Warnings: None that I can think of.
Summary: Set during season three. Dee tastes like whiskey and cigarettes, like strawberry lipgloss and someone’s last breath.
Notes: sailorhathor, I know this isn't exactly what you asked for, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Thanks to goingtoqueens for all the hand-holding and encouragement, & sendthewolves and little_missmimi for the betas. Title from Tori Amos' "Honey."
It’s an old story: demon walks into a bar looking for some half-witted possibly-the-Antichrist hunter who has demon blood in his veins, and finds said hunter’s sister instead, leaning back against the counter and looking nine kinds of fuckable. Demon buys said sister another whiskey, bums a cigarette, and only has to get through the formalities of, “I’ve got a room three blocks from here,” before she’s in.
So Ruby’s not as committed to the mission sometimes as she should be. Sue her.
Dee tastes like whiskey and cigarettes, like strawberry lipgloss and someone’s last breath, and she fucks Ruby with her fingers so fast and hard and right that Ruby kind of almost regrets that this girl’s got to die to bring about the apocalypse. Like, it completely figures that Lucifer and everyone would be against her getting laid good and proper for the first time in centuries. Dee’s got Ruby shaking and moaning like it’s already the end of the world, sucking Ruby’s clit till she’s seeing fireworks and hearing the blood pump through a heart that isn’t hers.
Ruby gives as good as she gets; she may be a demon, but she’s not selfish, and she kisses Dee long and hard, tasting the human parts of herself, her tongue gathering up information about every part of Dee till Dee’s begging to get fucked, get touched.
So, okay. Ruby’s still a demon. She’s not above delayed gratification.
She also knows when she does catch up with the right Winchester, things are bound to get awkward, but – no way is she giving up this body just yet.
Turns out she manages to catch Sam alone in Indiana, and the whole I’m a demon thing goes over about as well as could be expected – which is, not at all. But the future Antichrist or whatever (Ruby’s pretty sure he’s actually not, but it’s a nifty nickname anyway and it sure makes him twitch) definitely wants to save his sister, and maybe part of him thinks Ruby can help.
Meanwhile, she catches up with Dee again in Missoula, where she does her best to seem like she just happens to be in a bar at the exact right moment, like this kind of coincidence is commonplace.
It doesn’t exactly work.
Doesn’t work at all, actually, because the second Dee spots her she doesn’t say a word, just comes right up to Ruby and drags her by the arm out of the bar, sharp nails with chipped nail polish digging into Ruby’s skin. She shoves Ruby right against some grimy brick wall that’s going to stain her jacket and demands, “Who the fuck are you?”
“A friend,” Ruby says, steady as the heartbeat she has no use for.
“I don’t have friends,” Dee says. “Just family and acquaintances and things that look good on the opposite end of my shotgun.” She presses in close, green eyes flashing chemical-dangerous, practically nose to nose with Ruby, close enough that Ruby could count every freckle if she wanted. Her hair’s down tonight, shoulder-length light brown locks brushing against Ruby, and Ruby smells the cigarettes on her breath when she says, “You sure as fuck don’t fit into the first category right now, sweetheart.”
Dee says sweetheart like she means bitch, and Ruby’s eyes flash coal-black. Dee, to her credit, barely flinches. “Yeah, thought so,” she says.
“Thought wrong,” Ruby counters, blue-eyed again, quiet, but trying to hold Dee here anyway. The really-just-misunderstood act worked well enough on the other Winchester, so what’s to say it won’t work on this one? “I wanna help you.”
That gets Dee out of her space, but only so that Dee can pull a knife out of her back pocket. Ruby almost pulls out hers for some cute little game of I’ll show you mine, but this is totally fucking wearing her patience.
“Your brother’s not doing so well, saving your pretty ass. I can help.”
Dee holds the knife to her throat, sharp blade feeling like the better parts of hell, and Dee breathes-in breathes-out, chest heaving in a flimsy little tank top. An amulet rests right between her cleavage, the charm some patron saint of something or other that Ruby doesn’t recognize. Dee presses the knife, and there’s not blood yet, but they both know there’s a fraction of a fraction of a fraction till that happens. Ruby raises an eyebrow, like she means, do it.
Maybe she does.
Either way, Dee blinks once, lowers the knife, and then says, “No, you can’t.”
She kisses Ruby anyway.
It’s the second time, or maybe the sixth, two in the morning as usual and Sam’s at the door, waiting. “Where have you been?” he asks, same as ever, like there’ll be a different answer this time.
Dee brushes the dust off her skirt, cigarettes and pretzel crumbs but no real trace of Ruby, and says, “Out.”
“I know that, Dee. Where?” Sam never asks like Dee guesses a parent would, someone other than their dad babbling on about curfew and bedtimes. He still asks like the little kid he used to be, sad puppy eyes and small voice. It’s the kind of tone that used to get under Dee’s skin, but now it just puts her on edge.
“Out, Sammy,” she says again, trying to stay calm but she doesn’t want to talk about this, won’t ever want to talk about this. She kicks off her boots, toes off her socks, tears the ponytail out of her hair, but when she looks up again, Sam’s still watching her, waiting for an answer.
At some point, once Dee switches on the TV and throws pillows off her bed looking for the remote, Sam figures out she’s not planning on giving one. He sighs. “Look, Dee, just because you have a due date doesn’t mean nothing else might be out to get you. The demon holding your contract is just item number one on the list of things that’d like to kill us.”
“Quit worryin’, Sam,” she scoffs, squaring her shoulders like she always does when she means drop it. It never does her any good, of course. Sam doesn’t drop anything, which is why after three months they’re still discussing this deal like there’s a way out. “I could also get hit by a car tomorrow.”
“Don’t remind me.” Sam’s eyes get dark and his voice lowers, but he sits down on the opposite bed and Dee knows he’s going to let it go, for now. She extends her leg, nudging his foot with hers. “Listen, kid,” she says. “You aren’t rid of me yet. Don’t get your hopes up.” She smiles, bigger and wider than she’s felt like doing in months, then flicks her head toward the TV. “Wanna watch some infomercials?”
She knows Sam wants to argue, knows he wants to talk about crossroad demons and Ruby (who, when she talks, usually only wants to talk about crossroad demons and Sam, so Dee guesses that makes sense) and the next nine months, but instead he just scowls and says, “Yeah, okay. But not the one with the crazy food processor again, okay?”
Dee laughs, and settles back against the pillows. She falls asleep in seconds, dodging every dream about hell.
Sometimes, Ruby’s glad there’s really no way some lower-level demon such as herself is ever going to be able to get Deanna fucking Winchester out of her deal. If she’s this ungrateful about being saved from witches, then what’s to say she’d grovel at all for that?
On the other hand, she kind of likes having Dee in her debt, even if Dee doesn’t see it that way. She catches Dee in the parking lot after, probably headed to the bar as usual, and Dee’s got her pressed flat against the Impala before Ruby can even quirk an eyebrow.
“Ungrateful bitch,” Ruby mutters, like it fucking matters to her at all if Dee lives or dies. It’d be better for them all if she died sooner, would save Ruby a little time, but it doesn’t exactly win her loyalty with Sam if that happens.
Not that she’s winning much loyalty with Sam by fucking Sam’s sister, but Dee insists Sam hasn’t figured it out. “You tell him, though, and I’ll take that cute little knife of yours and twist it into your heart like you were made of butter,” Dee said.
Now, Dee presses in closer, breasts rubbing against Ruby’s while her hands get under Ruby’s shirt, scratching at the skin there. Ruby guesses there isn’t much point in modesty when you’re messing around with a demon. “You lookin’ for a thank you?” Dee asks, smirk twisting those pretty lips and her eyes lit up like a storm. She’s got one hand down Ruby’s jeans now and she’s sliding a finger inside Ruby and Ruby’s already wet for it. It’d be fucking pathetic, if she didn’t know things are probably about the same for Dee. Hell isn’t what turns girls like them into animals; they do that all on their own.
“Wouldn’t kill you,” Ruby says, pushing back into Dee, getting her further in because Dee’ll drag this out for ages if Ruby lets her – there’s no telling when Dee told Sam she’d be back; either he thinks she’s gone out for a soda or they fought and Dee could be gone all night.
“Might,” Dee teases, but before she can snark anything else at her, Ruby grabs Dee by the hair, none of her usual finesse to it, just drags Dee in and kisses her. Dee’s got this mouth that, even if the rest of her’s got to go someday soon, Ruby’s going to be a little sad to be without. She kisses Ruby almost like it matters, sucking on Ruby’s tongue and tasting every inch of her. She gets another finger inside Ruby and then her tongue drags in and out of Ruby’s mouth, mimicking the pace of her fingers. The cold metal of the Impala’s against her back and there are more important things Ruby should be doing but she just goes with it, allows Dee to do whatever the fuck she wants.
She doesn’t say any of what she came here to say. She doesn’t say I was like you, once, scared girl with a family and a soul to sell. She doesn’t say, One of these days, you’ll turn into me. Maybe that’s what she thought Dee needed to hear, maybe that’s what she thought she should say, but it doesn’t work out like that. Instead, Dee fucks her hard and slow against the passenger’s side of the Impala, biting at Ruby’s mouth and throat and collarbone, and Ruby licks Dee’s fingers clean and returns the favor before Dee gets in her car and leaves Ruby there to inhale exhaust fumes.
Ruby figures it’s better than some half-sincere speech, anyway.
The case in Madison turns out to be a bust; Dee picked it up quick as she could after the thing at the jail, just wanting a distraction. Turns out some college kids decided it would be a riot to fake an animal attack, fake corpse with a missing heart and all. The whole thing makes Dee feel kind of relieved Sam’s not in school anymore. Kids are fucking idiots.
Sam still decides a new town is a new library, though, which leaves Dee in some diner with nothing to do but have a snark-fest with Ruby – who turned up, it seems like, with the sole purpose of stealing Dee’s hard-earned French fries. At least the bitch has the sense to buy her own milkshake.
“You could just tell him yourself, you know,” Ruby says, licking a fleck of ketchup off her lip and nudging Dee’s bare knee with hers. It’s unusually warm in Wisconsin, humidity piling on like it shouldn’t this time of year, and Dee’s attracting a good bit of attention in her t-shirt and cutoffs. Used to be she’d revel in that kind of attention, use it for free food or information, but lately the only thing getting in her pants is Ruby. Figures the first time she tried monogamy it’d be with a demon. Dee kind of hates her life extra, when she thinks about it like that.
“What’s that?” Dee slurps up her milkshake, forgetting Ruby’s not Sam and won’t get as endearingly annoyed about it.
“That there’s no sudden plan coming in to save you, princess. That I was supposed to be it, and I can’t do anything.”
Dee appreciates that Ruby doesn’t bother to sound all that sad about it. Sure, Ruby’s got her leg wrapped around hers and she’s pretty sure once the fries and milkshakes are gone they’re going to get somewhere quiet so that Dee can forget for a while, but Ruby states the facts. Dee wishes she could get that from someone else, something else, that Sam would just face the fuck up already, but – she’s also sure it’ll break her heart if he ever does.
Ruby, for all that Dee wants to break every one of her teeth if it’d do either of them any good, is some kind of comfort.
“I know my brother,” Dee says eventually. “Even if you stop being decent in his eyes, he’s still gonna look under every stupid rock for some way out of this.”
“And you’re going to let him,” Ruby says, quiet, like she’s considering – maybe like she actually gets it. Dee doesn’t know Ruby’s story, doesn’t particularly want to, but they seem to be on the same page more often than Dee would be comfortable with, if things were different. If Dee wasn’t dying.
Dee bites back that shudder that threatens to overcome her, any time all of this becomes more than a vague thought – that she’s going to hell, real hell, way more than cartoon devils and a lake of fire to contend with – and says, “Damn right I am. You try to tell him any different, and I’ll use your insides for a new headband.”
Ruby smirks at her, eyes flashing black-to-blue so fast that if anyone else was looking, they wouldn’t even know what they’d seen. Dee wonders how long it will take, how many years will go by before she’ll become that. “Honey,” Ruby says, “I don’t have insides.”
“Time passes differently down there, you know.”
They’re in Minneapolis, some motel, door locked and dead-bolted, Hendrix on the stereo moaning “Purple Haze.” Sam is god knows where – although Ruby knows, she does, that he’s the one whose every move she’s supposed to be aware of. She’ll attach herself to him eventually; she will. Only two weeks remain, after all.
Ruby at least knows enough about Sam Winchester at this point to know he keeps a calendar of it, a little pocket book with black x's – every day gone by that Dee hasn’t been saved. She knows enough about Sam Winchester that she knows Sam’ll do the same once his big sister’s been swallowed up by hellhounds.
She wishes Sam could see the two of them now, Dee arching off the bed while Ruby fucks her, Dee’s wrists tied to the bedposts and her legs wrapped around Ruby, heels digging into Ruby’s back. Ruby’s talking and talking and Dee’s eyes are wide and bright, lips red from kissing, skin shiny with spit and sweat from where Ruby tongued down her body. Ruby wishes Sam would catch them, just once, so Ruby could ask, Is this what you’re trying to save?
But she knows these two, now. She knows Sam would still say yes.
“You’ll do things you never thought you would,” she says. “Never thought you could – you’ll wish it was all just fire and brimstone. Up here, it’ll seem like a blink of an eye before you break, but down there it’ll feel like years.”
Two fingers inside Dee, a third, and she’s licking and sucking the skin along Dee’s thighs and Dee’s staring straight at her like she’s not afraid of anything. Ruby knows it’s not true, knows big-sister bravado when she sees it, but it chills her to her non-existent soul anyway.
“No one holds out forever, Dee. Trust me.”
It’s the wrong phrase, Ruby knows that, and Dee gives a full-body laugh that Ruby bets the lowlifes next door can hear before she comes, squeezing Ruby hard enough to bruise.
Dee breaks the ties on her wrists like they’re made of paper, gets her hands on Ruby and flips her over. “I get out of this mess,” she says, “you better not stick around, ‘cause I’ll take that pretty knife of yours and kill you myself.”
Ruby scoffs, says, “Promises, promises,” but she knows it’s true.
Six days – one hundred forty-four hours, and yeah, Dee actually bothered to do the math – are left. There aren’t any cases, because neither of them have picked up a paper for more than the weather or the comics. But Sam’s got this look on his face that’s worse than ever, like he’s really given up, and Dee – Dee can’t take that, not yet.
“I think when we survive this,” Dee says, waving an arm out the driver’s side of the Impala to catch a non-existent breeze, “we should take a cruise.” She doesn’t say if; she knows better by now than to say if around Sam.
It has the right effect. Sam looks up at her from dusty text number nine hundred and fifty three, squints through the sun in his eyes, and grins a little. It’s not happiness; it’s more Dee, you’re an idiot – but she’ll take what she can get. “Yeah?” Sam asks.
“Yeah,” Dee keeps going, fingers tapping the steering wheel as she speeds past the only other car on the road. “Like, Grand Canyon’s out. There could be cases over in Arizona, and even fucking Disneyland could be haunted. But a cruise -”
“Dee,” Sam interrupts, but he’s still smiling. Zep’s playing Celebration Day, Dee has one week, and Sam’s smiling. “You know, plenty of ships are haunted.”
Dee sighs. “So, fine. We hunt a ghost or two, but there’s still margaritas and sun tanning. We’ve both gotten fucking pale this year, Sammy.”
And that’s it, that’s exactly when Sam’s smile turns in on itself, because there’s plenty of reason for them to be pale and shabby and tired. “Yeah,” Sam says, too quiet. Dee tries to snap him back out of it. “We could even bring Ruby,” she says. “As a, you know, thanks for all your help, lot of fucking good it did -”
And then Sam’s laughing, book falling off his lap he’s laughing so hard, and Dee wants to lift the book and toss it straight out the window, but instead she keeps her eyes on the road and just listens to that sound.
“You’ve really fucking lost it, Dee,” Sam says when he catches his breath. Dee thinks yeah, I have, but she’s sure they don’t mean the same thing. She knows Sam’s smiling again, and that’s what’s important.
“Whatever,” she says with a shrug. “I could go for some French fries. You want French fries?”
To no one’s real surprise, least of all Ruby’s, Dee’s time runs out. Hell snatches her up just like it’s supposed to, but not before Lilith pulls a fucking magic act and throws Ruby back there, too. Ruby’s really going to enjoy helping Sam Winchester get revenge on that bitch.
They have a minute, maybe thirty seconds, alone, less than an hour before midnight. Sam’s securing the family downstairs and Dee’s hallucinating hellhounds, maybe hearing them for real – not looking at Ruby, that’s for sure, because she can see her real face now, the twisted thing even Ruby wouldn’t recognize if she saw it herself.
“So that’s what I’ve got to look forward too, huh?” Dee asks, and her voice wavers but she’s steady on her feet, steadier than Ruby remembers being when her time came up.
“Trust me, I’m one of the prettier ones,” Ruby shoots back, easy as anything. The clock ticks so loud Ruby’s surprised Dee hasn’t tossed it to the ground yet – she wants to, and her whole plan fucking depends on this chick’s death.
She can hear Sam’s footsteps getting closer and Dee can, too, by the way she shuffles in her boots. The living room they’re standing in is full of human things, couch and carpet and all the things they don’t have in hell. Dee presses in close, gets right in Ruby’s space like always, and for a second she’s so close Ruby thinks Dee’s going to kiss her goodbye, but instead Dee says, “You fuck with my brother, I’ll find out. I’ll come back. You just wait.”
Her voice cracks on the last part, and even though Ruby knows Dee means every word of it – as much as she can; no one gets out of hell really without becoming something like her – the rules between them require Ruby to crack a joke.
Ruby looks back at her, makes her eyes look like the sweet girl she’s been haunting for the last twelve months. She looks at Dee, from her boots scuffed with road dust to her freckles flecked with demon blood. She’s makeup-less but beautiful anyway, the type of girl Ruby usually picks for a vessel. “Dee,” she says, “are you gonna cry?”
Sam steps into the room and Dee says, “Not for you.” Ruby almost feels sorry about it.
Just almost, though. The clock ticks along toward midnight, and Ruby waits.