Sam clutched the pencil and motel stationary in his hands, glancing down at the blank page. Never before had he felt so lost in what to put down. He glanced back up at the door, willing Dean to come back. He didn't want to be alone. Being along reminded him of before, when Dean was buried in a box six feet under, when the only thing left to distract him from the mind shattering absence of his brother was Ruby's borrowed body and his insatiable thirst for vengeance.
Sam glanced down at his serpentine body and then back at the notepad, tapping the pencil against the page. Sam, always the one good with foresight, imagined what would happen if he told Dean the truth. Yeah, he'd get his human-Sam body back, but at what cost? Sam pictured the scenario in his head, prodding at it like a sore, infected molar. Hey, man, so like I know we're brothers or whatever but I'm, like, in love with you in the totally non-platonic way.
He knew Dean. He'd laugh it off until he'd realize Sam was serious. Then there would come that look of confusion, then that expression of overwhelming disgust. Sam could picture Dean walking out the door, disowning him, cutting him off completely. Sam knew that he couldn't live without Dean. There was no way.
Sam let out a frustrated grunt and ran a shaky hand through his hair. As irrational as the thought might be, if Sam had to choose between telling Dean the truth and living as a Naga forever, he decided that he'd better get used to having no ass because he wasn't about to lose his brother a second time. With some practice he managed to hold the pencil. Although it was mostly chicken scratch (okay, he hadn't quite managed the trick, but still), he began writing down some things he was afraid of, to make it look like he at least tried. He picked the normal things-Dean dying, himself dying, their friends dying, not being able to stop Lilith, Lilith breaking all the seals and instigating Armageddon-and then got stuck. What sounded plausible? They'd already covered clowns. There wasn't a whole lot that could be a man's greatest fear.
Sam huffed and tossed the notepad and pencil onto his bed. He glanced at the bathroom door and then at the mirror on the carpet. He swooped down towards the mirror and grabbed it, his body bending flexibly with the motion. It was weird, having a mind-body connection with the curse. Sam looked at the bathroom door again and willed himself to move, as if he were walking. The rest of his body listened. He uncoiled and slithered towards the bathroom, glancing back at his gigantic lower half. The subtle drag of weight. The smooth ripple of his powerful muscles. The iridescent shine.
That's when, not paying attention, Sam smacked right into the doorframe. Thankfully, he had the mirror clutched tightly in his grasp or it would have gone flying.
"Shit," he hissed. His face flushed at the sound. It was more of a sssssshit than a shit. He rubbed his forehead. That was gonna leave a bruise.
He shimmied to the left and crossed the threshold to the bathroom. Thankfully, his bulk fit. With most of his body stuck outside the door, he sat the mirror behind the sink and angled it towards him. Besides his tongue and teeth, his face hadn't changed. He opened his mouth wide. Instantly, he noticed that there was a sheer to his saliva. Sam raised an eyebrow. He wondered if that was the venom that Castiel had said Nagas possessed. But didn't snakes produce venom from behind their fangs? Experimentally, Sam flicked his forked tongue behind his left elongated canine. He thought he felt something like a hollow spot right at the base of the tooth, but without another mirror to check, he couldn't be sure. Sam snapped his jaws closed. He patted his face, ran a hand down his throat, touched his chest and stomach. He twisted around the best he could and looked at his spotless back. His upper half appeared to be untouched by scales.
He turned back around and looked down past his muscular stomach muscles to where his snake body began.
Then it hit him.
He had no dick.
Sam's eyes widened and he went as pale as a ghost. He patted at the scaled muscle where his manhood would be but felt nothing. Sam recalled what he learned about snakes in Biology. If he remembered correctly, one boy in his class had made a joke about snake dick. Gently, Sam let his fingers slip across the snake flesh, trying desperately to find it.
Sam peered harder, noticing there was a five-inch area of scale that didn't line up properly. It reminded Sam of a mistake you'd find in wallpaper, subtle from far away, but obvious if you were looking for it. Sam slipped his middle finger down, careful of his clawed nail. The second he rubbed against the slit, a lightning bolt of ecstasy shot down Sam's serpentine body, a coiling, warm type of pleasure that ached to be touched again. It was like nothing Sam had ever felt before. Shocked, he jerked his hand away. The pleasure rapidly soothed down into a subtle tingling sensation. Sam let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Licking his lips, he dared to touch it again.
Sam shivered. He gently stroked it with his middle and ring finger, trembles of want licking down his back, his human part equally feeling the sensual drag. He gnawed on his lower lip. His sharpened canine snipped through the soft tissue. Sam winced as pain bloomed from the cut and he absently licked the incision clean. He reasoned that this was research. And, sure, if it felt good, then so be it. Not everything in life had to be painful, did it? This was a scientific endeavor, that's all. An experiment to see how his new body reacted to outside stimuli.
He dug a little deeper with the soft pads of his fingers and he felt the scales shift. He thought he felt the slit begin to open.
"Hello! Housekeeping!"
Sam's eyes flew open. He hadn't even realized he'd closed them. He jerked his hand away, his body urging him to continue, to ignore the voice. Sam flushed in embarrassment. What had he been doing? This wasn't the time. Hell, maybe it was never the time. His head snapped towards the door. A shadow danced across the closed curtains, the obscure outline of a woman with a cleaning cart, towels balanced in her arm.
Sam opened his mouth to tell her to go away, that he was busy, but all that came out was a low hiss. Sam's eyes widened and he glanced at the mirror. To his shock, his pupils were narrowed into slits. Vaguely, in a hysterical type of way, Sam had a visceral image of Michael Jackson's contact lenses in Thriller.
"Hello!" The voice called, the knocking persisting. To Sam's surprise, he thought he could hear her drag her keys from her pocket. He didn't know if his heightened senses were due to his new state of being, or if the jangle of keys were just that loud. To his horror, Sam realized she was searching for the key to get in. Sam's eyes roved desperately around the room. There was nowhere to hide. He was way too big. She'd freak out, call the cops, and it would all be over. Bye, bye, Sammy. Hello, horrific scientific experiments in some top-secret lab in Guantanamo Bay. Sam glanced at the bathroom and back at his body, hissing his displeasure. He turned towards the toilet and slithered. Although in retrospect he was much too big for the bathroom, Sam coiled and twisted, ducked and winced, and ended up squeezing himself into the small space, although he was pressed wall to wall without any room.
Just as she turned the lock, Sam managed to get the door closed. Why hadn't Dean got back from the diner yet? If only Dean were here, Sam thought absently, none of this would have happened.
"Oh, sorry," the woman said, startled. "I'm just doing a little housecleaning."
Sam smelled the fresh, chilly breeze outside, and just as quickly, she shut the door with an audible click. It shouldn't have sounded like the final nail in a coffin, but it did.
Sam opened his mouth to reply, but instead a low hiss parted from his lips. He scowled. Why was he acting like this? Was it his heightened emotional state? Did the snake half of him come to the forefront if he was vulnerable? A thought dawned on Sam. What if the snake part would take over completely and he'd lose his humanity, never to get it back again? He could picture himself: a hulking, slithering terror. Sam thought about what snakes ate. Prey. Meat. Whole. He felt his gorge rise in self-loathing and disgust.
Was he dangerous?
Sam closed his eyes, his back aching from the painful extension he held against the wall, his body throbbing to stretch out, and he tried to calm his racing heartbeat. He heard the woman begin to make their beds and it dawned on Sam that he couldn't remember if they'd hidden their weapons the night before. Just as the thought entered his mind, he knew he couldn't dwell on it.
Sam scrambled to find a thought that would calm him down. Soon, a memory floated in the blackness behind his eyelids. It was of Dean. Of course, it was Dean. Dean, cheering him on the sidelines at his middle school soccer game. The sunlight pouring down on the stands, all those people, but all Sam could see was Dean. Dean, with so much pride in his eyes. So much love. So much joy. That was the day Sam won his Division Championship Soccer trophy, the one, years later, he found in John's lock-up.
"Hello?" The knock at the door tore Sam from the memory. He could smell her: strawberry shampoo, a dusting of baby powder, and a salty undertone, like sweat.
"Are you okay in there?" Came the woman's hesitant voice.
Sam felt the inexplicable urge to get her as far away from him as possible. It reminded Sam of what he'd learned about snakes. Snakes made dens under rocks, ground holes, dead trees, and tree stumps, and if disturbed, they became vicious and irate. Sam hissed lowly, baring his teeth at the door. Why couldn't she just get the memo and leave?
He opened his mouth again, but all that came out was a low, angry hiss. Dammit.
"Are you okay?" The woman repeated, an edge of concern staining her voice.
Sam bet this woman had seen tons of druggies passed out in bathrooms. Sometimes concerned citizens really could be the worst. Sam balled his hands into fists until he drew blood across his palms, trying desperately to let the pain distract him from his new instincts and, more importantly, his terror.
There was a second's pause before he heard a shrill scream. He scowled in confusion.
"Is…is that a snake?!"
He glanced down at the tip of his tail. It was poking out through the bottom of the door. Of course. Winchester luck sucked ass.
Sam glanced back up, working his mouth, willing the words to come out. He licked his lips, let out a deep breath, and tried his hardest. He didn't get it the first few tries, but finally managed the trick.
"G-go away."
The woman hadn't seemed to have heard him. "You can't have a-"
She was cut off by a door slamming open. Sam inhaled sharply, quickly coming to the realization he was smelling Dean. Dean, like earth and sunlight. Motel bar soap. Motor oil.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Dean's voice cut through Sam's terror like scissors, trimming all the fear away. Sam slumped against the wall and closed his eyes with relief. He unclenched his fists and instinctually brought his hands to his face, lapping at his cut palms.
"I'm doing the housekeeping. I didn't know your friend was in the bathroom."
"Did you knock?" Came Dean's defensive voice. Sam heard the sound of take-out being placed on the bedside table. It smelled delicious.
"Yeah, I did." Came the woman's equally defensive tone. "And you ain't allowed to have snakes here."
"What?" Dean said and although his voice seemed steady to the untrained ear, Sam heard the tremble.
"There, under the door." She explained. Sam pictured Dean glancing at his stuck tail tip. He suppressed the urge to yank it further into the bathroom. That would just freak the woman out.
"No pets allowed. That's what my manager said. I'm sorry, I love 'em, too, and I get traveling is hard with critters, but it's just not allowed."
Dean didn't say anything for a second. Then, Sam heard the familiar sound of Dean pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. It reminded Sam of all the times they'd bribe potential witnesses at bars and clubs to get information.
There was a pause. "That's it?"
"What? That's a fifty."
"You're gonna have to do a little better than that, honey."
Sam suppressed a smile at Dean's exasperated huff. "Fine."
Moments later, Sam could hear the woman's smile in her reply. "I didn't see nothing."
The wheels of the rolling cart squeaked back out into the chilly November morning and when the door shut behind her, Sam let out a sigh.
"You okay in there, kid?" Dean asked.
Sam was surprised to find his voice again so easily. Maybe his select mutism really was caused by stress. "I'm not a kid."
"Whatever, kid." Dean mocked. Sam shook his head and began to twist around. He dipped low enough to peek at the mirror. No more slit pupils. His eyes were normal again. Thank God.
"You need help in there?"
Sam rose back up and banged his head on the ceiling. "Ow. Uh, no. Just give me a second."
"Kay, man." Dean said. Sam managed to twist around and pry the door open enough that his upper body tumbled out. He caught himself, arms outstretched, and looked back at his serpentine body, concentrating on uncoiling the massive muscular frame. Dean was sitting on Sam's bed, stabbing at seasoned hashbrowns and eggs in a white Styrofoam container. He brought the greasy chunk to his lips and took a big bite, chewing thoughtfully as he watched his little brother slowly break loose from the bathroom.
"How did you even get in there?" Dean said, swallowing, turning around as his brother slithered around the carpet. It was so strange to see each graceful, powerful ripple of Sam's immense frame. Sam plopped down and laid on his side in front of the bay windows. His lower half seemed to curl up on his own and, again, Dean wondered if the movement was Sam's doing, or some unconscious thought processes.
"It was either that or she'd see me." Sam said.
"Yeah," Dean nodded. "Still can't believe she just barged in like that. When is the last time that's happened?"
"That one time in Iowa." Sam replied, turning the other way, and glancing out at the slit of sunlight between the curtains. He wanted nothing more to tear the curtains away and bask in the light. He felt Dean's eyes on him, and he glanced up at his brother, twisting the other way to face him.
"You tired?" Dean asked.
"Honestly, yeah."
"Maybe it's because you're hungry. Ready to see if you can eat, snake-boy?" Dean asked, placing his own food beside him on the bed. As if on cue, Sam's human stomach rumbled. Sam furrowed his brow and concentrated on his other stomach. That one was hungry, too, but Sam wondered if it was hungry for the same thing. The idea sickened him, but he had a hunch that it didn't. How was he going to explain that one to Dean?
"Don't call me snake-boy," Sam mumbled.
Dean laughed. "Just call 'em as I see 'em."
It was always Dean who'd try anything to lighten the mood and even though Sam had seen a difference in Dean since he'd been pulled from perdition-a deep, hidden scarring his brother was yet to bring into the light-Sam felt that he was still his same obnoxious big brother. Begrudgingly, Sam got up from the ground and slithered towards him. He relaxed the muscles near the base and shimmied, so he wasn't poised so high in the air. He braced his hand on the comforter and shimmied his hips further until he poised his elbows on the bed and rested his chin in his palm. He languidly picked at the bedspread with his claws. Sleepiness pulled at him in waves and Sam was hoping that it was due to low blood sugar and not a side effect of the transformation. It would really suck to be like a real snake. Real snakes were nocturnal and, yeah, being a hunter meant you were basically nocturnal anyway, but Sam liked the day.
Dean climbed on top of the bed towards the bedside table and snatched the large, brown bag of take-out. He scooted down until he was in front of Sam. He crossed his legs and started pulling out the stacked Styrofoam containers. He grabbed a bottle of Coke from the bottom of the bag and laid it on the side.
"I got you a bunch of stuff. It's none of that rabbit food you're used to eating, either." Dean opened the containers. "I've got banana nut pancakes, honey buttermilk biscuits with gravy and sausage, a pork patty breakfast sandwich, home fries with scrambled eggs, corned beef hash, and whatever that is." Dean nodded to a large ham and cheese sandwich with a fried egg plopped on top. "The guy called it a croque something. I don't know. Just looks like a sandwich to me."
Sam's mouth watered as he looked at all the food. He let his hand slip from his chin, although nothing in his facial expression gave away his hunger.
"Don't look too enthusiastic, Sammy. You might pull something." Dean said. It wasn't that he wasn't hungry. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to shove every bit of food into his mouth until there wasn't a morsel left. It was the fact that Dean was watching him so closely that made all the spit in Sam's mouth dry up. He'd felt like a freak all his life, but now? He was a double-freak. No. A mega-freak.
Dean's expression melted into a frown. "You don't like it?"
"No," Sam shook his head. "It all looks great."
"You aren't going all emo on me again, are you?"
"What?" Sam gave him his that's-totally-ridiculous face again. "No."
"Then eat, okay? I won't watch if it'll make you uncomfortable." Dean unwrapped the fork and knife from the plastic sleeve and handed it to Sam.
Sam didn't say anything. He began to eat, making sure to chew slowly. Dean grabbed his take-out and started eating, too, facing the bathroom. By the time Sam was finished with the pancakes and corned beef hash, Dean turned towards him. Sam uncapped his Coke and took a swig before diving into the scrambled eggs and home fries.
"I called Bobby while I was out." Dean admitted.
"Yeah, and what did he say?"
"He thought I'd lost my mind when I told you were turned into a Naga."
"Did he even know what a Naga was?"
Dean pulled a face. "You know Bobby, Sam. That man knows the ins and outs of just about every creature under the sun, even the extinct ones."
Sam brought a forkful of hot, salty home fry into his mouth and chewed. "True."
"He said he's got an old U-Haul at the salvage yard. It needs a couple repairs, but he can get it up and running in a day or so."
"A U-Haul?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "What do we need a U-Haul for?"
"Sam, you can't fit in Baby."
"Yeah, so?" Sam nodded to the pencil and stationery pad at the head of the bed under his ruffled pillow. "I made a list of my greatest fears. One of them is bound to work."
Dean grabbed the pad. He looked down the list and then back up at Sam. "I'm just trying to be prepared if it doesn't."
"When are you the one to think ahead?" Sam snorted.
Offended, Dean glowered. "Since now."
Sam didn't say anything. Dean continued. "Anyway, if these confessions can't turn you back, it's not like we can just hang out in motels, Sam. We're going to have to get away from people. So, I asked Bobby if there was a place we could lay low for awhile and he knows a guy in Georgia. He's an ex-hunter. He owns this little cabin in the woods. I guess it's he and his wife's summer house. He's willing to let us borrow it until we get this mess figured out."
Sam nudged his eggs around. Paranoia prickled the back of his nape, teasing him. Did Dean somehow know what his true fear was and didn't have the gall to say it aloud? Is that why he'd called Bobby because he knew Sam wasn't going to confess? Wasn't going to turn back to plain old, two legged human Sam?
"Sam, you okay? You're looking a little pale." Dean's concerned voice pulled him from his meal. And just like that, Dean pressed his palm against Sam's forehead. Sam couldn't help himself, he melted into the touch for a handful of fleeting seconds before he forced himself to jerk his head back. Dean frowned.
"I'm fine." He huffed.
"Is it the food?"
"No."
"You're sure?"
"Yes. The food's great." Sam stabbed a little too forcefully at the eggs. At least his paranoia was ebbing. Dean didn't know anything. He couldn't. Like he'd said, he was thinking ahead. For once.
"Okay, Sasquatch." Dean rose from the bed. "I'm going to go take a shower. After you're done eating, we'll try the list."
Sam watched Dean step over the lower half of his tail as he walked over to his bed, pulling his clothes out of his duffle. Dean grabbed a shirt, pants, and boxers before heading to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Sam listened to Dean strip and then there was the creaky swoosh of the motel shower, a sound he'd heard a hundred times before. Without Dean's judgmental eyes on him, Sam dropped the fork and began to shove the food into his mouth with his bare hands. Although he should've been startled when he felt his throat accommodating to swallowing the food items whole, Sam did not pause. He did not choke at all, even when he should've been on the floor blue in the face. By the time Sam got out of his feeding frenzy, he had diner grease dripping from his chin and melted cheese stuck between his fingers.
"Oh, gross," he mumbled to himself, shame rearing its ugly head as he wiped the grease from his chin in angry, punishing swipes. He glanced down at his stomach which now protruded slightly. It was like a food baby. Sam felt impossibly full, like that one time when he was a kid and Dad had gotten them a bucket of fried chicken for Thanksgiving. Dean had been sick that whole week and couldn't even touch it. With Dad gone and with Dean's permission, Sam finished the whole thing by himself, even if he did get sicker than a dog. Sam let his hand slip down over his bloated belly, experimentally pushing it in places.
Sure, Dean would get like this when he'd over indulged, especially after a celebratory hunt gone right, but never Sam. Sam was the health nut. Sam ate salads like it was nobody's business. Feeling embarrassed, Sam slithered over to his duffle and pulled out his marron-colored shirt and dark green jacket. He slipped the shirt on and threw on his jacket, zipping it up to the top and shoving his hands into the pockets. He glanced down at the rest of his snake half and tried to imagine where the stomach was again. With one exploratory hand, he felt across the bare scales until he hit the spot.
Sam frowned. He felt inexplicably hollow, like half of himself was content and the other half starved. It was like eating empty calories, that feeling of concavity. Sam wondered if the food had to pass through his normal stomach and then to the snake's larger stomach. Or, maybe, he had to feed his snake part too. The idea made him blanch, so he twisted back around and slithered towards his bed, grabbed the notepad, and concentrated on the list.
A few minutes later, with steam floating out of the bathroom, Dean opened the door. He rubbed his short hair with an off-white towel and eyed Sam. The scent of cheap shampoo and bar soap drifted through the air, combining with Dean's natural scent. To Sam, the combination was oddly soothing, like inhaling the fragrance of an old childhood blanket.
"What?" Sam said.
"You put on clothes." Dean stated, dipping back into the bathroom, and scooping up his dirty attire. He maneuvered around Sam's lower half, careful not to step on him, and to his own bed.
"Yeah," Sam shivered. "I got cold."
Dean nodded and shoved the dirty clothes into their laundry bag. He pulled the towel off his head and climbed onto the bed, nodding towards the list.
"Okay, let's hear it."
Sam glanced at number one.
"My greatest fear is Dean dying again."
If Sam was not mistaken, Dean gave him a flash of sympathy before his mask of stoicism clicked back into place. Dean eyed his body and then his face.
"Next."
"My greatest fear is dying myself."
Dean glanced at him, waited. Nothing. At least Sam had the sense to feign disappointment.
"Next."
"My greatest fear is that we won't be able to stop Lilith and she will break all the seals and start the apocalypse."
Dean held his breath for that one, staring eagerly at Sam, waiting for human Sam to miraculously pop back into place. Rapidly, Dean's smile fell.
"Maybe you have to be asleep." Dean suggested. "I mean, sleep caused you to transform the first time, maybe you have to be asleep for it to happen again."
Sam frowned. He knew he couldn't. The food had given him a massive blood sugar spike. He felt more awake than a college student after downing five espressos. Dean saw the expression on his face and sighed.
"Okay, okay, what else are you afraid of besides all that other stuff."
Sam's shoulders slumped in frustration. "That's the thing, I don't know."
Dean slapped his thigh and rose. "Okay, okay. That's fine. We'll just have to see after you fall asleep if you transform back. Meanwhile, I think we should do some research." Dean moved towards the laptop next to the television stand.
Before they knew it, Sam was curled around both of their beds, his upper body poised on Dean's bed, elbows resting against the comforter. Dean was knelt beside him, pressed against part of his side. Sam's serpentine body was bent towards Dean. Sam had to fight the inexplicable, bizarre urge to curl completely around Dean. He wanted nothing more to feel Dean's body wrapped around his coils, the gentle thumping of his heartbeat, his exquisite heat, his squishy physique. Not fully understanding if the impulse was sweet and loving or scary and threatening, Sam shifted a little bit away from his big brother.
Of course, Dean didn't notice. His eyes were glued to the screen. The article had in big bold letters: 25 Snake Facts Everybody Can Sink Their Teeth Into!
Sam chewed at his nails. That bad habit certainly hadn't gone away.
"Hey, Sammy."
"What?" Sam said, gnawing on his thumbnail.
"Did you know it says here that snakes have two dicks?"
Sam choked. Dean laughed.
"No, you're kidding me." He said, grabbing the laptop and moving it towards him. Sure enough. There was even a picture to illustrate.
Dean turned the laptop back and continued reading.
"It says here that snakes carry their testicles or testes internally. Dude…you, like, have no balls."
"Shut up." Sam scoffed, shaking his head. Dean smirked.
"Says that their dicks come out of, like, a slit." Dean eyed him and then his eyes darted down. Sam felt his face flushed but quickly covered himself with a scowl.
"You think that's what you got?"
"I don't know, maybe." Sam shrugged.
"Have you checked if you got one?"
"Stop asking me, Dean."
"No, I'm serious. I don't wanna be weird or anything, but can I see it?"
"What?!" Sam looked at Dean like he'd grown two heads.
Dean threw up his hands. "Come on, Sammy. It's not like I haven't seen your Moby Dick-"
"-Jesus Christ, Dean, don't call it that-"
"-before. And, plus, I'm curious."
"Don't make this weird." Sam scoffed.
"Please."
"You're making this weird, man." Sam deadpanned, trying to ignore his thudding heartbeat and sweaty palms. Dean had the audacity to roll his eyes-yeah, like a sixteen-year-old valley girl-and turn back to the screen.
There was a knock at the door, cutting through the awkward silence. Dean went rigid. Sam glanced at the door. He could see the outline, just the shadow, of a small figure outside through the curtain. With the practice of a trained hunter, Dean grabbed his gun out of his waistband. Sam shot his arm out and caught Dean by the wrist. "Wait, I think I know who it is."
Dean raised an eyebrow, mouthed Who?
Just then, there was a second knock. Then, a feminine voice cut through the motel's walls, reaching the brothers with ease.
"Guys, I know you're in there. Is it so hard to answer a fucking door?"
Ruby.
Dean's gaze snapped towards Sam. His nostrils flared and if looks could kill Sam would be long dead.
"Did you call her?" Dean bit out.
"What? No. No, Dean. I promise." Sam let go and showed his hands in a placating gesture. He rose off the bed.
The last time Ruby and Dean had spoken hadn't been exactly pretty. Per Castiel's orders to stop Sam or the angel would, Dean caught Sam exorcising a demon with his mind. He still remembered what it was like to watch Dean go at Ruby with his demon-killing knife. Maybe he should've just let Dean cut her up, but he couldn't. Despite what she was, Ruby had saved his life. He owed her that much.
Dean huffed. Since Sam was blocking his way, Dean had to climb onto the bed to get to the door. He yanked it open. Ruby, with her leather jacket and low-cut top and long, curly black hair falling over her shoulders like dark water. Ruby, the one who had to know Sam's secret by now, just by how many times he'd screamed his dead sibling's name when he orgasmed into the tight, wet heat of her perfect stolen body.
She walked right past Dean then froze.
"Did I say you could come in?" Dean snapped, slamming the door shut.
"Wow." Ruby breathed, doe brown eyes flickering across Sam's Naga form. An overwhelmed expression crossed Ruby's face, an expression Sam, even in his wildest dreams, could not imagine the demon could make.
"This…wasn't what I was expecting." She laughed. Actually laughed. Sure, it was that startled kind of laugh, a bit disturbed, but it was a proper chuckle.
"You think this is funny?" Dean sneered, moving around Ruby and standing in front of Sam. He spaced his legs wide in the universal sign of back-the-hell-up.
Ruby ignored the older Winchester, instead peering up at Sam. She instantly caught Sam's annoyed expression.
"Woah, woah, woah. Don't look at me like that, Grumpy. I just think it's funny how much it fits you, the whole snake thing."
"You calling my brother a snake?" Dean puffed up his chest, standing protectively in front of Sam which, yeah, was pretty hilarious seeing as Sam was literally five feet taller now and substantially bigger. It reminded Ruby of a chihuahua defending a Saint Bernard.
"No, I'm calling him a unicorn, shortbus." Ruby sighed.
"You're the shortbus…shortbus." Dean mumbled.
"Why are you here?" Sam said curtly. Ruby seemed thrown off by his tone.
Looking at her, all Sam could think of was the demon blood he'd lapped from her bare breast, her smooth, pale thighs. All he could think was of the absence of thirst. He hadn't realized it until this moment, but since he woke up like this, he hadn't yearned for a hit. He didn't ache to run off with Ruby into the night and exorcise demons.
"Woah," Ruby threw her hands in the air in mock surrender. "You wouldn't answer my texts, Sam. For all I knew, you were dead on the side of the road somewhere."
"Why should he answer your texts in the first place, bitch?" Dean ground out. "You trying to sucker him into using his freaky demonic powers again?"
Ruby finally threw her attention to the older Winchester. She gave Dean you-can't-be-serious-right-now look. "Watch your tone with me."
"Or what?"
Ruby glowered and crossed her arms. She turned her attention past Dean to Sam, "So what happened?"
Sam explained everything. He told Ruby about the case, the goddess, the riddle, and Castiel telling him what he'd been transformed into. Although Ruby stood quietly and listened, Sam saw the flash of recognition in her eyes when he mentioned the part of facing his biggest fear. Sure, Ruby was a demon, but she didn't say anything. For that, Sam was incredibly thankful.
By the time he finished, Ruby was looking between the brothers.
"Nothing work so far?"
"Nope," Dean said, sitting back down on the bed. Sam leaned closer to Dean and Ruby took notice, the edge of her lip twitching upward.
"Well, I hope you get back to your normal self soon, Sam," Ruby said with an exaggerated sigh and turned to go. Dean blinked rapidly in confusion.
"That's it?" Dean said. "You aren't going to try to help or anything?"
Ruby glanced back and turned to face them once more. "What's to do? I have bigger fish to fry. I'm searching for Lilith. Trying to, I don't know, stop more seals from breaking. I'm sorry, but Sam can't exactly help anybody the way he is. What is he going to do, constrict Lilith to death? Come on."
Dean glared. "Yeah, well, we don't need your help anyway."
Exasperated, Ruby rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Dean." She nodded to Sam. "Catch you around, big guy."
With that, Ruby opened the door and slipped back into the natural world, the only indication she was ever there the lingering scent of her lilac perfume.