AN: Hello again, everyone! It's been awhile, hasn't it? I apologize for that. I've been swamped. So, anyway, this story is going to be the last fic of 2012 from me. It's actually part of a new 'verse that I've created where Ruby is human, she and Dean have been married since 2004 (and have gone through the series as a married couple) and they're celebrating their tenth anniversary in season eight, because of the time jumps. Their song is ''Where Is My Mind?'' by The Pixies because of reasons. And they are both terribly crass and rude, because they are terrible influences on each other. It's just a fun 'verse that I can come to whenever I need to write something fluffy or funny (or angsty). I'm thinking it's going to mostly consist of oneshots and twoshots rather than big elaborate multi-chapters.
Oh, and in this 'verse Ruby is Russian on her father's side (she was born Irina Ruby Leonidov but eventually changed her name to Ruby Irina Winchester) and that is why there is the occasional random bit of Russian in this 'verse.
Also, one last thing: I'm going to be heading home for the holidays. I'm leaving tomorrow and I'm going to be gone until the second week of January. And unfortunately, I was not able to finish this fic before I had to stop writing and start focusing on getting ready to leave. So this is just the first part of a two parter. Have no fear, I'm going to be posting the second part as soon as I get back. It's almost finished, it's just that there was no way I would have been able to totally complete it before I have to leave. So, anyway, I'm going to shut up now and I hope you enjoy the fic!
(KATHEY AND AMANDA! IF I DON'T TALK TO YOU GUYS BEFORE I LEAVE, HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR! LOVE YOU!)
title: try this trick and spin it, yeah
summary: story one in my brand spanking new where is my mind? 'verse (otherwise known as the 'always-a-couple' 'verse: in which dean and ruby have been married since 2004, go through the series as a couple and where is my mind? by the pixies is their song). dean and ruby celebrate their tenth anniversary.
character(s)/pairing(s): dean/ruby. sam. castiel. benny.
genre: romance/family
rating: m for not really graphic sexy times but the m is for safety.
timeline: takes place sometime vaguely after 8.09.
spoilers: blanket spoilers for all of the series. especially season eight.
warnings: mentions of the death of a child, mentions of mental illness (chronic depression, ptsd) and use of prescription medication, depiction of injury, nudity, and lots of talk about sex and sex-like things.
notes: title taken from the song where is my mind? by the pixies.
disclaimer: i own none of the characters you recognize.
try this trick and spin it, yeah
Written by Becks Rylynn
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daffodils in december
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They met on August 7th, 2000 in a smoky dive somewhere in Texas. She was eighteen, broken and hustling a very large man out of enough money to get herself a meal and a motel room for the night in a game of pool, her tiny little cut off jeans putting the odds in her favor. He was twenty one, just as broken as she was, and enthralled by the way she had every male in the bar under her pretty little thumb. After she had swindled three big burly dudes out of their money, he sidled up to her at the bar and asked her for a game.
When he won (she was a great hustler; he was better), he told her that he would give her all her hard earned money back if she would go out on a date with him the next night. Eyes flashing, hands on her hips, looking like she was ready to tear him apart, she scowled at him and, after some prodding and cajoling, grumbled out a, ''Fine. Ass.'' It was the single worst way to start a relationship. It was sort of sleazy, actually.
Fuck, though. It worked.
The next night, he showed up at the same bar in the middle of Bumfuck, Texas, and there she was, sitting on the pool table in her tiny shorts and her cowboy boots, with one leg crossed over the other. Waiting for him.
''I don't even know your name,'' she murmured, peering up at him.
He shrugged. ''I don't know yours either.''
She tilted her head to the side. Pressed her lips together. ''...Ruby,'' she said, quietly. ''My name is Ruby.''
''Well, Ruby,'' he grinned, lips curled back, white teeth gleaming. ''I'm Dean.''
''Okay then, Dean. Tell me something.'' She slid off the table and stared up at him with a smirk to rival his. ''Does this count as prostitution?''
He threw his head back and laughed, a full on belly laugh, like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. She never told him, not that first night anyway, but she thought it was the best thing she had ever heard in her entire life.
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Fourteen years later, she still thinks the sound of his laughter is the best thing in the world and he still thinks she's the most beautiful girl in every room. Their lives suck more than most people's lives, but it's their marriage that has always been the one thing that has remained intact through all of the crazy shit that has happened.
Dean and Ruby Winchester have proven, time and time again, that they are everything the Titanic should have been: actually motherfucking unsinkable.
As fucked up and broken as they are, at least they still have that.
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On the morning of December 18th, 2014, Ruby wakes up in a motel room somewhere in Illinois and realizes, with a start, that she has been married for ten years. It's not that she has forgotten her anniversary or the fact that she's a married woman. It isn't that it surprises her. She's not super panicked because she forgot to buy him an anniversary gift. It's just that when she wakes up, the date hits her in a way that it never has before. She has been married to Dean Winchester for ten years. She has been in a relationship with Dean Winchester for fourteen years. Fourteen years.
Goddamn, she's old.
Ruby rolls over onto her back and pushes dark hair (her husband is still not on board with the color change; he says he misses the blond) out of her eyes. She stares at the dirty, stained ceiling of the cheap motel, still groggy and cold. She licks her dry lips and listens for the sound of the shower running, but all is silent. She sends a cursory glance at the alarm clock on the scratched nightstand. It's almost ten o'clock. Dean must have let her sleep in. She smiles tiredly and burrows back into the blankets. She knew there was a reason she married that guy. She lies still in the peaceful silence, awake but resting comfortably in her cocoon of blankets, and her thoughts begin to drift.
She has to admit that this isn't exactly the way she pictured their tenth anniversary. When they first got married, they both made bold promises to each other and goals for themselves, swept up in the magical unattainable idea of normal. On their wedding night, young and deliriously in love, holed up in Pastor Jim's lake house, they both dreamt up a future for their marriage. This is not what that dream was. What they wanted back then was straight up apple-pie-Leave-it-to-Beaver-Pleasantville perfect. They were going to quit hunting once The Demon was dead, settle down in a nice safe town, get honest jobs, buy a house, start a family...
They wanted what everyone else wants.
She looks at the rings on her fingers, the simple wedding band Dean blew all his cash on ten years ago, the antique engagement ring that he had placed onto her finger when they renewed their vows on their third anniversary (the ring that Bobby had carefully slipped into Dean's pocket before the ceremony, the one that had once belonged to Karen Singer). The thing about life is that it never does end up the way we think it will, does it?
Twenty two year old Ruby wanted so badly to be a mother. Twenty four year old Dean wanted a home. Those two newlyweds just wanted out. What a couple of foolish kids. Honestly. Ruby thinks that the most miraculous thing about their life now is that they have made it to ten years alive. Priorities change. (And come on. Let's be realistic. There is no way out.)
She gives up on going back to sleep eventually and sits up slowly, her eyes instantly spotting the flowers sitting atop the television that only gets two channels. A slow smile stretches over her lips. She can't help it. She may terrify a lot of people but she's a big ball of fluff at heart and Dean knows this. Mostly because he's even fluffier than she is. The ridiculously sweet and creative anniversary gifts (anything from running out and buying her clean sheets for the night they spent in that horrifying motel room somewhere in West Virginia to spending years sifting through her many distant relatives in Russia in order to track down a jewelry box that belonged to her beloved grandmother) are proof of that.
She crawls out of the warm bed and pads over to the bouquet of daffodils. They're beautiful, cheerful and sunny. Where does someone even get daffodils in December? She leans down to smell them, beaming widely the whole time. Fourteen years in and she still feels a pleasant warmth stir in her gut whenever her husband brings her flowers. She plucks the card from the bouquet and reads over the unbelievably sweet words scrawled on the notecard in Dean's chicken scratch. Next to the vase, on a piece of the tacky motel stationary, there is another note from him. Back in 10. Went to get breakfast.
Still grinning happily, feeling much better than she has in a long time, she scribbles something down on the other side of the notecard, hums under her breath and goes to take a shower.
There are worse ways to be woken up in the morning, that's for sure.
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Dean enters the motel room with a brown paper bag held in between his teeth, a tray of hot drinks in one hand and a box of pastries in the other. He can hear the shower running in the bathroom, the sound of his wife's singing drifting over the running water and through the thin walls. He kicks the door shut behind him, glad to be out of the freezing December air. As soon as he places the items down on the table and strips off his heavy jacket, he catches sight of the daffodils. Or rather, he catches sight of the notecard, folded and lying beside the vase. Sipping at his coffee, he snatches up the note and reads the words written in Ruby's loopy handwriting.
He smiles genuinely, enough to make his eyes crinkle, and sips at his piping hot coffee. The thought of someone caring enough to write something like that even after fourteen years still sends a thrill through him. She still sends a thrill through him. It's not like these past ten years have been easy, in fact there was an immeasurable amount of pain and carnage and loss. And there are days... There are a lot of bad days. It's just...
Fuck it.
Do you know what Dean Winchester is? He is a sentimental fool. He is a marshmallow. His wife is the most gorgeous thing he has ever laid eyes on. She is amazing, strong enough to keep going, strong enough to keep the both of them going, and even after all of these years of her not leaving him, he still loves her just as much as he did back then. He is that guy. He's the guy who never takes off his wedding ring and wears it proudly every day like it's a badge of honor, because that's exactly what it is. He's the guy who is still so amazed and in awe of his wife simply because she never gives up on him, not even when he gives up on himself, and that still utterly floors him. He's the guy who would literally die for his wife.
He's the guy who has.
No matter what happens in life, he knows he's going to be that guy until the day he dies.
Look, he just really loves his wife, okay? He thinks she's awesome.
Dean swallows his coffee without really tasting it and hums along with the Janis Joplin song she's singing, waiting impatiently for her to get out of the shower. ''Would you hurry up already?!'' He calls out, when his coffee is half gone and he has successfully burnt his tongue. ''Jesus.''
''I deserve an extra long hot shower every once and awhile!'' She throws back at him.
''What are you even doing in there?'' He asks, rising to his feet and moving over to the closed bathroom door. He smirks, leaning his forearm against the doorjam. ''Irina Ruby Winchester,'' he chastises.
She yells something at him in Russian, which - if he's correct - is something incredibly rude, and then says, ''Don't call me that, dipshit!''
'' - Are you doing naughty things?''
''Did you really just use the word naughty without, like, being Santa Claus?''
He huffs out a laugh, because it's just that ridiculous. ''That was a weak comeback.''
''Yeah, not my best.''
''Sweetheart,'' he drawls, ''if you wanted to get off, you should have come to me. It's our anniversary. That's my job today. Plus, honestly, my fingers are better than any shower head.''
''Well, A,'' the shower turns off, ''you're a pervert.''
He nods. ''Fair.''
''B) That's weirdly sweet of you. And C) I don't think this particular bathroom is the best place to masturbate because there are frogs painted on the tiles, ducks on the shower curtain and I think I would feel massively uncomfortable.''
He snorts. He shrugs his shoulders and lets a small, slow smirk cross his lips. ''I didn't mind.''
The bathroom door opens. He straightens immediately and lights up, not just because she's only wearing a towel, but just because it's her. She stares up at him, lips pressed into a tight line, amusement glinting in her eyes. He grins back, eyes raking over her towel clad body. She stares at him for a long moment and then brushes past him. He chuckles loudly, tilting his head back just slightly. ''So, you're just going to ignore that last - ''
''Yep.''
He shrugs again and turns away from her, back to the table of breakfast foods. ''Okay, so, I got you tea. Earl grey with lemon and honey. And anniversary breakfast,'' he announces happily. ''And I'm not talking about some greasy breakfast burritos. I went to an actual bakery and I got you butterscotch scones - your favourite - a couple of cherry danishes - also your favourite - and there might be a couple of donuts left, but Sam took most of them. You know, that kid likes to pretend he eats healthy but I just watched him scarf down three jelly donuts in the span of about thirteen - holy shit.'' He turns to face her again and his jaw nearly hits the floor. His mouth dries up and he trips and stumbles over his words pathetically. ''Ruby...'' He tries to swallow, but can't. ''Ruby, the towel went away.''
She smiles back at him, looking perfectly at ease and confident standing in front of him naked. It's not like it's an unusual thing. Not only have they been married for ten years and together for fourteen, but Ruby really does not have a whole lot of shyness when it comes to getting naked. ''Yes,'' she nods. ''Yes, it did. What are you going to do about it?''
''I...'' It's gotta be a good sign that he still finds himself speechless at the sight of her, right? ''Those are your boobs.''
Her oddly serene smile stretches into a devilish grin. ''Yep. Same ones you've been fondling...and licking...and occasionally sucking for fourteen years. Now,'' she places her hands on her bare hips. He licks his lips slowly. ''You said your fingers are better than any shower head. So get over here and prove it.''
''But...'' He blinks and gestures helplessly at the food. ''Breakfast...''
She raises her eyebrows.
He pauses and tilts his head to the side. ''I'm sorry,'' he starts to take slow, careful steps towards her. ''That was strange. What I meant was - '' His arms snake around her waist and he lifts her up, the both of them going tumbling back onto the bed, her shriek of laughter echoing through the room.
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''A date?''
Ruby places the styrofoam cup of not even lukewarm anymore tea down on the night stand and slips back under the sheets, cherry danish in hand. ''Like,'' she entangles her legs with her husband's. ''A real date?'' She licks a bit of cherry filling off her finger and studies the almost peaceful expression on his face. It has been so long since he has looked so content. It's a good look on him. She wishes they could have a life where he could be content more often.
''Yes,'' he nods decisively and sits up, leaning over to steal a bite of the danish, sheets pooling around his waist. ''At a real restaurant with real tablecloths and everything.''
''Oh. Fancy. Hmm,'' she picks at the pastry and intercepts his mouth when he attempts to steal another bite, kissing him soundly on the lips. ''This is important to you,'' she whispers.
''You deserve to have real food on your anniversary, Ruby.''
She cups his face with her free hand. ''It's your anniversary, too.''
''Okay. Well. What I want for my anniversary,'' he twirls a strand of her hair, ''is to be able to take my wife out on a date. Consider it your present to me.''
She arches an eyebrow. She places the half eaten cherry danish back on the paper bag on the night stand and pushes herself onto her knees, holding the sheets to her chest. ''Does that mean you don't want the other present I got you?''
She sucks the sticky sweet sugary filling off her finger and crawls between his legs, staring down at him with an innocent smile. ''Well, that depends,'' his arms wind around her waist and a smirk pulls at the corners of his lips. ''Is your gift anything like what just happened? Does it involve lingerie? Role playing? Is there a safe word? Because I've been thinking lately that maybe we should change ours. You know, strawberry just doesn't have the same - ''
She leans down and presses her lips to his, cutting him off abruptly. ''Okay,'' she murmurs against his lips. ''A date, it is.''
''Great,'' he kisses her nose. ''I'll pick you up at seven.''
''Pick me up?''
''It's a date, Ruby. And we're going to do it right.''
She laughs, head thrown back and wraps her arms around his neck. Before she can say another word, he grabs her and flips her over onto her back, trailing kisses down her jawline.
Her tea remains forgotten and untouched on the night stand.
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The rest of the day passes uneventfully. They spend it locked inside their motel room, hiding from the rest of the world, under the sheets, eating butterscotch scones and having mind-blowingly fantastic anniversary sex. She gives him his anniversary gift (and yes, it does involve lingerie) and somewhat reluctantly - after apologizing for a ''shitty present this year, I didn't have a whole lot of time this year - '' ''Dean, shut up, I love it'' - he gives her her anniversary gift. As usual, it blows her gift out of the water. It's a picture frame (made from tin because the tenth anniversary is tin and Dean has always been adorably traditional when it comes to anniversary gifts) and it's beautiful, red and shiny, but it's the picture in the frame that makes her bawl like a baby.
It's one of her favourite pictures. She keeps a copy with her at all times. The picture is from Valentine's Day, 2011. Sam was dead (or at least they thought he was) and Luka was still in the hospital. Neither of them really wanted to celebrate the day, she remembers that. It just wasn't a good time for them. They were tired and sad and terrified. But on Valentine's Day, a tiny little bit of that weight was lifted when they were allowed to hold Luka for the first time.
The truth is it isn't the happiest picture in the world. They were both exhausted, they had both gained some weight, their smiles were thin and watery, their eyes red and puffy and bloodshot, there were stupid tacky paper hearts and cupids taped to the wall behind their heads, and the tiny, tiny bundle in her arms was sick and hooked up to wires, startlingly frail and fragile like a porcelain doll. But he was in her arms. For the first time. And despite the unimaginable sorrow that came after, she was happy that day and nothing can take that from her.
It's not just about the gift, to be honest. It's about the fact that he's willing to remember their son. She has always been the one who wants to remember, who never wants to forget. She has been a mother for years, one who - yes, lost her son, but a mother nonetheless. Dean, on the other hand, hasn't thought of himself as a father since Luka died.
She kisses her husband on the lips when he gives her the present, tears in her eyes and running down her cheeks, and tells him she loves him.
(It's impossible for him to give a bad gift. It really is.)
The rest of the day is quiet and nice. It's a much needed break in the chaos.
Naturally, because the day has gone so smoothly, the night has to fall apart.
Ain't that the way their world works?
end part one
AN: And that's it for 2012 for me!
By the way, just FYI, yes, Luka was their son. I'll reveal more about him and what happened to him as this 'verse progresses. Oh and also: Jo and Ellen are alive in this 'verse, so be on the look out for them! (And. Interesting tidbit: Daffodils are apparently the flowers that are supposed to represent the tenth anniversary. I'm not sure why, though. Anyone know why?)
So, assuming the world doesn't end on the 21st (fingers crossed, really - because I'm going to be in a car driving) I will be back in January with the final part of this fic and updates for How I Fall Asleep and Everything You Want.
And I think that's it! So I hope you all have wonderful happy holidays, happy new year, I love you all, and I'll see you in 2013!
On an incredibly serious and somber note: I know that there is probably zero chance that anyone affected is going to be reading this, but I just wanted to say that my thoughts and prayers are with Connecticut and the community of Newtown in this difficult time. My heart goes out to anyone affected by this horrific tragedy and I hope that those directly affected (and those are aren't) will be able to find a way to heal eventually. My thoughts and prayers also go out to anyone affected by the recent events in Portland, Oregon and China.