round and round the winchesters go

Shit, it was cold. Contrary to popular belief, demons did experience sensation, not that any hunter would give a damn. Especially not the Winchesters.  

She’d been waiting for friggin’ months, hanging back on the sidelines for an in, something big enough to… well, introduce herself. Who better to demonstrate her awesome skills on than the original Deadly Seven?  

As she walked up to the house, she could hear the fighting which was going on inside, and it was a relief to be walking into a bloodbath sometimes. Just the pure escalated fury that pumped through the air was enough to get off on. But first things first, bailing Sammykins out of his little jam. Hammer, meet Ruby. 

The plan was pretty simple, as plans go anyway. The thought of fighting against the very people that she was secretly fighting for--well it should’ve been a clusterfuck of emotions for even some of the most hard-hearted demons. Ruby knew, though, she knew why she’d been chosen. She was the best, God’s honest truth. Or, whatever. 

She practically slid past Dean, grunting with effort. His soul had been in Lilith’s claws for, what, four months? It was perfect.  

Walking into the room where Pride and the other two goons were, running his mouth about the boy king act II that never got to be in play (for now anyway), she felt her fingers flex deliciously around her knife. Her soul used to twist when Alastair had found it; must’ve been centuries ago now. Knife of the Kurds. Her mother’s knife. She’d always told her to stay away from the witchdoctors that came through. Her soul no longer twisted when she flicked her thumb over the hilt. Her soul was misshapen now, maelstrom of darkness. That’s what it said on the business cards, anyhow.  

The blade glided through the air and sliced with such perfect ease through flesh and bone, like it belonged in the soak of blood. She could relate. She dispatched another like it was nothing. It was nothing. She was tunnel-vision-girl. All there was was the plan. She had no loyalty to anyone but Mister Big-shot.  

She took a right-hook to the jaw (dammit mind the paintwork) and swung ‘round and dealt with the fucker. Sam helped her dispatch Pride, gaping and gasping like a goddamn amateur while she shoved the knife through that prick’s jaw. Urgh, she’d never liked him. Posturing was so 1300s.  

Of course Sam did his best impression of catfish outta water. 

“Who the hell are you?” 

“I’m the girl that just saved your ass.” 

“Well I just saved yours too.” Pathetic. Winchesters clearly always needed the last word.  

She couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “See you around Sam.“  

She smiled and got the hell outta dodge. 

Until next time, Sammy.