TITLE: Wasted and Ready
CHARACTERS: Sam. Ruby. Sam/Ruby if you wanna look at it like that.
WORDS: 652
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. I sure as hell wish it was, though.
RATING: PG
A/N: The title is a song by Ben Kweller: "Wasted and Ready"
SUMMARY: Sam's not taking Dean's death too well. He's neglecting the Impala and he's neglecting himself. Eventually he gets a little motivation by our friendly neighborhood French-fry loving demon.
A/N 2: I LOVELOVELOVE Katie!Ruby. I know the body she's in changes, but I still like to think of her as Katie!Ruby, so don't judge. Think of her as you will.
ENJOY!
Open-ended for a reason.
Remember, guys, I LOVE the open-ended fics. ;
REVIEWS ARE LOVE.
His brother was gone and the only part of him Sam had left was the Impala.
There were days, weeks even, when Sam couldn't look at the car. He couldn't bear looking at the only thing Dean loved more than him.
Sam didn't like to admit it but those weeks that passed were weeks spent in drunken, sometimes drug-induced, stupors. Days and weeks spent inside a motel room dirty, half-naked, and halfway to death.
He would draw the curtains so he couldn't see the Chevy sitting right outside. Draw them so that no light filtered in. And then, in the blackness of the room, Sam would crack open the bottle of cheap whiskey and down half of it before falling into unconsciousness or even nearing alcohol poisoning.
Eventually after days and days of this he would haul himself out of bed, shower enough to get his hair wet, and grab a paper. Then he'd sit for hours searching fruitlessly for a way to get Dean back. He always knew there was no way to get his brother back- but that didn't stop him from trying.
He'd search for hours- days, even. Not eating or sleeping. Until he'd finally pass out from exhaustion.
He'd wake up the next day and the need for new information- the need to get away from the dreams he had of Dean screaming his name in terror and pain- would outweigh the pain of seeing the Impala. The physical part of Dean's spirit…
Sam would get into the Impala, drive a few hundred miles to the next town where he could find a lead- and check it out. And as soon as the lead fizzled out he would retire to another dirty motel room and drink himself to the edge of death again.
Ruby found him one day- just burst right through the front door of the motel room and demanded Sam get off his ass.
For two days she tried coaxing him out of the room. She tried every method she could think of- punching him, shaking him, yelling and screaming at him, shaming him, everything... And he wouldn't budge.
But she did take care of him. He needed that much.
She rubbed his back as he threw up into the toilet.
She made him coffee and got him food.
She washed his clothes and she even showered with him, making sure he got clean.
On the second night she became so infuriated with him that she threw him as hard as she could against the crumbling plaster.
She took the folds of his shirt and pulled him close- their faces mere centimeters apart- and she locked gazes with him until both of their breathing quieted and they both calmed down.
They stood like that for long moments until Sam finally collapsed into Ruby's arms, sobbing.
He clutched at her shirt, weeping uncontrollably until he finally quieted. No words were exchanged but Ruby led Sam to the bed and kissed his forehead as he fell asleep, tears still staining his face.
When he woke the next morning Ruby was gone but a note lay on the journal that was sitting, closed, on the table-
Sam,
I cannot help you anymore. You have to do this on your own. You still have a piece of your brother. He told you to take care of her. Think how pissed he'll be when he gets back if she looks like shit… You have to be strong.
R
The sunlight was streaming in through the un-curtained windows and Sam could see the Impala parked out front.
He gathered the few possessions he had and walked out the door.
Standing beneath the trees across from the motel parking lot Ruby watched as Sam caressed the hood of the Impala lovingly. She looked on with pride as a sad smile crept across his face for the first time in months and knew, eventually, he'd be alright.