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[come down, cold resides with me]
sam/ruby - nc-17
833 words

notes: comes before here in darkness, water the lips of death, but you do not need to read that one to understand this.




When she finds him in his hotel room there’s still blood in his hair, on his clothes, dried on his skin. She steps close, runs her fingers through his hair untangling the sticky, matted clumps, and trails her fingertips down his cheek. He looks away from her, pulls her hand away.

“You did what you had to, Sam,” she says, his fingers still around her wrist. He stares hard at her, shakes his head, and leaves her standing alone while he showers.






The scenery changes, but she doesn’t. “We can get him back but not without a fight,” she says. He throws dirty clothes in a pile on the floor to be burned; that much blood never comes out. “Hey,” she snaps angrily. “You pussing out isn’t the kind of fight they’re looking for. You puss out now and kiss big brother goodbye for all eternity, Sam, because he’ll burn in hell until there’s nothing left, but hey, at least Sammy Winchester will have a clean conscience.”

He has her pressed against the wall with his hand around her throat before he can really think about it. “Shut up,” he growls between clenched teeth. “I’ll get him out, Ruby.”

“That’s more like it,” she says and he lets her go.






There’s a storm coming; they can hear thunder rumbling in the distance and the flashes of lightning outside the window become more frequent. They sit and eat take out like nothing’s changed – Sam on one bed and Ruby on the other – but he feels Dean’s absence like a heavy weight in his stomach. He pushes away most of his Chinese untouched.

“You can’t keep your strength up if you wither away from malnutrition,” she says without looking up, pushing more food into her mouth. She’s so much like Dean sometimes that he has to close his eyes for a moment and swallow the burn in his throat.

“You sound like Dean,” he says quietly. It’s a moment of weakness that doesn’t happen often, but she sees it, and the look in her eyes pushes it out of him so fast it hurts worse.

She goes back to eating and they watch the news in silence. There’s a flood warning for the area and he wonders if they should get moving. “In a little while,” she says. “It probably won’t get bad until tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll be long gone by then.”

He doesn’t say another word until it’s time to leave, and it’s only to tell her he’s heading north. They don’t travel together, and she’s gone before he gets his bag in the car.






He thought it would take longer, years, but it only takes months. He’s managed to make himself colder than Dean ever was; killing doesn’t hurt anymore, doesn’t feel like anything, and he scrubs the caked on blood off the silver ring Dean left behind, the amulet that used to be his – that Sam gave him so long ago – warm against Sam’s skin.

When she shows up this time it’s to slide onto Sam’s lap. “We’re almost there,” she whispers, and he puts his hands on her hips, squeezes too tight just to watch her flinch. She tangles her fingers in his hair, presses her mouth to his ear and whispers “so close, Sam,” and yanks his head back, biting at his neck, pressing herself down against him and rocking until she can feel the hard line of his cock through their jeans. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows harshly, eyes closed.

He redirects her mouth to his and takes over, biting at her lips, licking into her mouth and thrusting his hips up until she gasps. They don’t talk when they take their clothes off – not about how he’s too rough, and not about how she likes it too much.

He pushes her down on the bed and she can feel his cock against her thigh, spreads her legs wider in open invitation to take whatever he wants, but he doesn’t move. “This body’s dead anyway, Sam,” she says. “Nothing to worry about.” He looks hesitant for a half-second before pushing naked into her. She could be lying – she’s probably lying – but he doesn’t care anymore, and somehow, that doesn’t surprise him because he doesn’t feel anything anymore.

When her nails bite into his skin he arches into her because it feels better than it should, thrusts into her harder, until he’s forcing the breath out of her in harsh little grunts and pants. He looks down at them, the way he disappears into her pretty pink cunt and squeezes his eyes shut, fucks her harder.

She wraps her legs around his waist to force him deeper and he can’t take it. He presses his thumb to her clit and watches her come, shaking and gasping. When he comes it feels too good, burning through them both.






The sky burns black and red at sunrise; he doesn’t stop long enough to think about what it could mean.

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May 2010

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