Fic: SPN: Needles and Balls (Ruby, Castiel, R for language)
Title: Needles and Balls
Author: fryadvocate
Summary: It started with a single stitch.
A/N: This is a very serious fic, meant to be taken very seriously.
Thanks go out to antheia and annavtree who are awesome, awesome betas. Any mistakes left are totally mine.
The first meeting of the I Fucked a Winchester Stitch 'n Bitch Society was held at a bar named Red's Saloon.
"I didn't even know that they had saloons anymore," Ruby bitched.
"People drink here," Castiel observed. He twisted the yarn over his fingers and tried to unknot it. "They... are alive here."
Ruby raised an eyebrow and took a long drink of her beer. "That's so zen," she said, dryly. "You said we needed to talk."
Castiel began a new row and pursed his lips. "Sam."
He made sure his expression was serene, blank and fathomless. He attempted to be a deep lake of emotions.
Ruby rolled her eyes. "Dean."
Frowning, Castiel put down his knitting. "That's none of your concern."
"Oh," Ruby said, amused. "I thought we were playing a name game. But if you want to get into it, then I have to tell you that Sam's none of your concern, either."
"You should be more cautious with me," Castiel said. He picked up his knitting and started again. "Your use is minimal, my patience is finite."
"You just dropped a stitch," Ruby said, her eyes black.
"It's all in the grand design," Castiel ground out. His needles made a scraping noise.
*****
The second meeting of the I Fucked a Winchester Stitch 'n' Bitch Society was held at the perimeter of the camp that Dean and Sam insisted on defending. It was dark, but if there was one thing that demons and angels didn't need, it was light.
The result of Castiel's knitting had grown several inches. Ruby eyed the garment in silent judgment. Although he wasn't human, and therefore could not experience emotions as they did, Castiel looked like he was pretty irritated. Ruby smirked.
"What... is that?" Ruby reached over and touched the uneven stitches.
For a moment, Castiel visibly glowed because of a connection with something far greater, far more than anything could ever be. Then he squinted at Ruby.
"A sweater," he said.
Covering her bark of laughter with her hand, Ruby repeated, "A sweater."
"A sweater," Castiel said. He frowned and twisted the yarn until it tightened into knots.
"Why are you making a sweater?" Ruby asked. It had been days since the last town, and the darkness was so encompassing, so enveloping, that it seemed to eat away at the acidity of her words. Instead of a critical pseudo-comment, it came out as a genuine question.
The expression on her face turned sour.
"Because..." Castiel paused. After a moment he said, "My Lord told me to."
Ruby shivered, and Castiel frowned. He began pulling at the stitches.
"The God," Ruby whispered her way through the word. "The Lord in Heaven told you to knit a sweater."
She pulled out her emergency stash of potato chips from her purse and made a face when she saw the broken pieces. She was never carrying Sam's extra clips in her bag again if they kept making a mess of her packaged comfort food.
"Yes," Castiel said. The needles clicked rhythmically and Ruby watched the loop and twist of the yarn.
She chewed her way through half the bag before saying, "Why?"
"It is not our place to question," Castiel snapped. The needles sped up.
"You don't know, do you," Ruby crowed. "G- He said to do something and you just snapped to it!"
She chomped on the chip, delighted.
"It's not like I have any choice," Castiel pointed out. "Free will is for humans and the Fallen."
"If I was making something that ugly," Ruby said. "I'd fall just so that I could stop."
*****
There was something deeply troubling about how complicated it was to make a simple sweater. Where he'd lost stitches, there were holes and where he'd added them, there was an odd thickness in the fabric.
Castiel hissed under his breath and tried to simply knit around the knot. He felt no cold, knew no hunger, but his fingers had begun to ache and he was nowhere near done.
"This is just painful," Ruby said, across from him. The bar ignored them, although that, too, was effort on his part. The stained table hid most of the yarn, but not the metal needles.
Ruby's presence was a dark ache across from him, as though he had put his fragile human shell too close to flame.
Gritting his teeth, he tried to remember if he was on a knit stitch or a purl. Across from him, the presence burned darker, and she accepted a drink from their waitress.
"Thanks," Ruby said, her voice tight. When he looked up, she was frowning at his work, pint halfway between her mouth and the table. A flash went off near the bar and both of them turned to stare, waiting for an attack. Instead, there was only laughter, and a group of girls gathered around a camera.
"Idiots," Ruby said.
Castiel could not agree. He knitted.
"I need to know what your plans are in regards to Sam," he said.
An unseen flare went up across from him and he didn't wince, but did pause to watch the expression on her face.
"Why do you care?" Ruby asked. "Dean's gung ho for Team Angel."
"Because it matters in this fight." He caught a flicker in her eyes. Black, then normal, too quickly for most humans to notice. Another flash of light from the bar, but neither of them turned.
"Yeah right," Ruby rolled her eyes.
It was the sharpness in her tone that made him look away. They were two powerful beings caught between two brothers, and if he understood that Ruby knew Sam, she also understood how well he knew Dean.
After a long silence, she said, "Give me the damn sweater."
Castiel glanced at her hands, extended across the table. Her hands were like his, without scar or callus. Their hosts were too innocent for the war that Ruby and Castiel fought. He handed over the needles and yarn.
Examining the knitting, she made a face.
"What the hell did you do to this?"
In one movement, she pulled the needles out of the yarn and began unraveling the garment.
Narrowing his eyes, Castiel reached across the table for her forgotten alcohol.
*****
Ruby thought that maybe it was a joke on Castiel's part, because angels were supposed to be good at everything, and he really sucked at knitting.
He got better, but since they were fighting a war against Lilith, her patience was thin and their time was limited.
"What did you even do here?" Ruby asked, trying to figure out how he'd managed to add a stitch, drop one and do what looked like a cross stitch bind off in the same row. "Do you hold Dean's dick as loose as you hold your yarn? Because that might be why you two always take so damn long."
After she said it, she froze, dropping the knitting to the ground as she reached for the knife at her back. She didn't want to apologize - she'd meant it, but Castiel still made the demon in her want to run far and fast.
His fists were bunched at his side, and Castiel appeared to be forcing out the words.
"At least mine doesn't finish before we start," he said. He was gone before she could blink, taking the knitting with him.
*****
The motel smelled heavily of bleach and even from his position on the bed, Castiel could see the dust under the dresser. The disrepair made something under his skin itch; his father's creation should never be so disrespected.
Opening the door between their rooms, Ruby glanced toward the shower, then to the door, jerking her head slightly. Dean's presence sparked in the shower, like lightning. Most nights, Castiel could not look away.
"Ok, let's go over it again," Ruby said, her fingers burning where they touched his, showing how to switch from a knit to a purl. She pulled her hands back, hissing and shaking.
"Can you turn it down?" she asked.
Slowly, he shook his head. His existence was filled with presence. There was nothing in him but God's grace.
"Ok," she said, squinting a little. She blew on her fingers. "I got it, but before I give it to you, you have to promise to at least do one square for gauging ok?"
Castiel fought the urge to be done with her here and now.
"I heard you the first two times," he said.
"Fine." She tossed him the bag, and left for Sam's room. "Don't waste it; you don't know what I had to do to get that."
Inside Dean's room, Castiel pulled out the skeins of yarn, fingering the soft texture briefly before tucking the bag underneath his jacket.
*****
"I used to do this before I was a demon, you know," Ruby said, casting on his stitches for him. She frowned and recounted, adding two more stitches.
Castiel said nothing, examining the pattern she had written out for him.
"Whatever," Ruby said. "Who are you making the sweater for anyway?"
"What?" Castiel asked. He glanced up to see her knit the first row, still more efficient than him, she thought pridefully.
"He told you to knit a sweater, right?" She handed him the needles, unrolling some yarn for his next row.
"Yes," Castiel nodded. He'd told her that it had been an honor to hear the voice of God.
"So, who's the sweater for?" Ruby asked.
Pausing, Castiel appeared to consider the question. After a moment, he knit another stitch.
"Knit one, purl one," Ruby said, irritated. She reached for the needles.
"Grand. Design," Castiel said, slapping away her hands.
*****
At the one-hundred-and-forty-third meeting of the I Fucked a Winchester Stitch 'n' Bitch, Castiel finished sewing the sweater together and made sure all his ends were sewn into the garment.
"Done," Ruby said, pleased.
She held the sweater up to him.
"It looks good," she said.
Dryly, he said, "I didn't know that demons lied out of kindness rather than spite."
"Give it a wash, it'll be fine," she said. "It's not really your color, though. It's a good job. On the sweater, I mean."
Something rose in his chest. It was not pride, pride was for humans and the fallen, but he nodded anyway.
*****
The next day, Dean was wearing a new washed and flattened sweater at breakfast.
"Nice sweater," Ruby said. She'd been shooting for snide, but it came out more admiringly than she'd have liked.
She covered it up with an eye roll.
******
end
Author: fryadvocate
Summary: It started with a single stitch.
A/N: This is a very serious fic, meant to be taken very seriously.
Thanks go out to antheia and annavtree who are awesome, awesome betas. Any mistakes left are totally mine.
The first meeting of the I Fucked a Winchester Stitch 'n Bitch Society was held at a bar named Red's Saloon.
"I didn't even know that they had saloons anymore," Ruby bitched.
"People drink here," Castiel observed. He twisted the yarn over his fingers and tried to unknot it. "They... are alive here."
Ruby raised an eyebrow and took a long drink of her beer. "That's so zen," she said, dryly. "You said we needed to talk."
Castiel began a new row and pursed his lips. "Sam."
He made sure his expression was serene, blank and fathomless. He attempted to be a deep lake of emotions.
Ruby rolled her eyes. "Dean."
Frowning, Castiel put down his knitting. "That's none of your concern."
"Oh," Ruby said, amused. "I thought we were playing a name game. But if you want to get into it, then I have to tell you that Sam's none of your concern, either."
"You should be more cautious with me," Castiel said. He picked up his knitting and started again. "Your use is minimal, my patience is finite."
"You just dropped a stitch," Ruby said, her eyes black.
"It's all in the grand design," Castiel ground out. His needles made a scraping noise.
*****
The second meeting of the I Fucked a Winchester Stitch 'n' Bitch Society was held at the perimeter of the camp that Dean and Sam insisted on defending. It was dark, but if there was one thing that demons and angels didn't need, it was light.
The result of Castiel's knitting had grown several inches. Ruby eyed the garment in silent judgment. Although he wasn't human, and therefore could not experience emotions as they did, Castiel looked like he was pretty irritated. Ruby smirked.
"What... is that?" Ruby reached over and touched the uneven stitches.
For a moment, Castiel visibly glowed because of a connection with something far greater, far more than anything could ever be. Then he squinted at Ruby.
"A sweater," he said.
Covering her bark of laughter with her hand, Ruby repeated, "A sweater."
"A sweater," Castiel said. He frowned and twisted the yarn until it tightened into knots.
"Why are you making a sweater?" Ruby asked. It had been days since the last town, and the darkness was so encompassing, so enveloping, that it seemed to eat away at the acidity of her words. Instead of a critical pseudo-comment, it came out as a genuine question.
The expression on her face turned sour.
"Because..." Castiel paused. After a moment he said, "My Lord told me to."
Ruby shivered, and Castiel frowned. He began pulling at the stitches.
"The God," Ruby whispered her way through the word. "The Lord in Heaven told you to knit a sweater."
She pulled out her emergency stash of potato chips from her purse and made a face when she saw the broken pieces. She was never carrying Sam's extra clips in her bag again if they kept making a mess of her packaged comfort food.
"Yes," Castiel said. The needles clicked rhythmically and Ruby watched the loop and twist of the yarn.
She chewed her way through half the bag before saying, "Why?"
"It is not our place to question," Castiel snapped. The needles sped up.
"You don't know, do you," Ruby crowed. "G- He said to do something and you just snapped to it!"
She chomped on the chip, delighted.
"It's not like I have any choice," Castiel pointed out. "Free will is for humans and the Fallen."
"If I was making something that ugly," Ruby said. "I'd fall just so that I could stop."
*****
There was something deeply troubling about how complicated it was to make a simple sweater. Where he'd lost stitches, there were holes and where he'd added them, there was an odd thickness in the fabric.
Castiel hissed under his breath and tried to simply knit around the knot. He felt no cold, knew no hunger, but his fingers had begun to ache and he was nowhere near done.
"This is just painful," Ruby said, across from him. The bar ignored them, although that, too, was effort on his part. The stained table hid most of the yarn, but not the metal needles.
Ruby's presence was a dark ache across from him, as though he had put his fragile human shell too close to flame.
Gritting his teeth, he tried to remember if he was on a knit stitch or a purl. Across from him, the presence burned darker, and she accepted a drink from their waitress.
"Thanks," Ruby said, her voice tight. When he looked up, she was frowning at his work, pint halfway between her mouth and the table. A flash went off near the bar and both of them turned to stare, waiting for an attack. Instead, there was only laughter, and a group of girls gathered around a camera.
"Idiots," Ruby said.
Castiel could not agree. He knitted.
"I need to know what your plans are in regards to Sam," he said.
An unseen flare went up across from him and he didn't wince, but did pause to watch the expression on her face.
"Why do you care?" Ruby asked. "Dean's gung ho for Team Angel."
"Because it matters in this fight." He caught a flicker in her eyes. Black, then normal, too quickly for most humans to notice. Another flash of light from the bar, but neither of them turned.
"Yeah right," Ruby rolled her eyes.
It was the sharpness in her tone that made him look away. They were two powerful beings caught between two brothers, and if he understood that Ruby knew Sam, she also understood how well he knew Dean.
After a long silence, she said, "Give me the damn sweater."
Castiel glanced at her hands, extended across the table. Her hands were like his, without scar or callus. Their hosts were too innocent for the war that Ruby and Castiel fought. He handed over the needles and yarn.
Examining the knitting, she made a face.
"What the hell did you do to this?"
In one movement, she pulled the needles out of the yarn and began unraveling the garment.
Narrowing his eyes, Castiel reached across the table for her forgotten alcohol.
*****
Ruby thought that maybe it was a joke on Castiel's part, because angels were supposed to be good at everything, and he really sucked at knitting.
He got better, but since they were fighting a war against Lilith, her patience was thin and their time was limited.
"What did you even do here?" Ruby asked, trying to figure out how he'd managed to add a stitch, drop one and do what looked like a cross stitch bind off in the same row. "Do you hold Dean's dick as loose as you hold your yarn? Because that might be why you two always take so damn long."
After she said it, she froze, dropping the knitting to the ground as she reached for the knife at her back. She didn't want to apologize - she'd meant it, but Castiel still made the demon in her want to run far and fast.
His fists were bunched at his side, and Castiel appeared to be forcing out the words.
"At least mine doesn't finish before we start," he said. He was gone before she could blink, taking the knitting with him.
*****
The motel smelled heavily of bleach and even from his position on the bed, Castiel could see the dust under the dresser. The disrepair made something under his skin itch; his father's creation should never be so disrespected.
Opening the door between their rooms, Ruby glanced toward the shower, then to the door, jerking her head slightly. Dean's presence sparked in the shower, like lightning. Most nights, Castiel could not look away.
"Ok, let's go over it again," Ruby said, her fingers burning where they touched his, showing how to switch from a knit to a purl. She pulled her hands back, hissing and shaking.
"Can you turn it down?" she asked.
Slowly, he shook his head. His existence was filled with presence. There was nothing in him but God's grace.
"Ok," she said, squinting a little. She blew on her fingers. "I got it, but before I give it to you, you have to promise to at least do one square for gauging ok?"
Castiel fought the urge to be done with her here and now.
"I heard you the first two times," he said.
"Fine." She tossed him the bag, and left for Sam's room. "Don't waste it; you don't know what I had to do to get that."
Inside Dean's room, Castiel pulled out the skeins of yarn, fingering the soft texture briefly before tucking the bag underneath his jacket.
*****
"I used to do this before I was a demon, you know," Ruby said, casting on his stitches for him. She frowned and recounted, adding two more stitches.
Castiel said nothing, examining the pattern she had written out for him.
"Whatever," Ruby said. "Who are you making the sweater for anyway?"
"What?" Castiel asked. He glanced up to see her knit the first row, still more efficient than him, she thought pridefully.
"He told you to knit a sweater, right?" She handed him the needles, unrolling some yarn for his next row.
"Yes," Castiel nodded. He'd told her that it had been an honor to hear the voice of God.
"So, who's the sweater for?" Ruby asked.
Pausing, Castiel appeared to consider the question. After a moment, he knit another stitch.
"Knit one, purl one," Ruby said, irritated. She reached for the needles.
"Grand. Design," Castiel said, slapping away her hands.
*****
At the one-hundred-and-forty-third meeting of the I Fucked a Winchester Stitch 'n' Bitch, Castiel finished sewing the sweater together and made sure all his ends were sewn into the garment.
"Done," Ruby said, pleased.
She held the sweater up to him.
"It looks good," she said.
Dryly, he said, "I didn't know that demons lied out of kindness rather than spite."
"Give it a wash, it'll be fine," she said. "It's not really your color, though. It's a good job. On the sweater, I mean."
Something rose in his chest. It was not pride, pride was for humans and the fallen, but he nodded anyway.
*****
The next day, Dean was wearing a new washed and flattened sweater at breakfast.
"Nice sweater," Ruby said. She'd been shooting for snide, but it came out more admiringly than she'd have liked.
She covered it up with an eye roll.
******
end