He Who Fights Monsters - Epilogue
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EPILOGUE
Ruby finds him on the side of the empty highway, or rather the buckled, patched strip of road that passes for one here. He's about six miles from the address he gave her. His hood is up and he's got his head down, shoulders slouched forwards, hands in his pockets. He looks defeated. And lost.
She's seen him in nearly every state - from suicidal, to frenzied with lust or power or both - but his phone call an hour ago had been heartbreaking. Or it would have been, if she still had a heart.
"He thinks I'm a demon… won't even look at me." Sam's voice had been interrupted with sniffling too irregular to be from the brisk air. "He's scared of Bobby too, but way more scared of me… Ellen says she'll keep him safe." She'd let him talk, given him time. Waited for him to demand something to fix his eyes, or a spell to ease Dean's mind. But in the end he'd only wanted one thing: "Come get me. Please."
Sam has no idea about the chatter on the demonic grapevine, the things they're saying about him. There's never been someone like him before. Only one other made it through all seven levels of the challenge, and he reigned as their king for centuries thereafter; nobody has ever risen so quickly through the game, laying waste to the best Hell had to offer , and nobody ever made a demon of Lilith's caliber tuck tail and run. He's gone from a novelty to a legend overnight and if he wanted to make a play for the crown all he'd have to do is give the word. He already has his army, whether he wants one or not.
She slows the sweet little orange-and-black Mustang she lifted a few towns back and just might keep, and steers a tight U-turn, pulling up next to him. The hood of his sweatshirt is pulled low over his forehead, hiding his eyes. He climbs in, shuts the door with a thud, not even sparing her a glance. After a moment, he exhales, pushes the hood back from his face, and turns to her. The flat ocher color beneath the long strands of hair damp with sweat curtaining his face catches her breath again, but she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink, and there’s a flare of relief among the sorrow and pain. The more she searches, the more she realizes nothing has changed. Sam settles back into his seat and closes his eyes.
She pulls back onto the road, drumming her thumb against the steering wheel for a few minutes before saying, "Sam, I'm sorry-"
"Don't." His voice is as sharp and brittle as glass.
It's a warning. His eyes are open again, and their angry hue matches his tone. She can see his thoughts in the stern set of his jaw, the faint lines on his forehead; he doesn't want sympathy, or pity. He doesn't want to talk about it. That's fine. She doesn't need conversation to drive.
She doesn't say another word until they turn onto the interstate. She makes note of the exit that'll take them back to Illinois and glances at Sam. He's staring out the window. It's raining, fat drops dotting the glass, and the light of his eyes catches in them, refracting like tiny beads of pale sunlight. He's never going to be fully human again and, from his expression, he knows it.
She can feel the tension between them, the heat pooling low within her, the way Sam’s blood calls to hers. He still wants, needs her, no matter how much he wants to deny that it’s over now that he got what he wanted, completed his single-minded mission and she suspects that it wouldn’t take much to nudge him. "Glove compartment," Ruby says, breaking the silence.
Sam moves after a few seconds, reaching out with his long arm to fumble with the glove-box handle. He pulls it open, revealing the two silver flasks inside.
"Just my blood, nothing special," she says. "Thought you might want some."
Sam slams the compartment shut again and turns back to the window.
The rain grows heavier, and by the time they take the off-ramp onto Route 51, Ruby's got the wipers going full speed. "They're waiting for you back at the arena."
"Who?"
"Your fans. Followers. Defectors from Team Lilith."
Sam studies her, his yellow eyes making her equal parts unsettled and proud. "Do they know where she is?"
"Some of them might."
Sam turns away from her, looking out the windshield. After a long moment and several miles of silence, he pops open the glove compartment, and pulls out the flask on the right before closing the tiny hatch again. He uncaps the flask, settles back in his seat, and drinks.
Keeping her eyes fixed on the road ahead, Ruby smiles.
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