The Angel and The Devil, Heavy On Your Shoulders [13/22] Sam/Dean, R
Title: The Angel and The Devil, Heavy on Your Shoulders (Part IV. One.)
Word Count: 1825 [35000 total]
MASTER POST for warnings, author's notes, and link to art
Part IV. Afraid I Got Some Bad News.
--Chapter One--
Dean’s tired, or at least, he should be. But sleeping seems like a waste of time when he’s got so much work left to do. And, besides, if he was asleep-and really lucky--he’d just be dreaming of this moment anyway.
He slides the knife away from Ruby’s skin, smiles a little as she screams and he carefully cleans the blade-the blade that he wouldn’t be holding at all if it wasn’t for her. Funny, the way life goes, Dean reflects.
“You’re wasting your time,” Ruby huffs, red fat drops flying off her lips.
Dean turns back to her in the murky room, looking between the floating gold specks of dust at her. He thinks about what she’s just said.
It has been a long day, but, all things considered, it’s gone better then Dean had hoped. Ruby clearly wasn’t expecting Dean to be waiting for her outside the hotel room when she was done with Sam. She definitely wasn’t expecting to see her knife, the salt-soaked rope, or the trunk of the Impala popped and devil’s-trapped, looking like the open mouth of caged tiger at feeding time.
He'd had a real stroke of luck when half the hotel cleared out just when Ruby'd arrived.
Dean’d practically backed the Impala into the abandoned house he’d prepped for their little visit. He’d dragged her into the iron chains in the center of the living room with hardly any trouble at all, maybe thanks to the holy water he’d dosed her with. Of all the tools and weapons Dean had used over the years in his line of work, he’s surprised at how handy a simple syringe was these days.
Dean moves unhurriedly over to a low, long table that he’d covered earlier that day. He dips Ruby’s blade in a deep chalice before generously coating it in salt. When he closes his eyes, he can feel the deep pull of exhaust in his muscles, and the uncomfortable feeling of his mind being pulled in different directions, coming apart like cotton in his skull. But when his eyes open, his mind clears, and he sees the salt sparkling on the edge of the knife, and he knows what he’s doing, and why.
“Ruby, I don’t really…really don’t like you.”
Dean stands and turns and strides back into the devil’s trap. With the hand gripping the knife, he snatches a handful of dark, greasy hair to help direct Ruby’s nodding head, to make the evil bitch look up at him. She looks for a moment like she’s gonna pull something sassy, like spit at him. Before she can muster up the moisture, Dean reaches into his pocket for a fistful of salt and presses it against her lips. He decides things might be easier, just for a little while, if he keeps a hand clamped down over her frothy mouth.
“You come strolling on into to my life-into Sammy’s life, throwing out promises and stringing him along like he’s some dumb starry-eyed virgin on prom night. You promised him me, and then when I was out of the picture, you tried to take my place.” Dean tightens his hold on Ruby’s jaw so hard he’s sure he’s gonna leave her a bruise for a grin. “I get back and here you two are supposed to be two peas in a god damn demonic pod. Well, you’re fucking him, and in more ways than Sam knows.”
He gives her skull a good shake to make sure she’s listening still, and from her wide, wet eyes, she’s all fucking ears.
“Worst of it is, Ruby, you’ve been using me to push him and pull him and poison him from the jump.” Dean leans in close, smelling sweat and sulphur rolling off Ruby’s skin. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I don’t like being used.”
Dean shoves her head back and watches it thunk against the wooden chair. He lets her go and listens to the great gulps of air she swallows down, her chest expanding as much as the chains burning her skin will let her.
“So believe me when I say,” Dean continues, crouching down in front of her. “This is really not a waste of my time.”
They spend a few moments breathing in moldy air. Dean can practically taste the tang of blood and metal. It’s salty, and just a little sweet.
“What about Sam?” Ruby asks with tight lips.
Dean looks up at Ruby, letting his disbelief show on his face. “Sam is the reason we’re here.” He pushes himself to his feet, going slow to let his stiff knees unbend and his sore back to straighten. “I know you’re very concerned with Sammy’s well-being and all, ‘s touching, really, so why don’t we-“
“It’s not me,” Ruby says, shaking her head. “Whatever is happening to Sam, it’s not me.”
She sounds so honest and so earnest that Dean snatches the sweat-soaked fabric of her shirt and shouts, “Bull! Everything that’s happening to him is your fault. The lying, the sneaking-that isn’t my Sam.”
“Your Sam is dying!” Ruby shouts back, and Dean’s hands itch to wrap around her pretty neck. “If he isn’t already dead, thanks to you. Sam is being poisoned, but it’s not by me, and I don’t know with what.”
“You’re killing him,” Dean says like it’s the only truth left.
“Think about it, Einstein, why would I be treating Sam to the breakfast of Satanic champions on the regular if I was just gonna kill him?”
Dean lets go of Ruby’s shirt suddenly, pushing her back. Ruby’s staring up at Dean with a dark, almost reverent gaze that really isn’t meant for him. She grips the arms of the chair and pushes against the chains, even though it hurts, even though there’s no hope. “Dean, I wouldn’t kill Sam, not knowing how amazing he’s becoming, no, I wouldn’t kill him-I wouldn’t dare.”
Dean turns away from the fanatical, wild look in her eye. There’s a low, empty tumbling feeling in his gut and he assumes he must be hungry. He looks back across the crumbling, dark room splotched with moonlight the color of old ivory or dirty lace. Dean’s eyes skim over his table of tools, and he drags a hand over his mouth. He wants to get this done. It’s starting to wear him out.
“You can see it, can’t you?” Ruby goes on. “The way our little Sammy’s getting all grown-up? He’s going to be-“
Ruby’s scream cuts her off from wherever she was headed, and Dean looks down thoughtfully at the knife he’s just planted in her left hand.
“You talk too damn much,” Dean says, yanking the blade out again. “I got one question, needs one answer. And next time you’re feeling sassy, let’s remember who’s strapped to the chair, here.”
Ruby is biting her lips so hard her teeth are lined with bright red.
“Tell me how to change him back.” Dean says, and the demand sits stale in the musty night.
“I told you, Dean, and I wasn’t lying. I don’t know what’s making Sam-“
“The demon blood. I’m talking about the demon blood,” Dean says and his voice is taking on a new edge, ground shining and sharp by desperation. When Ruby only stares at him, mouth dry and gaping open, Dean grabs the arms of the chair and gives the whole thing one rough shake.
It seems to wake Ruby up. She blinks at him, and a grin seeps across her face. It splits, and a chuckle leaks out. It rolls into laughter. It builds into breathless gasps and shrieks and Dean would kill her then and there but now he’s getting ideas that tell him it’ll be worth it to wait. But the answer--the answer’s ringing in the air all around him.
There’s no going back for Sam.
Dean’s stomping across the creaky dark floorboards hard enough to make ancient dust rise up from the dead. He grabs up a jug full of holy water, the rosary beads scattering over his knuckles, and starts to pour into the old, ugly chalice. The glugging sounds weave with Ruby’s deep breaths as she recovers from her laughter.
“Oh, Dean,” Ruby sighs. “You really thought that there was a happy ending here? Did you think that the blood was like cheap booze? Sweet cheeks, it’s not something you just sleep off.”
“Shut up,” Dean says to his hands. “You’re lying.”
“It is what we’re known for--I’ll give you that one, big guy, but come on. You know it’s true.”
“I don’t know that.”
“Yah, well what you don’t know could fill a book.” Dean decides the distance between them must be making her cocky. Dean looks over his shoulder to give her a glare of fair warning. She’s not looking good, like she might black out any moment. And from the way she licks her lips and swallows, the bitch is gonna spend every last fucking effort on working his last fucking nerve.
“You don’t know, for example,” Ruby goes on, letting her head drop against the back of her chair. “You don’t know what’s really killing Sam. You don’t know how to save him, and I’ll bet my last dime that you don’t know he says your name when he comes.”
There’s a flare of something behind Dean’s eyelids and a twist in his gut. He barks out a laugh and covers his mouth with his hand, like the dirty words had come from his lips. He looks down at the chalice and the jug and realizes he’s being damn silly. He snatches up the still-heavy jug and makes his brisk way back to the bitch chained to the chair.
“You’re lying,” he says again.
Ruby looks up at him, and shrugs, trying not to look terrified. “Why would I? When the truth is so-“
Without ceremony, ‘cause he sure as hell doesn’t need any at this point, Dean overturns the entire jug on Ruby, watching curiously as the air around her skin turns to smoke, curling quickly through the air. The screaming becomes a dull noise in the background as Dean traces the gray strands climbing towards the ceiling, trying hard to get away from him.
Ruby’s voice brings him back, as she chokes. When Dean swings his heavy gaze to her, she’s smiling at him with teeth colored like roses in a face pale as paper.
“Sam…he isn’t the only one with a little bit of the Devil in him, is he?”
Dean knows, in his aching gut, that Ruby’s right. She’s been right all damn night long, told him nothing but the God’s honest truth.
But Ruby’s gotta know, the way that Dean knows, the truth doesn’t save you, and it sure as hell doesn’t set you free.
-part IV.two-