Actions

Work Header

Fools Rush In

Chapter Text

The problem with betraying criminals, Ruby Blue reflected, was that they tended to try and betray you right back. You always had to keep three steps ahead and then jump sideways just for good measure, because the knife you were least expecting was, in her bitter experience, the one most likely to get you. She'd made Alastair regret what he did to her face, and by the time Meg had deprived him of both his eyes and certain other pointless extremities, he'd begged her to slit his throat. Or at least, Ruby thought that's what he'd said. He'd been hard to understand without a tongue, but no one could say she hadn't tried.

She was trying with Crowley, too, because unlike Teddy Brimmond – and, indeed, Alastair –the man was an actual vertebrate, and cunning enough to merit some small degree of professional respect. Even so, his lack of subtlety was beginning to disappoint her. Ruby was no stranger to reverse psychology, and despite his careful protestations to the contrary, she's known from the start that he'd wanted Dean Winchester as his muscle. What she didn't know was why, and in the hours since Nick and Victor had cleaned up the last of his blood, it had become less a question of abstract curiosity and more a matter of urgency. Whatever his reasons – and those, too, were a pressing concern – Dean had spoken to the FBI; and as he was Crowley's catspaw, that made Ruby unsettled. She didn't know which possibility was worse: that Crowley had intended this to happen, or that he hadn't .

She drummed her nails on the desktop, the problem looping around her thoughts like an oroborous. Dean's value, such as it was, lay in his being a leveraged straight man: he couldn't expose them without also exposing himself, he cared for his lover's safety, and he wanted nothing to do with their criminal politics – meaning, in essence, that he had no dog in this fight beyond getting out alive, with a minimum of fuss. It was why Ruby had indulged Crowley's non-argument in the first place: taking down Alastair had made her enemies, and her current wrangling with rivals more numerous than just Teddy and Crowley meant any local player capable of doing Dean's job either owed their loyalties elsewhere, or was eminently subornable.

Which wouldn't usually matter, provided the right person still ended up dead. But power was a mercurial, tricky thing, and Ruby was still considered a new player: at this level, she had to tread carefully. The friendship between Teddy and Crowley was long-standing enough that openly destroying the former would simply see his allies and resources redistributed to the latter – which is to say, to Crowley – thereby landing her with one powerful opponent instead of two smaller ones. Better to destroy them from the inside out; better still to make it seem as though they'd turned on each other. Crowley still didn't realise that it was Teddy who'd rolled on him to Ruby, spilling the secrets which (for now) kept him under her thumb; and if Teddy's subsequent death was then traced back to Crowley – well. Divide and conquer, as the saying went.

And thus, Dean Winchester: a nearly-neutral party whose criminal history had been served exclusively in Crowley's employ. She'd assumed that was why Crowley wanted him in the first place: he would ask Dean to save Teddy, while Ruby, in turn, would do her best to ensure the opposite outcome. It was a predictable sort of rebellion on Crowley's part – he hardly had any better options – and even if it had actually worked, she'd been prepared to forgive him, provided she still got what she wanted.

But Dean Winchester had been talking to the FBI, and that changed everything – not just because it meant meddling feds, and not just because it raised the unnerving possibility that Crowley had planned their involvement, but because once Ruby's people knew what Dean had done, she'd had no alternative but to let Meg work him over. Not that it hadn't still been fun to watch, of course, but it narrowed her options: if Dean was working with the FBI, she'd just strengthened their case against her, and if he wasn't, she'd potentially drawn their attention by subjecting someone in their sights to what was obviously torture. Letting him live was a calculated risk – she could replace Dean, but not easily, and not without Crowley having to explain to Teddy why his new security man was suddenly dead. And besides, for all he swore up and down that Lassiter was just being a vindictive prick, Dean Winchester had clearly been hiding something: Ruby wanted to know what it was, and if pain wouldn't elicit the answers, then perhaps watching would.

So she'd asked Vanni to look into Dean's history, check the story about Lassiter, and see what else came up. She already suspected it was true, or she'd never have let him go – as a lie, it was ridiculous, and neither Dean nor Crowley was that imaginative – but there was something else underneath it, something meaty and red that made her fingers itch. Vanni worked fast, but when it came to gathering information, speed was relative, and Ruby was, of necessity, forced to be patient. So she smoked, ashing her cigarettes on the unmarked faces of celebrities in one of Meg's trashy magazines, and listened to Rasputina, and went over the hundred-odd things she had to do before Friday, several of which involved murder, and painted her fingernails ice-blue and blood-cherry, because power meant investing in the details, and appearance – presence – was nothing but.

And then, just after eleven, her solitude was broken by a quick triple-tap on the door, followed almost instantly by the handle turning. Meg's signature entry: a sharp compromise between her joint roles as wetworker (knocking) and lover (unannounced entry). Ruby looked up at her, raising an eyebrow.

'Yes?'

'Vanni's dug up the dirt on Lassiter.'

'And?'

Meg smiled. 'You were right. Dean wasn't lying, but he wasn't telling the whole truth, either. Lassiter's his ex, but that's not why he went after the new boy. Turns out Castiel Novak is all caught up in that Fellowship mess in Nevada, and Lassiter's here to interview him. Or he was, anyway. He's been leashed.'

Now, that was interesting. 'Why?'

'According to Vanni's source, not only did Lassiter go too hard at Novak, but back in the day, he played a little too rough with Dean, Biblically speaking, and Novak was pissed enough to tell the FBI all about it. As of 6pm today, not only is Lassiter benched on the Fellowship case, but rumour has it, there's going to be an investigation into his alleged sexual misconduct. Apparently, it's not the first time it's been raised as an issue with him, either – nothing ever proven, of course, but all those old complaints are starting to stink up the joint. Smart money's on his expulsion for conduct unbecoming, with a possible side order of formal charges.'

A slow, feral smile spread over Ruby's face. 'So what we have, then, is an FBI agent with a history of abuse of power, a burning need to discredit Dean Winchester, and a very small window of time in which to do so.'

'Exactly.' She leaned in close, and Ruby kissed her, hard and sharp, before pulling back, a finger held to Meg's impatient lips. 'And does Vanni have an address for Mr Lassiter?'

'The Stark Hotel, on Hayward.'

That was barely eight blocks away. It was all so stupidly perfect, it took a physical effort not to laugh out loud. 'Crowley's back in his lair, I take it?'

'Hiding like a mole in daylight.'

'Good. And what about Novak? Where's he, last we checked?'

Meg stilled a little, which she always did when she wasn't sure whether Ruby would like what she had to say. 'In hospital,' she said. 'Dean too, apparently.'

Ruby licked her lips. 'And you didn't think that was information worth volunteering?'

'I was going to,' Meg said, uneasily. 'I just didn't want to bury the lead.'

It was an excuse, and they both knew it, but after a pointed pause, Ruby opted to let it slide. 'No chance we can get to him, then. Pity. After your exhibit earlier, we could do with a spare ace.'

'Actually,' said Meg, her tone suddenly sly, 'I might have a solution to that.'

Ruby listened carefully. Then, when Meg was done, she really did laugh, and kissed her thoroughly into the bargain. ' Good girl,' she said, ruffling Meg's hair. 'You go do that.'

'You don't want to come?'

'I would,' said Ruby, sighing apologetically, 'but Lassiter's not going to hook himself. I know I'm not his type, but this isn't the sort of assignment you trust to just anybody.'

Meg's eyes danced. 'You could send Nick. He's pretty enough, if you like that sort of thing.'

Ruby snorted. ' Nobody likes that sort of thing.' She straightened her vest. 'You run on, now. Don't wait up! And don't ,' she added, 'play with your food. I want leverage, not off meat.'

'Wouldn't dream of it,' Meg said, sulkily.

'Sweetness, you dream of little else.' Ruby cupped her cheek, one lacquered thumbnail trailing along her jaw. 'It's what I love most about you.'

Meg's smile was blood and razors; it suited her perfectly.

 

*

 

It was after midnight, and the hospital cafeteria was closed. Anna couldn't decide whether she was relieved, or if the fact that she was denied access even to terrible food was just adding insult to injury. Either way, she was starving, and Dean looked like he'd been dragged ass-backwards through a barbed wire fence, so she had to find something . She eyed the vending machines with poorly-disguised contempt for their paltry contents, chocolatey or otherwise, then said, 'Fuck it,' and went back to the nurse's station.

'Can I help you?' asked a tired-looking woman in scrubs.

'Yeah, maybe,' said Anna. 'Know of any good, late-night grease joints around here? I mean, every nurse I've ever met works ridiculously long shifts, so I figure if anyone's going to know, you guys are.'

The woman smiled wryly. 'You're not wrong. Try Sim's Place over on Leifield. It looks like crap, but the food's good, and they serve you quick.'

'Thanks!' said Anna. And then, because the woman really did look run off her feet, 'Hey, you want me to pick you up anything? If I'm going there anyway, I might as well make myself useful.'

The nurse groaned. 'God, please and thank you. I've been on since noon, and I'm starving.'

Anna turned to the woman's colleagues, all of whom were suddenly looking at her like she'd sprouted wings and a halo. 'Anyone else?'

Five minutes later, she left with a written page of orders and a handful of bills, feeling better and more useful than she had all day. She found Sim's easily enough: it was, as promised, greasy and neon-covered, with tacky plastic furniture and a general odour of burned cheese, but the food, when it came – and given how much she'd ordered, it didn't take long – made her mouth water.

'That for the nurses?' the guy at the counter asked.

'Yeah. How did you know?'

He grinned. 'Cos Stella always orders the same thing, is why. Only regular I got ever wants a kebab with chicken and chutney. Here, take this, gratis.' He added an extra Styrofoam box of hot chips to her order. 'Always pays to keep your nurses happy. Day I finally have a heart attack and get carted over there, I don't want nobody skimpin' on the CPR, you know what I'm sayin'?'

Anna smiled, and agreed, and left.

The nurses fell on the food with cries of inarticulate gratitude, leaving Anna to collect her own purchases – two medium pizzas and a bottle of coke – and quietly head back up to K Ward.

'Hey!' someone called after her. Anna turned; it was the first nurse, Stella, who was eating her chicken and chutney kebab with every appearance of bliss.

'Yeah?'

'Thank you. We really appreciate it. Not everyone is that considerate, you know?'

Embarrassed, Anna shrugged. 'Yeah, well. I like to feel needed.'

'Even so, you need anything while you're here, you come ask us, OK?'

'Sure.' She blushed. 'Thanks.'

Stella took a big bite of her kebab and grinned. 'No problem.'

Still a bit pink around the ears, Anna found her way back to K Ward and Cas's room, jimmying the handle with an elbow and entering backwards, her hands full.

'I come bearing sustena – oh!' She stopped, biting her lip to keep from laughing. 'You adorable bastards.'

Setting the food down on the table, she quietly pulled up her chair and helped herself to a slice of pepperoni pizza, the taste of which was only improved by her overwhelming relief. Cas and Dean were fast asleep, cuddled together like overgrown puppies, and given how things had been when she'd left, she was inclined to assume it meant that Cas was going to be OK. Anna ate two more slices in contented silence, washed them down with the coke, and then, after a moment's reflection, decided it would be both pointless and a little creepy of her to stay. Sunday was her day off, anyway – Impala Records was closed, and she wasn't slated to work at Well Bread until Tuesday. All things considered, she figured she owed it to herself to go home and sleep until noon in her own bed, rather than martyring herself in an uncomfortable hospital chair just so she could be there when the boys woke up. They'd call her if they needed something, and if the past week was anything to go by, that would be sooner rather than later.

Leaving them the rest of the food, she wrote Dean a scribbled note on the pizza box explaining her absence, adding a bolded PS asking anyone else who read the message not to throw it out. And then, because she couldn't resist, she took out her phone and snapped a couple of photos of them asleep together, partly for blackmail purposes, but mostly because they were cute as hell, and so clueless about it that photographic evidence would probably go a long way towards helping them. Plus, she badly wanted to see the look on Dean's face when she showed him the shot; he'd be pissed for about three seconds, she figured, and embarrassed for another four, but then there was a solid 80% chance she could make him laugh, and god, it wasn't like he couldn't do with some humour in his life.

She slipped out again, making sure to shut the door quietly. She still had Marie's card stuffed in her pocket, and figured she might as well give her a try. The cabbie answered on the third ring, and said that yes, she was still available.

'You got good timin', honey. I just dropped off a fare. I'll pick you up same place I dropped you off, OK? I'm maybe five minutes out.'

Anna thanked her and hung up. She waved goodbye to the nurses, several of whom were still eating, all of whom smiled at her, and headed out to the carpark.

Marie was right on time, and Anna all but collapsed into the back seat.

'God, what a day!'

'Your friend all right?'

'Yeah, I think. He's an idiot, but he'll live.' As the sentiment applied equally to Cas and Dean, she didn't bother explaining that they were two different idiots, and never more so than when it came to each other.

'Well, I'm glad to hear it.'

'Me, too.'

They were quiet for a moment. Anna was on the brink of asking how Marie had ended up driving a cab when, out of nowhere, her phone rang. Frowning – had Dean woken up already? – she fished it out of her bag, her pulse leaping ever so slightly as the caller ID brought up Gabe's number. It had been days since she'd drunk dialled him, and as she didn't remember that particular conversation, it didn't really count; the last time they'd spoken before that was nearly two weeks ago, before she'd been pleasantly sidetracked by the whole Dean-and-Cas thing. So why the hell is he calling me now?

She forced herself to wait a few rings before answering – don't seem to eager; it's not like you've got nothing better to do than wait for him to call – and then, in her most nonchalant voice, said, 'Oh! Hi, Gabe.'

'Anna!' slurred Gabe. 'Anna Anna Anna. You called me drunk and left a message thingy, and I thought, can't call a drunk girl back sober! So, 'm not.'

She blinked. 'Is this a reciprocal drunk dial?'

'Quid quo pro, Clarice.' She could hear the grin in his voice, and despite everything, it melted her just a little. 'I, uh. Yeah.' She could hear music in the background, and laughter. Wherever he was, he had company. Rafe's party, she remembered belatedly; she'd been planning on going, but after everything, it had slipped her mind. 'So, purely a hypothetical question – this new guy you're seeing, is this, uh, is this a serious thing? Cos, you know. Curious.'

'What new guy?'

' The guy! Or, wait, don't tell me there's more than one.' He actually sounded hurt.

'Gabe, seriously. There are no guys. There's not even guy, singular.' Then she made the connection, and groaned. 'Oh, wait, wait. Is this about my boss at the record store?'

'Maybe,' said Gabe, warily. 'Leather jacket, looks like he oughta be on the cover of Implausibly Pretty Douchebags Monthly?'

Despite herself, Anna snorted. 'That's Dean, yeah. But Gabe –'

'Well, look, you know, I know I'm not exactly model material, but I have my charms, and if you're too good to show up to Rafe's party like you said you would –'

' Gabe .' She was starting to get cross, now. 'Firstly, who I spend time with is absolutely zero business of yours, OK? You don't get to string me along for weeks, never call me back after the one time we actually do hook up, then act all hurt and jealous and betrayed when I spend time with someone not-you. And secondly, Dean Winchester is not my goddamn boyfriend, on account of the fact that he already has a boyfriend – who, by the way, is currently in hospital. Which is where I've been all night instead of at Rafe's stupid party: looking after the both of them, and being a decent human being instead of ringing up the girl I dropped like a hot potato the morning after just because I'm freaked out that she might not be pining any more!'

Stunned silence. 'Shit, Anna, I –'

'No!' She'd had enough, and Gabe was the last straw. 'No, Mr Reciprocal Drunk Dial, you can just fuck right off, OK? None of your cutesy bullshit. I am freaked, and I am tired, and I want to go home and sleep for nineteen hours, so you can just get back to your, your tequila martinis or whatever the fuck other alcoholic abomination you're currently foisting on people – and don't even try to pretend you're not, I know what you're like –'

'Ouzo spritzers,' Gabe mumbled, half-guilty, half-proud.

'– god, like that's an improvement? Good night , Gabe. Call me when you're sober enough to feel sorry for someone other than yourself.'

She hung up on his spluttered protests.

Marie laughed. 'I only heard half of that, but good for you, honey!'

Anna shut her eyes and rested her head on the window. 'Why are men such idiots?'

'Darwinism,' Marie said, sagely. 'If they were smarter, we'd have even more of 'em, and that'd be just all-round bad.'

'Huh?'

'It's biology, honey. Healthy animal populations always have fewer males and more females, so I figure, if men are collectively dumb, it's nature's way of thinnin' the herd. Way the world is, though, I'd say they could stand to be a little dumber.' She snorted. 'Not like we're exactly lettin' the good times roll right now, you know?'

Anna laughed weakly. There was something weirdly reassuring about problematic cab driver philosophies being a universal constant.

Soon after that, they pulled up in front of her flat. Anna paid Marie, which wiped her out of cash, said goodbye for the second time, and lugged herself over to the apartment block. Once she'd shoved her way in through the main door, which always stuck, she had to stumble down the lightless hallway, swearing at her keys in the dark. Finally, though, she got her door open, and Anna was home. Sliding the bolt behind her, she sighed with relief, dumping her bag on the hall table as she hit the lights and headed into the lounge.

And froze.

'Hello, darling,' said Crowley, rising from a chair. He was pointing a gun at her, and as Anna stared, he waggled it almost apologetically. 'Sorry about this. It's really not my preference, but I'm out of options, and something tells me you're not in a listening mood. So I'm going to have to ask you to trust me on this one: right now, I'm your very best option. I'd like you to remember that. It'll make things easier later.'

And then he shot her.