1This is for one of my absolute favorite people in the whole world, Becky. She's the only other people I know really that loves Ruby as much as I do and that appreciates the beauty that could have been Ruby/Castiel. She is fantastic and you should definitely go read her stuff if you're in the mood for delicious angst. Happy early birthday and I really hope you enjoy this little series!
All the prompts are from the rare pair prompt lists over on LJ; I just picked my favorite ones out of eighteen different lists.
Disclaimer: Forever. Bitter.
Sorry about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine. – Richard Siken | Little Beast
the decline of all things:
Ruby only needs two hands to count off the number of times she has ever told anyone she loves them.
Her mother just moments before her death. She'd clutched her hands tightly, smiled through the blood and hadn't glanced at the small – tiny - body of her dead baby brother a few feet away. She'd pressed wet kiss to Alba Donati's forehead as she passed, the words slipping out as her mother drew her last breath.
Her husband, just moments before the hellhounds came for her. Had let him hold her and sooth her and by then the plague had done most of the work. Neither of them had cried and that had been okay. They were the last words to pass her human lips.
Sam, months into Dean's death when both of their wounds were still oh so very fresh. He had lost a brother, a soul mate, and she had lost a lover and friend. The words had come out as she picked him up off the floor and helped him put himself back together. He'd returned them drunkenly.
Dean just before Sam had given himself away to Lucifer. It had been bright out, slightly windy and his eyes had twinkled for the first time in nearly two years. His hands had cradled her head and he had kissed her bloody mouth. She told him softly, tiredly, almost hesitantly. He hadn't let her go for a while after.
Bobby while she had been trying to piece herself back together after Sam's swan song and Dean's disappearance and Cas' goodbye. She'd been there, lying on the ground of the bathroom, trying to remember how to be strong. She had given those boys so much, had let them take so much and she hadn't been sure she'd survive the next night. Bobby had dragged her into bed with a shove and a fierce yell. When the words had graced her lips, he had smiled and nodded. That had been enough.
Mark and this had been while Dean was off trying to find himself somewhere in between Lisa Braeden's sheets and heart. Mark had been there and sweet and not at all judgmental and had looked at her like she'd created the stars themselves. The words were whispered against his lips one afternoon with his arms tight around her and then again as she clutched his cooling, lifeless body.
And then there's Castiel. Cas. The angel. Her soul mate, her brother in arms, her best friend, her everything-dean-won't-ever-be. She'd rushed the words out in between broken sentences and bitter tears and a clogged throat and in the end it hadn't been enough. Not to make him stay at least. The words are said against Castiel's cheek and they tear her open. He doesn't get the chance to reply.
You're still dead and I'm still here. – Wesley King | The Problem
for what it's worth:
They don't find his body for weeks.
After the Leviathan take over, after they make him theirs, they look everywhere for days and find nothing so they stop looking.
Ruby had watched as they stopped, lips twisted up into a judgmental snarl and had refused to talk to anyone for an entire week.
She's the one that finds him, in the end. After everyone's already given up and is trying to move on and of course it'd be her. His body is left on the shore, wet and bloody and a nice present from the Leviathan.
She's out, walking at three in the morning and the first thing she spots right where water meets dirty sand is an all too familiar body.
She blacks out after this, can't really tell you what happened. But according to Sam she'd come back to the house wailing, dragging Castiel's body behind her, clutching him, refusing to let him go, sending anyone who tried to take him flying into a wall with a simple turn of onyx eyes.
Eventually she'd tired out, apparently, collapsed into Dean and had let her dead everything be taken from her.
The funeral is two weeks after that, back in South Dakota and she doesn't go. Stays locked in her bedroom, back to the door and a sharp growl for anyone who tried to kick in said door.
In the end it's Dean that finally thinks to drop in from the window and she's far too unimpressed with his actions to stop her drinking. Looks over at him from the rim of her bottle and sneers. "Get bent Winchester."
"Ruby please." The pure exhaustion in his voice washes over her, through her. She has nothing left to offer him.
"My best friend is dead and I really need to drink alone right now. Please leave." These words leave her hollow inside, roll around her tongue and dry out her throat. She closes her eyes against the pain and holds the bottle tighter to her chest.
Heavy footsteps approach her and before she can protest Dean is there, beside her and stealing the bottle away. She reopens her eyes to watch as he takes a nice, long hard drink and god she is terribly selfish.
Cas had been hers but he'd been Dean's as well and he'd needed her there today. She lets him keep the bottle and curls against him, too tired to pretend like she doesn't need him as well.
"He loved you, you know." It's not a question. "He gave everything for you, to protect you."
The sentences roll off of her, mean nothing to her right now. She'll be grateful for them later, but not right now.
"I know he did. I knew. But it, it was never the right time. There was Lucifer and Crowley and angels and death and I always thought there'd be time for it later." A sob gets caught in her throat and she swallows it back down. "We were always working off of borrowed time anyways."
Dean presses his lips together, wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, gives the bottle back.
She swallows and it taste like sand pouring itself down her throat.
She tastes like every dark thought I've ever had. – Holly Black | White Cat
oh how I loathe thee (most of the time):
The sight of her smile alone is enough to set him on fire now.
Which is a very dangerous thing, in case you haven't figured that out by now. See, Ruby? Yeah, she's a demon. She's hellfire and death and everything that goes bump in the night. There is destruction and pain flowing through her veins and she smirks at him like she is very much aware of this fact.
And him? He's everything she's not. He's made of light and warmth and protection. There is celestial power and strength coursing through his veins and he was created to bring good to the universe.
When two things as different as him and Ruby collide, it's not going to be pretty. Can't be pretty. They were built to destroy the other, naturally repel and create friction.
Which, is why he's not exactly sure how he's managed to find himself in this situation. This situation being her hand on his chest and her warmth penetrating him. This situation being his complete and total infatuation with the blonde demon that seems to have taken over his life.
Castiel has never been one for rebelling, for breaking rules. He always followed orders, always fell in line and never questioned what he was told. Then of course he met the Winchesters and well, you know how the following events went.
Every part of him is screaming for him to get out now, for him to stop and run before he falls in too deep into something he won't be able to escape from later on.
There is no way this is going to end well. Not when they spend half of their time snarling and mistrusting and there are very few moments where there is any actual peace between them. Not when he still isn't 100% sure which side she is on when she gets that gleam in her eyes. Not when he is drowning in her constantly, daily. Not when she already owns him.
This is going to end terribly tragic.
But still, as she presses him closer to the wall and catches his lips with hers, he finds he doesn't particularly care.
I knew I did from that first moment we met. It was… Not love at first sight exactly, but familiarity. Like: oh, hello, it's you. It's going to be you. – Mhairi McFarlane | You Had Me At Hello
a house is not a home:
The first time Ruby sets eyes on him, she's been up for three days straight, has dried blood everywhere on her person and can't feel anything on the right side of her body.
The angel's eyes are unimpressed and cold, words directed at Dean specifically and wow, okay, mature. She shoves her way past him and hobbles to the bathroom.
It takes hours to clean herself, to reset all the bones and she is so goddamn tired. The only tired that can come from Winchester association.
"Ruby, come on, stop hogging the hot water."
She allows Dean to enter with a scowl and goes to change back in the bedroom. Except he's still there, the angel, watching her from, of course, her bed.
She settles on ignoring him as well and goes about her business. The only indication he gives that he's watching her is when she goes to drop the towel and the bed shifts. She rolls her eyes and changes as quickly as possible, turning back with a sneer and onyx eyes. "You need something else wings?"
"Nothing from you, demon." His tone is hard and cold and jesus, she'd forgotten what is was like to be around people who weren't already used to her eyes.
She allows them to fade back to blue and notices as he visibly tenses.
"Relax, alright? You steer clear of me and I'll do the same."
A faint flutter and he's gone.
She lets out a sharp exhale and, "Yeah, we're going to get along just great."
xxx
The last time she sets eyes on him, she's being restrained by Sam as her best friend, her everything, her home, walks into a reservoir and doesn't come out.
She can barely contain herself, is screaming bloody murder and oh god she can't breathe. Can barely get out breaths in between her wails and this is what it must feel like to die. She can barely remember her first death but she thinks it might have been like this, horrible and aching and blood boiling and not enough air.
"Ruby, ruby, please." Sam's voice is wet and raw and she doesn't care. She manages to get away, gets in a good jab with her elbow and she's suddenly wet and swimming and he's nowhere to be found.
Her throat feels raw, bloody and she can no longer hear herself in the air. The life leaves her at this and she's sinking, drowning and familiar arms are right there, pulling her upright and out into the dirt.
Dean's arms are tight around hers and she can feel his tear streaked face pressing into her shoulder.
"Dean." She pleads, for what she isn't sure.
He tightens his hold on her and all she can do is hold back. "Dean please, I need to go get him. You don't understand."
He doesn't let go and she feels herself collapse against him, weightless and she gets it now, that hollowness Sam carried around while Dean had been dead. She finally understands that kind of loss.
Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away. – F. Scott Fitzgerald | The Great Gatsby
as you were:
He wished her love was enough.
If it was, he'd take her into his arms, press kisses onto her cheeks and never let her go. He'd go away with her, start a life with her, grow old with her. They'd be happy and safe and free.
But it's not enough, never will be enough, so this is what happens instead:
He leaves, without a single goodbye. He leaves her behind and the last conversation he'd had with her had ended with her throwing a vase that had just barely missed his head. He leaves, packing with him lost opportunities and should-have-beens, could-have-beens. He leaves and takes her heart with him.
I love you the way a knife loves a heart.
The way a bomb loves a crowd.
The way your mother warned you about, essentially.
(The way a human loves another human).
– asofterworld | 709, clean
tit for tat:
Her kisses taste bloody and hypnotic.
Which isn't really saying much, seeing as how she herself is the epitome of free falling. She knocks the breath out of him, tangles him up in riddles and confusion and best of all, love.
Love that is messy and hard and unforgiving and threatens to consume them both whole.
He wouldn't have it any other way really.
Don't be afraid of the clocks, they are our time, time has been so generous to us…We conquered fate by meeting at a certain time in a certain space…we are synchronized, now forever. I love you. – Felix Gonzalez-Torres | Untitled (Perfect Lovers)
this is Wednesday:
The cancer takes them all by surprise.
Comes in swiftly and quietly and by the time they figure it out it's far too late to do much more than plan their goodbyes.
She knew the risks, knew what she was signing up for when she gave up her demonic essence. Knew with perfect clarity what she was doing when God asked her what she wanted as a reward and she answered: "Humanity."
The cancer takes five years to kill her, to steal her from them and it happens far too quickly.
Castiel holds her, when it's time, presses soft kisses to her forehead and doesn't cry about how unfair it all is. About how they haven't had enough time.
Her breath is short and heavy, falls against his chest too quickly and he tightens his arms around her.
"We've had a good life together right?" He can barely make out her words, has to try hard to concentrate around the white noise buzzing in his ears. "We were happy?"
"We were. You made me very happy." The words are choked out of him, leave him breathless and spinning. He didn't know it was possible to feel this much without it killing him on the spot. "You gave me the best years of my life and I can't even begin to try and explain how grateful I am."
She smiles, eyes shut and presses her face into him, buries herself closer. "Good. It would have sucked if you secretly hated me this whole time."
The laugh that leaves him is pure and pulls forth tears with it as it comes out. He covers his face with a shaking hand and lets out a wet breath. "It really would have."
"I love you so much." And now she's crying, which means there's no way he's going to be able to fight away the tears now. He knows the boys and Bobby are downstairs right now, waiting for their black-eyed girl to die and he doesn't know how he's going to do this. Deal with them and deal with losing her. It's too much and he's too tired.
"I love you more."
A shuddering breath leaves her. "Not possible."
She dies in his arms a few seconds later, and he can feel the life go out of her. Can feel as her body stops shaking, finally, and goes to rest.
He wraps himself around her, presses another kiss to her face and doesn't let go.
I want to make love, but my hair smells of war and running and running. – Warsan Shire | Conversations about home (at the Deportation Centre)
that's what almost happened:
When it's all said and done, when everyone is back where they're supposed to be, when the boys are safe and Bobby is safe and they're allowed to breathe, she leaves.
A hug for Sam, a kiss for Dean and a nod for Bobby.
She packs up what little she has scattered around the Impala and the Singer residence and makes sure they don't follow her.
Takes to the waters and drowns herself in strangers. She's earned this much.
It only takes him a month to go after her, which is pretty impressive really. She'd thought he'd give in after a week.
The angel's waiting in her hotel room when she returns for the night and the sight of him makes her more tired than she thought it would.
"Castiel. Fancy seeing you here."
His eyes are sad when they meet hers and she's kneeling in front of him before she can stop herself. Cradling his head and kissing him softly, sweetly, like they have all the time in the world.
His hands hold her to him, gentle and barely there and this can't happen.
She pulls away and stands, starts packing up whatever's in sight.
"Ruby please – "
"You need to go home. Daddy's back and I'm sure there's a lot for you to do." Her throat feels sticky and gross from the words.
She finishes the packing, goes into the bathroom and splashes herself with faucet water. Quickly contemplates jumping out of the window. When she looks back at him, he's in the exact same spot, head bowed.
"Don't. Don't do that, you look pathetic."
"I don't know what you want from me."
She swallows, kicks at the wet rug beneath her feet and, "I need you to leave me alone."
He's standing before her in an instant, expression hard and challenging. She doesn't bother to fight the need to lean into him. "I asked what you want, not what you need." His hands find their way up her arms, to her shoulders and he's holding her neck in place tentatively.
"Doesn't matter what I want. I need you to go, okay? I can't have you here because if you're here then I can't move on, you got that? I need to be able to move on."
"Ruby…"
She moves forward, buries her face into his shoulder and this is going to be harder then she'd thought. "No. I said no."
His lips trace her jawline, cover her pulse point and she loves him so much she physically aches. "Cas you're killing me."
"If I leave, if I go back I can't ever come down again. Do you understand that? Do you get what you're asking me to do?" His words are barely above a whisper and she clutches him tighter, tries to bury herself within him.
"Yes. I need you to go."
A pause and then a flutter of a kiss on her collarbone.
He's gone before she can change her mind.
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. – Pablo Neruda | Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines
that's another story:
She thinks, if maybe the world was just the slightest bit different, just shifted to the side some, she could love him the way he deserved. Love him proper and good and healthy and with no blood in her mouth.
They could be so happy together, she knows this. They would be so good for each other and they'd thrive with each other, would rule the world together.
But the world isn't different. The world they're stuck in is cruel and cold and not very forgiving.
She can't ever offer him anything more than kisses filled with regret and blood. So she doesn't offer him any at all.
He loves you. It's not enough; this love was damned from the start. We were born with misfortune in our blood and calamity in our bones. Our fates are one; you fall, I jump. After all, darling, the gods love a tragedy. – j.s. | and what's more tragic that lovers doomed to die apart?
the residue of Monday:
He dies first.
Despite her best efforts and all her planning, she's the one that gets left behind as his blood soaks up the dirt underneath them.
He dies in her arms, in the middle of a war neither were ever supposed to be a part of.
He dies first and it isn't fair and she doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve to be the last one standing, the one left behind. She's done enough, she's given enough of herself to the fight. She shouldn't have to watch everyone she loves die before her.
She cradles his lifeless body to hers and presses a kiss to his cold forehead and she won't survive this. Refuses to survive this.
(She follows him a month later and she does it alone).
And her
I love you's
Sounds a
Hell of a lot like
You can always
Come home.
- Michelle K. | And How I Want To
to feel or not to feel:
This civil war is killing him. It's killing him and that means it's killing her.
He's not sure what's harder, having to murder his brothers and sisters or having to watch the horror creep into her face once she realizes what he's done.
"Cas, you don't have to do this. Let the boys help."
Her words are empty, mean nothing to him at this point. Doesn't she see? Doesn't she understand? The Winchesters can't get involved; they have no place in this. They're out, happy and alive and she needs to do the same.
"I am doing what needs to be done. Go home Ruby, you shouldn't be involved in this."
Her jaw tightens and her hand traps his right wrist. "If you're involved then so am I, that's the way this goes."
"Ruby please." He can't do this with her here. If she asked him to stop he would and she knows it. She's always been too dangerous for her own good.
Her face shifts, turns tired and raw and he hates when he puts that look on her. Her eyes glaze over him, examining, taking stock and he already knows he's won.
Her hand on his face stuns him, immobilizes him for a good minute. She cups his face and brings his forehead to hers, kisses his cheeks lightly.
She's gone before he can return the kiss.
Wasn't that the definition of home? Not where you are from, but where you are wanted. – Abraham Verghese | Cutting of the Stone
i want a clearer picture:
She stands to the back as Castiel collapses, as he watches the last of his family be taken back home.
The boys are long gone, Bobby with them and she can't leave him. Not when he's like this. She can't.
She stays out of sight until she can visibly see the life go out of him and then goes and curls herself around him.
"Cas – "
"He didn't take me back."
"Don't – "
"Where do I go now?"
"You come with us, with me. We're your family." Please don't leave me.
His gaze is sad as he turns over to face her, sad and drained. She wipes her fingertips over his eyebrows.
"Hey, look, we want you, okay? We'll take you. Me and you, we can finally go on a proper road trip and I can teach you how to swim and we'll eat so much junk Sam will feel it in his sleep ten states away."
The lump in his throat isn't as suffocating anymore and he finds himself nodding at her words, allowing her to pull him up to his feet.
Her smile is blinding as always and she wraps herself around him as they head back to her car. "We can start right now. Where do you want to go first, hmm? San Francisco is supposed to be really nice this time of year."
"I was thinking maybe New York City, Dean's mentioned some restaurants I'd like to try." It feels good to make plans, to know they'll have the time to follow through with them.
She starts the car with a sharp grin and, "New York it is."
Loving him was painless. The real tragedy is that it wasn't enough. All things come to a bitter end. We were doomed from the second we were born. – j.s. | ashes to ashes, sweetheart, dust to dust
the opportunities you missed:
The first Winchester Ruby meets is Dean and the world shifts. For the better, for the worst: you take your pick.
She meets Dean first and within three weeks of snarky battles and witty, dry comments, he's pressing her into the hood of the Impala and kissing the breath out of her. She lets him.
It's hard to love Dean, so hard. He makes it cruel and scary and she's burning in him. She loves him so much it hurts her.
Castiel comes into the picture seventeen months later and loving him is painless. It's slow and soothing and warm and she could spend forever looking into his borrowed eyes.
They gaze at each other from across the room and never touch.
Whisper a dangerous secret to someone you care about. Now they have the power to destroy you, but they won't. That is what love is. – Welcome to Night Vale
some people stay:
Ruby's shoulder is warm against his own, comforting and oh how he loves her.
He tells her this, the words slipping out much easier than he thought was possible.
Her smile is blinding when it's directed at him, her eyes twinkling madly. "I know feathers, trust me I do. I love you too." She wraps her arms around his left side and leans into him heavily. "Come on, we have some celebrating to do."
He allows her to pull him out of the cemetery and he doesn't look back once.
You want a love story too? There's none to be had. – Leigh Bardugo | Ruin and Rising
the fourth dimension:
She dies too soon.
She dies too soon and too young and in the wrong body.
She dies one cold day in May with the Winchesters three rooms away.
She dies and she dies alone.
xxx
He arrives and there's an ache in his chest.
He arrives and saves the Righteous man and the ache in his chest only increases as time goes by.
He arrives and is alone but not alone and he has the Winchesters but they're not enough and he can't breathe sometimes.
He arrives and is immediately missing something.