Author: Regala Electra
Pairing: Sam/Ruby, Sam/Dean
Warnings: Sexual Content, Language, Violence, Disturbing Imagery
Spoilers: S3, No Rest for the Wicked
Summary: Ruby kisses Sam like she’s trying to be Dean. She pulls back so Sam can see the lazy smile, the shine of saliva clinging to her bottom lip. “That all you fantasized about?” Ruby possesses Dean’s body and Sam tries not to fall apart.
Word Count: 4,189
Author's Notes: Written for cathybites who suggested the idea of Ruby possessing Dean’s body and I simply had to write it. Many thanks to ignited for the initial beta and audiencing. memphis86 is also to blame for being a damn Ruby loving pinko and I love her to BITS for it. Title taken from The Killing Moon.
“I promised that I’d still be here. Just ‘cause I’m a demon doesn’t mean I’d ever lie about leaving you all on your own, Sammy.”
Ruby kisses Sam like she’s trying to be Dean. She pulls back so Sam can see the lazy smile, the shine of saliva clinging to her bottom lip. “That all you fantasized about?”
He draws her back and ignores the laughing answer he finds in her mouth. She’s so confident, smug, sure that she’s corrupted another piece of his soul. But all Sam can think is that if this were purely Dean and not just Dean’s mouth— not just his tongue fighting back the moment Sam tries to overwhelm, tries to gain an advantage—Sam’s jeans would’ve been unbuckled by now. And, by now, one of them would be getting off.
She figures it out when Sam’s filling up the gas tank, a self-satisfied hum that Sam can pick up on despite the distance, as she leans against the car. Ruby’s wearing one of Sam’s shirts because he isn’t letting her rifle through Dean’s clothes just yet.
“You don’t just want Dean back, do you? You want him.”
He doesn’t answer her but she cocks her head—Dean’s head—and smiles all twisted, a smile Sam’s never seen before on Dean’s face.
“Good thing I did you a favor and jumped in his corpse.”
He doesn’t ask her for any of it—her ‘help’, she says pointedly, crossing arms over a broad chest, thumbs tucking into the crooks of elbows, leaning back as though waiting for him to strike at her—but he doesn’t stop her either.
It happens when Sam’s shut down, hours after Dean died. He’s moving everything incriminating—had moved Dean—out to the car. Sam’s sitting in the driver’s seat and he aches. He’s just so tired of this all but he’s got a mission, a demon to kill and he has to do that. One last thing for Dean’s sake if not his own.
Nothing is ever that easy.
Dean's body sits up in the back of the Impala, awkward moments of a marionette getting used to the lack of strings. Head lolls around and the voice, close to Dean's but infused with a feminine edge, hard and extremely pissed, speaks indirectly, "A cracked skull too? That Hell Hound must've been in a rush to kill Dean."
He can't bear to look at the body right away. Instead he steals a glance in the rearview mirror and finds a stranger staring back. The eyes lock onto Sam's gaze, the dark amusement there not belonging to Dean at all, despite the familiar green and the alertness.
The Latin comes to him quickly, pushed out of his mouth thoughtlessly, on automatic. It might be Dean’s hand that clamps over Sam's mouth, but Ruby's in control.
She says, the voice barely staying a measure above human, "Do that and you'll lose the only shot at getting your brother back."
She’s fine with sitting in the backseat as Sam drives, next to the other corpse, Ruby’s former body. A waste, she muttered when she looked at the body but she’d then shrugged I’d deal with that later.
He stops at a nearby rest stop and she lazily says, “Would be a good idea to see how much damage I gotta fix.”
She’s playing with Dean’s voice, testing the possible modulations possible. This time the mimicry is too good.
“What?” She pulls Dean's shirt off and Sam hates himself for looking. The skin's been gouged and ripped apart, too deep and there's a long tear down Dean's chest, splitting the tattoo in a near perfect half.
Ruby touches it, pushing together the skin to nearly close it before she shakes Dean's head. The movement’s too distinctly Ruby, as though she still thinks there’s still a long mane of blonde hair getting in the way.
At least she’s no longer moving with effort. Smaller cuts have already faded during the drive.
"It how I got in and how I'll stay in," she tells Sam, two fingers pulling the split tattoo further apart.
The smell of blood clings inside of the car.
They take Ruby's body to a cold fridge storage unit and leave it there. Ruby kisses the pallid lips before zipping the body bag closed.
"Bodies degrade over time," Sam says, not looking at Ruby. “Even when on ice.”
"I'm stitching together your brother's meat," she snaps. "You don't think I'm able to fix a little frostbite if I have to?"
She takes the first aid kit out of the truck, along with a knife.
“What are you doing?”
“For me to stay in, I can’t fix the tattoo. I have to do it myself or all you’ll have left on your hands is that lovely attitude and one decomposing brother.”
She slices the tattoo open again before Sam can protest, without taking off the shirt. Blood oozes thick and brackish, and she looks at it, amused. “Guess it'll take another bleeding until the bad humors are gone.”
Demons don’t need to sleep and one morning when Sam wakes up, Ruby is already drinking coffee, making a face as she comments, “Too bitter.”
Dean’s torso is clear of any sign that he’d been ripped apart, save for the long scar making a jagged path over the tattoo and though it’s still shiny pink, it’s showing every indication of healing into an old scar, forgotten war wound.
“We’re behind,” she says, handing Sam the bitter caffeine.
Ruby tries to take the keys once and Sam gets ahead of her, swallows the keys tight in his fist, feeling the edge of metal teeth cutting into his palm. If she wanted to, she can break his hand to get them but she doesn’t do that.
“You have a problem with letting a girl driving this pussywagon?”
“You’re not a girl,” Sam tells her and she smirks.
“Not right now.”
“You aren’t driving the car. Dean wouldn’t want—”
It’s the first time he uses past tense.
Ruby pushes him towards the car, using too much force on purpose, and Sam’s knees buckle.
“Don’t start crying on me now. We’ve got demons to kill and no time to kill ‘em.”
Too much and too little like Dean. Sam doesn’t look at Ruby for the rest of the day.
Ruby shoves the knife in the back of the frail woman as the demon screams and shudders out of existence, the body crumpling to the floor.
She doesn’t stop, ever, not even as she’s still working on fixing Dean’s body. The extreme damage takes longer than even she’d expected, frowning just before Sam falls asleep. He’s trying to ignore the fact that the annoyed grumble coming out of Dean’s body isn’t Dean’s real voice, that something else is manipulating his vocal chords. It’s not real.
But he’ll dream otherwise.
“C’mon,” she says after they’ve covered their tracks, swiping the blood into her mouth, Dean’s tongue flicking out to taste. “We still have more fires to put out.”
The open wound is festering and she’s hissing at him in disgust. “Why the fuck did you piss off our only lead?”
He’s feverish and numb, unable to answer because he knows it’s her but that doesn’t stop him from groaning Dean when she strips off his jeans, hands brushing down his hips to steady him.
“This will hurt,” she tells him as she pours the gunpowder in his wound. The match held between forefinger and thumb looks ridiculously small as she strikes the back of the matchbook.
Sam has no way of stifling the scream so he lets it bleed out until there’s nothing left, voice left beyond hoarse, as Ruby cauterizes the wound. Moving isn’t an option but staying isn’t possible so Ruby heaves him up as though he weighs nothing and he’s barely conscious enough to keep from putting pressure on his bad leg.
“This is why you need me to stick around,” Ruby says, as though that’s her penance, walking around in his brother’s skin.
She guides him out of the dilapidated house, careful to keep him from tripping over the dead bodies that lie like broken dolls on the floor, blood pooling underneath each little corpse.
“A demon in a child is the same as an adult,” Ruby says, scolding him. But Sam’s too far gone, hearing only Dean. “Get some stones and stop hesitating.”
Sam lets himself linger in a hallucination of Ruby sitting at the foot of his bed, checking on the state of his wound. She lets out an annoyed breath and rolls her shoulders, distinctive crack of a neck, an old crick Dean’s complained about since he was seventeen.
Crawls over him, no, she climbs over him, weight pressing down on his good leg.
“You ever do that again—”
Sam crushes the mouth to him, lets her nip back, fight back. If there weren’t so many drugs pumping inside of him, he’d be hard from this, sharp angles and tapered bulk all Dean and not him at all, forcing Sam to back down, almost squashing the weight in his stomach until it’s nothing.
Ruby rips him out of the dream. “Dean’s not fucking here.”
“I know,” he says and forces himself back to sleep.
Five hundred miles and two weeks later and Ruby’s been staring at him for the last three miles, expectantly.
Sam doesn’t acknowledge her. He lets her become a ghost riding shotgun, familiar green eyes narrowed.
They still have a lot of distance to make up and Sam looks down at the fuel gauge one more time, figures he’ll need to stop in a couple of hours. He’s not looking forward to it.
Ruby’s shifting in her seat now like she’s aching to stick her foot on the dashboard but can’t bring her leg up, body too big for that. “He has a bad knee.”
She does this constantly.
His shoulder never healed right.
His eyesight’s going to go and his peripheral vision isn’t so hot.
He had an ulcer starting but don’t worry, I’m fixing it.
The only thing she can’t complain about is Dean’s taste, or taste buds, that is. It had happened at one of the first diners they’d stopped at in the beginning of this thing between them.
She’d been sitting across from him and moaned, too loud, people around them taking notice. I swear this is the best a French fry’s ever tasted. You gotta take a bite.
She’d held it dainty, an offering Sam refused as his appetite died right then and there, seeing the hard-edges Ruby normally fixed in Dean’s face melt away and too much of Dean in that pleased expression. A blob of ketchup fell on Sam’s chicken salad sandwich.
Sorry there, Sammy.
She’d stolen his pickle then, munching on it, mouth closed; entirely unlike the way Dean would’ve eaten it.
“I’m going to snap his leg in half,” Ruby says, tone conversational and light, as though she’s commenting on the wide stretch of fields they’re passing by. “Bust his knee cap and rebuild it. You okay with that?”
“Dean will die if I get him back in his body,” Sam says, focusing his sight on the road. It’s the unspoken truth between them.
If he has to take her, he knows how to get the upper hand. Knows Dean’s body, its strengths and weaknesses.
He’ll grab the knife out of its holster—the weapon’s snug against her torso—first and jam it in until the hilt hits flesh and watch his nightmare finally die. Ruby’s kept the knife safely tucked away since she reconstructed the holster she had worn on her previous body.
“Not if you crack open what’s in your head. What’s got Lilith running scared, yeah you’ve always been the one, Sam. You ready for the first test?”
“You know that answer.”
She smirks. “You said yes twice. One more time to seal the deal.”
He’s showering when she enters the bathroom. Doesn’t hear her until she’s yanking the shower curtain open. A mean left hook connects with his jaw before he has a chance.
“Contacting a witch without me knowing? You ever gonna learn a damn thing?”
Ruby’s got a fistful of Sam’s hair and she’s twisting, knuckles fiercely digging into his scalp. “No witch can tear a soul out of hell.”
“Not every witch is a whore,” Sam bites out, the cold fury something new and welcome. It’s almost like he can feel beyond the numbness.
Ruby lets go and he slumps back into the tiled shower wall.
“But every Winchester’s a sucker,” she says, cracking her knuckles. “Push it and I’ll leave this corpse to rot and let you sob yourself stupid. You think that’ll keep the world safe?”
“You care about the world now? You care about anything, Ruby?”
It’s not that Ruby softens. No, she’s just as angry and she holds Dean’s body the way she held her former body. But she walks into the shower, not paying any attention to the spray of water. Stands tall and Sam’s hunched down, enough that when she’s close, their foreheads touch and it’s too gentle and Sam has ached too long without.
She’s warm and she angles her face, mouth sliding over Sam’s cheek, fingers pushing wet locks away as she says, deep and too Dean in his ear, “I care about you.”
The moment he stiffens against her, his dick hardening against wet jeans, she throws her head back and laughs.
“I’m waiting on you, Sam. Get your head in the game.”
She backs away, stripping off wet clothes as she walks out of the bathroom.
They look like they’ve bathed in blood by the time they’re done and Ruby says, grudgingly, “Not bad.”
Sam puts down his axe. Looks at the tear in his shirt to make sure none of the blood is his own.
Then he looks at the split lip Ruby’s sporting and he says, “You burn the bodies.”
She touches her bottom lip and curses. “Fine.” Then she pouts and says, “You sure you don’t want to kiss it and make it better?”
He pulls a machete from under one of the corpses and hands it to her.
“Oh, a present for me?”
“I don’t want to wait around forever. They’ll burn quicker in pieces.”
Ruby presses up against Sam. Not a hug, not anything quite like that. Just her body, reeking of blood and gore, sweat too. And lingering under that all, excitement. It nearly oozes out of her pores, heady and rich, almost as rich as the smell of blood. “You’re growing up so fast.”
He’s going to give up soon and fuck her and he’ll be shouting Dean’s name when he comes.
Exorcising a demon shouldn’t take hours nor should killing one but Sam takes his time after the demon cackles about Dean screaming for Sam to rescue him, how it’s all Dean can ever say.
And he’ll never stop. Then those screams will turn to hatred. Can you hear it, Sam Winchester? He’s screaming now!
“How long does it take to turn into a demon?”
Ruby stares at him, impassive. “We can’t keep time there. It’s not like being here.”
Sam snorts at that.
“Demons aren’t born overnight,” she says, acidly. “The righteous ones fall hard and fast, but for Dean? They’ll want him to remember as long as possible. It hurts more.”
The fire bursts around them because Sam’s so fucking tired of her pretending to know all the answers, to dispense her false wisdom in hopes of it being that final push. And just like that, he thinks about the flames licking around them rolling back, leaving a wide path for them to walk through the fire.
Only when they’re far enough does he turn around and watch the fire consume the crumbling, forgotten warehouse.
“Finally,” Ruby says, relieved.
Ava had been telling the truth. The learning curve moves disturbingly fast once it begins.
Which is why he is doing everything he can to fight against it.
Sam’s giving up on fighting against Dean. Against the perversion in Dean’s body. Against what Ruby thinks will be the last thing that’ll break him.
“Bobby called again,” Ruby says, scrolling through Sam’s cell phone. She’s dressed down in a faded navy t-shirt and jeans as she reclines in the only bed in the motel room, left leg propped over the right knee, socked foot rocking to some metronome slow rhythm.
Dean’s boots have been neatly tucked next to the bedside stand. Like she’s settling in for the night.
“Give me my phone.”
Rolling her eyes, she does, handing it over palm up. “Longer you put off calling him back, more suspicious he’ll get.”
“Fine. Get off the bed.”
Ruby tucks her hands under her head, cocks an eyebrow. “No.”
It’s a waste of a trick but he gets Ruby by taking advantage of one of Dean’s soft spots and she curls over as he fights her for possession of the bed, all but kicking her off. She lands in a heavy heap on the floor, thudding hard.
“You broke my fucking arm,” she says, impressed, clutching her left forearm.
“Next time I’ll do worse.”
Ruby stole the first shower, shooting past Sam, and stripping off layers, shirts falling every which way, bloody and wet. There’s more than blood on their clothes and Sam can barely stand having his clothes sticking to his skin, the splatters of viscera he can’t wipe off.
She exits the bathroom after too long a time, probably used up all the hot water. Steps out with only a thin white towel slung low around her hips, water droplets flecked across shoulders like Dean’s spray of freckles.
He swallows hard at the sight, the unbearable reality too much to take.
Once he’s gotten most of the stains of their battle cleaned off, he fists his cock and jerks off fast and quick, come splattering against the wall.
Head wounds are always the worst and not even Ruby can stave off the blood flowing from the deep cut on Dean’s forehead. But that doesn’t stop her laughing. “His thick skull came in handy back there.”
Sam catches Ruby off-guard, spinning her until she’s pushed up against the crumbling brick wall in the alleyway. “No more. I can’t—stop talking about him like that.”
“How’d you like me to talk about Dean?” She’s tilting her head so their lips are barely an inch apart and Sam shoves off her, can’t look at Dean’s face like that, blood making uneven tracks down sun-burnt skin.
They’d finished a job in New Mexico before they’d gunned it back to Illinois to follow a lead that ended in death, as all of them seemed to end. Ruby had spent daylight hours outside as much as she could.
We’re always cold, she’d explained when Sam asked her what the fuck she was doing.
He has no answer for her. No stop talking about Dean order because if she stops, Sam welcomes the lie of Dean’s body walking and talking, being alive.
Ruby flicks her tongue over his bottom lip and Sam almost feels it touching his own mouth, so he jerks back, releases his hold.
She must be tired by the game or maybe she’s trying to one-up him, he doesn’t know but what he feels is Dean’s body against his own. He can feel Dean’s dick, so hard and all for him, pressing against his thigh. Ruby must be trying not to break the illusion, the wrongness of this, because she’s genuinely silent.
Fingers curl in Sam’s hair to demand he lower his mouth and he shouldn’t, not when he can see Dean like this, not his at all, not his brother, not who he’s needed for far too long. But he’s ached without any comfort for too long and he takes the false offering.
It’s a cheap violation, Sam notes, but it’s one he indulges in, pushing his tongue deeper inside. Dean’s mouth always tastes the same. Not even the tinge of blood is enough to stop Sam.
Ruby’s making short work of undoing Sam’s jeans and the loudest noise between them is the sound of Sam’s zipper being pulled down, warm hand palming his dick, pulling it out to stroke him, hard and quick. Like she already knows that’s how he likes it.
He doesn’t care to wonder how, he just kisses harder, doesn’t let any noise escape his mouth as she jacks him off, letting him spill sticky all over. Their mouths only pull apart enough for Ruby to lick some of the mess off her hand and all Sam sees is Dean’s tongue darting out to lick at Sam’s come. He forces himself to look beyond Ruby’s smirk and haughty expression.
Sam drops his knees, desperately tugging at jeans until Ruby helps him along, pushes down boxers too and there it is, Dean’s cock, pre-come glistening at the tip. There’s no plan for finesse, no thought beyond want and sucking on the head seems like a good idea, hollowing out his cheeks. He pulls back to lick at the underside, refusing to look up, to distort the delusion.
She breaks him then. “Oh Sammy,” she groans, all Dean in that voice, “Fuck, yeah, exactly like that.”
He lets her guide him to take more of Dean’s cock in his mouth, Sam nearly gagging a little when it hits the back of his mouth but he takes it, all of it, salty slightly unpleasant taste more than welcome. Because it’s what Dean tastes like, it’s a part of Dean and fuck he’ll take all that and more.
Not allowed to back off when Ruby comes, Sam forces himself to swallow as much as he can, wiping the come off his lips when she lets go of his head. The tense way Ruby always holds Dean’s body, even when pretending to be relaxed is gone, body slack. He dares then. Dares to look up at her face and delude himself into seeing Dean staring back at him.
Though the eyelids are lowered and it’s dark, Sam can see the full-black eyes framed by Dean’s eyelashes.
And he doesn’t care. No guilt washes over him and he slowly gets up, awkward movements that are more fitting for a drunk, a staggering attempt that nearly tips him over once he’s standing straight.
Ruby’s cut is healing already and she’s gotten herself tucked away. You’d almost be able to mistake her for just some random nobody kind of guy if you discounted the blood on her face and slick come drying on her jeans.
“Dean would’ve loved that,” she tells him and Sam is too exhausted to look back at her, knowing that she’ll follow whatever path he takes.
Ruby sucks him off while he drives. He can feel the Impala shuddering underneath when he speeds up, as though it doesn’t approve.
He fucks Ruby into the mattress, doesn’t let her get up on knees.
Has her stretched out flat and tells her not one fucking word or he’ll pull out and leave her like this, which they both know is a lie. His hips snap forward, and he empties inside of the condom, rolls off and disposes of it before he pulls Ruby back towards him.
Sam reaches around to fist that cock, wanting the come to stain the sheets, refusing to look, only studying how tense Dean’s neck gets before Ruby comes, silent as ordered.
Every time he wakes up, he aches for Dean. Ruby never gives in and stays with him when falls asleep, sometimes she’s vanished entirely.
When she returns, he’ll fuck her hard enough to leave bruises that he knows she’ll repair and leave Dean’s skin almost as good as before. The scarred tattoo is now a part of Dean’s body that Sam fools himself into believing was there before this all started.
Ruby’s chin is resting on Sam’s shoulder as she sits behind him on the bed, her breath held as Sam stitches his wound closed.
“I could do that faster.”
“And make it hurt,” Sam says, teeth gritted.
“Oh Sam,” Ruby sighs, lips sliding against Sam’s neck. “By now I think we both know you like that.”
When he has Dean back—and it is impossible to consider an outcome where that does not happen, he has gone too far for that—he doesn’t expect forgiveness or salvation.
He knows that Dean will be reproachful and that he won’t understand that this price is worth it, that Sam has found a way beyond sacrificing himself like Dad and Dean.
None of that will matter.
He will have Dean back.
For now, he takes what little he can have. Ruby laughs in his mouth but doesn’t tell him to stop when he calls her Dean.