Disclaimer: I own none of the characters you recognize nor any of the poetry featured in this story.
.
.
.
Everything You Want
Written by Becks Rylynn
.
.
.
Chapter Eleven
do we mean something when we talk
.
.
.
''We've been driving a long time.
We want to stop. We can't.
I s there an acceptable result? Do we mean something when we talk?''
- the dislocated room
.
.
.
Christmas sucks.
Dean spends the morning with Lisa, Ben and that brand new tension and space between all of them, and he spends the afternoon with Sam and Bobby and all the discomfort left over from Sam's failed Hell Intervention. Ruby won't answer his calls.
He knows a lot about her. Probably more than Sam considering most of her storytelling is done drunk and except for that slightly destructive one night, she seems to have cut back on her alcohol intake. And everyone knows she's not exactly one to share when she's sober. But the one thing he never knew about her is that when she decides she doesn't want to see you, she will go to great, and often times silly, lengths to avoid you.
The most he's seen of her since that fateful day was a brief flash of blond hair as she disappeared from view one day. It's not that he hasn't tried to get in touch with her because he has, but she ignores his calls, visits Sam only when she knows Dean won't be there like this is some kind of fucked up custody battle, and somehow, she has even managed to go on three hunts with them without actually sharing the same breathing space as Dean. He doesn't even know how that last one is possible but it happened. One time, she even went so far as to hide in another room and talk to Sam on the phone rather than sharing air with Dean. At this point, he is so fed up with it that he has seriously considered breaking into her apartment just to see her face. However, he is all too aware that that genius master plan would only end in her beating him to a bloody pulp.
And you know what? You know what? Lisa is not any less frustrating these days. She fucking throws things. All they seem to do lately is fight. If she's not yelling at him, he's yelling at her and it's all a whole big mess. Everything is in shambles and the broken pieces are so tiny he will never be able to glue them back together and it's just hit him recently that - fuck.
He can't do this anymore.
It's not just love life problems he's dealing with, either. He's also dealing with parental/brotherly/friendship issues. Ben has become sullen and moody and barely says two words to either Dean or Lisa anymore, Sam is pretty much acting like the aforementioned twelve year old because apparently being messed up from time in Hell makes you revert in age, and he even has issues with Cas. Although, he may be willing to admit that last one could perhaps just be him being needy. Cas has problems of his own, after all. It's not like he can help Dean with his love triangle from hell or his increasingly strange brother or his not-even-a-teenager-yet possible lovechild because let's face it, Cas' ''people skills'' are still ''rusty.''
The weather gets cold and bitter, and the inside of the Braeden house follows suit right along with it. The holidays pass and the New Year begins and for Dean, everything seems to be stuck at a stalemate. Next thing he knows it's his birthday. Well, super. That's just fan-fucking-tastic. He's thirty three and he still hasn't fixed anything.
Oh no. That doesn't make him feel like a loser at all.
His life is turning into a soap opera, isn't it?
.
.
.
Ben's life is turning into a network television dramedy. There is no way of escaping that unfortunate truth. His life is turning into a primetime supernatural family drama on crack. And it sucks. It really sucks. Everything is messed up. Dean and Mom are fighting constantly, he still doesn't know who his father is and he's pretty sure he's failing English.
The thing that really brings him down is the fact that Mom and Dean's relationship is deteriorating awfully fast. They fight about everything these days. When Mom isn't picking apart every little thing Dean does and throwing Ruby in his face (something went down there but Ben doesn't know for sure), Dean is throwing the whole paternity issue and Mom's continued reluctance to get the DNA test right back at her. And they never touch anymore. Unless it's like a bad touch. 'Cause Mom likes to throw things. Usually when Ruby's name comes into play. Mom has some major issues with Ruby. Dean should be thankful she hasn't thrown pointy things. He should also be thankful she has terrible aim.
With each passing day, things become more and more strained between them and it's painfully obvious that at this point, they're only fooling themselves with this sham. 'Cause, hell, if it's painfully obvious to a twelve year old it's gotta be agonizingly obvious to everyone else, right?
Yes, Ben is aware that he was once determined to believe Dean and Mom were meant to be. He used to tell himself that if Dean ever broke Mom's heart, Ben would never forgive him. But these days...
He's smart enough to know that whichever way this thing plays out, somebody's heart is going to get broken. He'd love it if Mom and Dean worked it out, regardless of whether or not Dean turns out to be his father. All kids want their parents to be together. That's natural. But if Dean stays with Mom multiple hearts are going to be stomped on quite brutally and the fighting won't stop. It won't ever stop.
You probably don't know this about him but Ben is a master in the art of body language. He doesn't know why he was gifted with this odd and somewhat endearing quality. He just knows that he can read bodies like the pages of a book. Bodies say as much as mouths sometimes. Mom and Dean's bodies are all but screaming.
Tell me the lies I need, her body says. Tell me you love me. Tell me you'll stay. Tell me we can get past this, that you'll forgive me, that I'll be able to look at you without seeing her. Just tell me something good.
And as for Dean? his body language is far more subtle but it's there all the same, and his body seems to be pleading for something else entirely. Tell me to leave, Lisa. Tell me it won't break you if I choose her. Tell me you won't take him away from me.
They're incredibly sad, tangled stories that Ben sometimes has a hard time sorting through, and he can try and try but in the end, he can't write these sordid fairytales for them. Sometimes the best thing to do - the healthiest thing to do - is to just let go.
Ben just wishes Mom and Dean would see that.
.
.
.
The boy kicks at the rocks on the sidewalk with a passionate fervor born out of anger and frustration. His backpack is heavy, weighed down by homework and textbooks with fine print that hurts his eyes. (Secret time: Ben has these really dorky looking glasses that he's supposed to wear but he hates them. Boy, was he ever glad when he ''lost'' them.) His heart is heavier than his backpack, filled to the brim with angst, guilt and confusion he can't handle properly.
He misses when life was uncomplicated. He misses Indiana (he doesn't mind living in Brookings, South Dakota, really, it's just not home to him) and he misses all his old friends and his old house and Grandma and Aunt Lindsay. He misses the way it was for that one precious year. It wasn't that long ago that his life was great. He had Mom and he had Dean and all in all, he was a very happy boy. It wasn't that long ago. It wasn't. But it feels like it was years ago. Like all of that perfection, however fake it may have been, is so far out of his reach that he'll never get it back. He lets out a sigh when he turns the corner and his house looms in front of him. He drags his feet and walks slowly, putting off getting home for as long as he can. He knows at least one of them will be home and they've both been walking on eggshells around him ever since that night. It's as if they're afraid he's a bomb that will go off. He hates it.
It's while he's forcing himself up the front pathway that he hears it. The unmistakable sound of shouting that he has been forced to get used to. Ben grimaces and thinks about turning and running away. Their voices are muffled by the four walls of the house, indistinguishable hollers and yells drifting through the air. His breath hangs in the air when he heaves another sigh. Reluctantly, he makes himself open the door.
''Why are you doing this, Lisa?!'' Dean is shouting. He sounds desperate and tired and Ben can't see them, but he's pretty sure Mom is probably crying again. ''Why can't we just get the test done? Ben needs to know who his father is! I need to know! Look, are you doing this just to hurt me? Because okay, fine. I get it. I deserve that. But Ben doesn't.''
There's a pause, Mom says something in a low tone of voice that Ben can't quite make out.
Dean says, ''What does Ruby have to do with any of this?''
Then there's a crash and Mom screaming out, voice trembling. ''Don't say her name!''
''You just said her name!''
Ben weighs his options and then ducks back outside, closing the door quietly. He sits himself down on the cold steps and drops his chin into the palm of his hand. He wonders how long it will take for them to figure out he's not there.
Maybe he shouldn't have brought it up. You know? If he had never asked maybe things would still be okay. Maybe Mom and Dean wouldn't fight constantly. See. See. This is why he didn't ask these questions. This is exactly why he never asked his mom about his dad. Bad things happen when he opens his mouth.
He wishes he had a time machine. He's not stupid. He knows that whatever Mom and Dean had was broken beyond repair from the start. But it worked for a little while, didn't it? Everybody was happy for awhile, weren't they? Why can't they go back to that? They are not meant to be. They're not. He can't get around that. He just wishes they were.
There's a loud shout from inside that Ben is pretty sure contains a swear word. He rolls his eyes, sucks in a breath and blinks when his eyes prickle out of frustration. And then there's a moment, a long moment that feels like hours, where he remembers there is a bus station a few blocks away. Hey, he's got money, he's got problems. He's got all the criteria for a runaway. ...But he doesn't have the guts. Running away wouldn't solve anything; it'd just give him more problems.
He pinches his lips together and checks his watch. Mom and Dean are still fighting like cats and dogs and it could be who knows how long before they bother to check the clock. Most days when they're fighting, he sneaks inside without them noticing and hides in his room. The first couple times they freaked out on him and told him that they thought he was missing and he has to tell them when he gets home to avoid copious amounts of panic. After awhile, they got used to it. So, in theory, if he did run away, they probably wouldn't even be aware of it until dinner when one of them enters his fortress of solitude to drag him out for a silent and tense dinner.
The truth is he doesn't really want to run away. He loves Mom and he loves Dean and he doesn't want to do that to either of them. All he really wants is someone to talk to. Someone who would have some semblance of understanding...
Hmm.
Curiously, Ben rises to his feet, brushes off his jeans and takes a few experimental steps towards the sidewalk that runs in the direction of the bus station. He takes a few more steps and then he gets brave. With a deep breath, he walks until he's around the corner. Nothing terrible has happened so far. His parents are not chasing after him. He could do it, you know. He could do it right now and they couldn't stop him.
He brings a finger to his lips thoughtfully, looks behind him, tilts his head towards the sky, and then he smirks.
The echoes of the fights don't follow him when he walks away.
.
.
.
Life is like a broken vacancy sign on a roadside motel. It flickers. It lets you down after a long journey, after you've been driving and driving and driving and all you want to do is sleep but you can't because those flickering broken vacancies won't let you off the ride. Do you know what that's like? What that feels like? To be let down like that? Chances are you probably do.
Ruby does.
She knows what it's like to be tired. Not just tired. Tired. Worn out. Rode hard and put away wet, is what she would say. She feels older than she is, and she's hundreds of years old. The pressure pushes her under. Literally.
She has a dream once. In the dream, she's in the dirty claw foot bathtub in her apartment, the water around her is warm, and then she starts to bleed. Yes, it is as sudden as it sounds. Pain shoots through her flesh like a knife slicing, she lifts her arms out of the water and there is Latin carved into her skin, an exorcism that makes blood drip, drip, drip into the water. Then the door creaks, except it doesn't, and an imaginary hand that isn't there pulls her under the water and won't let her breathe. She fights and kicks and claws at the tub, surfacing moments later to choke in the air she needs. When she is pulled under once again, the water sizzles and burns her skin and she bubbles and boils. It's holy water, and it's trying to drown her in fire. There's a hand she can't see pushing her under now and the Latin on her arms won't stop bleeding. In the nightmare, she fights her way to the surface once again, burning and coughing and bleeding just long enough to see who is holding her under.
She expects it to be Crowley.
It's Dean.
He pushes her under again because she's the weed not the flower and weeds need to be killed.
Then she wakes up. She jerks awake in the bathtub, rises to the surface, water splashes over the edge as she gasps for air and the moisture leaking out of the corner of her eyes is only water. That is what she tells herself.
It is a ghastly fate to be so tired that it seeps into your bones and your bloodstream but you still can't sleep because you're terrified you won't ever wake up again. Nobody should ever be afraid to close their eyes.
Do you know who is not helping with her crippling depression-like symptoms? No, go ahead. Take a wild guess. Shot in the dark.
It's Crowley. And all of the guilt that comes with him. She is keeping things from the Winchester brothers. Things that could either hurt or heal them. Things that they have a right to know. Dean and Sam think she can't lie. In fact, Sam told her once, ''I don't know why I ever thought she was you. She lied flawlessly. It was second nature to her. But you... I don't know how I ever thought she could be you. You can't lie. Even before, when you told me you could help Dean, I figured you were lying. You can't lie worth shit.''
''I can lie just fine,'' she had snapped back.
''No. You can tell stories just fine. But lying? It's not in you. Like when you insist you're not as damaged as us. Clever little lie, but not believable in the least.''
His little speech reminds her of something Dean once told her. ''We all lie, Ruby. Everybody in the world is a liar. For a lot of different reasons, about a lot of different things. But you lie in some misguided attempt to be invincible. Tell me why that is, sweetheart. Come on. You wanna see my scars? I gotta see yours first.''
She wonders what they would think of her lying abilities now.
.
.
.
Sam doesn't know why he's back or how and it's killing him inside. Ruby thinks she might know exactly why he's here again.
Crowley has never confirmed nor denied that he was the one who took Sam out of the cage, and he has never told her why. At night, she sees Sam in her dreams. He's so lost and he's reaching for something he can't grasp and all Ruby wants to do it drag him back to the surface and tell him why he's here but she can't. If she tells...
If she tells then they'll go after Crowley and she can't let that happen because... Because she doesn't want to die. If she tells, they'll know what he's done to her, what he's made of her and nobody is supposed to know that.
She's not sure what day it is but she thinks it might be a Wednesday when she walks into Crowley's lair of her own free will, something she has never done before, in search of answers. She walks the grimy halls with confidence she can't actually muster up and when she turns a corner, he's there. That seems to be the way it always goes with them. Whatever corner she turns, Crowley is there. Welcome to her life.
In a strange turn of events, he stays silent. He eyes her carefully, looks her up and down and then lets out a small sigh. She backs away from him when he tries to slither closer to her. ''Did you do it?'' She asks quietly.
He snakes forwards until he's impossibly close, brushing hair away from her neck. ''Do what, kitten?''
She resists the urge to swat his hand away, swallowing bile when he touches her. ''You know what. Did you bring Sam back?''
He stops, steps back and gives her an unimpressed look. ''Well,'' he says dryly. ''That certainly killed the mood.'' A nasty scoff rips through his lips and he shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disappointment. ''My God, Ruby, can't we have one conversation that doesn't involve one of the Hardy Boys? Just because you think the world begins and ends with them does not mean we all do.'' He grins, eyes dancing with an ugly mirth that twists into her like a jagged knife. She shouldn't be as afraid of him as she is. That's not who she is. ''Allow me to give you some helpful advice, kitten,'' he offers lightly. ''You want them? Take them. Get it all out of your system. Make yourself a Winchester sandwich. And when you decide you're tired of boys, you come to me.''
''Why?'' She asks, the words slipping out before she can stop them. ''You going to introduce me to a man? Because I know you can't be talking about yourself.''
His response is a laugh, tilting her chin up while he gives her a toothy smile and an unforgiving leer. ''Honestly, darling,'' he admonishes. ''Sooner rather than later, I'm going to get tired of the chase and I'm just going to take - '' his finger trails down her chest '' - what I want.''
His implication alludes to something dark and grisly that makes her either want to plead for mercy or kill him in cold blood. It is also, unfortunately, nothing new. She has gotten used to these kinds of comments and really, that makes her sick. These are not the kinds of comments she should be getting used to. But what can she do? She can't kill him. Can't tell on him. Any way you slice it she's trapped. And it's not the flippant remarks about what he wants to do to her that bother her. She can handle words. Sticks and stones. She just doesn't know what she'll do when the day comes where he decides to follow through on his threats.
He winks at her, smile widening when she looks away from him with a grimace of disgust, and then he turns and saunters away from her. Clearly, he thinks he's more than he is. It is almost pathetic. Or it would be. If she wasn't even more pathetic than he is. Not even five minutes alone with the man and she already feels like she needs to take a shower. Crowley always has made her feel unclean. It's like she can scrub and scrub but she'll never be able to get him off of her.
Sometimes he looks at her and she feels like she felt right before she died. The first time. Sick and tired with sweat soaked hair plastering itself to her forehead and she could scratch and scratch but she couldn't get it out and she had to die alone because there was nobody left to love her except for the older sister who used to kick dirt in her eyes when they were kids and who might as well have killed Ruby herself. Crowley looks at her exactly like big sister used to look at her and that is like gravel digging into the palm of her hand.
Margaret is the whole reason this stupid life started. Margaret is the reason she's here. Ruby allows herself to forget about a lot of things but she can't forget that.
''Crowley!'' She breaks into a run, chasing after him. She catches up to him just as he's opening a door that probably leads to some sort of twisted torture chamber she does not want to be in. She races forwards, slips in front of him and blocks the door.
He looks genuinely surprised. ''You are a brave little thing, aren't you? That's about the one thing I can't cut out, isn't it?''
''I know it was you,'' she says strongly, holding her head high. ''I know you brought him back. I know that. Those dots are easy to connect. What I don't know is why. What's he to you?''
He looks at her for a moment with an arched eyebrow, and then he shrugs. ''Simple, Ruby. He's leverage. I thought you would have been smart enough to - ''
''Bullshit.''
He freezes. His jaw clenches, he takes a step back, gives her a critical onceover and crosses his arms. Eyebrows furrowed together in what looks to be honest to God confusion, he leans in closer until he's barely inches away from her. ''Did you just interrupt me?''
Yeah, that part kinda surprised her too given how petrified she is of him. ''You've got your leverage,'' she continues flawlessly. ''And it is way better than holding Sam's life over my head. You're a smart guy, Crowley. That's what makes you so dangerous. You know that if you ever lay one finger on either of those men I will take my knife and shove it right through my heart and that means you lose. You wouldn't risk that. No,'' her lips curve into a frown and she folds her arms. ''There's another reason why you brought Sam back. You didn't just yank him out of the cage either. You brought him back with his soul and his memories of Hell intact. To me that only means one thing. You wanted him to suffer. The thing I can't figure out is why. What did he ever do to you?''
A ripping snarl leaves his lips and he slams his hands against the wall, one on either side of her head. She flinches against her will, but doesn't struggle to free herself. She also doesn't hurry to please him, which she's sure he's expecting. She will pay dearly for this puzzling act of courage, she can tell you that right now. However, this is Sam we're talking about and he means more than she could ever hope to. ''That's none of your business, Jessica Fletcher,'' he growls out.
She twists her lips into a firm scowl and meets his eyes. ''Sam is my business. Tell me why you're doing this to him.''
His reaction is, to her, something akin to a bomb going off. His meaty hand wraps around her throat in the span of about a second and then her back is hitting the wall hard. The back of her head smashes against the wall painfully, stars explode being her eyes and there's a roaring in her ears. She can't get air to reach her lungs and her hands instinctively reach up to claw at him. ''Think real hard, you little brat,'' he spits out. ''Why do I do anything? Who is all of this for?''
Her blood runs cold and her heart drops right down to her stomach, a gag rising in her throat. ''What... What does she have to do with Sam?'' She chokes out, gasping pathetically for air.
He sneers and throws her up against the opposite wall, looking like he takes immense pleasure in watching her slide to the ground. She gulps in a few unsteady breaths of air and clutches at her sore throat. ''You honestly haven't figured it out yet?'' He asks with a laugh, placing his hands on his hips. ''I'm surprised at you, Ruby. I thought for sure you would have connected these dots by now.'' She grimaces and starts to haul herself to her feet. His foot collides hard with her stomach and she tumbles back to the ground, letting out a small yelp of pain. ''It would be in your best interest to stay down,'' he tells her calmly. ''You're already treading on thin ice with me, my dear.''
Ruby has the sudden urge to lunge for his jugular and rip it out with her teeth. She swallows that impulse right back down.
Crowley heaves an impatient sigh and shakes his head, crouching in front of her. ''Did you really think it was just some random Lucifer groupie who took your place?'' He waggles a disapproving finger in her face. ''Oh, no, no, no, darling. This was a clever little scheme made for your life and your life only. If this mysterious body snatcher just wanted to get close to those boys, she could've taken anybody's place. A Harvelle woman would have been an easy target. But no. They chose you. Now,'' he cocks his head to the side thoughtfully. ''What demon skank do we know who wants to punish you?''
She closes her eyes. Is she bleeding? She feels like she's bleeding. ''It - It was her?'' She opens her eyes reluctantly, lump in her throat. This is wonderful news to receive. She knew that bitch hated her but she never thought... She should've known. ''She did this to me?''
He lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. ''Does that really surprise you?''
''It shouldn't,'' she whispers. She shakes it away and looks up at him, sucking in a breath. ''So, you're torturing Sam because... Because why? Because he took her from you?''
''Suppose you could phrase it that way. Also, he's a pain.'' He smiles pleasantly, grabs her arm and unceremoniously lifts her to her feet, smoothing down her hair and brushing off her shirt for her. ''She actually developed feelings for the whiny little child. Do you believe that? And the whole time he thought he was sleeping with you.'' He clicks his tongue. ''That must be bloody uncomfortable for you.''
It takes her awhile to formulate a response to that because she's too busy trying to let all of this new information sink in. ''So,'' she finally begins quietly. ''Everyone's gotta pay, huh?'' A shaky smirk starts on her lips. ''Me, Sam, Josef... We're all just collateral damage?''
He looks at her for close to a minute and then he brings his hand up to caress her cheek. It's an odd unfittingly gentle gesture. Until his nails begin to dig into her cheek. ''We all have to pay for our sins, Ruby,'' he says.
''These aren't my sins.''
He throws his arms out. ''Am I really supposed to care? You're the only one left. You're close enough.'' And then he shoves her to the ground and walks away, leaving her to wallow in her terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
She stays on the dirty ground and wishes she wasn't here.
.
.
.
Okay, so here's the deal:
In her human life, Ruby was a sweet, loving and caring individual (if not possibly a little weak). She did not inherit any of her sweetness from her mother. Her gentle nature was all her father. Her younger siblings, Cecily and Matthew, were cared for mostly by her (look, her mother was a heartless bitch who didn't give a damn about her children, all right?) and had impeccable manners and beautiful personalities. They would have thrived as much as was possible back then if they had the chance to live out their lives.
But Ruby's older sister, Margaret? She was all Mother. That, you should know, was a Very Bad Thing.
Ruby had never been close to Margaret. And it wasn't that they didn't bond, it wasn't that their personalities didn't mesh, it wasn't even the age gap. It was because Margaret was a rough, callous, manipulative, cunning, shallow, mean-spirited bitch. Ruby tries to block out the memories of her older sister. For good reason. The memories she has of Margaret are not ones that make her heart swell with joy. The bitter truth is, Ruby's most vivid memories of her older sister are of when teenage Margaret used to beat on her.
Margaret would shove her down and kick dirt in her face, she'd trip her, burn her, push her. She used to do this one thing - it was her favourite - where she'd offer to do the mending and then she would prick Ruby with the needle over and over and over again. It was brutal. It was honestly gruesome. Then she would laugh and their mother would laugh with her. And all of this happened before Margaret was married off to a man named Roger when she was fifteen. So, yeah, Margaret was a fucked up little freak and Ruby was glad when she was gone.
Ruby has never pretended that her childhood was all sunshine and roses but these are the memories she wishes hell had burned out of her.
When Margaret left home with Roger, she was fifteen and Ruby was nine. Margaret never kept in touch and Ruby tried to forget she existed because she had things to do and a cruel mother to please. The years passed, Ruby cared for Cecily and tried to keep their mother from turning her into the next Margaret, Daddy died, Mother died giving birth to Matthew (and perhaps that was why Matthew meant so much to Ruby - he had done what she had never had the guts to do) and Ruby had kids to raise.
Honestly?
After Margaret was gone, Ruby did her best to pretend she had never had an older sister and the scars on her body didn't exist. But then when Matthew was five and Cecily was thirteen, the Black Death came. Enter Margaret, her tempting promises and her witchcraft.
The only good thing Margaret ever did for Ruby was leave, allowing Ruby to raise the kids without an ounce of Margaret's venom in them. You could perhaps argue that in addition to raising Cecily and Matthew to be well mannered gorgeous children, she made sure Ruby got to meet the Winchester brothers.
Hell is a prison carved out of broken dreams and, as cliché as it sounds, good intentions. But it's a large prison. The first eternity Ruby spent in hell was spent trying to simultaneously hold onto her humanity, find Josef and keep away from Margaret.
In the hundreds of years they spent breathing the same putrid air down below, Ruby and Margaret only crossed paths a handful of times. Apparently a handful of times was enough for Margaret to decide Ruby needed to be punished.
Lesson time.
Question: What is the one good thing to come of Margaret's little identity scheme?
Answer: Dean stuck a knife in the bitch. Ding fucking dong, the witch is dead.
.
.
.
Eventually, Ruby ends up back home, trying and failing to stop thinking about her life back then. What would her life have been like if everything had gone right? What would have become of her if tragedy hadn't picked apart her life with a vengeance? Well, let's see. She would have continued raising Cecily and Matthew, married Henry the handsome blacksmith, and had a bunch of kids. She probably would've died in childbirth in her mid to late thirties and eventually, the history books would've forgotten that she and her family had ever existed. Maybe someday, one of her descendants would have met a Winchester.
All in all, she really hates being a demon sometimes and right now her life lacks a lot of the things she wants, but this is who she was meant to become. She was meant to become a demon, to meet Josef again, to meet the Winchesters. She can't live in the past anymore. It shouldn't work that way.
She is just tossing her keys on the table when she hears it. She's not exactly sure what the noise is from behind her, she's not sure it can be described but it's almost like the rustling of - No. Now wait a minute. That can't be right. She stands ramrod straight when she becomes aware of the unearthly presence behind her and whirls around, hands curling into fists.
As soon as she sees who it is, she relaxes, letting out a breath.
He scrutinizes her thoroughly with his head tilted to the side and then nods as if to say oh, all right, you may be an abomination but you are not an immediate threat to me so I won't smite you right now. ''I don't believe we've been properly introduced,'' he says, voice inconceivably soft. ''You must be Ruby.''
She gulps nervously and nods, edging towards him tentatively. ''You must be Castiel.''
.
.
.
''They want to stop but they don't stop. They cannot get the bullet out.
Cut me open and the light streams out.
Stitch me up and the light keeps streaming out between
the stitches.''
- the dislocated room
AN: FINALLY.