#supernatural ruby

you grin back at her. “well then, babe,” you parrot, “i take it that means you wouldn’t mind giving me your number?” she gladly punches her number into your phone when you hold it out to her, and the guy, sam, keeps looking at you like you’re making a horrible decision. it’s sort of funny, honestly. you pay him no mind and check your phone when she hands it back to you. she’s put the name ruby into the contact.

“just an fyi, you get bonus points if you bring me somewhere with good fries,” ruby grins, punctuating the sentiment by popping a ketchup lathered, greasy diner fry between her pretty lips. 

“well, then. thanks for the tip, darling. i know just the place.” you love how easy it already is to have this flirty banter with her. then again, you could see her eye roll from across the diner so it wasn’t too surprising at all that she matched this sort of energy.

when you first caught sight of her, walking in with the man, sam, you were highly disappointed. she’s just so pretty, there was no resisting the immediate attraction to her that you felt. her dark hair and high cheekbones, leather jacket, big belt buckle, and graphic t-shirt all pulled you right in. so, you subtly listened and watched them, triumphant when you heard her say something about his “angel boyfriend.” so you finished your food, paid, and walked right over to ask her on a date.

you hold your phone up definitively. “i’ll text you, ruby. you’d better text back, even if it’s just for the fries. you won’t regret it.”

she looks pleased to hear that, “you’re cute,” she tells you, clearly entertained. you’re starting to feel obsessed with the sound of her voice and you have to try very hard not to let that fluster you.

your shoulders shrug a bit, and you feel as though you do a decent job when you say, “so i’ve heard, but not from anyone quite as pretty as you.” you tell her the name you’ll be texting from and take a step back, still facing her for one more moment. “enjoy the rest of your fries, sweetheart.”

the words bad idea or she’s a demon! lay unsaid on sam’s mouth. he even parts his lips to say something, but you’re already walking away. either way, ruby would’ve easily played it all off as a joke. she won’t mess with you, despite sam’s belief that she might. maybe it’s just the fact that she could that worries him. she just wants a bit of fun, though. and she really meant that comment about thinking you’re cute. so she gives sam a cocky grin and watches as you walk away in satisfaction.

𓄲 ✶ 𓄴

the address she texts you to pick her up from is the motel on the edge of town. this information is a little disappointing, though you try not to assume. maybe she’s just staying there temporarily as she looks for a new apartment or something of that sort. or, maybe she’s only here for a few days and you’ll never see her again. that would be a poor loss.

when you pull into the parking lot, she’s already waiting outside, just as gorgeous as the first time you saw her. even more gorgeous, you think, now that you’re taking her on a date. she gets in the passenger’s side with that tantalizing grin of hers. you watch her get settled in her seat, wondering how her hair falls so perfectly. you’re starting to learn that you’re a little obsessed with the shape of her lips, the way they look slightly parted when she meets your eyes.

she’s barely dressed any differently than when you saw her two days ago, but something about having her alone in your car is getting you going. she’s just so stunning, so sure in her movements, so sweet looking when you greet her with a smile. her grey graphic tee has a little v-shaped slit on the top hem, and you can’t help but take a peek. her own eyes trail your form, looking greedy.

you back out of the parking lot and she shamelessly stares at the way your neck stretches when you look through the rear window. as you keep driving, she stares at your hands too.

“so, ruby, how long have you been staying at the motel?” you ask, trying to start up a conversation.

“just a few days,” she says, not bothering to expand on why or where she’s from. “don’t worry, though. i’ve got your number.” she seems to have read your concern for her just passing through, and says this as if it’s enough to fix any issues that may come up. ruby’s funny, hot, a little bit odd, and this is just a first date, so you suppose you don’t mind. she’s honestly adorable, too, and doesn’t really seem to favor subtlety. you glance at her and she licks her lips. it’s hot in the car, despite the bit of cool air flowing through.

she’s cryptic and doesn’t reveal anything too relevant about herself, but also manages to talk a lot. she chats and chats, babbling about the most random of things. sam, her friend who she was with before, is a bit uptight, she tells you. he doesn’t have enough fun. she like chocolate fudge ice cream and microwave ramen and irish honey whiskey, aside from french fries with too much ketchup, of course. she thinks that fruity little drinks are stupid, but will have a pornstar martini if in a rare mood. technology confuses her, and she admits that her blackberry was doing something weird and she couldn’t figure out how to respond to your texts until sam helped her. she sounds very bothered that she had to ask him for any sort of help.

and not a minute goes by where she doesn’t make some sort of snarky comment about something completely unimportant, but they keep making you laugh. she makes a few indecent jokes too. they all sound funny coming from her lips, biting in her sweet, sweet voice. honestly, her voice is practically bewitching. you think you would listen to it all day if given the opportunity. you’re already trying to learn each little nuance and inflection.

everything’s all in good fun, besides the way you have to fight to concentrate on driving rather than reaching over to touch her or at least just stare at her. until she plants her hand above your knee, not too high up your thigh, but solid and more than enough to make you realize just how badly you want her. you spare her a glance and catch that smirk of hers. you shake your head and fight a smirk of your own.

you give a soft huff of laughter. “you hungry? or would you maybe not mind a bit of a later lunch?” you ask, a hint of teasing in your voice.

“mm, i thought you’d never ask,” she complains, “took a hand on your thigh to get you there, baby.” you have to laugh at her again as you scan your surroundings for a place you could get away with fucking her in the car.

“oh, trust me, sweetheart, your staring was noticed. i just wasn’t sure if you were alright with anything coming between you and those fries you were wanting. you seem to be pretty passionate about those,” you continue to tease. she’s clearly confident and doesn’t really carry any shyness, but she’s certainly easy to tease.

“the fries can wait. i’m not all that hungry, anyway.” damn, she really wants you as much as you want her.

“i’ll take that as a high compliment,” you grin, pulling off the road into a small parking lot behind a building you know to have been abandoned for a few months now. no one comes around here. the second the car is parked and out of sight, you unclip your seatbelt and reach over the middle console to get her pretty face in your hands. her face feels small in your palms. she’s so damn adorable as she leans right into you and plants her lips on yours, the kiss nowhere near chaste or innocent. within moments, she has her tongue in your mouth, and you welcome it.

there’s a reason you couldn’t stop staring at her lips. they’re heaven against yours, her tongue even better. she’s greedy and handsy and her tongue battles yours for dominance. you don’t care much about that. you just want to have her, though it’ll be a bit funny if she tries to get you to do her perfect bidding. you’ll have your way too.

you would love to keep kissing like this, tongue to tongue, teeth knocking, saliva exchanged. but you want her laid out in the back seat of your car, so you part from her even when she chases after your lips. you pat her hip. “c’mon, ruby girl. in the back,” you urge her. she rolls her eyes, but complies, inclined to be in a bit more comfortable of a spot. and the sooner you’re both back there, the sooner you can fuck.

but she does surprise you by climbing right into the back rather than getting out first, practically shoving her cute ass in your face. her jacket and shirt ride up, and you have to resist planting your hand or even your tongue on the exposed skin of her lower back. once again, you have to laugh as you step out of the car to meet her in the back seat. she’s all over you the second you close the door, sweet fingers gripping the hem of your shirt and pulling it right over your head. she palms your chest and you groan softly before tugging her shirt off too. she already took care of the jacket as you went to meet her.

“fuck, you’re gorgeous,” you breathe out, taking her bra right off too. she sighs in pleasure when you push her against the door and climb over her before you attach your lips to one of her pretty nipples, already pebbling from the cool air of the car. your hand reaches up to pull her other nipple between your thumb and forefinger. she groans softly and you’re quite pleased by the sound.

you feel no guilt or hesitation in being lewd with her. sure, you’ve only met her twice, but the look in her eyes is one she’s showing you on purpose. she wants to be dirty with you, and despite all of her bravado, you can tell that she’ll let you take what you want.

shamelessly, you lick up her chest, tongue flattened and stuck right out of your widely opened mouth. her burning gaze when you make eye contact tells you she loves the sight. you practically lave at her neck and collarbone next, palming her pretty tits with both hands as your tongue and lips make their way back to tangle with hers.

her hands roam and dig into your skin, gripping at your shoulders. her soft fingertips are hungry and incessant as the back of her head presses into the cold car window. but she gets impatient, running out of breath as her tongue battles yours.

her hands find their way to your belt, then the button of your jeans, and you have to pull them away because you intend to feel her first. you want to see the look on her face when you pull her jeans and panties down and sink your fingers into her sweet cunt and tease at her swollen clit. you hold her wrists tight enough to keep them down when she starts to resist.

“have a little patience, baby,” you chide, your lips moving against the skin of her jaw. “you first. i know you want it.” she lets out a huff of frustration that, frankly, you find completely adorable. but her hips twitch, too, which makes the whole thing that much cuter. she’s bad at hiding how she feels, and you don’t mind it one bit.

“fine,” she grumbles, as if there’s something to complain about your intentions to work her open and please her first. 

“just wanna stretch you out, honey,” you coo, “you’re so little. bet your pussy’s all tight, isn’t it, babe?” the flush of red in her cheeks mixed with her cocky smirk is a sight you could get drunk off every night. it’s so damn gorgeous, so damn perfect, a rather endearing and hot mixture of poorly masked shyness and clear disregard for propriety. 

“you just wanna touch me,” she bites back, and you nip at the skin of her shoulders. she doesn’t deny anything about her pussy, which already clenches around nothing as you talk to her like that. you’ll have a pretty, glistening wet cunt to greet you when you actually make the move to fully undress her.

“‘course i wanna touch you,” you agree, slowly kissing and licking down her body. your teeth graze over one of her nipples and she can’t suppress the shiver that runs through her body, nor the moan that leaves her parted lips. “you’re so pretty.” you cup a hand over her clothed mound, her hips involuntarily bucking into your touch. “and so responsive.”

she groans all soft and pretty, as if in complaint to your teasing, but sounding more desperate than anything else. you give in, unbuttoning her jeans and helping her out of them in the tight space. she’s already pushing her underwear down too by the time you’ve pulled off her boots and pants. a shame, just because you wanted to tease a bit more, maybe rub at the darkened wet spot that you catch a glimpse of or kiss her over the fabric. but you’re greeted with the sight of her pretty pussy, and you really can’t complain about that at all. perfect pink lips, flush with want and the blood rushing under her skin, and dark, curly hair framing her cunt all prettily.

you run a finger up her slit, winning a little keen from the back of her throat. “already so wet for me. such a pretty pussy, baby,” you groan. she doesn’t seem to have any retort for that, but she’s still bossy, wrapping her hand around the back of your head and pushing it forward. you don’t resist, happily burying your nose in those scratchy little hairs to bump at her clit and inhale the scent of her musky arousal. your tongue darts out next, licking up her sweetness, teasing by barely pushing into her at all. she moans softly, her grip on you tightening.

you pull away despite her strong hand, grabbing her hips and pulling her up to sit with her back against the seat. her neck couldn’t have been in a comfortable position before. after getting a taste of her, you need more, so you’re rushed as you adjust the seat to let her lean back, then push the passenger’s seat forward as far as it can go before getting on your knees in front of her. your hands hook under her thighs and she’s tugged right back into your eager mouth.

this time, your tongue shoves right into her wet, fluttering hole and earns you a sharp gasp, then a throaty moan when she breathes out. you lap at her juices, messy and shameless as you groan into her cunt and relish at the way her thighs tense and squirm in your arms.

it’s easy to decide that this girl makes the most gorgeous sounds you’ve ever heard, and the sight of her heaving chest is addictive. it’s honestly an irresistible satisfaction to have her squirming and whining because of you, her wolfish grin replaced with eyebrows knit together by pleasure and greedy, fumbling hands.

“mm, fuck! keep going,” she urges, voice gone all desperate and high pitched. the tip of your nose to your chin is shiny with saliva and her slick when you look up at her, her eyes half closed and lashes fluttering.

“you gettin’ close, baby?” you murmur against her wetness, thumbs rubbing sweet circles into the spot where her thighs meet her hips. those hungry little hands of hers push you back down into her pussy as an answer, and you comply by nudging her clit with your nose, then attaching your lips to it to suck and lick like you’re starved.

“don’t stop,” she groans, trying to sound demanding, and you untangle an arm from her legs to shove two fingers right into her heat because you think it’s cute. she lets out a strangled cry as you curl them inside of her, finger fucking her just right as you suck on her throbbing clit. her moans rise in volume, and you soak it up, listening for the squelch of her pussy too.

if your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you’d tell her to cum for me, but a flick of your tongue followed by a harsh suck and skilled fingers pitch her right over the edge without need for any words at all. she gushes around your fingers with her mouth hanging open and eyes shut tight. the noise that leaves her lips has you working her through her orgasm with a fervor to make her feel better than she ever has. you want her to remember this, and from the way she shakes and moans, you think she will.

you ease off of her just a bit, stalling the movements of your fingers but keeping them knuckle deep in her warmth and giving her clit as soft, sweet kiss. “god, you are beautiful,” you murmur, looking up at her sweaty neck and lower stomach still twitching with the aftershocks. you could stare at her parted lips until the moment you die. “such a pretty girl for me, aren’t you?” you say sweetly, gently pulling your fingers from her and reaching up to put them in her mouth. she nearly rolls her eyes, but you tell her, “don’t be shy,” so she can’t back down from that challenge.

she takes your fingers in her mouth, running her tongue over them and suckling on them shamelessly, probably to turn you on even more. her half-lidded eyes make eye contact with yours, and the sight most certainly does get to you.

“fuck,” you swear under your breath. but you follow it up with a, “mmm, not just a pretty girl, but a good girl for me too.” she hastily covers up her reaction to that—fluttering eyes and a clenching pussy—by trying to pull away and remove herself from that title, but you grab her jaw with your remaining fingers before she can get far at all. with that movement, your fingers hit the back of her throat, but she doesn’t gag, only takes them like she’s meant to. “there you are,” you coo, pleased with her giving up on rebelling so fast. she glares at you and it’s rather adorable considering that she has her mouth stuffed with your fingers. you can tell by the way that she starts to drool a bit that she loves them there.

your free hand moves down to your pants, beginning to undo them, and her hands join you there, finally getting them unbuttoned to start pulling them down. you release your hold on her jaw and slip your fingers from her eager mouth, watching a little string of saliva follow until it breaks, then wipe at the wet corner of her mouth with your dry thumb. you smile at her sweetly as she tugs at your pants and narrows your eyes at you. you have to laugh a bit at that.

“sorry, honey. you’re just too cute,” you tell her, grinning.

You don’t know how or when it started.

You try to remember—try to trace the shift, name the moment things changed. When the snarky comments you spit at Ruby lost their edge. When the disdain in your voice softened into something quieter, almost uncertain. When the fire turned to embers. When your anger stopped feeling like conviction and started sounding more like deflection.

You used to hate her. You were supposed to.

She was a demon, after all. An enemy. A threat. You knew that—reminded yourself every time she smiled like she knew a secret you didn’t, every time she touched Sam’s arm or lingered just a second too long in a darkened hallway. You weren’t supposed to trust her. Not with your life. Not with your secrets. And certainly not with the fragile, feral thing clawing in your chest whenever she looked at you like you were next.

But somewhere in her sulfur-stained breath and bitter smirks, you found something you couldn’t name. A presence. A tether. An itch that only she could scratch. You stopped wishing she’d leave and started noticing the moments she didn’t. Started waiting for them.

Sam fell for her—hard and fast, swept away by her promises of saving the world and poison dressed up like purpose.

But you?

You fell slower.

Worse.

It wasn’t about belief. It was about need.

She never asked you to trust her. She just kept showing up. Kept letting you get close enough to think it meant something. Close enough to wonder if maybe—maybe—you were the one person she didn’t want to ruin. That maybe, despite what she was, there was something soft beneath her edges. Something like want.

You knew it was wrong. Knew what she was, what she was doing. But it didn’t stop you. It never stopped you.

Because she never had to lie to you. She just had to be near.

And somewhere along the way, you stopped resisting.

You let the wrongness settle into your bones like warmth. Like gravity.

You convinced yourself that what she offered wasn’t corruption—it was connection. That her hands weren’t breaking you; they were holding you.

They weren’t.

You were never in love. You were addicted.

Sam got her blood. You got something harder to name.

The way she touched you—light, thoughtless, practiced—meant nothing. And still, it lit your nerves like static. Her fingers would graze your wrist, your shoulder, your spine, and linger just long enough to make you wonder if it meant something. Just long enough for you to feel ridiculous for thinking so.

Her eyes tracked you sometimes—too sharp, too long—and you’d feel them, even with your back turned. You started dressing like you weren’t sure if you wanted to be seen or not. Started walking slower when she was behind you. Started listening for the sound of her boots on cheap motel carpet.

She never said anything. Not directly. But she looked at you like you were hers.

And when Sam wasn’t around, her voice softened. Just a little. Just enough.

She never promised you anything. Never asked for anything, either.

But you gave her everything anyway—your time, your silence, your self. You didn’t know what you were to her. You still don’t.

But you know how it felt.

How it feels.

Like drowning in something sweet.

Like dying for something that never even touched you the way you wanted it to.

Like love, if love was built out of hunger and shame and a voice that always whispers, maybe this time she means it.

-

It didn’t happen all at once.

There was no buildup. No breathless moment of mutual understanding. Just a cheap motel room with flickering light, the meaningless banter you two dragged on with things still somehow being unsaid—a fight that wasn’t really about anything at all.

“Territory,” Ruby snapped, stepping in too close. “You need to learn how to stay in your own lane.”

You scoffed, eyes flashing. “Funny, coming from a demon who keeps pretending she belongs here.”

The words were reflex. The bark, automatic. You didn’t mean them. Not really. You just needed to push back, to keep space between you—because when there wasn’t any, you stopped thinking clearly.

Her gaze dragged over your face, deliberating, deciding. “Keep telling yourself that.”

And then she kissed you.

Not soft. Not tender. Rough and hard, just like everything else about her.

Her lips crashed into yours and swallowed whatever protest you might’ve had. There was no hesitation in her body, no question in her touch—like your mouth had always belonged to her. Like she’d just been waiting for the right moment to collect.

You froze.

But only for a second.

Then your body betrayed you—hands fisting in the collar of her jacket, mouth opening against hers. You didn’t know if it was instinct or craving. You didn’t care.

She pushed you, firm and relentless, until the backs of your knees hit the bed. Her mouth never left yours, devouring, commanding—until she finally broke the kiss and pulled back to look at you.

You were flushed. Breathless. Starved.

And she drank it in.

Her eyes scanned your face like a hunter savoring the kill. (Aren’t you the hunter here? No. You’re the prey) Black and bottomless, and still—still—you thought you saw something human in them. A flicker of want, maybe. Or worse: recognition.

You wanted to believe it was real. That something about you touched something in her that no one else could.

So you took her by her face and pulled her back in.

She laughed—low and dark—before shoving you backward. You hit the mattress with a bounce, breath knocked from your lungs. And she followed, straddling your lap, pinning you beneath her thighs like she owned you.

Her mouth moved to your neck, all bite and hunger, sucking and nipping at sensitive skin like she wanted to leave proof behind. You gasped, squirming, trying to hold on to something—sanity, maybe—but she burned through it like paper.

“W–Wait—” you choked out. “S–Sam…”

He wasn’t here, but he could walk in any minute. You weren’t even sure if you were warning her or yourself.

Ruby didn’t stop.

If anything, she sank her teeth in harder.

Pain bloomed sharp beneath your skin.

“Ah—!” you cried, jerking.

She lifted her head and looked at you—lips smeared with your blood. Your chest heaved, but the protest on your tongue died the second her hand slid between your legs.

She palmed you through your soaked underwear, and your whole body jolted.

“Don’t ever say his name in front of me again,” she said, voice low and razor-sharp. Her breath was hot against your cheek. “Not when you’re this wet for me.”

You couldn’t speak. You nodded, eyes wide, dazed from the rush of pain and arousal and shame.

She smiled—slow and cold—and pressed her hand harder against you. You whimpered, unable to stop yourself from bucking into her touch. Needing it. Needing her.

Despite knowing what she was.

The silence afterward stretches long and heavy.

The air is still thick with sweat and something unspeakable—like smoke that hasn’t quite cleared, clinging to your skin and lungs. Your thighs tremble faintly with the aftermath, and the sheets under you are tangled, damp with heat and breath and sin.

Ruby’s lying beside you, propped lazily on one elbow, her other hand drifting aimlessly over your bare stomach. Her touch is featherlight now. Reverent. A cruel kind of contrast to the bruises blooming across your skin, the sharp sting still throbbing at your throat where she bit down hard enough to draw blood.

Her fingers brush over that spot now—soft. So soft. Like she’s apologizing for it without saying a word. Or maybe she’s admiring it. You can’t tell. You’re not sure there’s a difference with her.

The room is dim, golden with lamplight. Outside, a truck rolls by, its low rumble barely audible through the motel’s thin walls. Inside, there’s only the sound of your breath. Unsteady. Shallow.

You try not to look at her. You try to pretend this is nothing.

But her hand keeps moving. Down your ribs. Across your side. Fingertips skimming along the curve of your waist with a patience that almost breaks you.

You hate how much you like it.

“Relax,” she murmurs, voice just above a whisper. “No one’s watching.”

That should make you feel safe. It doesn’t. It just makes you wonder if she wants someone to watch. (Maybe Sam?)

You tense under her hand. She notices, of course she does.

“Still thinking too much.” Her nails rake lightly along your hipbone, just enough to pull a shiver from you. “You always do.”

You shift slightly, eyes flicking toward the ceiling. “I’m not thinking.”

“Liar,” she says, and smiles. Not cruelly—worse. Fondly.

Her fingers curl around your wrist, dragging your hand to her bare chest and holding it there. You can feel the rise and fall of her breath. The warmth of her skin. It’s so human. She feels so human.

You almost don’t care that it’s not real. That she’s not.

It’s not fair.

Those hands had you writhing beneath her not ten minutes ago—fisting the sheets, sobbing into her shoulder, too far gone to know if what you were feeling was want or worship or just plain fear. And now they’re gentle. Careful. Loving, almost. Everything Ruby wasn’t.

She brushes a strand of hair from your face and tucks it behind your ear. The backs of her knuckles linger against your cheek like she’s memorizing you.

Like you’re hers.

You should pull away. You should ask her what this is. Demand clarity. Demand truth.

But when she leans in and presses her lips to your forehead—barely a breath of contact—you melt.

Not because you trust her.

Because you want to.

And that’s so much worse.

You don’t sleep.

Ruby does—or she fakes it well. Her breathing evens out, slow and deliberate, one arm still draped across your stomach like a warning. Like she knows you’d try to leave if she let you.

You stare at the ceiling.

The motel fan clicks overhead, lazy and uneven, pushing hot air around the room like it’s trying to suffocate you. Your skin still smells like her. Like sweat and smoke and iron. You should shower. You should get dressed. You should go.

But you don’t move.

Because the ache in your chest is growing louder. Curling up inside your ribs, sharp and pressing.

You bring your hand to your face to wipe at your eyes before you even realize they’re wet.

You’re crying.

-

You’re somewhere in the country part of Iowa, investigating a case that led you to an abandoned barn.

The air smells like mold and rot and old paper.

You step through the wrecked archway first, flashlight cutting a narrow beam through the dust. Sam’s close behind, EMF reader tucked in his hand, silent and alert. Ruby lags a few feet off to the side—unarmed, unconcerned. She walks like this is a field trip and not a salt-and-burn.

“She’s been here,” Sam mutters, scanning the cracked marble floor. “Three missing guys in a week. Same M.O. Burned eyes, scorched lungs. Angel maybe.”

“Or a demon with a flair for drama,” Ruby adds lightly.

You shoot her a glance. “I thought your kind preferred shadows and knives.”

Ruby smiles at you, slow and amused. “Oh, sweet thing, we like whatever gets the job done.”

Sam doesn’t catch the look she gives you, but you do. You feel it in your stomach—like heat pooling beneath your ribs, nauseous and electric. That same look she gave you the first time. The night it started. The night she crawled inside you and never really left.

You try not to react. You can’t give her the satisfaction.

You round the broken pulpit, boots crunching glass. Sam’s EMF reader starts whining—soft, steady.

You both freeze.

“Basement,” he says. “There’s a trap door behind the altar.”

You crouch, pulling at a loose plank. Beneath it, darkness yawns—a narrow stone stairwell descending into what smells like sulfur and bones. Lovely.

You glance at Sam. “You ready?”

He nods.

You go first.

The basement is colder than it should be. Lined with old pews, old sigils, salt circles long since broken. Someone tried to fight back down here. And lost.

Then you see her.

Not a demon—not Ruby’s kind, anyway. Just a witch, desperate and cracked around the edges. Her hands are black with blood and ash. Her lips moving in some long-forgotten dialect.

Sam moves fast.

You follow.

It’s over in minutes.

A knife to the gut. A Latin phrase. Her body crumples in a heap of blood and wasted power. You barely breathe through it.

But Ruby doesn’t move.

She watches the witch die with unreadable eyes. Something about her stillness makes your skin crawl.

“What?” you hiss.

She blinks, slowly, like surfacing from a dream. “Nothing.”

Sam doesn’t notice the tension. He’s too busy scrubbing the chalk sigils off the walls.

Ruby steps closer to you, too close.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, too sharp.

“I’m just wondering,” she murmurs, “how long you’re going to keep pretending you’re not like her.”

You stiffen. “Excuse me?”

“She was desperate,” Ruby continues. “Lonely. Messy. Wanted someone to save her. Sound familiar?”

Sam calls your name from across the basement. You ignore him.

“Shut up,” you say. “Don’t.”

Ruby tilts her head, studying you. Her voice softens. “I’m not judging. I like that about you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do,” she insists. “It’s cute. The way you still think this is about good and evil. Right and wrong. Like any of that matters anymore.”

You clench your fists.

Sam’s footsteps approach behind you. Ruby leans in close, lips nearly brushing your ear.

“Tell him,” she whispers. “Tell him what we’ve done. Tell him you let me fuck you in his bed while he was out getting holy water.”

You whip around, eyes wide.

Sam’s only just appeared in the doorway. “Everything okay?”

You swallow thickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah. She’s just being—her.”

Ruby’s smile is razor-sharp and silent.

Hours later, Sam’s asleep.

You’re not.

You’re outside, leaning against the motel’s concrete railing, watching rain smear the edges of the parking lot. The air is cool. Still.

Then you hear the door creak open behind you.

Ruby steps out, barefoot, zip-up sweater thrown over a tank top, like she’s pretending to be human again.

“You gonna tell me what’s eating you?” she asks, voice low.

You don’t look at her. “You know.”

She sighs. “Oh, come on. You’re not still mad about earlier?”

You don’t answer.

“I was only teasing.”

Again, silence.

She walks closer, close enough that her fingers ghost over your wrist. You don’t pull away.

“I just think it’s funny,” she says softly. “How fast you forget what this is.”

You clench your jaw. “What is this?”

A beat.

She doesn’t answer.

Of course she doesn’t.

“You make me feel insane,” you whisper.

She shrugs. “Maybe you are.”

Your chest burns. “I hate you.”

“No,” she says, stepping into your space. “You want to.”

Her lips brush your cheek. Barely there. You suck in a breath you don’t want to take.

“You’re going to keep doing this,” you murmur, “until there’s nothing left of me, aren’t you?”

Her voice is gentle. “I don’t know what you mean, baby.”

She kisses you.

Soft this time. Gentle. With hands that could kill you in less than a second and make it look like mercy.

And even now—even after everything—you let her.

Because maybe, for half a second, it feels like being wanted.

Even if it’s not real.

Even if she’ll be gone in the morning.

Even if she never says your name like it means something.

-

You hadn’t planned on riding in the same car as Ruby.

But Sam’s car wouldn’t start, and Ruby offered. Of course she did. And Sam looked at her like she hung the damn moon.

“Trust her,” he’d said as he handed you the EMF reader. “You two can clear the south wing while I cover the third floor.”

You wanted to say no. You almost did.

But Ruby was already smiling from the driver’s seat, one arm draped over the steering wheel like she had all the time in the world.

And it’s not like you could explain to Sam that something about her unsettled you—not without sounding jealous. Not without revealing whatever was going on between the two of you.

So you went.

The school is massive. Crumbling brick, rusting fences, thick vines choking the facade. It feels abandoned by time itself. Ruby pushes open the door unhesitatingly, unafraid.

She glances at you sideways as you both step into the dusty main hallway.

“You’re quiet,” she says.

You shrug, scanning the entryway with the EMF. “Just focused.”

She hums low in her throat, like she knows that’s a lie. “What’s wrong now?”

“Nothing,” you say, too quickly.

“Hmm,” she murmurs. “Sure.”

You keep moving.

The south wing is dark and claustrophobic. Hallways sag, and old dorm room doors hang open like broken mouths. Ruby walks ahead, deliberately keeping her back to you.

“Tell me something,” she says suddenly. “You ever think about leaving?”

“What, the life?”

“No. Me.”

You stop.

“I didn’t think I was… with you,” you say cautiously.

She turns, eyebrow raised. “You sure?”

The air tightens. You don’t answer. She smirks and starts walking again.

“Relax,” she says over her shoulder. “I’m not here to fight.”

You don’t believe her. But you follow anyway.

Room 214 is colder than the others. A chalkboard with faded writing, a row of ancient cots. Ruby steps in and says nothing for a moment. She’s still.

“This is the room.”

“What room?”

“The summoning happened here. A few years back. A failed one. But they didn’t close the portal right. That’s why people keep dying.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re just now telling us that?”

“I didn’t want Sam going off half-cocked. He’d screw it up.”

You cross your arms. “But you trust me?”

Ruby turns to face you fully now, walking closer. “You’re smarter. Sharper. You know how to listen.”

You shake your head, uneasy. “You don’t need me to listen, Ruby. You need someone to bleed for you.”

She doesn’t flinch. “If I told you I’d do it myself if I could—would you believe me?”

“No.”

She laughs quietly. “Good. I like you better when you’re not naive.”

You step back. “What’s the play here?”

“There’s a presence in the basement. It’s feeding off residual energy. I need a pulse. Something to lure it to the surface.”

You feel it before she even says it.

“No.”

“You don’t have to touch anything. Just stand in the summoning ring.”

“You want me to anchor the ritual?”

“I’ll protect you,” she says, stepping closer. “I always do.”

You should say no. You should leave.

But something in her tone—warm, almost reverent—makes your chest ache. Like she’s handing you a crown you didn’t ask for.

Like you want to earn her approval.

Even now.

Even after everything.

You step into the circle.

It’s subtle at first. A whisper, a static buzz in your jaw. Then it builds—pressure behind your eyes, something thick pressing into your chest.

“Ruby,” you start. “Something’s wrong—”

“Stay still.”

“It’s pushing through me,”

“Stay. Still.”

“No, no! I don’t think I can—!”

But she’s already chanting.

The circle pulses.

The thing that bursts through the floor isn’t human. Or demon. It’s something older. Black mist curling like vines, shrieking from a thousand mouths.

And Ruby’s chanting falters.

The barrier flickers.

She looks at you—dead in the eye—and you realize in one awful flash: She knew.

This wasn’t just a summoning.

It was a test.

The thing crashes against the sigils, and your nose bleeds. Your knees buckle. Ruby isn’t moving to help.

You yell, “Do something!”

She watches.

Finally, after what feels like forever, she closes the circle. The entity evaporates with a final shriek, and the pressure collapses.

You fall to the floor, trembling, ribs screaming.

You’re panting, desperately trying to swallow in air as she kneels beside you like she cares. One hand cups your face while the other rubs your back in an attempt to soothe.

“I told you you were strong enough,” she whispers.

You look at her, broken and furious. “We could’ve both died if you’d been wrong.”

She leans in, brushing hair from your face.

“I wasn’t wrong.”

Then she kisses your forehead.

Not soft. Not comforting.

Claiming.

Sam finds you outside twenty minutes later. You’re sitting on the hood of the car, hands still shaking.

“You okay?” he asks, helping you down.

“She didn’t tell you everything,” you say. “She put me in the circle.”

Sam frowns. “She told me it was already active when you went in. That you offered.”

“She lied, Sam.”

He gives you a strange look. Like he doesn’t know who to believe.

“Ruby saved people before we ever met her,” he says. “She’s trying. She trusts you.”

You want to scream.

Instead, you nod.

-

The motel bed smells like mildew and old cigarettes.

You’ve been lying in it for hours. Ruby hasn’t said a word. She’s perched at the table, one leg tucked under her, sipping coffee that’s long gone cold.

Your hands still shake when you reach for your water. You’ve barely eaten. You haven’t showered. Your skin feels like it’s been wrapped too tight around your bones since the thing in the summoning circle slammed into your psyche and left bruises no one can see.

Ruby hasn’t apologized.

She won’t.

“You’ve been crying,” she says finally, voice soft but unbothered.

You don’t look at her. “Of course I have. You used me.”

“No,” she replies. “I chose you.”

You laugh bitterly, staring at the stained ceiling. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

She stands. Crosses the room slow, barefoot, unhurried, like she has nowhere else to be but right here. You tense, but you don’t move.

She crawls onto the bed beside you, eyes never leaving your face.

“You think I could’ve trusted Sam in that circle?” she asks quietly. “He would’ve hesitated. Panicked. Screwed everything up.”

“And I didn’t?” Your voice cracks.

“No,” she murmurs, dragging her fingertips across your shoulder. “You didn’t.”

You try to pull away. She doesn’t let you. One hand drifts to your hip, anchors you there.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper.

She leans closer. “Sure you can.”

Your breath catches. “I’m not your weapon.”

“No,” she agrees, her voice low. “You’re not.”

She kisses you.

It’s soft at first. Reverent. Like she’s worshipping your pain.

You freeze. She deepens it.

You should push her off. You should scream, get off of me, you should mean it.

But her hand slides under your shirt, warm and slow, and you can’t tell if you’re shivering from fear or need.

When you do finally speak, it’s hoarse. “I’m not okay.”

“I know,” she says, mouth ghosting against your neck. “Let me take it.”

She hikes your shirt up and kisses down your chest like she’s drawing the hurt out of you one touch at a time, like your trauma is hers to claim.

You’re not sure if you say yes.

But you don’t say no.

And that’s all she needs.

“Let me take it from you, baby.”

Your eyes flutter closed, head sinking into the flat motel pillow as she trails kisses lower and lower. Warmth blooms under your skin—her lips tracing slow lines down your breasts, your sternum, inching toward the waistband of your shorts.

She looks up at you as she slides them off of you, eyes dark and hungry, calculating.

Left only in your underwear now, you catch a glimpse of that sinful, predatory look, and your core throbs.

Ruby licks a long, slow stripe along your clothed slit. You shudder, thighs trembling and clenching against her mouth in anticipation. Your hips buck involuntarily, lips letting out a soft, desperate whine.

It’s undignified. It’s pathetic.

And it only fuels her more.

Her cold hands grip your thighs, pushing them over her shoulders, thumbs pressing deep, slow circles into the soft flesh.

Her dark eyes lock with yours, unblinking, merciless as she picks up the pace, tongue pressing with precision.

“Fuck,” she breathes, voice low, “you’re always so good for me like this.”

Her words wrap around you, a velvet noose tightening at your throat. You’re drowning in her touch and her control. You hate how much you need it. But you can’t pull away.

She pulls away for a moment—a painful moment— yank your underwear down your legs and toss them aside. Before you even have time to mourn the absence of pleasure, she dives right back between your legs, tongue delving deep into your folds.

You gasp loudly at the wonderfully slick sensation.

"Oh god," you moan, hips rolling helplessly against Ruby's face as you lose yourself in the intense feeling. Your fingers tangle in Ruby's hair, pulling hard enough to bruise as you try to ground your amidst the overwhelming sensations.

Ruby hums against your wet heat, the vibration sending sparks through your body. She savors every taste, every scent, committing it all to memory. She knows she should be gentle, coaxing you back from the brink, but the primal hunger driving her won't allow it.

Instead, she doubles her efforts, tongue flicking rapidly over your clit before diving back inside. She sucks hard on the sensitive bud, nibbling just enough to edge you closer to the precipice without letting you tumble over.

One hand moves up to palm your breast, squeezing the soft flesh roughly as her thumb rubs over the nipple. The other grips your hip, fingers digging in as she holds you in place, grinding her face harder against your pussy.

"God, look at this pretty little cunt. So wet and perfect, just begging for my tongue.”

Her praise goes straight to your head and you scream.

“Come on baby,” you feel her fingers inside of you now, fucking into you relentlessly, her tongue never stopping on your clit. “Be my good girl, beg for me.”

Your back arches off the bed in a desperate attempt to be closer to Ruby, to melt into her, to merge with her. To become one.

“Ngh—oh! Oh, god, pleasepleasepleaseplease–Ruby, Ruby, Ruby, Ruby–” You’re stammering, gasping and babbling, trying to form coherent sentences. But your brain is melting right out of your ears. You’re chanting and crying out her name in sinful prayer. “I love you—!”

You miss the way her ministrations falter ever so slightly at that. The way her eyes flicker up at you, simmering with something you wouldn’t want to see.

“Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou—“ and you’re so gone. You don’t even know you’re saying it, and Ruby knows this.

But she also knows you mean it.

The tether snaps and your entire body wracks with tremors. Ruby’s tongue slows ever so slightly as she works you through your orgasm. Your thighs tremble around her head as it crashes and washes over you.

“That’s my good girl,” she coos over your slickness, her breath fanning over it deliciously. It’s all too much, too much.

You’re a whimpering, trembling mess by the time she shrugs your legs off her shoulders and slides up your body to straddle your hips. Her hands cradle your face with practiced tenderness, and she presses a kiss to your sweat-slick forehead like you’re something sacred.

You don’t resist when she eases you down into the pillows. You let her guide you—pull, position, fold you up like a doll. You’re too spent to move on your own, nerves frayed and limbs heavy. And in some twisted part of your mind, it feels like affection. Like care.

Like love.

You don’t say anything more as you come down from your high. You probably couldn’t even if you wanted to. So you’re silent as she climbs in beside you, tugging the scratchy motel blanket over the both of you. Her arms wrap around your body, holding you close as if you’re something fragile. Something cherished. She strokes your hair and whispers sweet things in your ear.

“You’re so pretty,” she whispers deceptively sweet.

“You’re my good girl.”

“You’re perfect.”

The demon says it like scripture.

But she doesn’t say I love you.

And maybe it’s lucky you’re too drained to notice. Too far gone to hear what’s really beneath all the sweetness. You fall asleep like that—wrapped in arms that claim to protect you, lulled by the soft poison of her praise.

And for a fleeting, tragic moment, you feel warm. Safe. Maybe even happy.

Maybe even happy.

Oh, how naive.

-

Another shitty motel, another too-springy and too-stained mattress that you ignore and sleep on anyway. There must’ve been hundreds of these you’ve been through by now. Maybe thousands. On the road with Sam and…Ruby, the weeks all seem to blend together. In the race to stop Lilith breaking the seals, you’ve all but lost your sense of time.

God knows that’s not the only thing you’ve lost these past couple months.

You’re alone, curled up in bed, still wearing Ruby’s shirt from the other night—the one she stripped off you, the one she told you looked better on you anyway. She’s gone, off doing… something. She said she wouldn’t be long. But she always says that.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but the slamming door jolts you awake. You’re expecting to see Sam coming back from his usual late-night scouting, but you’re surprised to see the someone else entirely.

“What the hell is going on with you?” he hisses, cutting, sharp.

You blink, heart spiking.

Dean’s standing in the doorway, keys still clutched in his hand. His eyes are wild—not angry in the usual way, but something worse: scared.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. Not, ‘What are you doing here?’ or ‘Why are you here?’

“Don’t play dumb. You disappear with that bitch and Sam for days—“ a twinge of distaste pants in your heart at the dig at Ruby “—and every time you come back you look even worse than he does. You’ve got bruises and marks you won’t explain. You look like you haven’t slept in days. And now you’re wearing her clothes?”

You look down.

“It’s just a shirt.” It’s not just a shirt to you.

“It’s her shirt.”

You sit up, tugging it lower out of reflex. “Why does it matter?”

“Because she’s a goddamn demon, that’s why.”

The word hits like a slap, even though you know it’s true.

You turn away.

Dean steps forward, voice quieter but heavier. The reality of the situation is hitting him all too quickly now. You’re farther gone than he ever could’ve thought.

“She’s messing with your head. And you’re letting her.”

“She’s not—”

“She’s not what, huh?” Dean snaps, venom cutting through the air and slicing straight into you. “Not using you? Not lying to your face? Not twisting the knife when you’re too close to feel it?”

You stand now, blood pounding in your ears.

“She cares about me!”

“Bullshit.” He says it like it’s obvious. Like it’s already been decided.

You want to scream.

“She stayed with me, Dean. She didn’t leave.”

“Because she needs you. Not because she gives a damn about you.”

Your hands curl into fists.

“You weren’t there. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dean steps closer. His face is raw now, like this is physically hurting him.

“I’ve seen what you look like after she leaves. I’ve seen you puke your guts out because you’re so strung out you can’t eat. I’ve seen you cry in your sleep.”

You open your mouth—nothing comes out.

“I hear you talking to her when you think no one’s around. Like you’re begging her to stay. Like you know she won’t.”

That cuts. Deep. Because he’s right.

“It’s complicated.”

“No. It’s toxic.”

He runs a hand over his mouth, then looks at you like he’s searching for something—the version of you before all this started.

“Did she promise you something?” Your silence is answer enough. “Did she say she loved you?”

You look down.

“She doesn’t have to,” you mutter unconvincingly.

You want to believe that, you really do. But even you—as twisted around Ruby as you are—can see some of what Dean might be seeing right now. Dean laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Only disbelief. Only grief. The sound guts you.

“You think what you have is real? You think it means something?”

“It does mean something.”

“She’s a demon, not a soulmate.”

“She touched me like I mattered.”

Your voice cracks open, bleeding truth you didn’t mean to say. Dean goes still.

“She said I was good. She said I was enough. And she stayed.”

A beat of silence stretches between you, heavy with the glaringly obvious stupidity of what you just said. What about Sam? What about him? Dean’s jaw tightens. His voice drops.

“She used you.”

A beat.

“She held me.”

“She broke you and then played hero while you bled out.”

You flinch.

Dean’s voice softens, cracks.

“You’re not the same anymore. Even Sam sees it and he’s almost as hooked to this bitch as you are.”

Your throat tightens. “You think I don’t know that?”

Dean takes a step back, breathing hard. He runs a hand through his hair. Looks like he wants to hit something—or cry.

“This thing she’s got you wrapped up in? It’s not love. It’s a leash.”

He turns to leave.

Then he stops.

“She’s gonna leave you wrecked. Worse than now. And when she does…” He hesitates. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to fix what’s left.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

You sit back down on the edge of the bed, shaking.

You don’t cry.

You just pull the shirt tighter around you—like it means everything. Like it’s armor.

And when Ruby returns, hours later, sliding beside you like nothing’s wrong, you let her kiss you again.

Let her pretend this is something beautiful.

Let her pretend you’re not bleeding.

Because that’s the story you need right now.

And it’s the one she’s always happy to tell.

-

You’ve stopped keeping track of what city you’re in. It doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is that Ruby’s here tonight, curled beside you, fingers idly combing through your hair while the flickering TV screen paints shadows across the walls.

It’s late, and Sam’s gone. Training. Drinking. Something. Ruby won’t say.

Neither of you talk much at first. You’re lying in her lap, watching static on mute. Her fingers tug gently at the roots of your hair, and you close your eyes like it soothes you. And maybe it does. Maybe it’s the only thing that does lately.

“You ever think about when it’s over?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

Ruby pauses. Her fingers still in your hair for just a second too long before resuming.

“Over?”

“This,” you murmur. “The seals. Lilith. The end of the world.”

Ruby hums low in her throat. “Every day.”

You shift slightly, look up at her. Her face is in shadow. You can’t read it.

“What do you think happens after?” you press.

She glances down at you, a small, unreadable smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. “What do you want to happen?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know. Something normal. Something… safe.”

Ruby brushes a thumb across your cheek, almost tender. “You could have that.”

“Could I?”

She leans down and kisses your temple. “If we win. If Lilith falls. There’s a future on the other side.”

There’s a weight behind her words that should reassure you—but something about the way she says them makes your chest tighten. You try to hold onto the hope, but her phrasing gnaws at the edges of your mind.

Not we’ll have a future. Not you and me. Just there’s one. Somewhere. Distant. Vague.

You cling to the softness anyway.

“Would you stay?” you ask. You hate how small your voice sounds. But by now you’ve grown used to it.

Ruby doesn’t answer right away.

Her hand slides down your arm. She doesn’t look at you when she finally says, “If I could.”

If.

Not when. Not yes.

You swallow, throat suddenly dry.

“You want to, though, right?”

She smiles again, and this time it’s too smooth. Too easy.

“Of course I do.”

But it lands wrong. It’s too clean, too practiced.

You sit up slowly, watching her face.

“Why do you always say what I want to hear?”

Ruby blinks. “What?”

“You always know the right thing to say. Always know when to touch me, when to hold me, when to—” you gesture vaguely. “Make it feel like love.”

Key word: Like love.

Like.

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes. Irritation? Guilt? Fear?

“You think I’m lying?” she asks, voice lower now.

“I don’t know.” You look down. “Maybe.”

Ruby shifts closer. Her hand finds your jaw and tilts your face up to meet hers.

“I care about you,” she says, voice smooth as silk. “Is that so hard to believe?”

You hesitate. “Sometimes.”

She doesn’t flinch.

“I’ve done a lot of terrible things,” she says. “You think I don’t know that? But I chose to stay with you. That counts for something.”

You search her face. You want so badly to believe her. To believe that all of this meant more than just manipulation and timing. You nod, just barely.

Ruby leans in and kisses you slow, deep, like she’s sealing a contract. Like she’s swallowing your doubts one by one.

When she pulls away, she presses her forehead to yours.

“Trust me,” she whispers.

Your eyes close.

But somewhere deep down, some part of you still hears that pause. That hesitation.

If.

If she could stay.

If she meant it.

If this wasn’t just a game.

And even deeper down, in the quiet place you never speak from—

You already know she’s lying.

But tonight, you let yourself forget.

Tonight, you lie in her arms like she’s your future. And you don’t ask again what happens next.

Because some part of you already knows the answer.

-

Another motel. Another room without her.

You’re lying on the bed in silence, curled up in the shirt Ruby left on the chair a few nights ago—still faintly smelling like her, sharp and sweet and hellfire underneath.

She left again. You don’t know where. She said, “Back soon.” She always says that. You pretend it’s a promise. It’s not.

The clock ticks past midnight. You’re wide awake.

And then the knock.

Three sharp raps on the door. You sit up, startled. Not Ruby—she never knocks.

When you open the door, it’s Bobby.

“Get dressed,” he says, grim. “Now.”

Your mouth is already forming questions, but his tone leaves no room. “Sam’s with her. Something’s wrong. We have to move.”

The car ride is silent except for the sound of your heart hammering in your ears.

“She’s not who you think she is,” Bobby finally says.

You don’t answer. Can’t. You’re gripping the seat like it might fly out from under you.

“I know what you think you have with her,” he adds, not cruelly—but not gently either. “But it ain’t real.”

You don’t say, She held me when I couldn’t breathe.

You don’t say, She kissed me like she meant it.

You don’t say, She made me believe I wasn’t broken.

Because none of that matters now. Not if Sam’s in danger. Not if Bobby’s right.

But part of you—God, part of you still hopes she’ll be there, smiling like always, and you can pretend this was all some horrible misunderstanding.

The chapel door creaks open.

And you know.

Before you see anything—you know.

Sam’s standing at the altar. Pale. Shaking. His hand slick with blood. Lilith’s body is slumped beneath him, eyes wide open and unseeing, blood seeping across the floor like ink. A strange, horrific sigil glows on the ground, pulsing with something ancient and wrong.

And Ruby—

Ruby is smiling.

Grinning, even. Like everything’s going perfectly. Like she’s home.

Has she ever smiled like that with you?

“No,” you whisper.

She turns, eyes lighting up when she sees you.

“There you are,” she says softly. “You made it.”

You step forward. Slowly. Trembling.

“Ruby…” you say her name like a lifeline, like she might look at you and say, ‘No, this isn’t what it looks like. I’m still yours.’

She doesn’t.

“I told you there’d be a future after this.” Her voice is almost tender. “You remember that?”

Sam is breathing like he just ran a marathon. His eyes meet yours—bloodshot, confused. “I—I thought she was helping us.”

Your stomach turns.

“She is,” you say weakly. You look at Ruby. “Aren’t you?”

Ruby’s gaze doesn’t waver. But it sharpens. You’ve never seen her look more radiant. Or more not human. You’re gonna throw up.

“I did help,” she says, calm. “I got you here, didn’t I?”

“You said—” Your voice breaks. “You said you wanted a life with me after this.”

“I did.” Her tone stays so calm it makes your skin crawl. “Maybe I still do.”

Dean crashes through the door behind you, already yelling. “Move, Sam!”

No one moves.

“You used him,” you say, choking on the words. “You used me.”

Ruby tilts her head. Confused. “I thought that part was obvious?”

You laugh—shaky, bitter. “Yeah, I guess it was, wasn’t it?”

You always thought the worst thing would be dying.

But you were wrong.

It’s this.

She steps toward you. “You were never part of the plan.” Her voice softens, almost sad. “That was real. You were… a surprise.”

You flinch like she’s slapped you. “Then what was all of it for?”

She shrugs, eyes unreadable. “I liked the way you looked at me,” she says. “Like I was something good.”

You’re shaking.

“But you still lied,” you whisper.

She doesn’t deny it. That hurts more than anything.

“I kept you close because it made things easier,” she says. “But I didn’t fake it—”

A beat.

“—not all of it at least.”

The words tear through you like glass.

That was it. That was all it was.

She liked how you worshipped her.

She liked how easy it was.

She looks at you then, really looks. And maybe—maybe—there’s a flicker of regret.

But it’s too late.

Sam’s whisper cuts through the air like he’s finally remembered how to speak. “I broke the final seal.”

Ruby grins again. “Yes. You did.”

Dean lunges. The demon blade flashes.

You scream. “No—!”

But it’s over before you can reach her.

She gasps, blood gurgling in her throat, collapsing to her knees. Smoke begins to rise from her mouth, curling around her like serpents. Her eyes lock on yours, even as her body breaks.

You’re moving before your mind can even catch up. Your knees hit the ground so hard you feel the impact reverberate through your whole body, but you don’t care at all.

You’re scrambling, hands flailing over Ruby’s body as she slips away.

Right through your fingers.

There’s blood there’s smoke there’s so much blood—

You put all your weight down on her wound as if it’ll make a difference. As if it’ll change the outcome that you know is happening.

“Nonononono— Ruby, please—no! I—!” You’re choking and and breaking and sobbing and—

And she smiles.

She raises a bloodied hand to your cheek, smearing it red. She whispers your name one final time before her hand falls.

And then she’s gone.

No dramatic gasp. No warning. Just gone.

You fold in half.

And the screaming—God, the screaming—

It’s you.

Your body curls like it’s been stabbed through the gut. You slam your bloody palms over your mouth, as if that might stop the sound, stop the grief, stop the hole that’s opening in your chest and swallowing you whole.

It doesn’t.

You keep screaming.

Bobby’s voice is calling you. Dean’s too. Sam is shattering in the corner. The world is falling apart around you.

And none of it matters.

Because she’s gone.

And you still don’t know who you were to her.

-

That night, no one sleeps.

The Devil is rising.

-

He saw it all.

He saw the way you ran to her, hands shaking, body breaking. He saw the blood on your knees, the way you threw yourself down like you were the one who’d been stabbed.

And then the sound you made—

It wasn’t human.

It made the hair on Sam’s arms stand straight up.

He watched you crumble with her. And he knew.

He hadn’t known before. Not really. Not like that.

He knew you cared about Ruby. Sure. He’d seen the way you looked at her when you thought no one was watching. But he didn’t know it went that deep.

Didn’t know it was everything.

He sees you now, days later, and you’re quiet. Too quiet. Like your voice died with her.

You still haven’t asked him why he didn’t stop it.

You haven’t asked anyone anything.

And Sam—he doesn’t know if he should be relieved that it’s over, or horrified by the look in your eyes.

That hollow, burning stare.

He should hate her. He does hate her.

But sometimes, late at night, he remembers the way your hand shook on her chest. The way you whispered her name like it was the last word you’d ever say. The way you begged.

And he wonders if, somehow, that demon really did love you.

Just a little.