he lays down his head on your pillow at night - SN fic - R
Title: he lays down his head on your pillow at night
Fandom: “Supernatural:
Disclaimer: not my characters. title from Allison Krauss.
Warnings: future!fic; dark!boys; AU after 4.16; incomplete and run-on sentences
Pairings: mentions of Sam/Ruby; Sam/Dean
Rating: Rish
Wordcount: 1315
Point of view: second
Notes: for cuddlyscorpio , for the Antimas exchange atsammessiah ; prompt was Sam and Dean, Sam/Dean, Ruby, keep it exciting! Happy endings, tortured souls, green
More notes: thanks to dreamlittleyo for reading over this
You gave him his crown, his scepter, his throne, and his kingdom to rule as he sees fit. You trained him, taught him, loved him. You sacrificed yourself as a distraction and as bait.
And he never looked at you like he does his brother. He never stared at you with such wonder, with such adoration. You went to Hell, too, but that isn’t as important as the fact that Dean did.
Dean. Damned Dean Winchester. A history with Sam you can never equal, shared blood and iron and memories. Sam’s drunk your blood down like wine, craved it like manna, and he still goes running to Dean, still watches Dean with hero-worship, still stares at Dean like Dean’ll vanish if he looks away.
You killed angels for him, a dozen of them with spells and that sword forged by Lucifer himself, back before he’d been born into humanskin, back before Azazel made his plan and God turned away. You killed angels, burned entire towns to dust, cursed a handful of families to the tenth generation. You gave him Lucifer’s sword to insure Hell followed its master, the glory of the Fallen, once Heaven’s most beautiful son, imbued into a human child.
Sam. Your Sam. Your king and your lover, your darling, your boy. You crowned him. You’ve worked tirelessly since that Devil’s Gate opened, and even longer, down in the bowels of Hell, your plan and Azazel’s, hidden from Lilith and God.
And Dean, always and forever there to fuck everything up. He couldn’t even stay in Hell, out of the way as Alistair’s pet and plaything. No, he had to say yes, had to fall off the rack and break the first Seal, had to be saved by an angel, of all things. An angel. No angel had been to Earth since the last time Lucifer was there, and an entire flock of them laid siege of Hell and one actually ripped Dean from Alistair’s grasp and burst out of the Pit, shoving Dean back into Life.
It’s just not fair. You’ve done everything, were everything to Sam, better than Dean. And it’s Dean he has next to him, Dean he favors above all else. Dean the beloved, Dean the enforcer, Dean with golden-black eyes and a knife always dripping Alistair’s blood.
Dean, saved by the angels after having been Alistair’s favorite, and no one has forgotten that.
You gave Sam his crown, his scepter, his throne. You practically hand-wrapped Hell for him, with sparkly paper and a shiny bow. You fed him your blood, taught him to destroy with a thought. You nurtured him through the pain and brought Lucifer back from nightmares into reality. He’s yours, your BoyKing, the master of Hell returned to bright, Technicolor life.
And it’s not enough. You’re not enough. He’s got Dean, darkened and deadlier than he’d ever been before Hell. He’s got Dean, who frightens even you, now, who smirks in silence and licks the edge of that bone-knife, and bares his throat to Sam with delight. Sam, his only master. Sam, your Sam, who never stops touching Dean like he hasn’t touched you since the night he killed Alistair.
He didn’t really need you after that. Alistair had been second only to Lilith, and only Lucifer had been her better. With Alistair gone, it was a matter of days.
You pace in your room, in Sam’s palace, on the coast of what used to be the Gulf of Mexico, back when places had human names. You planned this, with Azazel, and it’s nothing at all like you’d thought it be. When Dean broke that first Seal, everything spiraled out of control and Sam slipped from your grasp, back into Dean’s waiting, willing hands.
He should have stayed in Hell, on the rack. He should have been a gibbering mess of souljuice and nothing else-that was the plan. You trained Sam while his brother burned in agony, screamed in rage, suffered for eternity and more, and when Lucifer finally came to the fore, nothing would remain of the Winchesters.
You curl your hands into fists, nails biting your skin. This isn’t at all what you wanted, Dean at his side, his perfect little soldier, his guardian, who all the others shy away from in fear. It is your position, and Dean wears it beautifully, those eyes glinting at you like fire, like he’s waiting for the moment to strike and you won’t even hear a whisper of it coming.
The ocean is soothing, salt air no longer a problem since Sam remade the world in his image. It isn’t Hell and it isn’t Heaven. And it isn’t Earth anymore. It’s a thing entirely new and you’d be happy, if Dean fucking Winchester weren’t where you should be, getting licked and kissed and fucked in your place. And his eyes and his smirk, everywhere you turn, and him holding that knife-
You remember that knife. You made that knife, and then Alistair sliced you up with it, pretty little girl, don’t you scream so pretty.
You want to howl, to rend and to tear, to shatter the walls of this world Sam made. You want to rip out Dean’s eyes, carve out his lips, burn him and break him, make him bloody, with all his insides pouring out, and leaving Sam yours.
A knock at the door. He stands there, Dean’s little pet angel, and he says, “Samuel requires your presence.”
You smirk at him, at the mighty warrior fallen so low. His wings are long gone, and he doesn’t shine at all anymore. For a moment, you want to ask if he misses the sky, misses his kind. The moment passes.
Sam’s waiting in the throne-room, Dean at his side, with those eyes and those lips and your own knife.
You stand before them, proud. You stand before them unafraid and unbowed. You taught him when he was a whelp, a boy, angry and hurting and helpless to do anything but glare at a demon.
“Ruby,” Sam pronounces, fingers tangled in the cord of Dean’s amulet. “I have to say, you’re a disappointment.”
Those words would have hurt, once upon a time. You don’t care anymore
Dean is motionless, eyes on you, teeth bared in a grin. You remember the man he was, frightened of the flames, who so wearily asked There’s no way to save me from the Pit, is there?
There is nothing of that man in him now.
Sam’s eyes flare sun-bright and Dean’s smirk is harder than diamond. You scream and writhe, and when you come to, Dean is there, with the knife, and you feel metal burning into your back.
“Hey, pretty,” Dean purrs. “Let’s have fun, huh?”
It should have been you at Sam’s side. Sam’s beloved consort, the only equal to Sam in existence since Hell bowed and Heaven fell.
“It should have been me,” you tell Dean, with his golden-black eyes and ever-present smirk.
The smirk drops. “No,” he answers, trailing the blade of your knife along your cheek. “It was never gonna be you, sweetheart.”
You know he’ll have you screaming in minutes and that you won’t stop for years.
“By the way, Ruby,” he tells you, opening you up, “I should thank you.” He twists something inside you and it sears. “So, thanks.”
Damn him. Damn them both, your Sam and his fucking brother. You did this. You made this. Made them both into this, these parodies of everything they once were.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean calls. “You should come try this, dude. Once you’ve had a demon screaming, you’re never the same.”
When Dean’s pet angel slices you open, you don’t have any tears left to cry. Shivering and shaking, whimpering beneath Alistair’s prodigy and his pet, you can almost-almost-taste French fries on your tongue and feel Sam’s skin between your teeth.