The Servant - Chapter 3
Title: The Servant (3/3)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: taxidryer
Rating: R
Category: Angst, het, gen
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Ruby, OCs
Summary: They’d made crowds dream and scream and then they’d go home in solitary, be the slaves they truly were.
Word count: 4,400
Spoilers: for 4.10 - Heaven and Hell
Disclaimer: No money no cry
Thanks: to patita_fea for the very skillful beta. That was such a long, dirty and very necessary work! All remaining mistakes are mine.
Author’s note: Some extracts of sermons taken from the Bible (Revelation 14 :11 and John 8:44) and The Cure of Melancholy and Overmuch Sorrow, by Richard Baxter.
| Chapter 1 |
| Chapter 2 |
Note : It may seem illogical that a demon can exorcize another, but that’s exactly what the demon possessing Tammi tried to do to Ruby in 4.09 - Malleus Maleficarum. Therefore I figured Ruby could do the same to demons less or equally powerful as she is.
*****************
III.
"She danced again quite readily, to please him, though each time her foot touched the floor it seemed as if she trod on sharp knives."
-Hans Christian Andersen
She still doesn’t remember or understand everything, but she reminisces more and more about the speeches that marked her mind back when she was just a quiet girl.
She remembers the coldness of the wooden bench she was sitting on, the ray of daylight coming from the high panes, making the Reverend’s curls and the immaculate wall behind him look whiter.
"And the smoke of their torment ascendeth up for ever and ever, and they have no rest day nor night, who worship the beast and his image…"
She guesses he was talking about Hell.
"…For contrary to earthly torments, there is no ambiguity, no conflict in the devil’s kingdom. Hell hurts, without any nuance nor hope to ever find any beauty in it."
Everything they used to say about Hell was eerily accurate. It was life they had wrong. She gets it now, why Sam was so dubious before. There’s no right or wrong. Only scales of values. Most principles belong to neither heaven nor hell and both probably split their sides laughing or sigh out loud to see men unite and kill each other to defend their own silly inventions.
For instance, why was it so important not to move during sermons? Even when she was shivering and the thin fabric of her coverchief didn’t do much to keep her warm, she had to sit as still as a statue as if they were trying to make the believers into the sculptures they forbade as decoration.
God, Christ must have been frozen up there, naked as he was on that cross, she’d thought.
She’d brought a hand to her mouth in vain to muffle the sound of her giggle. The Reverend still heard her and had stared her straight in the eyes. Her heart had started pounding at the idea of the whip.
*
Her pulse may have dropped back to normal, the feelings haven’t exactly gone away. Or whatever you call that thing that slingshots worry at her stomach and doubts at her mind, even when she’s absolutely sure her plan is the right one.
Sam has to learn to get back on his feet by himself, to realize he doesn’t need anyone. She can’t keep patting his hair and let him remain a needy brat. He has to become the one who makes people needy.
She has a room in a small hotel that overlooks the parking of the motel where Sam is still staying. She hasn’t seen him out so far. He walks to get his take-out and he probably takes the front door. She dreads the day she’ll see him open the back door and head towards the Impala. Stalking is easier when your prey is being sedentary.
She knows it’s the right thing to do, at least for a while. The rare moments she decides to leave her window to get some food, it doesn’t stop her from imagining him pushing the door of whatever place she’s in every five minutes. Every tall guy that hits the corner of her eye makes her heart beat like she’s run a marathon until she finally processes that it’s not him, half-relieved and mostly disappointed.
Well, it’s not her fault the entirety of her quest lies within that one man. It’s certainly not her fault he’s the last psychic kid left alive. Hers is a legitimate obsession.
Legitimate or not, it takes two days before the worry takes over her.
What if he goes back to his kamikaze ideas? What if he can’t get back on his feet by himself and he’s lying beside the bed with his veins opened? What if it’s too dangerous, without anyone to watch his back?
She bangs her forehead against her palm and then rests her head back against the curtain. What was she thinking, leaving him all by himself? In what kind of altered state of mind did she judge that a dependent Sam would be worse than no Sam at all?
*
‘Where have you been?’ he asks, his brow furrowed but showing no shadows under his eyes. He doesn’t even wait for the answer to drop the door knob, turn around and go back to his laptop.
‘I think I found something. Eastern suburbs, there seems to be activity over there.’ He sounds passionate. She can’t decide if it’s his vengeful or his geeky hunter side that is so excited.
She makes a few steps inside the room and scans it. The flowery bedspread is neatly placed. No empty bottle anywhere.
Apparently, Sam’s doing fantastic without her.
He keeps chatting about his discoveries on and on until there’s no information left to share and just stands to put his coat on.
‘Ready?’ he asks, giving her a slightly feral grin.
She nods, having a hard time matching his enthusiasm.
*
Sam sleeps and Ruby is bored.
Bored because Sam sleeps with his back turned to her, so she lies with her back turned to him. It may be pride, although they both know she’d sleep on the floor, or even on Sam’s porch if it could increase his abilities.
She’d be less bored if she could look at him. Study him again. She’d stared at him for so many weeks, thinking she had gathered all possible data about the man, and yet so much happened before her eyes that she didn’t see. And then, she came back bearing the duty to kill the burgeoning affection in the bud to find that there wasn’t anything to kill in the first place. She feels like Sam is more of a mystery than he’s ever been.
She’s supposed to be the mystery. She’s supposed to be relieved that he’s alright and improving. It’s supposed to be apocalyptic business and nothing else.
However, she didn’t hallucinate, and because the fuckery of her mind transcends ages, it’s way more vivid than memories of life and hell. Sam doesn’t hate her anymore. She saw it.
The insight hits her like a swinging censer in the stomach: wake up, Ruby. Caring is not necessarily needing and needing is not necessarily caring, whichever way that applies to Sam.
She brings her hand to her cheekbone.
Tears.
She stares at her wet knuckles as the most gigantic lump forms in her throat.
Crying. Now she remembers what it feels like.
A wave of sobs overwhelms her against her will, unstoppable. She doesn’t even know what it is she’s crying for, whether it’s for the actual situation or for the sorrow of her past life inundating her because the valve’s been opened.
Soon enough, Sam shifts beside her but doesn’t speak until a few minutes and a few more sobs have passed.
‘Are you okay?’ he finally asks.
‘Yeah’, she answers dryly between two sobs, trying to steady the bumping of her diaphragm, but not really knowing how.
Hold me, idiot.
No. No, she doesn’t want him to do that. She must never, ever let the North out of sight.
‘Sam?’, she sniffles. ‘Fuck me.’
*
Jane Doe, also now improvised as Kristi Whatever
Age : unknown
Occupation : unknown
‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you,’ he says to the girl as he waits for the doctor to call his name. ‘I really don’t know how to thank you.’
‘It’s okay,’ she answers, sourly. She looks like she’s about to kill something.
‘So, you say I was… possessed?’
‘Yup.’
‘By…’
‘A demon.’
‘Wow.’ He’d call her nuts if she hadn’t just saved his life. Or if he had a better explanation. ‘And you say the guy you were with was exorcizing me?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Like in the movies?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t watch those kind of movies’, the girl says.
‘Okay.’ He shakes his head in disbelief. ‘I’m sorry, that’s just… a lot to take in, you know.’
The girl nods, absently.
‘I’m just, you know… not sure the doctor will believe me either.’
‘Just tell him you took too much crack, I don’t know.’
‘Okay.’ A heavy silence filled with the other waiters’ coughing settles in. ‘Man, that’s got to be the most surreal day of my life, ever. Oh. I’m sorry. Why are you crying?’ he asks as he notices a single tear on the girl’s cheek.
He’s the one who’s just been exorcized and she’s the one crying. What the hell?
‘I’m not. I’m just pissed. None of your business anyway.’
Maybe she was possessed before.
He sits with his back straight again, looking everywhere but at the girl beside him. He can still see her from the corner of his eyes, clenching her jaws and wiping her cheek discreetly, trying to avoid attention.
Maybe it has to do with the epic confrontation there was between her and that other guy who just showed up out of nowhere. Not that he was able to understand what was going on.
After a few minutes, she breaks the silence.
‘Do you ever feel like your heart is going to stop?’
He takes a glimpse at her and swallows.
‘No, not really,’ he says, trying to sound compassionate. ‘Maybe you should consult someone about that…’
‘Raymon Papert,’ the doctor calls.
‘I should go. You’ll be okay?’ the girl says, jumping out of her chair.
‘Yeah. Thank you so much again. Oh and could you please thank that guy who… who exorcized me?’
She scoffs.
‘I don’t think I’ll get to see him again any time soon.’
*
Dean is back. Like the damn sun after the storm.
She’s surprised Sam hasn’t tossed her like a bulky umbrella right away. Since the day Dean showed up like resurrection is a regular thing for him, she knew it would happen at some point, that he would catch them and sound the hour for her to fold back into herself, forgotten in a corner like nothing more than a souvenir from the bad days.
A shameful object that should be hidden. She was used to seeing Sam proud and fearless, so it hurts to see the coward he’s been since Dean’s return. Dean wouldn’t understand. I’ll tell him when the time’s right. Blah. Sam’s ashamed of what they did, of her, of them. She didn’t push it; it was still wonderful that he wanted to keep doing it at all.
Nevertheless, he probably takes his watch off now, so let Dean’s light shine away from her. She didn’t mind doing their thing in the dark; she wasn’t doing it for the thanks. She was doing it because she has a vision and Sam was becoming better and better and she felt like rushing to him and kissing him every-fucking-where. It’s over now.
Sam the coward and Dean the hypocrite. He can spit on her all he wants. She knows what he did down there.
Damned souls never resist very long, it’s not in their nature. They’re in hell for a reason. Once in a while, the pit treats itself with a tenderer soul like Dean’s, but they all succumb in the end. How long did you hold out, Dean? A year, a decade?
You may be a special case for hell, but don’t flatter yourself. My case is as special as yours.
Sam won’t see that. He needs the light too much and she lets him have it all. She’s not that good at guessing what he really needs anyway. Not anymore, not since she’s confusing his needs with her own. Anyway, his need to simply roll his eyes at Dean will always be greater than his need for any kind of activity with her.
*
"You belong to your father, the devil, and you want to carry out your father's desire. He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies."
She sat in the back row with her arms crossed, stared at her yellowish gown as she kept thinking what am I doing here? She decided she wouldn’t attend Mass anymore.
They couldn’t save her. None of their words could get to her. She didn’t blame them. They were doing the best they could. She rather pitied them.
And while they pitied her for letting her soul drift towards damnation, she used her craft against many of them thinking she was saving herself.
It reminds her of the first time she thought ‘Well, Sam sucks, but he’s cute for a depressive loser.’
He never wanted to talk about Dean or anything not demon-related, and then, out of nowhere, he’d spill a raw confession and just go on doing whatever he was doing and she’d just stand there wondering how she could use the info to improve her coaching. Or just let it pervade her mind for no reason other than feeding her obsession.
Did you know Sam was on a winning soccer team but got kicked out for missing too many practices? And did you know he was once stuck in a time loop where Dean kept dying? True stories.
All just memories now.
*
She’s in town when Sam sends Samhain back where he belongs. She stays close enough to keep an eye on the brothers, far enough to avoid the angels. She’s been adhering to their philosophy lately: intervene only in desperate moments. The other side has always been wiser on that. Intervening too much brings instability. The proof is how big the two past years have been for hell, with the death of Azazel, the awakening of Ruby and the coming and going of Dean. Chaos among chaos-makers.
On the other hand, the angels should decide what they want. She’s probably the only one to celebrate Sam’s victory over Samhain. Celebrate is a big word. It’s just her, smiling alone in a bubble bath, imagining what she’d do to Sam if he was there.
Still, even as merry as that makes her, stalking didn’t feel as pathetic when she was wearing Amy. It’s easy to forget she’s doing it for the same reasons as before. Her motivation has a new face, new roots that go deep down in her viscera, but she did offer to teach the virgin’s heart spell that could wipe out every demon for miles around, including herself, way before she felt pathetic. Nothing’s changed, she has to remind herself.
And time doesn’t change anything either. It only makes you reinterpret everything.
Like when the girl sitting beside her dropped her embroidery on the floor and started convulsing. Whether she was possessed, epileptic, or faking - everything seems plausible now.
Like that one time when she and Sam were laying on their backs in bed. She was twirling a lock of her hair around her middle finger.
‘Hey, you know what? Once we have Lilith’s head on a plate, I think I’m going to dye my hair blond,’ she’d tried.
‘I’d love to see that,’ Sam had pronounced tiredly.
He was talking about Lilith’s head, wasn’t he?
*
She recognizes it everywhere.
Even when she doesn’t go out and just stays in her room watching tv until the silence doesn’t bother her when she turns it off.
They’re showing a documentary about some rock star who made a few hits in the late eighties, made girls cry and boys grow their hair until he found a way to overdose while in rehab. Compelling stuff.
Ruby wonders if the first needle he inserted in his arm felt as intoxicating as the first she tucked in a doll. They’d made crowds dream and scream and then they’d go home in solitary, be the slaves they truly were.
Yeah. Different type of crossroad, same story. She shuts the tv and tries once more to focus on the omens she’s supposed to dissect.
The truth is, she’s not as effective as she used to be. She can spend hours staring at the maps and reports spread on the table, unable to think about anything else but the little golden hairs on the nape of Sam’s neck.
Now she fully remembers how atrocious human life is. Delicious, but utterly awful. And it’s not just thanks to the tv.
*
The demon is standing in the middle of the devil’s trap with his arms crossed, staring at her like he’s just invented arrogance.‘A demon exorcizing another. I’ll have seen everything,’ he says through his host’s mouth.
‘It’s not that uncommon. If you knew how many sons of bitches like you have tried to take me down with them, you wouldn’t be so impressed. It didn’t work for them though.’
That’s because she was with Sam and he was faster than they were.
‘Some are just more grounded than others,’ she teases.
‘Right. And where’s your scary puppet now?’ the demon asks, blasé.
For a moment, Ruby wonders if maybe it’s reading her thoughts. They must absolutely not know Sam is out of practice. ‘He’s not my puppet,’ she corrects, not quite hiding her irritation at the remark. ‘He’s busy sending meaner guys home.’
When you lie, you speak your native language, she can hear the Reverend say.
Which is natural when you’re talking to your homies. Doesn’t mean I won’t get my green card, she says to herself, trying to shrug the thought off.
‘Aw, look at you. Lilith’s gonna love to hear how you keep betraying your own.’
‘Oh please, do tell her.’
She starts the exorcism the old fashioned way, even though the words make her eyes go black and pain hit back at her like a boomerang: ‘Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas...’
‘You, bitch. You, traitor,’ he spits.
‘Oh, shut up. Everybody hates each other down there and you know it. Christi, eradicare et effugare a Dei Ecclesia, ab animabus ad imaginem,’ she goes on, slowly circling around the trap as her words make the demon struggle.
‘You think you’re doing good things, Ruby? You don’t know shit. Everything you can do is wrong and evil by nature, you’re just not conscious of it.’
‘There’s no right or wrong up here’, she cuts him. ‘Deceptione et nequitia nos potenter liberare, et incolumes custodire digneris. Good bye, patriotic asshole. And thanks for the info on that Milton girl by the way. Per Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen.’ The black smoke vanishes and the victim collapses on the floor.
Wrong is doing it without Sam.
*
It’s true what they say about brunettes and blondes. When you’re a blond, you attract looks from both men and women, whatever those looks mean. Now it’s like she’s less visible. She can sit at the bar for thirty minutes and no one will notice, especially not the Winchesters. You learn patience, being a brunette.
The night she grabbed her, Amy was in a well-washed-down college party. Someone had put GHB in her glass. It made her eyes go dark and the bastard run away. She wonders if maybe she had a better sense of humor back then. When she looks at Sam faking drunkenness over the pool table, she doesn’t think it’s funny. Everything becomes funny when Dean’s there, huh? Everybody seems to be having fun but her.
She just feels like shaking each one of them. Stop acting like this is just another casual hunt, people!
The psychic lady grabs Sam’s ass and he smiles back at her more times in ten seconds than he’s smiled at Ruby in weeks. And that blind skank can’t even see it.
No, she’s not having a good day, thankyouverymuch.
An epic battle between heaven and hell is about to occur, and while she’s getting mentally prepared to submit to torture by the guy who practically invented it, Dean is fogging up his car with an angel, no less.
Someone, please, pinch her.
Those are all distracting, but nevertheless very minor annoyances. One glance at Sam asleep and she’s ready to fight. The true problem is Sam doesn’t want to use his mojo anymore. That too, she has a hard time not taking personally. He’d rather listen to the cold, intolerant angels. He’s been in love with the idea of them for too long.
And to think that once upon a time, she’d be finding herself a plan B at the moment or brand new ways to manipulate the brothers. She now fully realizes that Sam has gone from being her means to being her end. And possibly the end of her.
She couldn’t care less. There’s only Sam.
Sam is her value.
*
She used to shower in the evening to keep the traces of him and feel human all day long.
She goes to bed every night like she needs it, because it’s the only place she can do nothing and just think about him. Thinking about what he is and what he’ll become. Because pillows in general remind her of him.
"And the secret root or cause of all this is the worst part of the sin, which is, too much love to the body, and this world. Were nothing overloved, it would have no power to torment us."
Now she remembers. That’s when she decided she wouldn’t attend sermons anymore. She guesses that’s the moment Sam would have chosen too.
*
Jane Doe Ruby’s body
Age : unknown
Occupation : unknown
Sam’s abilities are getting flabby and that pains her more than any cut Alastair could ever inflict.
I’ve got news for you, Alastair. You’re not in hell. It’s not my soul you’re torturing anymore, it’s my body.
As he draws the outline of her womb on her skin, making long red beads along her stomach, Ruby’s soul is intact. Ruby’s soul has never been so out of reach.
Someone’s already taking care of that. She’s marked like a stigmatic every time Sam puts a hand on the small of her back. It makes her shut her eyes and whisper sonofabitch under her breath. The pale shadow of their lovemaking standing out against the wall is a holy engraving in her memory. She’s thirsting for rituals, body and soul.
*
A whisper, to inspire. Crescendo. A cry, to command.
Decrescendo.
When Sam comes inside her, it reminds her she was one hell of a witch.
Some believe that all you have to do is recite charms and that power comes from the number of rituals you know. They use incantations as a means to an end. They don’t get it.
You have to understand the meaning of each word, weigh each syllable, make music out of each spell and let the emotion of it embrace you.
This is how she fucks Sam. As if each caress, each pressure and moan had been written in a sacred book centuries ago.
Of course, that’s just a memory now.
*
Ruby
Age : depends on when you start counting
Occupation : Sam Winchester
Don’t give her credit or anything. She’s just the servicing demon here.
Don’t acknowledge the bloodstain on the front of her shirt that would have most people turn pale and insist on driving her to the ER. She guesses they have a hard time treating her like a 100% human person. Good thing demons don’t need your empathy. All they need is a body with a beating heart and a reason to care. If angels can fuck, then demons can... Never mind. Let’s just say they can forget destruction is supposed to be their priority.
The boys sleep one in each bed. Making a girl sleep on the sofa would have been impolite; the boys sleeping together, unacceptable; and her sleeping with Dean, absurd. Her sleeping with Sam was out of question too. She’s a person but not a partner, not in any way. She therefore spared them the problem and the embarrassment by reminding them she simply doesn’t sleep. She doesn’t need to sleep in order to dream.
She crawls on the rough carpet, trying to make as little noise as possible, and kneels in front of the chair Sam put his duffel on. She tugs her hair behind her ears and takes a deep breath before starting to grope around until she finds a worn shirt. It still has a faint smell of Sam, so she’s determined to never wash it. It’s just a small gift she gives herself. That’s robbery, but not crime.
She’ll be back. She has no true intention of letting Sam become a memory like the rest. She refuses to let Sam become anything else except the strongest of all. And if he doesn’t and the ship sinks, well, too bad. She’s willing to sink with it.
Heaven and hell, they can mock her. They can’t understand. Their wounds aren’t even real.
Hers are so real she feels like she’s about to pass out. She bites her bottom lip as she gets back on her feet despite the shooting pain and nausea and limps towards the door. She closes it behind her with a shaky hand. Her hand trembling, just like when she pierced her own ears with a nail to put pearls in them.
She stays with her back against the door for a few seconds, taking in the noises of the night, fighting the urge to go back inside.
She feels like collapsing in Sam’s arms. Like begging him to cover her wounds with his palms because it’s the only way it’s ever going to heal.
No, she doesn’t want Sam to do that. She must resist the urge. She must resist him like he didn’t resist her. She must be stronger than him.
Stronger than Sam, she thinks with a smile as she tears herself away from the door.
There again. Paradox.
Life.
The End.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: taxidryer
Rating: R
Category: Angst, het, gen
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Ruby, OCs
Summary: They’d made crowds dream and scream and then they’d go home in solitary, be the slaves they truly were.
Word count: 4,400
Spoilers: for 4.10 - Heaven and Hell
Disclaimer: No money no cry
Thanks: to patita_fea for the very skillful beta. That was such a long, dirty and very necessary work! All remaining mistakes are mine.
Author’s note: Some extracts of sermons taken from the Bible (Revelation 14 :11 and John 8:44) and The Cure of Melancholy and Overmuch Sorrow, by Richard Baxter.
| Chapter 1 |
| Chapter 2 |
Note : It may seem illogical that a demon can exorcize another, but that’s exactly what the demon possessing Tammi tried to do to Ruby in 4.09 - Malleus Maleficarum. Therefore I figured Ruby could do the same to demons less or equally powerful as she is.
*****************
III.
"She danced again quite readily, to please him, though each time her foot touched the floor it seemed as if she trod on sharp knives."
-Hans Christian Andersen
She still doesn’t remember or understand everything, but she reminisces more and more about the speeches that marked her mind back when she was just a quiet girl.
She remembers the coldness of the wooden bench she was sitting on, the ray of daylight coming from the high panes, making the Reverend’s curls and the immaculate wall behind him look whiter.
"And the smoke of their torment ascendeth up for ever and ever, and they have no rest day nor night, who worship the beast and his image…"
She guesses he was talking about Hell.
"…For contrary to earthly torments, there is no ambiguity, no conflict in the devil’s kingdom. Hell hurts, without any nuance nor hope to ever find any beauty in it."
Everything they used to say about Hell was eerily accurate. It was life they had wrong. She gets it now, why Sam was so dubious before. There’s no right or wrong. Only scales of values. Most principles belong to neither heaven nor hell and both probably split their sides laughing or sigh out loud to see men unite and kill each other to defend their own silly inventions.
For instance, why was it so important not to move during sermons? Even when she was shivering and the thin fabric of her coverchief didn’t do much to keep her warm, she had to sit as still as a statue as if they were trying to make the believers into the sculptures they forbade as decoration.
God, Christ must have been frozen up there, naked as he was on that cross, she’d thought.
She’d brought a hand to her mouth in vain to muffle the sound of her giggle. The Reverend still heard her and had stared her straight in the eyes. Her heart had started pounding at the idea of the whip.
*
Her pulse may have dropped back to normal, the feelings haven’t exactly gone away. Or whatever you call that thing that slingshots worry at her stomach and doubts at her mind, even when she’s absolutely sure her plan is the right one.
Sam has to learn to get back on his feet by himself, to realize he doesn’t need anyone. She can’t keep patting his hair and let him remain a needy brat. He has to become the one who makes people needy.
She has a room in a small hotel that overlooks the parking of the motel where Sam is still staying. She hasn’t seen him out so far. He walks to get his take-out and he probably takes the front door. She dreads the day she’ll see him open the back door and head towards the Impala. Stalking is easier when your prey is being sedentary.
She knows it’s the right thing to do, at least for a while. The rare moments she decides to leave her window to get some food, it doesn’t stop her from imagining him pushing the door of whatever place she’s in every five minutes. Every tall guy that hits the corner of her eye makes her heart beat like she’s run a marathon until she finally processes that it’s not him, half-relieved and mostly disappointed.
Well, it’s not her fault the entirety of her quest lies within that one man. It’s certainly not her fault he’s the last psychic kid left alive. Hers is a legitimate obsession.
Legitimate or not, it takes two days before the worry takes over her.
What if he goes back to his kamikaze ideas? What if he can’t get back on his feet by himself and he’s lying beside the bed with his veins opened? What if it’s too dangerous, without anyone to watch his back?
She bangs her forehead against her palm and then rests her head back against the curtain. What was she thinking, leaving him all by himself? In what kind of altered state of mind did she judge that a dependent Sam would be worse than no Sam at all?
*
‘Where have you been?’ he asks, his brow furrowed but showing no shadows under his eyes. He doesn’t even wait for the answer to drop the door knob, turn around and go back to his laptop.
‘I think I found something. Eastern suburbs, there seems to be activity over there.’ He sounds passionate. She can’t decide if it’s his vengeful or his geeky hunter side that is so excited.
She makes a few steps inside the room and scans it. The flowery bedspread is neatly placed. No empty bottle anywhere.
Apparently, Sam’s doing fantastic without her.
He keeps chatting about his discoveries on and on until there’s no information left to share and just stands to put his coat on.
‘Ready?’ he asks, giving her a slightly feral grin.
She nods, having a hard time matching his enthusiasm.
*
Sam sleeps and Ruby is bored.
Bored because Sam sleeps with his back turned to her, so she lies with her back turned to him. It may be pride, although they both know she’d sleep on the floor, or even on Sam’s porch if it could increase his abilities.
She’d be less bored if she could look at him. Study him again. She’d stared at him for so many weeks, thinking she had gathered all possible data about the man, and yet so much happened before her eyes that she didn’t see. And then, she came back bearing the duty to kill the burgeoning affection in the bud to find that there wasn’t anything to kill in the first place. She feels like Sam is more of a mystery than he’s ever been.
She’s supposed to be the mystery. She’s supposed to be relieved that he’s alright and improving. It’s supposed to be apocalyptic business and nothing else.
However, she didn’t hallucinate, and because the fuckery of her mind transcends ages, it’s way more vivid than memories of life and hell. Sam doesn’t hate her anymore. She saw it.
The insight hits her like a swinging censer in the stomach: wake up, Ruby. Caring is not necessarily needing and needing is not necessarily caring, whichever way that applies to Sam.
She brings her hand to her cheekbone.
Tears.
She stares at her wet knuckles as the most gigantic lump forms in her throat.
Crying. Now she remembers what it feels like.
A wave of sobs overwhelms her against her will, unstoppable. She doesn’t even know what it is she’s crying for, whether it’s for the actual situation or for the sorrow of her past life inundating her because the valve’s been opened.
Soon enough, Sam shifts beside her but doesn’t speak until a few minutes and a few more sobs have passed.
‘Are you okay?’ he finally asks.
‘Yeah’, she answers dryly between two sobs, trying to steady the bumping of her diaphragm, but not really knowing how.
Hold me, idiot.
No. No, she doesn’t want him to do that. She must never, ever let the North out of sight.
‘Sam?’, she sniffles. ‘Fuck me.’
*
Jane Doe, also now improvised as Kristi Whatever
Age : unknown
Occupation : unknown
‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you,’ he says to the girl as he waits for the doctor to call his name. ‘I really don’t know how to thank you.’
‘It’s okay,’ she answers, sourly. She looks like she’s about to kill something.
‘So, you say I was… possessed?’
‘Yup.’
‘By…’
‘A demon.’
‘Wow.’ He’d call her nuts if she hadn’t just saved his life. Or if he had a better explanation. ‘And you say the guy you were with was exorcizing me?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Like in the movies?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t watch those kind of movies’, the girl says.
‘Okay.’ He shakes his head in disbelief. ‘I’m sorry, that’s just… a lot to take in, you know.’
The girl nods, absently.
‘I’m just, you know… not sure the doctor will believe me either.’
‘Just tell him you took too much crack, I don’t know.’
‘Okay.’ A heavy silence filled with the other waiters’ coughing settles in. ‘Man, that’s got to be the most surreal day of my life, ever. Oh. I’m sorry. Why are you crying?’ he asks as he notices a single tear on the girl’s cheek.
He’s the one who’s just been exorcized and she’s the one crying. What the hell?
‘I’m not. I’m just pissed. None of your business anyway.’
Maybe she was possessed before.
He sits with his back straight again, looking everywhere but at the girl beside him. He can still see her from the corner of his eyes, clenching her jaws and wiping her cheek discreetly, trying to avoid attention.
Maybe it has to do with the epic confrontation there was between her and that other guy who just showed up out of nowhere. Not that he was able to understand what was going on.
After a few minutes, she breaks the silence.
‘Do you ever feel like your heart is going to stop?’
He takes a glimpse at her and swallows.
‘No, not really,’ he says, trying to sound compassionate. ‘Maybe you should consult someone about that…’
‘Raymon Papert,’ the doctor calls.
‘I should go. You’ll be okay?’ the girl says, jumping out of her chair.
‘Yeah. Thank you so much again. Oh and could you please thank that guy who… who exorcized me?’
She scoffs.
‘I don’t think I’ll get to see him again any time soon.’
*
Dean is back. Like the damn sun after the storm.
She’s surprised Sam hasn’t tossed her like a bulky umbrella right away. Since the day Dean showed up like resurrection is a regular thing for him, she knew it would happen at some point, that he would catch them and sound the hour for her to fold back into herself, forgotten in a corner like nothing more than a souvenir from the bad days.
A shameful object that should be hidden. She was used to seeing Sam proud and fearless, so it hurts to see the coward he’s been since Dean’s return. Dean wouldn’t understand. I’ll tell him when the time’s right. Blah. Sam’s ashamed of what they did, of her, of them. She didn’t push it; it was still wonderful that he wanted to keep doing it at all.
Nevertheless, he probably takes his watch off now, so let Dean’s light shine away from her. She didn’t mind doing their thing in the dark; she wasn’t doing it for the thanks. She was doing it because she has a vision and Sam was becoming better and better and she felt like rushing to him and kissing him every-fucking-where. It’s over now.
Sam the coward and Dean the hypocrite. He can spit on her all he wants. She knows what he did down there.
Damned souls never resist very long, it’s not in their nature. They’re in hell for a reason. Once in a while, the pit treats itself with a tenderer soul like Dean’s, but they all succumb in the end. How long did you hold out, Dean? A year, a decade?
You may be a special case for hell, but don’t flatter yourself. My case is as special as yours.
Sam won’t see that. He needs the light too much and she lets him have it all. She’s not that good at guessing what he really needs anyway. Not anymore, not since she’s confusing his needs with her own. Anyway, his need to simply roll his eyes at Dean will always be greater than his need for any kind of activity with her.
*
"You belong to your father, the devil, and you want to carry out your father's desire. He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies."
She sat in the back row with her arms crossed, stared at her yellowish gown as she kept thinking what am I doing here? She decided she wouldn’t attend Mass anymore.
They couldn’t save her. None of their words could get to her. She didn’t blame them. They were doing the best they could. She rather pitied them.
And while they pitied her for letting her soul drift towards damnation, she used her craft against many of them thinking she was saving herself.
It reminds her of the first time she thought ‘Well, Sam sucks, but he’s cute for a depressive loser.’
He never wanted to talk about Dean or anything not demon-related, and then, out of nowhere, he’d spill a raw confession and just go on doing whatever he was doing and she’d just stand there wondering how she could use the info to improve her coaching. Or just let it pervade her mind for no reason other than feeding her obsession.
Did you know Sam was on a winning soccer team but got kicked out for missing too many practices? And did you know he was once stuck in a time loop where Dean kept dying? True stories.
All just memories now.
*
She’s in town when Sam sends Samhain back where he belongs. She stays close enough to keep an eye on the brothers, far enough to avoid the angels. She’s been adhering to their philosophy lately: intervene only in desperate moments. The other side has always been wiser on that. Intervening too much brings instability. The proof is how big the two past years have been for hell, with the death of Azazel, the awakening of Ruby and the coming and going of Dean. Chaos among chaos-makers.
On the other hand, the angels should decide what they want. She’s probably the only one to celebrate Sam’s victory over Samhain. Celebrate is a big word. It’s just her, smiling alone in a bubble bath, imagining what she’d do to Sam if he was there.
Still, even as merry as that makes her, stalking didn’t feel as pathetic when she was wearing Amy. It’s easy to forget she’s doing it for the same reasons as before. Her motivation has a new face, new roots that go deep down in her viscera, but she did offer to teach the virgin’s heart spell that could wipe out every demon for miles around, including herself, way before she felt pathetic. Nothing’s changed, she has to remind herself.
And time doesn’t change anything either. It only makes you reinterpret everything.
Like when the girl sitting beside her dropped her embroidery on the floor and started convulsing. Whether she was possessed, epileptic, or faking - everything seems plausible now.
Like that one time when she and Sam were laying on their backs in bed. She was twirling a lock of her hair around her middle finger.
‘Hey, you know what? Once we have Lilith’s head on a plate, I think I’m going to dye my hair blond,’ she’d tried.
‘I’d love to see that,’ Sam had pronounced tiredly.
He was talking about Lilith’s head, wasn’t he?
*
She recognizes it everywhere.
Even when she doesn’t go out and just stays in her room watching tv until the silence doesn’t bother her when she turns it off.
They’re showing a documentary about some rock star who made a few hits in the late eighties, made girls cry and boys grow their hair until he found a way to overdose while in rehab. Compelling stuff.
Ruby wonders if the first needle he inserted in his arm felt as intoxicating as the first she tucked in a doll. They’d made crowds dream and scream and then they’d go home in solitary, be the slaves they truly were.
Yeah. Different type of crossroad, same story. She shuts the tv and tries once more to focus on the omens she’s supposed to dissect.
The truth is, she’s not as effective as she used to be. She can spend hours staring at the maps and reports spread on the table, unable to think about anything else but the little golden hairs on the nape of Sam’s neck.
Now she fully remembers how atrocious human life is. Delicious, but utterly awful. And it’s not just thanks to the tv.
*
The demon is standing in the middle of the devil’s trap with his arms crossed, staring at her like he’s just invented arrogance.‘A demon exorcizing another. I’ll have seen everything,’ he says through his host’s mouth.
‘It’s not that uncommon. If you knew how many sons of bitches like you have tried to take me down with them, you wouldn’t be so impressed. It didn’t work for them though.’
That’s because she was with Sam and he was faster than they were.
‘Some are just more grounded than others,’ she teases.
‘Right. And where’s your scary puppet now?’ the demon asks, blasé.
For a moment, Ruby wonders if maybe it’s reading her thoughts. They must absolutely not know Sam is out of practice. ‘He’s not my puppet,’ she corrects, not quite hiding her irritation at the remark. ‘He’s busy sending meaner guys home.’
When you lie, you speak your native language, she can hear the Reverend say.
Which is natural when you’re talking to your homies. Doesn’t mean I won’t get my green card, she says to herself, trying to shrug the thought off.
‘Aw, look at you. Lilith’s gonna love to hear how you keep betraying your own.’
‘Oh please, do tell her.’
She starts the exorcism the old fashioned way, even though the words make her eyes go black and pain hit back at her like a boomerang: ‘Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas...’
‘You, bitch. You, traitor,’ he spits.
‘Oh, shut up. Everybody hates each other down there and you know it. Christi, eradicare et effugare a Dei Ecclesia, ab animabus ad imaginem,’ she goes on, slowly circling around the trap as her words make the demon struggle.
‘You think you’re doing good things, Ruby? You don’t know shit. Everything you can do is wrong and evil by nature, you’re just not conscious of it.’
‘There’s no right or wrong up here’, she cuts him. ‘Deceptione et nequitia nos potenter liberare, et incolumes custodire digneris. Good bye, patriotic asshole. And thanks for the info on that Milton girl by the way. Per Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen.’ The black smoke vanishes and the victim collapses on the floor.
Wrong is doing it without Sam.
*
It’s true what they say about brunettes and blondes. When you’re a blond, you attract looks from both men and women, whatever those looks mean. Now it’s like she’s less visible. She can sit at the bar for thirty minutes and no one will notice, especially not the Winchesters. You learn patience, being a brunette.
The night she grabbed her, Amy was in a well-washed-down college party. Someone had put GHB in her glass. It made her eyes go dark and the bastard run away. She wonders if maybe she had a better sense of humor back then. When she looks at Sam faking drunkenness over the pool table, she doesn’t think it’s funny. Everything becomes funny when Dean’s there, huh? Everybody seems to be having fun but her.
She just feels like shaking each one of them. Stop acting like this is just another casual hunt, people!
The psychic lady grabs Sam’s ass and he smiles back at her more times in ten seconds than he’s smiled at Ruby in weeks. And that blind skank can’t even see it.
No, she’s not having a good day, thankyouverymuch.
An epic battle between heaven and hell is about to occur, and while she’s getting mentally prepared to submit to torture by the guy who practically invented it, Dean is fogging up his car with an angel, no less.
Someone, please, pinch her.
Those are all distracting, but nevertheless very minor annoyances. One glance at Sam asleep and she’s ready to fight. The true problem is Sam doesn’t want to use his mojo anymore. That too, she has a hard time not taking personally. He’d rather listen to the cold, intolerant angels. He’s been in love with the idea of them for too long.
And to think that once upon a time, she’d be finding herself a plan B at the moment or brand new ways to manipulate the brothers. She now fully realizes that Sam has gone from being her means to being her end. And possibly the end of her.
She couldn’t care less. There’s only Sam.
Sam is her value.
*
She used to shower in the evening to keep the traces of him and feel human all day long.
She goes to bed every night like she needs it, because it’s the only place she can do nothing and just think about him. Thinking about what he is and what he’ll become. Because pillows in general remind her of him.
"And the secret root or cause of all this is the worst part of the sin, which is, too much love to the body, and this world. Were nothing overloved, it would have no power to torment us."
Now she remembers. That’s when she decided she wouldn’t attend sermons anymore. She guesses that’s the moment Sam would have chosen too.
*
Jane Doe Ruby’s body
Age : unknown
Occupation : unknown
Sam’s abilities are getting flabby and that pains her more than any cut Alastair could ever inflict.
I’ve got news for you, Alastair. You’re not in hell. It’s not my soul you’re torturing anymore, it’s my body.
As he draws the outline of her womb on her skin, making long red beads along her stomach, Ruby’s soul is intact. Ruby’s soul has never been so out of reach.
Someone’s already taking care of that. She’s marked like a stigmatic every time Sam puts a hand on the small of her back. It makes her shut her eyes and whisper sonofabitch under her breath. The pale shadow of their lovemaking standing out against the wall is a holy engraving in her memory. She’s thirsting for rituals, body and soul.
*
A whisper, to inspire. Crescendo. A cry, to command.
Decrescendo.
When Sam comes inside her, it reminds her she was one hell of a witch.
Some believe that all you have to do is recite charms and that power comes from the number of rituals you know. They use incantations as a means to an end. They don’t get it.
You have to understand the meaning of each word, weigh each syllable, make music out of each spell and let the emotion of it embrace you.
This is how she fucks Sam. As if each caress, each pressure and moan had been written in a sacred book centuries ago.
Of course, that’s just a memory now.
*
Ruby
Age : depends on when you start counting
Occupation : Sam Winchester
Don’t give her credit or anything. She’s just the servicing demon here.
Don’t acknowledge the bloodstain on the front of her shirt that would have most people turn pale and insist on driving her to the ER. She guesses they have a hard time treating her like a 100% human person. Good thing demons don’t need your empathy. All they need is a body with a beating heart and a reason to care. If angels can fuck, then demons can... Never mind. Let’s just say they can forget destruction is supposed to be their priority.
The boys sleep one in each bed. Making a girl sleep on the sofa would have been impolite; the boys sleeping together, unacceptable; and her sleeping with Dean, absurd. Her sleeping with Sam was out of question too. She’s a person but not a partner, not in any way. She therefore spared them the problem and the embarrassment by reminding them she simply doesn’t sleep. She doesn’t need to sleep in order to dream.
She crawls on the rough carpet, trying to make as little noise as possible, and kneels in front of the chair Sam put his duffel on. She tugs her hair behind her ears and takes a deep breath before starting to grope around until she finds a worn shirt. It still has a faint smell of Sam, so she’s determined to never wash it. It’s just a small gift she gives herself. That’s robbery, but not crime.
She’ll be back. She has no true intention of letting Sam become a memory like the rest. She refuses to let Sam become anything else except the strongest of all. And if he doesn’t and the ship sinks, well, too bad. She’s willing to sink with it.
Heaven and hell, they can mock her. They can’t understand. Their wounds aren’t even real.
Hers are so real she feels like she’s about to pass out. She bites her bottom lip as she gets back on her feet despite the shooting pain and nausea and limps towards the door. She closes it behind her with a shaky hand. Her hand trembling, just like when she pierced her own ears with a nail to put pearls in them.
She stays with her back against the door for a few seconds, taking in the noises of the night, fighting the urge to go back inside.
She feels like collapsing in Sam’s arms. Like begging him to cover her wounds with his palms because it’s the only way it’s ever going to heal.
No, she doesn’t want Sam to do that. She must resist the urge. She must resist him like he didn’t resist her. She must be stronger than him.
Stronger than Sam, she thinks with a smile as she tears herself away from the door.
There again. Paradox.
Life.
The End.