TIMESTAMP: POST SEASON 3
It took less than a week for Claire and Sam to get into a screaming fight and split up. Sam was hell-bent on killing Lilith and avenging Dean, but Claire was feeling a bit more conservative. Of course she wanted Lilith dead. But she wanted no part in Sam's self-destructive methods.
Funny. I haven't been doing much but self-destructing, either, she took another swig of beer. The bartender was probably going to cut her off soon. Oh well. It was a testament to her bloodline that she was barely even drunk after about two hours of taste-testing pretty much every beverage in the joint.
Before anyone could talk to her, she dropped a wad of cash onto the counter and swaggered out the door. The city was still alive, even late at night, so she had to weave her way through several alleyways to find a crag she could be alone in.
She cracked her head against the wall and sunk to the floor, groaning.
This is wrong. It's all wrong. Everything is so, so wrong.
Why had she let Sammy go? Blinded by grief and revenge he might be, but that was exactly why she should never have split up with him in the first place. He was a loose cannon, and he meant well, but if you took your eye off him… well, the road to hell is paved with good intentions and all that.
She let out a guttural laugh and reached into her pocket to take out her phone.
The first two numbers she tried were bust. If she were sober she probably wouldn't even have tried them, but as it was…
Third time's a charm, though.
"Ruby?" came Sam's voice from the other end of the line.
"You wish," she said. "Pay attention to the caller ID for Christ's sake. Normally it isn't my job to reprimand you on your lack of observational prowess but that's just sad."
"I was expecting someone else," he snapped.
"Yeah, I gathered."
"What do you want?"
She didn't say anything.
"Well?" he pressed.
"I'm Sorry, Sammy," she said quietly. Maybe he couldn't hear her. It didn't really matter. "I'm sorry I let him sell his soul. It should have been me. Dean is… was way more useful on a hunt or… or just in general and logically speaking it should be me who's dead right now. You could live without me."
He didn't reply for a while.
"Well," she said. "Sorry to bother you. You probably have important things to do with Ruby - "
"Claire," he interrupted. "I don't want – I can't…" he paused. "I couldn't live without you."
"That's sweet," she said.
"Stop," he said. "There isn't… there's no logic. Dean shouldn't be dead. You shouldn't be dead. Not that I want to be dead, but really, it should be me."
"Maybe it should, but it couldn't. It couldn't ever be you," tears were running down her face now, hot and salty in her mouth, but her voice was steady. "We've always gotta watch out for Sammy."
She should probably be worried that he hadn't told her she was drunk yet. Maybe she needed to start filtering what came out of her mouth more while she was in her right mind.
"Are you trying to make me feel worse about myself?" Sam's voice was dangerously quiet. "Because it's working."
"No. No, definitely not. Not ever," she said abruptly. "I'm trying to apologize for all of this, Sammy. I'm trying to tell you it's my fault. It's not yours. Nothing is your fault."
"Easy for you to say," Sam snorted, and she knew he was thinking about Jess, and mom, and maybe even dad. Guilt complexes were a Winchester thing.
"I'm serious," she said. "Sammy, if I were to die in like, I don't know… half an hour or so of alcohol poisoning – that's what I'd want you to know. That you need to stop blaming yourself for shit that you couldn't prevent."
"Alcohol poisoning – are you drunk?" he asked.
"Very much so," she said.
"Well you're also a hypocrite," he said.
"Whatever. Love you, Sammy. Keep in touch," she said. "Don't do anything too crazy, and keep an eye on Ruby."
"Wait - " but she'd already hung up.