Disclaimer: I own none of the characters you recognize nor any of the poetry featured in this story.
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Everything You Want
Written by Becks Rylynn
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Chapter Thirteen
sweetheart, is that you?
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''I'll call you darling, hold you tight. We are
not traitors but the lights go out. It's dark.
Sweetheart, is that you?''
- saying your names
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March comes with a cold sun and a new beginning for all. Things are changing these days. Winter is melting away to make room for the flowers of spring and the clouds in the sky are slowly drifting away to let the blue underneath shine.
But, as you should all know, new beginnings come from endings and endings are not without their own problems.
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Dean is all moved out of Lisa's, stuck somewhere between stability and instability, unable to decide whether he should find an apartment and stay in one place for Ben or go back to the nomadic motel to motel situation he had going for him for over twenty six years. After procrastinating and dancing around the subject out of fear and anxiety, going back and forth between yes and no for roughly a month, the DNA test has finally been done and all parties involved are waiting anxiously for the results.
Dean and Lisa are both moving on with their lives. She has moved on from the wallowing stage, and he is going forward. Which is a really hard thing to do considering he knows what he wants now, he knows what door to open and he knows who's standing behind it but she still won't answer his calls.
She has been completely AWOL lately, falling off the grid and hiding out somewhere where nobody - not even Sam - can reach her. The only confirmation either Winchester have that she's all right is a phone call from her never-before-seen uncle who stiffly informed them that, ''She's perfectly fine, gentlemen. She just no longer has time to stroke your fragile hunter boy egos, and she would appreciate it if you would quit clogging her voicemail. Seventeen messages is a bit much, don't you think? And that was just from one of you.'' (Yeah, that was Dean. He'll admit that.)
Insulting, right?
Dean gets the feeling the elusive Josef isn't all that fond of them.
Things keep slipping out of his grasp, falling and breaking at his feet, and the lights keep dying down and going out. Given the choice between a hurricane and a light summer rain, he chose the hurricane but now the freakin' hurricane won't reach him.
Yes, that...weather. It's some unpredictable shit, isn't it? Volatile too.
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Ruby spends her time in the shadows these days, hiding black eyes and slit wrists from Dean and Sam and lying to Josef about them because for reasons she's trying her hardest to unearth, Crowley is getting worse, more and more brutal with every passing day.
He is her own personal vine that winds around her and holds her in place, carrying out torture after torture upon her. Something has spooked him. Something has spooked him dearly and, as per usual, she is the one paying for it. So what else is new?
It's happening now. She can feel it coming. He is pushing her closer and closer to her breaking point, he's got his minions keeping a close eye on her at all times, forcing her to cut off all ties with everyone she cares about to keep them safe, and she knows, she just knows, that she is about to be cut loose. In other words: He's either going to kill her or send her back to hell. She's thinking it might be the latter.
It scares her that she is slowly starting to accept that she is going to die. It's not like she wants to die. But she will. She can hear the whispers in the wind, smell the putrid scent of hellfire in the breeze and feel the hot flames licking at her skin. She cares too much about others and too little about herself and that is what will ultimately drag her back down to The Pit.
Love is her curse. Her cage. She's gotten used to that. And it's going to cut her throat and watch her bleed out on the cold floor in the end.
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Sam is getting worse.
The pills don't take it away anymore. His hands don't feel like his hands anymore. The voices sound like they're coming from underwater. He can't see Ruby. He can't feel Dean's hands when Dean reaches out to steady him. And he's running out of pills to swallow.
It can't get worse.
What else is there to say?
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It will all crumble and fall. The ground underneath their feet. It will dissipate and give way to the hell they're all running from. The snapping teeth nipping at their heels are coming closer and closer and they're all boxed in. You cannot run from what is meant to pull you under. You cannot save yourself. You cannot win this game.
The stars are dropping, the sky is falling, the ground is shaking, and nobody knows it but them.
These are the blades they can't outrun. These are the monsters under their beds. This is the apocalypse that only rages inside of their twisted and broken psyches.
Personal demons will always be the deadliest creatures, and they will always be the thing to kill you in the end.
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She twists angrily in the demon's grasp to no avail, spitting out curses that don't appear to affect him in the least. He digs his fingernails into her flesh and tightens his grip to the point where if he tightens his hand around her wrist any tighter, he will shatter the bone.
''You can't get away,'' he warns her plainly, and she thinks he is talking about more than just his grasp.
As soon as she is dragged out into the cool night air, she wrenches free of his hold on her and fixes him with a glare, crossing her arms over her chest. ''So what? I can only see him when he wants to beat me down and make crude remarks? That's bull. I want to see the bastard.''
The demon who is wearing Christian Campbell as a meat suit mirrors her stance and shrugs his shoulders. ''Don't care. He doesn't want to see you.''
She stomps her foot in the dirt, letting out a screech of frustration. ''I don't give a damn what he wants anymore! I need to talk to him.''
''No.''
''Tell him I'm sick of this.''
''Do you really think he cares if you're sick of this?'' He asks slowly.
She scoffs and kicks at the dirt. Son of a bitch won't even come out and face her like a man. Coward. ''Why won't he just kill me?''
''He doesn't want to kill you,'' he tells her, frowning at her like this should be common knowledge to her. ''He'd never kill you. Don't you know that? Death would be too kind.'' He grins a sickening grin and leans towards her. ''You're cracking,'' he states calmly. ''I can see it in every inch of you.''
''Well, congratulations,'' she spits bitterly. ''You have eyes. Let's throw a fucking party.''
He takes a step toward her. She has to force herself to remain still, clenching her fists and digging her nails into the palm of her hand. ''Why do you let him see you break? That's a sign of weakness, you know.''
She presses her lips together and draws herself as far away from him as possible. ''Do you honestly care?''
He leers at her and begins to circle her, looking feral and animalistic in his actions. She can't even pretend she's not disgusted by the way he's looking at her. The man is a bug. That can't be helped. Barely even a bug, really. He's a speck of dirt. Yet he obviously still thinks he's better than her. ''It has been drilled into my head over and over again that you are a strong, feisty and unpredictable wildcat. But that's a lie, isn't it?'' His eyes twinkle with trouble and she has to slap his hand away when he reaches out to touch her. ''You're not strong at all anymore, are you? He's beaten the will right out of you.'' He shakes his head in mock disappointment and clicks his tongue. ''Pity.''
She tries to swallow but her mouth is too dry. ''Shit happens,'' she says noncommittally. ''And shouldn't you be off infiltrating the Campbell clan like a good little lackey?'' It's downright sad that she can't even bring herself to object to what he's saying about her. The truth hurts.
He ignores her, circling her again like he's the predator and she's playing the role of the prey. ''I don't know what he sees in you.''
''A hot blonde?'' She offers dryly.
''Don't flatter yourself,'' he snorts. ''Do you think that just because you're a traitor it makes you better than us?''
She laughs, long and hearty and bitter. ''Oh no, baby,'' she beams. ''That's not why I think I'm better than you. I'm not the first demon to choose humans and I won't be the last.'' Black slides over the blue of her eyes and she closes in on him, pressing her hand flat against his chest. She feels him suck in a breath and her smile widens as she leans in close, close, closer, blond hair tickling his chest. ''The only reason I'm better than you is because I'm not a low level flunky on the bottom of the food chain. I mean something.''
He hisses angrily and grabs her wrist much too tightly again. ''Watch what you say.''
''Why?'' Something builds up in her throat. She can't decide if it's a laugh or a sigh. She steps back, licking her lips. ''I may not be able to kill Crowley but I can sure as hell kill you.''
''I don't think Crowley would like that,'' he crosses his arms. ''And you know how he gets when he's unhappy. Go ahead.'' He holds his arms out and spins in a slow circle. ''Kill me.'' His lips twitch and there's a definite challenging sparkle in his eyes that makes her pulse speed up. She has the strangest feeling that he's trying to tell her to read between the lines. ''See what happens.''
And she hates it when people call her bluff, so she gives up on her mission to see Crowley and turns to walk away. Christian - or NotChristian, depending on how you look at it - grasps her elbow before she can escape, pulling her back to him. ''We're demons, Ruby,'' he whispers in her ear. ''We don't get reprieves.''
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The Campbell Compound is not the place he wants to be right now. The Campbell Compound is not the place he wants to be ever. But Sam has dragged him here because, for reasons still unknown to him, his brother has formed some kind of attachment to Samuel despite the fact that the man is a world class douchebag.
Dean thinks it might have something to do with their mother. Sam never got to know Mary. The kid doesn't have any memories of her. Not organic, natural memories anyway. But Samuel has been known to tell stories about the strong and beautiful Mary Campbell before she was Mary Winchester. Stories that somehow manage to enthrall both Winchester men, even though they are both perfectly aware that the man is a dick.
It doesn't sound all that crazy when you think about it. Maybe Sam just wants to develop a relationship with his only remaining family. It sounds logical. It really does. But Dean cannot help but think there is something deeper going on here. Something that he really, really, really shouldn't like or approve of.
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Dean slams the driver's side door shut and leans back against the car, eyeing Sam closely as the younger man makes his way around the car. ''Are you okay?''
Sam stops in his tracks and seems to hesitate a moment before he turns around, smiling thinly. ''Fine. Why?''
''You just look a little pale.''
Sam stares at him blankly and then shrugs and turns on his heel. ''Must be coming down with something,'' he says flippantly.
Dean sighs and watches Sam walk away from him, trying desperately to believe the lies that keep falling from his lips. He watches his brother disappear into the Campbell's lair, but Dean remains outside in the March air, slumped against his car. He doesn't really feel like pretending he doesn't mind the company inside of that building. His so-called family members (what a joke) are way too judgmental and pissy for his taste. Yes, he does realize that is sort of like the pot calling the kettle black but, you know, whatever. Civility isn't high on his list of priorities for the day. Check back later.
He tilts his head back to stare at the sky and lets his eyes drift shut. He is extremely tired of not getting what he wants. For once he just wants...he wants...
The sound of gravel crunching under graceful footfalls has him snapping to attention, lips parting in shock at the sight before him. And then he can't remember if he's awake or not.
She smiles weakly, a light breeze ruffling her hair as she stuffs her hands into her jacket pockets. ''Hi, Dean.''
He scrambles to stand straight, taking exactly one urgent step towards her before he stops suddenly, all too aware of her history of running. ''Hi, Ruby.'' He looks at her skeptically. ''Are you planning on sticking with tradition and running like a frightened deer as soon as I take a step?'' He asks bluntly. ''Because that's getting old.''
She shrugs her shoulders. ''Wasn't planning on it. Do you want me to run?''
''I never wanted you to run.''
Here is what she is. Here is the list of things she is: She's like a book. She's the book he's read cover to cover multiple times and yet he still can't get enough of it because every time he reads the book, he discovers new words that mean things he never could have dreamed of, and he remembers why the old words meant so much to him. The words all meld together and create myths and magic. She's like a best seller. Do you see? Do you see what she does to him? She's got him thinking about books.
She is his hurricane. She is the history he has very much missed.
The smile on her face curves into a smirk and she plucks something from her pocket, tossing it at him carelessly. It glints in the sunlight and it doesn't take him long to realize what he's trying to catch in the palm of his hand. ''That your calling card?'' She asks.
He smirks lazily and leans back against the car, running his fingers over the silver ring in his hand. ''If that's what you want to call it.''
''How'd you do it?''
''Do what?''
''Get it in my pocket. I haven't seen you since - ''
''Got Sam to do it.''
''Clever.''
He grins at her. ''Aren't I?''
She shocks him by being the one to move closer. He never thought he'd see the day. ''Why'd you do it?''
''To get you to talk to me.'' Does that sound familiar? It sounds familiar to him. He looks down at the ground. ''Didn't work.''
She frowns at him and drags herself forwards to put herself next to him, leaning back against his car. ''I'm here, aren't I?''
''Two months later,'' he points out.
''Still counts.''
Yes, hurricane. It still counts. ''I suppose it does.'' They fall into an oddly comfortable silence for a few minutes. He wants to reach out and touch her so badly, just to make sure she's real, but he doesn't. He's still terrified she'll run. He thinks he might be able to see the crackling heat between them. It's like a bonfire. ''I broke up with Lisa,'' he tells her.
She hums in contemplation and her lips twitch. ''That's a shame.''
He chuckles, low and deep in his throat before he flips the ring up into the air. She snatches it out of mid air before it can fall and shoots him a look. He really loves that look. ''You can keep it,'' he tells her. ''I'll bet it looks better on you anyway.'' When she shakes her head and looks away from him but not quite in time to hide her smile, he takes that as a good sign. He brushes his hand against hers and decides that means everything. ''Do you ever think about what would have happened,'' he pauses and tries to meet her eyes. ''If we had both stayed - If we had had a chance - ''
''All the time.''
''We woulda made it,'' he says with a confident nod.
''You can't know that,'' she argues reasonably.
''Then how come I do?''
''We don't make any sense, Dean,'' she warns. ''We never made any sense.''
When he feels her begin to pull away from him, he pushes off the car again and grasps her hands before she can dance away from him like she has the most annoying habit of doing. ''The good things never make any sense.'' She looks like she's growing uncomfortable, scared and coming undone right before his eyes because she feels it too. He knows she feels it too. It's impossible not to feel. ''Ruby - ''
''Dean, I don't think - ''
''I just need to say it out loud,'' he pleads. ''Just let me say it. Just this once.''
She doesn't bother to struggle, closing her eyes briefly before she takes a deep breath and nods. ''Okay,'' she says strongly. ''Go on then. Say it.''
He lets go of her hand and takes a step away from her. He is trusting her not to run away for this. This is a pivotal moment. He just needs her to hear it. ''You're it,'' he says. Finally. ''You're the end of the story.'' When he says this, all he gets in return is an overwhelmingly sad smile. He doesn't think that's a good sign. ''You're... I chose you,'' he continues softly. ''You asked me once - You asked me if we were in love and I didn't have an answer for you. The truth is, we... We weren't, Ruby. We weren't in love back then but we were so close, and if we had gotten that chance...'' He reaches out to clutch desperately at the hem of her shirt when she starts looking like she wants to run. ''Ruby,'' he says her name like it's a plea, and she reluctantly meets his eyes. ''I'm in love with you.''
She shudders lightly at his confession and that terrifies him but he can't stop now. He's gone too far with this chick flick moment. It's one he's gotta stay with until the end. ''I love you now, and I want you. I want you so badly. You're there when I close my eyes, Ruby. Don't say that doesn't mean a thing. I want... I want...'' What does he want? ''I want to come home to you at night and crawl into bed next to you with the lights off and listen to you breathing and know that I did the right thing. That I chose the right person. And I want to watch stupid, awful movies with you, all of those cheesy horror movie remakes that you love, and I want to listen to you sing in the shower and you...'' He has to pause to take a gulping breath. He notices that her eyes look watery. ''You can't tell me you don't want that too.''
She's afraid. He figures out that she's afraid, and it's all right to be a little scared, of course it's all right, but he needs to say these things to her. He's waited so long to tell her these things. He needs her to know that she's what he wants. She looks at him for a long time with her neverending eyes that are always making him trip over his own feet or fumble with his words. Then, after a moment of contemplation. she takes a step forwards and presses her lips to his gently.
It's a soft kiss and her fingers graze his cheek. He can't help but feel that the gentleness is somehow foreboding. She pulls away, smiling weakly and brushing her fingers over his lips. ''See, this is where we're different, Dean,'' she says sadly. ''Back then... I was in love with you. It didn't take me long to fall for you actually.'' She laughs quietly. ''Definitely not as long as it should have. And you know I still...'' When she grimaces, he swallows down a sigh. ''You know how I feel. But...''
''No.'' He grabs her hands and pulls her to him. ''No buts.'' He places a hand on her cheek and tries to keep her with him. ''Just give me a chance, Ruby. Just one chance.''
''Dean.'' She pushes at his chest and hastily swats away his hands. ''Dean, I can't. Not right now. There's too much - I can't do this with you.'' She shakes her head and won't look him in the eye.
When she spins on her heel to run away, he grabs her arm. ''Please don't walk away,'' he rasps. He leans closer to whisper in her ear. ''Ruby, you're it. You're it for me. All I'm asking for is one chance. Please. Please don't walk away.''
She stops, taking in a few ragged breaths. He thinks she might actually turn around. He should've known better. Her gaze falls on the grip he has on her arm and her shoulders slump. ''I'm sorry,'' she whispers. And then she twists out of his grip and he can't catch her before she slips through his fingers.
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She nearly collapses once she gets inside the building. She falls against the nearest wall, clutching at her chest and gasping for breath. Oh, holy shit. She never knew such beautiful words could make her hurt so much. Her eyes sting painfully and her chest tightens.
That was it. That was everything she ever could have wanted him to say. No one has ever said anything like that to her. And, god, she wants it too. She wants him more than anything else in the world. She wants to wake up next to him and go to sleep beside him. She wants to kiss his lips and feel his heart beat because he's always been her Addie. As weird as that sounds. She's always known that. She'd give anything to build a life with him. It would be such a beautiful life.
But she can't.
Why couldn't they have just gotten it right the first time? Why did it have to take them so long to get it right?
Ruby, you're it. You're it for me.
They missed it, you know. They missed their chance.
She turns back to the door, wishing she could go out there and take it all back. He picked her. He picked the weed and turned her into a flower. But, she has learned, there are some things that were never meant to be. Some stories don't have happy endings. Some love stories are destined to be star crossed. Truth is, flowers and weeds... They wilt. They die. They go back into the ground. Into the earth. Everything goes back into the earth in the end.
And that soldier on the way to the sun? Well, he will just have to write his own ending, won't he?
Ruby stands straight, sniffling and rubbing at her eyes. Okay. So this is something she's going to have to come to terms with. She is a demon. She is not meant to walk in this world. She doesn't get love and she belongs with the flames. All right. Fine. But let's make one thing clear.
If she's going out, she's taking Crowley (the fucking bastard) with her.
Once and for all.
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Honestly?
When Sam runs into Ruby in the hallway, he thinks he's hallucinating. It's not entirely impossible these days, what with the drug abuse and everything. Once he realizes she's real, however, his eyes widen, he grabs onto her arm and he decides he cannot let her go. ''Ruby? Jesus Christ,'' he pulls her in for a hug, sighing into her hair. ''Where the hell have you been? Are you okay? Ruby,'' he pulls away, keeping a firm grip on her arms in case she tries to make a break for it. ''What's going on with you? Whatever it is - ''
''Do you have any holy water on you?'' She asks bluntly, voice deadpan and emotionless.
Um, okay. That had not been the expected reaction.
He blinks and takes a step away from her.
She seems to realize the coldness of her greeting, sighing and reaching out to squeeze his arm gently. ''I'm sorry, Sam. I'm just - I've been busy. Everything's fine.'' She smiles like she's trying to comfort him. It does a horrible job of covering up the relentless sadness in her eyes. ''I'm fine. But I really need your holy water. It's important.''
Still trying to decode the look in her eyes, Sam absently hands her his flask of water. He knows Ruby pretty well. Probably to a degree that would make her uncomfortable. He doesn't know her like Dean does, nor does he pretend to, but Sam's betting he knows at least enough to win at a game of Ruby Trivial Pursuit. Therefore he knows the look she gets when she is about to do something game changing. It's the look he knows best. It's the look she had on her face when she first waltzed into his life with her scary looking knife and her 'I'm the girl that just saved your ass.'
She changed every game there ever was just by being. She rewrote every rule book the Winchester brothers ever had with her smile. She ripped apart the stitches with her teeth, took up residence between the infamous brothers, crawled into their hearts and wouldn't leave. She's a thunderstorm, that girl. So he thinks it's safe to say that right now she's either going to do something profound that changes everything... Or something incredibly stupid and reckless. It could potentially go either way.
Ruby takes the flask with a grin, pats his cheek with a ''thanks, Sammy'' and then brushes past him with her heels clicking determinedly on the ground.
He remains frozen where he stands for about two seconds, and then he turns on his heel and chases after her.
There are many things he is expecting her to do. There's a whole list of possibilities. This was never one of them. Ruby's never been one for small talk or exposition. So it's not really surprising that she gets right down to business. She marches right into the room the Campbell's are congregating in, walks right up to Christian, and taps him on the shoulder. Odd, but not mind blowing. That part comes next.
Christian turns around, his lips curve into a smirk at the sight of her, and then she clocks him. Actually, that's not really all that shocking either. The shock factor (other than the fact that Gwen isn't her primary target considering their history) comes when Ruby uncaps the holy water and splashes him with it. He sizzles and burns like a steak left out on the grill for too long and howls in pain, hands coming up to cover his face.
The following fight is actually remarkably short. Christian does try to defend himself, but it's weak and from where Sam's standing, it doesn't look like he's putting up much of a fight at all. Somewhere in between the holy water and Ruby throwing Christian up against the wall, Dean skids to a halt next to Sam, eyes widening. He tries to move forward but Sam grasps the back of his jacket and pulls him back. He may be a drug addict but he can easily see this isn't their fight.
''Haven't you ever heard the phrase don't kill the messenger, baby?'' Demon Christian cackles madly.
Ruby smiles wryly. ''As clichéd as this is going to sound, baby, you are the message.'' And then she drives her knife right into his neck.
Sam thinks Gwen's screaming way too loudly. There isn't that much blood, is there? Ruby's staring down at the body with a small, triumphant smile dancing on her lips. It reminds him of the look on Dean's face when he killed that shtriga all those years ago. She looks up, right at Dean. Unsurprising. When he doesn't offer her the words she's looking for, she turns and walks away.
Dean wastes no time standing around, pushing off the doorframe and chasing after her, leaving Sam staring at the bloody corpse on the ground.
''Well,'' Samuel speaks over Gwen's hysterical, stunned sounding sobs. He steps away from her and shakes his head in disappointment, putting his hands on his hips. ''Looks like we've got a body to burn. Pity. Kid was a good hunter.''
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She's playing a dangerous game of catch me if you can. She's smart enough to know that. Hell, that's what she's counting on. Killing Christian was her way of creating her very own neon flashing sign that reads in brightly lit letters, Come and get me, motherfucker.
It's only a matter of time now. She throws herself as far away from Dean and Sam as she can because this isn't their concern and she ducks Josef for his own safety. But the one person she can't seem to escape is, oddly enough, Castiel. The guy seems to be around every corner these days, telling her to heed his warnings and tread lightly when it comes to Crowley.
''It will take a lot to kill him,'' he advises one day, reluctantly sitting down beside her when she motions for him to do so.
She sends him a cheeky grin in response. ''I'm giving it all I've got. Is that enough?''
Castiel appears to think deeply about that before nodding. ''I suppose it is.'' He frowns and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ''You know if you give him everything you've got, you'll have nothing left. You know that, right?''
She crosses one leg over the other and twirls the ring that is much too big for her finger. ''I know.''
He studies her for a moment, and then lets it go, nodding and sitting back in his seat. ''In times like this,'' he says finally, ''Dean usually drinks liberal amounts of alcohol.''
She snickers, putting her feet up on the coffee table and throwing a hand over her face. ''Dean needs a new hobby. Preferably one that won't lead to liver failure.''
''Do you have a hobby?'' He asks, inclining his head towards her.
''Yes, Castiel,'' she says sarcastically. ''I collect stamps.''
''You do? Really?'' He wrinkles his nose at her. ''That seems wildly out of character for you.''
She sighs. ''No, honey, I don't collect stamps.'' She reaches over to pat his knee. ''That was sarcasm. I'll teach you sometime.''
''Oh.'' He nods. ''Dean tells me you have a talent for drawing.''
''Okay,'' she throws her hands up in the air and shoots him a look. ''What are you doing right now? Are you trying to make small talk? Why? Do you, like, wanna be best friends now? Do you want to be my super special sidekick or something?''
''No,'' he says patiently. ''You just seem lonely.''
She doesn't have a response to that.
''I think,'' he says thoughtfully, sinking farther into his seat. ''I would prefer it if you were the sidekick.'' His lips quirk for half a second and he almost offers her a smile.
She's not sure if what's crawling up in her throat is a laugh or a sigh. You know, she's never really understood how she manages to get all these men to fall in love with her. She still doesn't get it. Is it just because she looks like some fragile pretty little blonde thing on the outside? Is that it? Is it because the Winchester men and everyone connected to them have hero complexes as big as their hearts? Really. What is it? What do people continue to see in her?
What makes her worth saving?
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One night, two days after killing Christian, her waiting game is abruptly ended. She comes home late at night, entering her apartment with a tired sigh as she drops her keys onto the table by the door and shuts the door quietly. As soon as the door is shut, someone comes up behind her. She never has the chance to fight back because she is attacked from the behind and before she can spew out a curse, something sharp pricks her neck and then she feels like she has been thrown into a vat of scalding hot lava.
Holy fucking shit. Has that jackass actually ordered someone to break into her home and inject her with holy water? 'Cause that's just mean and so below his standards. Actually, it doesn't really sound like Crowley's style at all. If he was going to torture her, he'd want to be there to watch her writhe in agony. Without that, what's the point? His favourite pastime is watching her bleed all over the floor and then making her clean it up. He wouldn't lower himself to this.
The feeling of being injected with holy water isn't exactly something that can be summed up with an ''ow.'' It's wholly indescribable. It's as if her organs are liquefying and melting into molten lava. It's like her blood is way past the point of boiling. She has been injected with holy water before. This isn't her first time. It pretty much goes like this: You lose all feeling other than the intense burning until you can barely lift your head up, you spend awhile throwing up your own blood to get the holy water out of your system, and then for days after, the injection spot itches like there's something crawling underneath and you can scratch and scratch but you will never be able to get that faint whisper of holy water out.
Oh, what big fun she'll be having with this unidentified attacker.
She barely even manages to stay standing for a minute before the burning spreads throughout her entire body and she keels over, dropping to her hands and knees while she coughs and the blood rises in her throat. This is not Crowley. This is someone else. Well, what the fuck? Who else has she managed to piss off? Despite the burning, she tries to turn and lunge but a foot collides with her abdomen and she goes back to the ground instead. Rude.
Lying flat on her back, the blood in her throat starts to suffocate her. Awesome, she's going to drown in her own blood. Her eyes travel upwards, and she gets the first look at her attacker. It's a familiar face, and perhaps one that shouldn't surprise her all that much. He's a smarmy jackass, looking down at her with a smirk that tells her he thinks he's brilliant. Smug moron thinks he knows everything there is to know, doesn't he? She rolls onto her side to spit out some of the blood, managing a shaky smirk even through the blood and pain. ''You,'' she rasps out against gags and desperate attempts to get air. ''I should've known it was you.''
''Yes,'' he crouches down to her level, grasping her arms when she tries to claw at his face. ''You should have. If it's any consolation, I'm not getting any pleasure out of this.'' A grim smile stretches over his lips and he lifts one arm in a shrug. ''Well,'' he brushes hair out of her eyes and stands, staring down at her with a devilish smile. ''That's a lie.''
The only thought that crosses her mind before everything goes dark is that she really should have killed him when she had the chance.
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''Hush, my sweet. These tornadoes are for you.''
- a primer for the small weird loves