Point Made
The ride was silent. You entered the room first and simply sat on the bed. Dean's anger was rising. "What the hell were you thinking? Jesus, if Y/N/N hadn't stepped in, I'd have to surgically remove your nose from Ruby's ass!"
"What? What the hell was I thinking?"
"She's a demon, Sam, period. All right? They want us dead. We want them dead."
"Oh, that's funny. I remember that demon chick in Ohio—Casey—you didn't want her dead."
"Yea, well, she wasn't stringing me along like a fish on a hook."
"No one's stringing me along! Look, I know it's dangerous—that she is dangerous—but like it or not, she's useful."
"No! We kill her before she kills us."
"Kill her with what? The gun she fixed for us?"
"Whatever works."
"Dean, if she wants us dead, all she has to do is stop saving our lives. Look, we have to start looking at the big picture, Dean. Start thinking in strategies and—and moves ahead. It's not so simple. We're not just hunting anymore. We're at war." Dean had walked into the bathroom to rinse his face, waiting for Sam to tire himself out, much like you were. "Are you feeling okay?" Sam moaned, "Why are you always asking me that?"
"Because you're taking advice from a demon, for starters. And, by the way, you seem less and less worried about offing people. You know, it used to eat you up inside."
"And what has that gotten me?" You started to pick at a hangnail, knowing this may be a while. "Nothing, but it's just what you're supposed to do, okay. We're supposed to drive in the freaking car and freaking argue about this stuff! You know, you go on about the sanctity of life and all that crap."
"Wait, so you're mad because I'm starting to agree with you?"
"No, I'm not mad! I'm—I'm…I'm worried. Sam, I'm worried because you're not acting like yourself."
"Yeah, you're right. I'm not. I don't have a choice."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Look, Dean, you're leaving right? And I gotta stay here in this crap hole of a world…alone. So, the way I see it, if I'm gonna make it, if I'm gonna fight this war after you're gone, then I got to change."
"Change into what?"
"Into you. I got to be more like you."
Dean leaned over and inhaled. "I-I don't feel well, I gotta take a walk."
He walked out and slammed the door behind him. Jesus I knew he didn't do feelings, but illness is a bit much. You had been patiently biding your time, ready to rip into Sam, but his vulnerability had cooled down your fire. He looked to you, "Oh what, waiting your turn? You've been uncharacteristically quiet on the subject." You gritted your teeth. Keep your cool, Dean played authoritative dad, time to use the kid gloves. Sam was itching to snap, but his shaking hands gave him away. He's not switching sides, he's just trying to cope. "Just processing…I'm scared too, ya know."
"Why? No offense, I know you and Dean got closer recently but I'm still losing my brother."
"Yes, I'm aware of how much that hurts. Intimately." The flash of guilt was apparent on his face as he realized his own words.
"Y/N/N, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"It's fine." You raised your hand to calm him and brought it down to rub your lower stomach. Is this conversation actually painful or am I two weeks early?
"I've found there are no instructions for this kind of thing. And yes, the uncommon strategy does sometimes get you the win. I'm all for playing angles."
"See? You get it!"
"You know I do. One question though, do you trust her?"
He paused, pondering his words carefully, while you gripped your stomach tighter. The pain had intensified. Cramps were a bitch. Sam finally spoke, tentatively. "Honestly, not at first. But she's saved our asses so many times, how can I not at this point?"
"Because of what she is."
"Of course, she's a demon." He rolled his eyes.
"No, she's a helpful demon. Historically, she'd be the first."
"I get it, I'm not an idiot. Dean is just too stubborn to see the big picture."
"Which is?"
"Working with the enemy to win the war. He only sees things in black and white."
"Didn't you just say you wanted to be more like Dean?"
"Not in that way."
"Well, Dean's moral code is what makes him Dean. He believes in Right and Wrong and if you make him question that, it would break him. You can't cherry-pick who someone is."
Sam paused, clearly caught off guard. Your pride distracted you from the sharp twinge of pain in your gut.
"The point is", he switched gears with the wave of his hand, "Ruby's an asset, why does it matter why she's helping us?"
"You're right, she is an asset. But motivation always matters. I'm curious, if we're willing to play all angles, wouldn't it make sense that she is too?"
"Obviously, but it's a risk I'm willing to take. I can handle it."
"Then I'll back your play, if you think you've got this under control..." you baited.
"Trust me, I do!" he smiled eagerly, his eyes bright. The trap was set.
"So what's our safety net then, if she is playing us?"
His face fell and there was a silence. It was your turn to smile. Point made.
After a long pause of Sam's disappointment, the door opened again and Dean gripped the entry table, hunching over. Sam scrunched his face, "What's going on with you?" He was clutching his abdomen and breathing hard, "I don't know." You smirked, somewhat enjoying the show. "Sam, something's wrong. A bunch of knives inside of me. Son of a bitch!" He was almost on the floor at this point. Men are such babies, try having your uterus skin itself alive. Heh. Bitch.
"Oh my god!" was all you could get out before the blood evacuated from your mouth onto your jeans. You keeled over mimicking Dean's fetal position on the ground. "The coven, it's gotta be." Dean convulsed and choked some blood out as well. Sam went into panic mode and began searching the motel room. Dean groaned loudly and you tried to breathe through it. The taste of copper coated your mouth and you knew round two was coming. With all the strength you could muster, you dragged the plastic trash can to you and vomited the red goo into it. Sam was tearing into the mattresses at this point, desperate to find the hex bags. "Guys, I can't find it!" Neither of you had the air to answer him. "No!" Once again you dipped your head into the can and released, choking more than before. Dean watched his brother, "Sam, what are you doing?" You looked up and saw the colt in his hand before he exited the room. "Sam, Sam!" The door closed.
Minutes seemed like hours as you and Dean writhed in pain, puking out your guts, literally. Knocks at the door registered in your mind, but housekeeping was the last thing you needed at the moment. Then the door burst open and Ruby stood under its frame. Both of you stared and Dean spoke, "You want to kill me? Get in line, bitch." She rolled her eyes and grabbed him by his collar, flipping him onto the bed. A black liquid was forced into his mouth and you recognized it as an antidote. Dean gagged on it but then began to breathe normally. Ruby panted as she sat up, "Stop…calling me bitch." You gasped after another fit and she turned towards you. You lifted your hand and she threw the satchel. Barely catching it, you downed the horrid concoction. You lifted your body up and she sighed. "Next time you two point guns at me, I'm not gonna just disappear, understand?" You nodded and she threw Dean his gun.
"You…saved my life."
"Don't mention it."
"What was that stuff? God, it was ass. It tasted like ass."
"It's called witchcraft, short bus" She rolled her eyes and walked out. You didn't feel the need to thank her considering she only saved your life because she was playing—sorry, working with—the Winchesters and needed their approval.
"You're the short bus. 'Short bus.'" You looked to him. "Proud of that one?"
"Shut up."