sharply, stiffens. She doesn’t apologize. Sam twitches again, pants, and she sees his gaze skitter along the walls, surfaces of their room without settling on anything.
“You okay?” She whispers, pausing the trail she’s smearing along his arm. He shudders and his abdominal muscles flutter, tightening and relaxing with each breath. She places her palm on the twitching planes.
“Too much,” Sam gasps out, jerking as though a low-voltage current has just run through his system. His fingers flex, clawing in. He clenches his eyes tightly, his face contorting into a grimace.
“Fuck,” she curses aloud as a small crack forms in the plaster behind Sam's head. If she can't get him to concentrate, he'll probably bring the whole damn place down, just by accident. “Hey,” she snaps at him, louder this time. “Hey. Look at me. That’s. An. Order.” It works and Sam's eyes fly open. His pupils are blown and the filament of color surrounding the black is gold. They latch onto her and she can see terror there. “Keep focusing on me, okay?” She gentles her tone and it makes him nod. “I’m gonna help you. I promise. I’m not going anywhere, but I need you to answer a couple of questions first.” Sam opens his mouth, panting, but he’s calmer. “Yeah,” she croons. “That’s it. Just keep looking at me.” His gaze is already beginning to wander. Fuck..
She needs something to hold his attention. Something uncomplicated, but impossible for him to ignore and keep him in the here-and-now. Questions are definitely out. She goes to their little half-fridge, blessedly still functional after Sam's EMP impression, and pulls out the ice cube tray, carrying it back to the bed.
Sam's eyes are starting to close again, and the fitted sheet by his left hand is starting to smolder.
The ice cube tray crackles when she twists it, drawing Sam's attention. He watches her, confused, as she plucks one cube out of the tray and brings it down to his belly.
The sensation makes him hiss, abdominals tightening as he instinctively tries to pull away from the cold.
"This'll help," she says. "Trust me." She traces the ice cube into spirals and loops, leaving behind a trail of water in its wake. It melts quickly against Sam’s heated skin and she replaces it with a new one. He flinches, abdomen hardening in the instance before he’s able to relax. “Focus on it,” she tells him, running it back in forth in the concave of his stomach, tracing along his ribs, skirting the sternum, before gliding it back down to his pelvis. He whimpers as she slides it lower still, closes his eyes, opens them, squirms, but there are no more sparks, no more cracks. The cube turns to water in her fingers and she pops the ice from the tray again, brings a fresh cube to the crook of his elbow. She brings it high to his armpit, holds it there, and then lets it drip its way to his wrist. It’s a fraction of its original size, Sam’s fever melting the ice almost faster than she can replenish them, than he can bring himself down. She brings it back to his navel, lets it drop into the hollow of his bellybutton.
Sam's mouth opens in a soundless gasp and the water on his stomach runs down his sides as his back arches again. When he drops back onto the bed his eyes are unfocused, drifting back and forth across a spot of wall over Ruby's right shoulder.
"Stay with me, Sam." She holds up another ice cube and snaps her fingers, drawing his attention. "Stay here."
His eyes shift back towards her and focus on the cube. He shakes his head, a soft keen of protest in his throat, as she lowers it, brings it close to his skin.
She pauses, ice cube hovering over his chest. "You don't like how this feels?"
He shakes his head again.
"Then stop me." It's a risky game she's playing, because, as juiced as he is, if he does lash out, he could kill her ten times over without batting an eyelash. But she also knows his mind is as fluid as the water on his skin and he probably wouldn't be able to concentrate long enough to take her down.
The ice cube in her hand begins to steam and melts before Ruby can touch him with it. "Good job," she says, noting the flames that have sprung up on the blanket by Sam's fingers. She grabs a discarded shirt and beats down the flames. "Let's try that again. No fire this time, okay?" She grabs two more cubes and this time Sam singes her fingertips along with the ice. They're not so much melted as incinerated.
"Good," she says, healing the blisters with a trickle of power. She holds out two more, but Sam's focus is slipping again. His eyes are back to that spot over her shoulder. She brings the ice quickly down on his skin but Sam's eyes stay locked where they are, bleeding black as he bares his teeth.
::: ::: :::
There's ice in his veins again, he can feel it starting low in his gut. It runs up his stomach, claws its way into his heart and he wills it to stop, tries to make it warm but he only has two settings: fire and ice and all he can do is flip the switch.
Fire runs through him and he can feel his blood boiling as it spills from his hands, onto the blanket. He shouts.
Ruby curses, moves away from him but she doesn't have to bother because the ice comes back and it puts out the fire and covers him, locking his limbs down in a solid block of cold. He can't move, he can't breathe and there's a flare of pain deep in his spine that shoots right up into his brain. When it gets there he's filled with agony. It spills out of his throat in a scream, liquefying the ice. The fire that follows doesn't come from him, it is him and it pours out of every pore, covering the bed, crawling up to the ceiling like a living thing.
There's screaming. Ruby. He tries to see her, tries to focus, but the room's so bright. There's fire everywhere, an ocean of it, and the one empty spot right above him is Jessica-shaped.
You should have heard her cry, Brady's voice echoes in his head. It was beautiful.
The ceiling is doubled. Sam sees the peeling red wallpaper of the hotel room around the edges along with the cream colored paint from his old apartment with Jess. He can smell the scent of her perfume in the air as it mingles with the stench of burning flesh. She's burning above him, her frightened eyes looking down at him, silently pleading for help.
"Sam!" screams a voice. But it's not Jess’. Sam's vision snaps back into focus and Jessica's blond hair goes dark. Her rounded face shifts into Ruby's angular one and she's pinned to the blazing ceiling - he's holding her up there, in the middle of an inferno.
Sickeningly aware of what he's doing, Sam releases Ruby and sits up, drawing his legs in as she falls, landing on the bed with a heavy thump. The flames vanish as one.
Ruby glares up at him, less frightened than she should be. God, she should be terrified. Her hair is singed and there are blisters on her cheeks and dark black burns on her arms, already healing. If she’d been human, she'd be near death.
But she's not. She sits up, and just looks at him, then up at the scorched ceiling. There are flakes of ash falling down on them, charred bits of paper and plaster, a light grey snow. "What did you see?" she asks.
Sam can't answer. He doesn't want to.
"You want to kill me?" she asks. Her voice is completely calm.
"No." He tries to wrap his arms around his legs, but they're shaking too badly and he settles for leaning his chin on his knees.
"Well you did better with the foreplay the other night."
"Why are you still here?" he asks. He wants to grab her, shake her and scream at her to run. "I could've killed you." He balls his hands into fists. "I couldn't even see you, and I couldn't- I couldn't stop myself."
She rises up onto her knees and moves closer to him, until she can touch his hair. She touches him carefully, like she's afraid he'll be spooked, and it's so ridiculous he wants to cry. He almost killed her, and she's worried about him. "Go." It comes out breathless, strangled.
She shakes her head and smiles. "I'm not afraid of you."
"Why not?" he asks, and his voice breaks despite himself. "What I did- It's what they all do. What Azazel did… What Brady did…" Rage starts to bubble inside of him again as he remembers Brady's smug smile, but he tamps it down. He's not going to let the red-hot anger take over again. Not tonight. "Do you know what that means?"
Her smile falters. "Yeah, I do."
"I'm just as bad as them."
"No. You're just as strong as them. There's a difference."
"Is there?" There's something wet running down his cheek and he brings a shaking hand up to wipe at it away.
Ruby slides closer and wraps her arms around him.
::: ::: :::
Sam shudders in her hold and she shifts on her knees so she’s higher than him. It’s still a stretch, though, for her arms to reach across the breadth of his shoulders. She adjusts her grip and he tenses the moment she loosens only to relax when she’s got one arm around his back, her other hand cradling his wet, dripping cheek. She peers down as she guides his head to her shoulder. She can feel damp, hiccupping puffs of air puff against the inside of her wrist where the blue pulse thrums beneath thin tissue.
He’s still shivering, his body convulsing in tiny, suppressed movements. The tension she can feel in his coiled frame almost makes her wince. He’s going to be sore tomorrow. And whiny, she thinks as he jerks again, makes a broken half-sob sound of protest that may or may not be just go.
She bends her face toward his, curling her body protectively around him as a mother would a child. His eyes are scrunched tight and a grimace contorts his features as he twitches with invisible spasm. She strokes her thumb along his jaw, the roughness of emerging scruff bristling against her flesh. Even when he sinks his head onto her shoulder, she doesn’t cease the soothing motions. For a moment, she’s almost tempted to start humming tunelessly, the way she would’ve for Susanna but she doesn’t.
It’s pathetic, how easily his guilt makes Sam crumble. He’s stronger than half the demons in Hell but he clutches at her like a needy child. An irritating glimmer of sympathy runs through her and she makes a face as she combs her fingers through his sweaty, limp hair, holds him tighter. He could’ve killed her at least twice tonight. He didn’t, but he could have. And, yet, for some reason, she was never scared.
He trusts her. No matter how much his self-loathing might be setting him back, it’ll take her a matter of minutes to turn him around. Because she’s that good. And he trusts her.
It takes a long time but finally, finally, Sam stops crying and subsides into sleep and she lays him carefully on his back. It still catches her off-guard, sometimes, just how childlike these humans could be, how no matter how old they became, the way they still craved affection, approval. She pulls up the blanket over him, brushes out the wrinkles, allowing her touch to linger. She hesitates, presses her lips to his temple, and rises to her feet. She can sense Lilith’s presence nearby and she knows she can’t put it off any further, not without risking infuriating the superior demon.
Ruby closes the door behind her and the latch catches with a gentle click. She walks down the hall, takes the stairwell down a level, and finds Lilith sitting in one of the tucked-in alcoves off of each landing, the filthy picture window behind her obscuring the neon-lit city below, waiting for her. She’s chewing on a long string of red licorice.
“He’s asleep,” Ruby says, sitting on the edge of the long, wide window seat that takes up the entire embrasure beside the older demon.
“He’s a noisy dreamer,” Lilith comments and takes another chomp of her licorice. “All bloody and full of bugs and itchy things. He hears Dean when he’s dreaming. Want to know why?” She grins wide, red-stained tongue peeking through her crooked, gapped teeth.
“Why?”
“Because I let him hear!” she giggles.
Ruby flicks her gaze at the ceiling and she feels a slow smile spread across her features. “You shouldn’t,” she says, a token protest.
Lilith stares. “He needs to know. He needs to be ready. Or else Alastair is going to make worms’ meat of him. You of all people should know that.” She pauses, holds out a long floppy piece of licorice. “Candy?”
Ruby makes a face, but takes it. She bites off half of it and sugar and artificial-cherry flavoring explodes in her mouth. It’s definitely not the real thing, but that doesn’t make it any less disgusting. “You’re going to make him mad enough to kill you,” Ruby informs her.
Lilith sobers and for the briefest of moments she looks sad. She runs her hand back-and-forth along the matted, faded suede, watching it turn lighter and darker in turns with each pass of her hand. “I know,” she says, sounding all of eight and not the millennia-old demon she is. She looks up at Ruby, her eyes fanatical. “But that’s the way it has to be. I'm the last seal. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?”
It’s a rhetorical question so Ruby doesn’t answer. Besides, she’s been waiting a few centuries herself.
“It’s already starting,” Lilith says. “Ever since Dean stepped off the rack to fulfill the prophecy, seals have been breaking left and right. We’re up to thirty-two. Sam has to finish what Dean started. And when he kills me, the devil shall walk the earth.” Her eyes roll back, all marble-white. “I can’t ask for greater reward. For your service, you will be greatly blessed, handmaiden of the boy-king.”
Her eyes flip back to her normal blue and she scoots off the seat without bringing her candy in contact with the fabric. “You should probably go… Dean’s starting to do tricksies.” She turns and skips down the stairwell just as a bloodcurdling scream reverberates through the thin walls, funneling down the stairs to her ears.
::: ::: :::
"You had that coming, you know," a voice drawls. A voice so painfully familiar Sam jolts awake. He props himself up on his elbows and finds himself stripped down to his underwear. There are wet towels on his legs, and the sheet beneath him is soaked with sweat. His body feels shaky and his left arm gives out. He can't see anyone else in the room with him, but he knows what he heard. Who he heard.
He uses all of his energy to force his head back up and scans the room. The lights in the room are dim, but there's enough of it for Sam to notice that something's wrong with the walls. They're pulsing, and there's something growing in the corners - it looks almost like black moss, but out of the corner of his eye, Sam thinks he sees flecks of yellow, like little sulfurous flowers.
"Ruby?" he says, hoping she hasn't left him alone again. He can't remember much of what happened. He'd won the level five rounds and was celebrating - drinking his way through demons, and then-
"You got sloppy," Dean says, stepping forward out of the shadows. He's wearing the clothes he wore on the day he died, but they're clean and whole, no trace of Hellhound wound anywhere on him.
Sam sits straight up and stares. This can't be real but that doesn't keep his heart from pounding. "Dean?"
"One of your fanboys gave you something way high-octane. You couldn't handle it." Dean says.
He walks closer and looks down at the bed with disgust. "You're fucking Ruby? Really?" He smirks and adds, "Can't figure out if I should be more pissed off by that or the blood-drinking."
"The blood… it's making me stronger," Sam says, shifting to lean against the wall. It feels cold against his back and convinces him he's really awake. Probably. "I need to be stronger. So I can save you."
Dean scoffs. "Nothing left to save, Sammy." He crosses his arms across his chest, drops his head to his chest, shakes it. He looks back up at Sam, smiles in a wolfish way that Sam really doesn’t like. "You were too slow." His eyes flood solid black.
"No," Sam says, horror and sorrow making it hard to speak. "I'm gonna get you out, you just have to hold on okay?"
Dean uncrosses his arms, puts his hands on the mattress and leans over, until he's eye level with Sam. Sam feels himself drowning in the oil slick of their color. It’s worse than when he sees Ruby’s. They’re unnatural, wrong in his brother’s familiar face. "Hold on?" Dean’s eyes don’t change as his mouth curves into a sneer. "I did. I held on for decades and you didn't save me. You left me down there. To rot."
"No- no I-"
"Too busy fucking a demon to bother to save your own brother."
"That's not true. I tried everything to save you! I went to the crossroads, but they wouldn't take me." The wall behind his back begins to prickle and he pulls away, whipping his head around. That dark moss is there, but it isn't soft at all, it's sharp and his skin itches where he touched it. He scratches at his shoulder and turns back to Dean, whose eyes are still an unforgiving, empty black. "They didn't want my soul."
Dean huffs, unconvinced.
Sam's heart hurts, it's clenching so tightly and the guilt is overwhelming. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll get you out. I promise, I-"
"Why should I believe a damn word that comes out of your mouth?" Dean's voice lowers to a growl.
The guilt lays heavy in Sam's stomach, but those words send an unbidden flare of rage through him. "It's the truth. I will get you out."
"You're not strong enough. You really think you're ready to take on Lilith? Alastair?"
"Who's Alastair?"
Dean's smile sends a shudder down Sam's smile and he raises one of his hands, pulls a thin, slightly curved, wicked looking blade from thin air. "My teacher. Want me to show you what I learned?" Dean brings the blade down to Sam's leg and brings the sharp blade to his skin, cutting a neat line right above his artery.
::: ::: :::
Sam's scream dies into a whimper as Ruby tears open the door.
She runs to his side, and frowns at his sweat-slicked, pale skin, his wide, yellow-black eyes. Whatever he's looking at is scaring the shit out of him, and it's not even real.
"Please don't," Sam whispers. There's an ugly desperation in his voice. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what? Those jackasses you burned? No use crying over them," Ruby says as she sits down next to him on the bed. The fitted sheet has been pulled loose, and the stained, pale blue of the mattress shows in the corner next to Sam's head.
Sam's left leg twitches and he brings his hands down to his thigh, simultaneously letting out a blood-curdling scream. His femoral artery turns solid black and the darkness spreads out into all the smaller veins, a tainted latticework.
She's seen it before in the ring, but usually this kind of thing only manifests when Sam's channeling some serious mojo. She watches, fascinated, as the black starts to flicker and his undulating veins light up bright white. Sam's back arches and he gasps, straining for breath, before falling heavily back onto the bed as the light in his veins dies and disappears. It's not a seizure, his limbs are still under his control, more or less; she knows he's just reacting to his body trying to process the power inside of him.
It's not going well.
"Okay," Ruby mutters to herself. "Minor setback. But I love me a challenge." She scoots closer to Sam and puts her hands on either side of his face, trying to get his attention. His eyes fly open and stare straight into hers.
"Ruby-"
"Yeah, I’m right here. Sorry, I had to skip out for a second. You all right?"
"No." Sam's eyes dart to a spot over her shoulder. "You have to get out of here. He'll kill you."
"Who?"
"Dean," Sam whispers fiercely. "Ruby, he knows."
"Knows what?" Ruby asks, ignoring for a moment that Sam thinks Dean is in the room with them, and weirder that he's worried about her being killed by his brother who, last time she’d checked, was a hunter.
"The blood. He tried to cut it out of me." Sam grabs at his leg again. "But I don't think it's working. It's still-" His words cut off and he jerks his chin up, eyes widening. "Dean, no!"
Ruby lets go of Sam, and turns to look over her shoulder, then back at Sam. "There's nothing there." She wraps her fingers around Sam's. His skin is clammy now, the fever receding - a good sign. "Do you remember why you're doing this? Why you're fighting, why you're making yourself stronger?"
Sam nods. His voice cracks a bit as he answers, quietly, "To save Dean."
"Right, so then how can he be here?" she asks, patiently.
"He says I'm too late." Sam winces and clutches at his leg again with his free hand. "Wants to show me what Alastair taught him."
"Alastair?" Ruby asks. She's never told Sam that name. Either he somehow overheard her talking with Lilith down in the stairwell, or he's reading her thoughts. If it's the latter she's screwed. Strengthening her mental shields as much as she can, she takes a deep breath. "It's not real. He's not here. It's just you and me."
Sam cries out as his veins taint black again. It's not as bad as before, from the looks of it, and the darkness recedes almost as quickly as it comes.
"Dean's not here," Ruby says, gripping his hand more firmly. "You're seeing things because of what that idiot gave you. But you can handle it. Stop fighting it, let it in." She pauses. “You’re going to be okay.”
"It hurts," Sam hisses as he squeezes his eyes shut. "It won't stop moving."
"I know, just, try to focus on my voice okay?"
Sam grunts, and it’s as much of an answer as she's going to get for the time being. She reaches out just as his eyes fly open again, pitch black in the center rimmed with yellow around the edges, and his skin heats up again, so quickly Ruby's fingers scald where they’re touching him.
"Sam?"
The veins in his neck and chest all bleed black at once, spreading out across his whole body, pulsing in time with his racing heart. "Make it stop," he begs, piteously.
Dammit, she thinks, as she tries to figure out what to do. Sam was tailor-made for demon-blood and he's physically incapable of dying from it thanks to Azazel. He's just been upgraded too quickly. They need to trick his body into taking the blood in now, to absorb its power instead of trying to reroute it. It's by design that it won't leave his system. What was in the syringe is wholly different from what Sam's been taking. He won't burn through it, it'll stay in his veins forever, and if he can get past the psychological part of his addiction he won't need to keep downing mass quantities.
Ruby slides off the bed and grabs a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, twisting open the cap as she heads back to the bed. Sam doesn't look at her when she sits back down, still watching something on the wall, something fascinating enough to capture his interest completely. She holds the water bottle up to his lips. "Drink."
Sam's mouth opens at the command and he swallows from the bottle. Instantly, he starts choking on the water, coughing and clutching at his upper chest. Steam pours out of his mouth and Ruby recoils, more fascinated than worried.
"Okay then, Plan B." She grabs the small blade from her boot and slices her wrist open, bringing it to Sam's mouth the second his hacking stops.
As soon as her skin touches his lips she knows it's what he needed. He grabs onto her arm, pulling her close and sucks at the wound eagerly.
She lets him gulp for a couple of minutes and gently pulls her limb from his mouth. She knows it isn’t much, but the intent wasn’t to feed Sam’s powers but rather just to trick Sam's body into doing what it's supposed to do. It works. His veins settle back to a soft blue and his overheated skin cools. Confused, he loosens his hold on her arm and then lets go, looking up at her as his eyes fade back to hazel. He takes a deep, shaky breath and flexes his fingers, staring at them as little sparks of electricity dance between them. "What's happening to me?" he asks. He sounds so scared it's almost laughable.
"You're adapting. That blood was way, way too strong for you, but if you can get a handle on it, the next few rounds will be a cinch."
"I don't feel right," Sam says softly, palming his stomach. Sweat stands out along his forehead and he looks nauseous as his gaze wanders past her to the wall, the ceiling, then back to her again. His eyes settle on her and she can see fear and uncertainty in their depths. "There are hooks hanging on the ceiling."
"Nope, just crappy paint."
"The one above your head has a heart on it."
She looks up and shakes her head. "Crappy paint.” She resists the compulsion to smile.
Sam's eyes close as his face shifts into a grimace. "It hurts."
"Yeah, I know."
"How would you know?" Sam asks, half snarling as the pain crests, his body stiffening again.
"Because I've been around you long enough to know when you're in pain, dumbass." She pulls on his arm and stands. "Come on, I know what'll help."
Sam refuses to budge at first, but the sparks come back, flashing along the flesh of his fingers and arms. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands, letting her lead him into the bathroom.
"You need to let off some steam. There’s too much pressure building up inside of you. That energy spilling out of your fingers, it's telling you something."
"What? That I'm a fire hazard?"
She scoffs. "Yeah, that too." She opens the cold water faucet in their filthy tub and watches it fill.
"I'm not taking a cold bath," Sam says, taking a step back towards the door like he's afraid she'll push him in. She might, if it comes down to it.
"Even I'm not cruel enough to make you sit in there," Ruby says. "Kneel."
Sam arches an eyebrow at her but does as she says.
"Stick your hands in the water."
He kneels down next to her and leans over the edge of the tub, sticking his bare arms in the ice water. "Fuck it’s cold.” The words come out as a whine but he doesn’t pull his hands out of the bath.
"Yeah it is. Make it warmer."
Sam looks at her dubiously but closes his eyes. Short pulses of black shoot through his veins as he channels his energy. Which is kind of the whole point of the thing. Within seconds the air above the water feels warmer and a few seconds later the surface starts to steam.
"How's that feel?" Ruby asks.
"Warmer," Sam answers humorlessly.
She slaps him lightly on the arm and pulls the drain. "Good. Do it again."
::: ::: :::
on to chapter seven