Fic: good things happen in bad towns (Supernatural; R - Sam/Ruby)
Title: good things happen in bad towns
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Ruby
Word count: 10x100
Rating: R
Spoilers: definitely 4.01
Notes: Blame pyrebi. Title from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.
Summary: Ruby's summer of Sam.
The truth is, a meatsuit has a little bit of influence. Probably comes down to brain chemistry or something. No matter who’s driving it, a car with a bad muffler’s always going to sound like shit.
The blonde was a spitfire. Ruby learned a whole second vocabulary just listening to the girl screaming from the metaphorical closet she shoved her into. Quite a few of those very useful, creative insults were later lobbed at whichever Winchester happened to be annoying Ruby at the time, too, long after it was just Ruby inside.
That body had a looser tongue, she thinks.
---
This body, though? This body belongs to the nicest goddamn girl in the state of Illinois, apparently. Ruby finds herself liking the girl, who hasn’t protested once about the whole possession thing, seems bemused, and mostly keeps a running commentary about the world. She likes Sam.
“I promise to take better care of this body than I usually do,” Ruby tells her.
“Um, thanks. I think.” the girl says. “I’m allergic to shellfish, just so you know.”
Mostly, they eat a lot of burgers. But then again, Sam always orders the things and it’s not like he’s the one eating.
---
“Hot damn,” the girl says the first time they meet up with Sam, totally ignoring whatever doom-and-gloom greeting Ruby’s trying to have. “Please tell me we get to have a piece of that.”
“He’s grieving. It would be wrong,” Ruby says to the girl while Sam stands there shirtless, looking tortured and filthy, Illinois sticking to his sweat.
“Dude, you’re a demon,” the girl points out. “And it would be criminal not to hit that.”
It’s a nice change; the blonde had liked Dean. In between the crying and the begging Ruby to let her go. Before the silence.
---
This body isn’t snarky or clever. The tongue is kind of clumsy, doesn’t rattle off taunts like pouring water out of a glass. The girl’s brain is just wired to be nice, so Ruby doesn’t try to force the issue.
She likes the girl’s mouth though. Everything she eats tastes fantastic and the lips are lush. Ruby catches Sam staring at them sometimes and she wonders what he’s thinking. She considers making a joke about Dean once, but lets it slide.
“If you’re wondering, yes, they look great wrapped around a cock,” the girl says wryly, noticing where Sam’s looking.
---
“Why?” the girl asks once, riding shotgun in Dean’s car, the whine of Sam’s soft rock and the purr of the engine warring in the background. They’re halfway between then and nowhere and every-goddamn-where at once. “Why this guy?” the girl wants to know. “Why this fight?”
Ruby doesn’t answer. “Go to sleep.”
“Tell me a story,” the girl persists. “You have no idea how boring it is to be trapped inside your own head.”
“No,” Ruby says, out loud. Sam looks at her, brow furrowed deep. He’s aging, Ruby notices idly. He’s bigger. She says inside, “I really do.”
---
She’s sorry when the girl dies. It’s not like with the blonde, the walking around with a gaping chest wound and a quiet head for a few months. It’s simple this time, not even Ruby’s fault.
Pop goes an artery, and suddenly the girl’s brain is squishing around in a water balloon full of blood, and it’s all silent upstairs. Looks like she picked a lemon this time. She wonders if the girl knew it was coming, if that’s why she never complained.
She doesn’t tell Sam when the body dies. He’s got bigger things to worry about than necrophilia.
---
Ruby’s lost count of hosts. Most are only hers for a short duration anyway, when any bucket will do to carry the water. She’s had enough to figure out why sometimes they’re still around and only die once she leaves them, and why sometimes they’re just gone and she’s left alone in their skins.
The ones that don’t stand a chance always go. She walked around for a few months wearing a body with some shreds of muscle passing for a heart, a hunk of silver slug rattling against fragments of ribcage.
The ones that stay are just dying slowly.
---
Their first mark was this little scum-sucker who went by Butler. He was more annoying than dangerous in Ruby’s opinion, after spending a few hundred years in the pit listening to him make elaborate plans about the things he would do next time he went topside.
“First things first, I’m finding a tongue and enjoying me some kidney pie,” Butler had said.
When Sam was culling him from his host in chunks, like an Egyptian taking a metal hook to a brand new mummy’s brain, Butler kept on talking about the things he hadn’t gotten to do.
His host lived.
---
Ruby’s scared. She’s never been so bone-cold terrified in her life, and that includes sitting around waiting to die and go to hell in the first place. She watches Sam doing exactly what she wanted and in practice it’s horrible.
On one hand, she wants to use this body’s incredible set of senses to really enjoy fucking his brains out.
On the other, she wants to run as far away as she can, fast as she can, find the deepest, darkest hole around, and cover herself up with dirt because this she did not expect, even though she should have.
---
Sam’s got massive hands that Ruby really, really appreciates. These aren’t actually her breasts or hips or clit or feet, but she’s the only one using them now. And these are not actually her fingernails with Sam’s blood and skin underneath, and the sweat that isn’t really hers is running down the cleft of somebody else’s spine.
He goes to take a shower. Maybe he’s hoping to accidentally drown himself. She throws on underwear and a shirt and flicks aimlessly through the hotel’s cable. Her choices are softcore porn and cable news talking heads.
There’s a knock at the door.
End.
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Ruby
Word count: 10x100
Rating: R
Spoilers: definitely 4.01
Notes: Blame pyrebi. Title from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.
Summary: Ruby's summer of Sam.
The truth is, a meatsuit has a little bit of influence. Probably comes down to brain chemistry or something. No matter who’s driving it, a car with a bad muffler’s always going to sound like shit.
The blonde was a spitfire. Ruby learned a whole second vocabulary just listening to the girl screaming from the metaphorical closet she shoved her into. Quite a few of those very useful, creative insults were later lobbed at whichever Winchester happened to be annoying Ruby at the time, too, long after it was just Ruby inside.
That body had a looser tongue, she thinks.
---
This body, though? This body belongs to the nicest goddamn girl in the state of Illinois, apparently. Ruby finds herself liking the girl, who hasn’t protested once about the whole possession thing, seems bemused, and mostly keeps a running commentary about the world. She likes Sam.
“I promise to take better care of this body than I usually do,” Ruby tells her.
“Um, thanks. I think.” the girl says. “I’m allergic to shellfish, just so you know.”
Mostly, they eat a lot of burgers. But then again, Sam always orders the things and it’s not like he’s the one eating.
---
“Hot damn,” the girl says the first time they meet up with Sam, totally ignoring whatever doom-and-gloom greeting Ruby’s trying to have. “Please tell me we get to have a piece of that.”
“He’s grieving. It would be wrong,” Ruby says to the girl while Sam stands there shirtless, looking tortured and filthy, Illinois sticking to his sweat.
“Dude, you’re a demon,” the girl points out. “And it would be criminal not to hit that.”
It’s a nice change; the blonde had liked Dean. In between the crying and the begging Ruby to let her go. Before the silence.
---
This body isn’t snarky or clever. The tongue is kind of clumsy, doesn’t rattle off taunts like pouring water out of a glass. The girl’s brain is just wired to be nice, so Ruby doesn’t try to force the issue.
She likes the girl’s mouth though. Everything she eats tastes fantastic and the lips are lush. Ruby catches Sam staring at them sometimes and she wonders what he’s thinking. She considers making a joke about Dean once, but lets it slide.
“If you’re wondering, yes, they look great wrapped around a cock,” the girl says wryly, noticing where Sam’s looking.
---
“Why?” the girl asks once, riding shotgun in Dean’s car, the whine of Sam’s soft rock and the purr of the engine warring in the background. They’re halfway between then and nowhere and every-goddamn-where at once. “Why this guy?” the girl wants to know. “Why this fight?”
Ruby doesn’t answer. “Go to sleep.”
“Tell me a story,” the girl persists. “You have no idea how boring it is to be trapped inside your own head.”
“No,” Ruby says, out loud. Sam looks at her, brow furrowed deep. He’s aging, Ruby notices idly. He’s bigger. She says inside, “I really do.”
---
She’s sorry when the girl dies. It’s not like with the blonde, the walking around with a gaping chest wound and a quiet head for a few months. It’s simple this time, not even Ruby’s fault.
Pop goes an artery, and suddenly the girl’s brain is squishing around in a water balloon full of blood, and it’s all silent upstairs. Looks like she picked a lemon this time. She wonders if the girl knew it was coming, if that’s why she never complained.
She doesn’t tell Sam when the body dies. He’s got bigger things to worry about than necrophilia.
---
Ruby’s lost count of hosts. Most are only hers for a short duration anyway, when any bucket will do to carry the water. She’s had enough to figure out why sometimes they’re still around and only die once she leaves them, and why sometimes they’re just gone and she’s left alone in their skins.
The ones that don’t stand a chance always go. She walked around for a few months wearing a body with some shreds of muscle passing for a heart, a hunk of silver slug rattling against fragments of ribcage.
The ones that stay are just dying slowly.
---
Their first mark was this little scum-sucker who went by Butler. He was more annoying than dangerous in Ruby’s opinion, after spending a few hundred years in the pit listening to him make elaborate plans about the things he would do next time he went topside.
“First things first, I’m finding a tongue and enjoying me some kidney pie,” Butler had said.
When Sam was culling him from his host in chunks, like an Egyptian taking a metal hook to a brand new mummy’s brain, Butler kept on talking about the things he hadn’t gotten to do.
His host lived.
---
Ruby’s scared. She’s never been so bone-cold terrified in her life, and that includes sitting around waiting to die and go to hell in the first place. She watches Sam doing exactly what she wanted and in practice it’s horrible.
On one hand, she wants to use this body’s incredible set of senses to really enjoy fucking his brains out.
On the other, she wants to run as far away as she can, fast as she can, find the deepest, darkest hole around, and cover herself up with dirt because this she did not expect, even though she should have.
---
Sam’s got massive hands that Ruby really, really appreciates. These aren’t actually her breasts or hips or clit or feet, but she’s the only one using them now. And these are not actually her fingernails with Sam’s blood and skin underneath, and the sweat that isn’t really hers is running down the cleft of somebody else’s spine.
He goes to take a shower. Maybe he’s hoping to accidentally drown himself. She throws on underwear and a shirt and flicks aimlessly through the hotel’s cable. Her choices are softcore porn and cable news talking heads.
There’s a knock at the door.
End.