Crowley moans painfully next to me. I suppress a groan as I pry my eyes open and roll over to face him, readying myself to take care of him. His face contorts in a grimace, his eyes furiously running underneath his eyelids. I prop myself up on my elbows and stoke his face, softly humming to him for several minutes. When he shows no other response I push myself off the bed and make my way to my freezer, where I grab and ice pack. I wrap it in a dish rag and bring it back to the room, where I place myself on the edge of the bed next to Crowley, putting the pack on his heated forehead. "Crowley…are you with me?" I murmur against his ear. He stirs, and his amber eyes finally fluttering open, blinking to try to clear his vision. "Crowley?"
He moans again and says something along the lines of 'hello darling.' I think. I want. I hope. I wish. "You awake? Do you need me to get you anything?" I ask anxiously, smoothing back his thin mess of hair.
Crowley shakes his head and clears his throat several times before replying, "No, love, that's alright." He musters a smile, but retracts it shortly, grimacing. "Actually, Ruby, a water would be nice."
I nod eagerly. "Yes, of course. My king," I add, kissing him gently on his forehead. Without any hesitation I hurry into the kitchen and get him a glass of water, bringing it back to him. He takes it and drinks it desperately, sighing pleasurably once the last drop leaves the glass. I remove it from his fingers, set it on the bedside table and can't help but laugh.
"What's so amusing my queen?" Crowley asks, a smile playing at his swollen lips as well.
"Nothing, this just seems kind of…I don't know, cliché? Me playing a housewife nursing you back to health." I laugh again.
He reaches up and strokes my cheek. "Oh, you don't need to worry about me, love. I don't need taking care of. A few more hours of sleep and I will be as good as new." He offers me a smile.
I frown at him. "Your swollen face begs to differ." Crowley places his hand over mine and persists on trying to give me a lasting smile. Not able to resist my urges any longer, I bend over and gently caress his lips with mine, being careful not to apply any pressure. "Let me take care of you, my king," I murmur against his lips, "even the king of hell needs someone to take care of him." Crowley takes a handful of my hair and presses our mouths together, tasting me hungrily. I can feel his face flinch from the pressure of mine against him, his bruises protesting. I pull away, breathing hard, and Crowley sighs. "Get those few hours of sleep, Crowley. I'll be here when you wake up."
He nods, reluctantly, and I lay him back down. He's unconscious again even before his face hits the pillow. Too quick for guilt to override my senses, I throw on presentable clothes, grab my keys and make my way downstairs to my car. I carefully speed down the street to the liquor store, where I pick up a few 6-pack bottles. Something tugs at my gut while I'm standing in line that almost makes me return my alcohol to the shelves and retreat, but I bury all those thoughts nearly expertly. I thank the cashier and take my beers back to my car, where I greedily pull one out, accidently cutting my hand on the bottle cap. The pain and blood seem insignificant once I bring the bottle to my lips and the brittle liquid runs down my throat.
Before I even know what's happening, a damn breaks in my head somewhere and tears start freefalling down my face and for some reason I let them, let them rule and take over my body. I don't know how long I sit there like that, but eventually I pull myself together, the possibility of Crowley waking up soon pressing. Once I pull into my garage and make my way back up to my apartment, I take a minute outside my door to finish pulling myself together. As satisfied as I'm ever going to be, I take a deep breath and step into my apartment, going straight to the fridge to dispose of my beer. Before I can decide against it, I yank out another beer and down half of it right there on the spot.
"Did you check that for drugs before inhaling it like that?" I jump and barely catch my beer before it shatters all over the tile.
"God damn it, Crowley!" I shout. "That is not funny. Not only did you violate my privacy, you ruined a perfectly good fucking beer."
A hint of a smile flits across his face. "Well, to each his own and all that."
I sigh, opting to put that behind us. "I would offer you a beer, but…I don't have any Craig. I'm not as fancy as you," I can't help but reply seductively. Crowley allows a complete smile, closing the distance between us and pulling me to him before I can protest. "You should be resting."
"I feel perfectly fine, my queen. Like I said, I just needed my few hours of sleep. My face is still throbbing a bit, but it's nothing I can't handle," he whispers against my lips.
"He called you the devil, you know."
Crowley smirks and thinks for a moment. "I'm not the devil!" he kisses me hard. "I'm just some angry, used-car salesman trying to run hell." His hands flit under my shirt and trail up my back. "In a very good suit," he adds kissing me again, deeper and longer and making my head spin. I let him turn me around and back me up in the direction of my room, our lips still locked together. He gingerly lays me down on my bed and I groan, the relaxed, sluggish movements killing me. My body aches hopelessly and I can't stand how gentle he's being, how soft his hands are as they guide my shirt over my head and caress my back, arching me against him.
I groan again and push Crowley off me, panting, receiving a confused and slightly irritated look from him. I look up at him and silently grab both of his hands, bringing them to my neck and pulling him on top of me. My breath painfully slows and my chest begins to feel afire, but I don't struggle beneath him, don't try to breathe. I reject my lungs the luxury of air and succumb to the weight of Crowley's hands restricting my neck. Black spots begin to form around the edges of my vision and I let my eyes roll back into my head when suddenly a gust of air fills my mouth, aiming to revitalise my lungs. I gulp it down instinctively, wheezing in more and more until they are satisfied and my breathing returns to normal. I mewl at Crowley with longing, needing him to do something to me, needing to feel some sort of pain, damage inflicted by his strong hands.
I need to be punished.
I should be punished.
"You alright, love?" Crowley asks, cocking his head, looking at me worriedly.
"I fine. Just—just touch me, Crowley, touch me. Please, sir," I practically whine, my body trembling, though not from arousal. "Punish me, sir," I breathe out. Crowley only stares at me, uncertain as to what his next actions should be. His arms twitch as he decides whether to reach out to me or not. "You bastard! What are you waiting for—I'm right here, all laid out before you to do whatever you want with." He doesn't respond. "Fuck, Crowley, what's the problem?" I slap his bruised face with all the force I can muster, causing him to stagger backwards. He massages his face and doesn't turn back towards me. I hit his chest, then again and again and again, fighting off his grip on my wrists as they try and stop me. After several minutes of this wrestle he finally overpowers me, forcefully keeping my arms stationary across my chest, holding me firmly against him, my back to him. Regardless of this I still struggle against him, screaming and attempting to kick my way out of his grip, but to no avail; he's too strong. Crowley backs up against the wall and slides down, bringing me with him to the ground, and continues to hold me in my place. I kick at the air a few more times, breathless, before my strength leaves me and I crumple into his arms, completely defeated. My hair sticking to my wet face suddenly reveals to me that I am crying, but I make no effort to try and build that dam back up.
"Shhh. I'm going to turn you around now, love…" Crowley says soothingly in my ear. He loosens his grip around me hesitantly, and I let him maneuver my body so that I am facing him, my head settling on his chest. He smooths my hair back from my face and strokes it, whispering comforting words repeatedly in my ear while I sob, entirely letting my body go. I cling to him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and holding on for dear life, almost as if if I let go, then I will be blown away from him, never to return. I cry until my voices run out, and then I cry some more. I cry until my head threatens to explode and my ducts are devoid of any liquid.
I cry until I am no more.
My neck is stiff and I'm nearly unable to move it to take in my surroundings. I am curled up in a heap on my bed, my clock indicating that it is early afternoon. My eyes feel like death and are no doubt like swollen grape tomatoes just sitting on my face. I whimper, throwing my legs over the side of the bed and drop my head into my hands. Why am I letting this get to me? Why am I letting this get to me?
I don't know, Ruby. Maybe it's because you killed a man? Because you shot John Winchester in the head without showing any mercy?
Because you are a murderer.
I need to leave. I need to get out. I want Crowley to take me away from here, erase everything else in my life until only he is left.
But would he, though? I fucked up last night, totally freaked out on him. If/when he finds out what I've done, would he still want me? Does he even want me? I'm just his whore. I'm just a whore.
"Crowley?" I choke out, interring my inner monologue. I push myself out of bed and stumble out into the kitchen. "Crowley?" I repeat hoarsely.
Empty. The room is empty. Crowley is gone, and my heart hurts. A tear rolls down my cheek and I watch it drop and pool on the ground. I shortly follow it, bringing my knees to my chest and burying my head inside them. Only seconds later, however, I shoot up and run to the fridge, where I yank out a beer. I don't even get it half way to my mouth before Crowley practically rips it out of my fingers and envelops me in his arms, tightening them when I try and shrink away. "I'm not going anywhere, love, so don't you," he mutters, kissing my forehead.
What? Oh dear lord I do not deserve this man. I try to leave again, but he restrains me, though not in a violent way. I've never seen someone act with so much…love before. "I killed a man," I blurt out before I can stop myself. Well I guess now we see whether he'll recant his last statement or not. If this doesn't throw him off my bandwagon, I'm not sure what will. Some part of me wishes, though, that it will. If I don't deserve him, then he most certainly deserves someone worlds better than me.
The silence is killing me. "Fucking say something you cryptic bastard."
He kisses my forehead again, takes a deep breath and breathes out, "So did I."
"You killed Sam Winchester, didn't you." I don't phrase it like a question. My heart is pounding so hard I fear it might break through its cavity.
"Inadvertently, yes." So Bobby was right. God save me, but I can't find it in me to care at the moment.
"I killed John Winchester." Crowley stiffens and pulls back, keeping hold on my shoulders. I cannot read the expression on his face. "I shot him right in the middle of his goddamn forehead with a 9mm without hesitating. But don't ask me why, because my fucking brain won't let me remember." Crowley surprises me by pulling me back to him, giving me a warm squeeze. Slowly, hesitantly, I allow myself to bring up my arms and return the favour.
"What do you need, Ruby," he asks simply, searching my eyes.
I don't hesitate. "I want you to take me away. I want to leave and forget everything and be safe with you," I rush out, my cheeks flushing from sudden embarrassment.
A pause. An embrace. "Anything, Ruby. Just tell me what and I'll do it." Fuck. Why him. Why me.
"Get me out of this fucking apartment, for starters."
I can feel his laugh rumble in his chest. "Then start packing," he orders.
"How do you mean 'packing'?" I look at him skeptically.
"You want to leave, right darling? Pack your stuff and I'll take you home."
"Are…are you asking me to move in with you?" I ask, incredulous. This isn't exactly a slow-moving relationship, now is it? Are we going to live to regret staying together sometime soon? I really should just leave—me, myself and I. Alone.
Crowley shrugs his shoulders. "If that's how you want to put it. C'mon, I'll help."