Sam deposited the pan in the garage sink, scrubbed his hands raw, and hastily entered the house. He should probably take more time to clean his tools, but he was… motivated to hurry upstairs. As he passed the empty walls, he couldn't help but think they should put up pictures—maybe of their wedding. He'd like that—it'd make the place feel more theirs. Even if he couldn't remember a single moment of the wedding itself. Gosh, how that must make Jessica feel. He didn't just forget their anniversary; he couldn't recall anything of their lives together. No matter—he'd make it up to her. He had time. He'd spend every night of the rest of their lives making it right. Because she was everything. And he wanted to give her everything in return. She deserved nothing less.
He took a moment to catch his breath when he reached the top of the stairs. A glance down at his t-shirt revealed it still covered in bold paint. He wasn't sure what he'd expected—it to have magically disappeared? To avoid any chance of paint staining the bed—and perhaps to hasten things along—he began working his shirt off as he knocked softly in warning of his entrance. He twisted the handle and pushed open the door, an unshakable smile already toying with his face.
The sight that greeted him inside made him stumble backward and nearly fall to the floor. His eyes immediately began to dart about in search of a weapon whilst simultaneously struggling to depart from the person before him. He wanted to say something—maybe to shout or curse—but his brain seized and all that was left was breathless disbelief, confusion, and horror.
When he was finally able to form the word, the name, it came out thin and shaky, "Ruby?"
She smiled, "Who else would it be?"
He wrung his head, gaze still bouncing about the room—maybe this time touched with fear and guilt. "You… you can't be here." Where was Jess? She'd be up any minute. How would this look?
Ruby chuckled, a sultry sound, "That's no way to greet a lady, Sam."
Sam's mind raced, trying to reconcile the sight before him, "You're dead. You—you…"
"I'm here," she corrected, eyebrow cocked, amusement fading somewhat, "What's going on?"
"Where's Jess?" He demanded, voice steadying and sharpening in his rising panic, his desperation. Ruby couldn't be here. This was his and Jessica's house, their space—their bedroom. Everything was good—everything was perfect.
And Ruby was dead. She couldn't be here. Why was she here?
"Jess?" Ruby's expression narrowed in something close to concern, "As in, Stanford Jess?"
She took a step closer, and he took one back, finding his back to a corner of the room.
"Sam, you're scaring me," her voice carried a nervous laugh.
I'm scaring you? "How are you… why are you here?" How are you alive? Why are you in our bedroom? Where's Jess?
"Well… isn't it obvious?" She bounced the side of her fist against her thigh absently, studying Sam another moment. Her expression twisted in concern, "Sam… I think it's time."
"Time?" Sam repeated, even as she drew a knife from her boot, "Ruby, what did you do to Jess?"
Her face sank again, then she took another step forward, knife still in hand. His back hit the wall—he was out of room to retreat. She was close—she was so close. She couldn't be here. Why was she here?
Ruby stretched out a hand, and he couldn't move—except to flinch as her fingers brushed the back of his neck. This was a nightmare—it had to be. He closed his eyes tight. When he woke up, Jessica would be there. It would be her fingers running through his hair. She'd whisper assurances until the tension finally eased its grip, and everything would be back to how it should. When he opened his eyes, everything would be right again.
"Hey," the wrong voice murmured, too close—inches away. He had to open his eyes to banish her. To put things right. So he did. A mere second before her lips were on his. A kiss, one so wretchedly, gloriously, horribly familiar. He didn't need to see to know whose it was. She tasted like sin. Like sulfur and death and power and complete and utter knowing acceptance.
Gosh, he missed her.
No—what was he doing?
Sam managed to yank away and shove her back—hard.
"Sam," she hissed his name, exasperated, annoyed, but not entirely shocked, as she caught her footing.
Distance. He needed distance. Holding his wrist to his mouth, trying to wipe away the clinging feeling, he stumbled for the door and slammed it behind him. A glance up revealed he must have turned the wrong way—he was in the bathroom. He cursed, then locked the door. The handle jiggled a moment later.
"Sam, open up," Ruby ordered—pleaded?
He paced, trying to think. She couldn't be here. So how was she here? This… this was supposed to be heaven. Wasn't it? Sure, it was sad—bittersweet, perhaps. It meant Dean was dead, and he supposed Adam too. But at least they were here—heaven. There were worse places to be. Even if heaven apparently had vampires… no, that had been a dream, hadn't it? He was safe here. Everything was fine. Everything was perfect.
But now, Ruby was here. And she was a demon. If this wasn't another dream… where did that leave him?
"Sam, please," Ruby insisted from the other side of the door, "I can help. Just let me in."
He'd made that mistake before—and paid the price. Just what would Dean think if he even—
Dean. He needed Dean. Dean would know what to do; he could help. He dug his phone out from his pocket, fumbling over the keys as he mashed out a message. His thumb must have shakily punched send a dozen times before it finally registered.
He set the phone on the counter to detach it from his trembling hands, trying to steady himself. But the reflection staring back felt wrong. It was his, he knew that, but it didn't feel like it was. It felt like it belonged to someone else. A shudder raced through him, and he broke the mirrored gaze.
Instead, he busied his hands with checking the drawers for anything that he might use as a weapon. Though, given that Ruby was a demon… unless he found the demon-killing knife hidden among toothpaste tubes, floss, and razors, nothing he found would do much good. Still, having anything might make him feel better.
The phone began to vibrate loudly on the granite as though it held a swarm of crazed bees inside. Sam snatched it up, holding the phone to his ear. "Dean?"
"Sammy. You okay?" Dean's voice was cocooned in concern and edged in wrath.
"Yeah," was the only word he could get out before Dean interrupted.
"I'm almost there. What's happening?"
"Dean…" he glanced up to the door. How was he supposed to confess that Ruby was back, and that she was in his bedroom? Dean loved Sam, but would he be able to forgive this? Would he even be able to look at Sam after this? Would he believe Sam's vow that nothing happened? Would that be a lie, given the kiss? Even if he hadn't wanted it—but even though some part of him enjoyed it?
"Sam? Talk to me, man!" Dean's voice broke through the speakers again, his panic leaking through.
Sam's throat tightened, "I'm okay, just… get here, please. And, uh… it's not what you think, okay? I didn't want this."
A pause. "Just stay safe, Sam, I'm almost there."
Maybe he would believe him. If his dad could be proud of him, maybe Dean could believe him too. Even about a demon. Even about Ruby.
Sam pulled another drawer and rummaged through the contents haphazardly until his fingers brushed over a pair of scissors. Probably pointless, but likely the best he'd find here.
"Hey, I'm here," Dean's voice crackled through the phone. "You upstairs?"
"Bedroom." Sam answered tightly, "Dean, be careful."
The call terminated before Sam could add "bring the demon-killing knife." He cursed, seizing the scissors and hovering his hand over the door handle. He couldn't hear her outside at the moment, but she had to still be there. Waiting.
Carefully, he twisted the handle and cracked open the door, his muscles tensing reflexively as though expecting an abrupt assault. When none immediately came, he slid out the door, scissors poised like a dagger as his gaze swept over the room.
Empty.
A frown tweaked his brow, and his eyes roved the space again—just to be sure. Nothing. She was… gone? A horrible thought wormed beneath his skin. Had she even been here in the first place?
He swallowed hard and, scissors still readied, silently started toward the door.
Footsteps creaked in the narrow hallway just outside. Sam pressed himself against the wall beside the door, holding his breath as the creaking neared.
The figure crossed the doorway—Sam caught himself before the scissors plunged into the man's neck.
Clearly noticing the shadow in his peripheral, Dean flinched and lurched away from the door out of instinct, a curse on his tongue. "Sammy, it's me." Dean's hand hovered defensively, prepared to deflect the scissors should Sam change his mind and follow through with the ambush.
Sam lowered the weapon, heaving an exhale, "Sorry."
Dean held out a hand, asking for the scissors as though he didn't trust Sam with them. Perhaps a fair assessment. Sam rested the blades in Dean's open palm, though his eyes kept skating about the room. In case she might reappear, maybe.
Dean seemed to notice the nervous glances and uneasy fidgeting, "You okay, Sam? What's going on?"
"I'm fine," Sam replied quickly, taking a breath before adding, "Dean… there was a demon, here." He pointed downward, to signal toward the bedroom. He waited for Dean to finish his own glance about the space. Dean deserved to hear it from Sam. It'd be better that way. Better than him finding out later. He inhaled again before hazarding a confession. "It… Dean, it was Ruby." The words came surprisingly fast for the weighted baggage of guilt, shame, and self-loathing they carried.
Dean's eyes narrowed, fixing on Sam immediately. He was silent—agonizingly so—for almost a minute. Then, "Did you see where she went?" His voice was guarded. Sam couldn't hear any judgment or condemnation, but he also didn't hear any inflection of trust or assurance. Perhaps Dean hadn't yet decided how to react. That was all Sam could ask for.
Sam shook his head in answer, then, with his voice unavoidably tinged in desperation, asked, "Dean, did you see Jessica on your way up?"
"Jessica?" Dean repeated, his gaze locked on Sam like a magnet.
"Did you see her?" Sam demanded, his heartrate rising. She was somewhere in the house. He'd locked himself in the bathroom and left her alone in the house with Ruby. How could he be so stupid? "We need to find her, now." He pushed past Dean and out of the room, vision tunneling in his pursuit.
"Sam!" Dean called after him, jogging to catch up, "Hold on!"
Sam froze, but not at Dean's order.
No, he froze because of the woman—the demon—leaning against the stairs' railing. She spun around and straightened at Dean's shout, her face twisting in emotions that didn't make sense. Sam's hands clenched into fists, and he wished desperately he'd kept the scissors—even if they couldn't kill her.
Then, suddenly, arms curled around him from behind before he could take another step. On instinct, he struggled against the grip, but his assailant had had the perfect, open opportunity for a solid lock. But the only one behind him was…
"Sammy, calm down," Dean barked in his ear, tightening his grip. "We're gonna help you, okay? Just hold still."
Sam ignored the directive, but didn't yet resort to stomping on Dean's toes, "Dean, what are you doing? Let me go!" He hated it. The feeling, the restraint. The utter helplessness. He tried to rip an arm free, but he didn't gain an inch. He'd broken this hold before—he should be able to now. So why did Dean's lock feel like iron?
Ruby smiled sadly at him as she approached slowly, her familiar form at the center of his vision. "It's okay, Sammy. You'll feel better soon." That thin, glistening knife was in her hands again. He threw his weight against Dean, but Dean didn't budge. Ruby drew it across her wrist in a single, swift movement. Instantly, blood welled at the cut, and she cupped her hand around it, stepping closer.
"Stay away from me," Sam hissed, voice flooded with hostility to conceal the terror beneath.
"It'll help," she promised, proffering her wrist toward his mouth. He twisted his head away.
"You've gotta drink it, Sammy," Dean urged, "It's time."
Dean wanted him to drink it? No. No.
"What did you do to my brother?" Sam demanded, his breath coming quickly. A demon must have possessed Dean. It was the only explanation. His brother would sooner die—sooner allow Sam to die—than allow him to drink demon blood again, much less encourage it.
"It's gonna be alright," Dean assured, his worry tempered in soothing confidence. His older brother nodded toward Ruby, as though granting her permission to proceed.
Her warm fingers gripped his jaw, and the heavy tang of sulfur engulfed his senses. It was thick on his tongue and clung to the back of his throat. It flooded his mouth and before he could stop it, he found himself swallowing it down, his body buzzing with anticipation. The horror and disgust and raw shock of it all paralyzed his mind—he didn't realize he was sucking it down until his vision was practically crimson. He wrung his head away, shoving her back with the weak portion of his strength that would obey. He hadn't realized Dean had released him until he blinked and saw Dean steadying Ruby as she stumbled back.
"Hey, man, take it easy!" Dean shouted, evidently taking offense at Sam's abrupt maneuver.
"It's okay," Ruby dismissed, her face already falling into a soft smile, "It's good to have you back, Sam."
Dean was standing at her side still—no, not Dean. Whatever demon was possessing him.
He inhaled a breath, took a step back, and began the chant. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus." He prayed Dean was alright—and if he wasn't, then, well, he'd deal with it. Dean would be fine. And when he was, he'd help Sam set this right. "Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii." A frown twisted his face. They weren't reacting, they weren't… moving. Not writhing in pain, not trying to stop him. "Omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica." They just watched—blinking. And then, a laugh—a cackle, really—so distant and so close, echoing everywhere. It stilled his tongue—it froze his limbs in place. It took a force of will to keep from dropping to his knees.
"Sweetheart," Ruby drawled almost pitying, "What did you think was going to happen? Where did you think we'd go?"
What kind of a question was that? His lip curled in response to her tone, and a treacherous thought needled through his mind. He could try his powers, given the traditional exorcism failed. No—he couldn't. What would Dean think? Then again, unless he did something, Dean might not be around to think. Sam gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, digging into his core for the dormant power sleeping within. It blossomed at his touch, immediately stretching out beneath his mental command, leaping out from his hand and reaching for Dean. But there was no demon there to pull. The space felt… empty.
He reopened his eyes and the shadow of his power lurched back, leaving him swaying faintly as he stared at Dean and Ruby. Did the demon brand Dean with a binding link, locking itself inside his meatsuit?
"Sam," Dean tilted his head somewhat incredulously as he tugged down the collar of his t-shirt, "I'm not possessed." His anti-possession tattoo remained unblemished. After allowing Sam to scrutinize it for a few seconds, Dean released and readjusted his shirt, "And Ruby's Ruby. You know her. Relax. You'll feel better soon."
"It might take a bit for it to kick in," Ruby noted, watching Sam in something mocking concern. She was a seasoned deceiver.
Sam wrung his head slowly. This couldn't be right. His blood was a furnace, burning him up from the inside. This was wrong. And yet, it was the best he'd felt in a long time. But it came with a tidal wave of defeat. Disappointment. Exhaustion. As if it had endowed him enough strength to truly understand how little he had left.
His body ached—not a normal response to the blood—and Sam glanced down instinctively, somewhat dazed. Immediately, he faltered a moment to find himself drenched in blood, every inch of him stained a black red. Then, a blink, and it was gone.
"Maybe he should lie down a bit?" Ruby suggested, and Dean nodded, starting toward Sam's side. Sam couldn't find the will to move away, despite the frantic state of his mind. His brother's hand gently rested on his shoulder, guiding him back toward the bedroom. For some reason, his feet obliged in a shuffle. His body was a traitor—like it wasn't even his anymore. Ruby followed at his other side, her gaze never drifting from his curled form.
It felt like he'd been cast into the deep ocean. Dean was Dean, but he wasn't Dean. Jessica was gone. And now he wasn't even sure he wanted her to return—not yet. What would she think if she found him high on demon blood, with a demon chick hanging off his arm? What would his parents think? What would they do when they realized their son was one of the very things they hunted? No—no. They'd understand. They all would understand—it wasn't his fault. He didn't ask for this; he didn't want it. …Did he?
His fists curled tight, and he closed his eyes again, trying to shunt the gnawing guilt.
Dean pushed Sam down towards the bed, and again his body complied. He felt the bed shift and creak as Ruby climbed onto the other side. Her fingers were light, soft on his shoulder as she eased him into the pillows. Why wasn't he fighting this? The answer his mind offered sent a shudder across his flesh.
What was the point?
"I'll be downstairs—call if you need anything." Dean paused at the doorway, then his footsteps echoed down the hall and creaked along the stairs.
Ruby's hand wouldn't leave his skin. She drew light circles across his back, murmuring assurances and affection he forced himself to tune out. He couldn't let himself fall back into the familiarity of her touch, the sweet understanding of her words. The pure acceptance. She was just trying to manipulate him again, because she was a demon. He had been an idiot for ever thinking she'd be any different than the others. He wouldn't make that mistake again. Even if she had somehow fooled Dean.
Her fingers toyed with his neck, but he refused to move, his eyes fixated on the blank wall ahead that felt empty without a picture of him and Jessica. He tightened his eyes shut as pain again twinged along his bones. He'd had everything, and now everything was wrong. Perhaps him most of all. Out of place, in every version of the world.
A faint, sad chuckle threatened to escape his throat. Maybe he had reached heaven. That his soul had somehow slipped in unnoticed. And now, maybe the angels had finally found him and cast him out. This was probably justice, then. Because this… this felt closer to what he deserved.