He stopped by the hotel room after the boys had left, before the cleaning crew was there, not that it would have mattered. Borrowed hands in the pockets of his borrowed coat. Staring down at the still-rumpled beds. There were so many things he hadn't told Dean, few of them relevant.

Castiel, angel of the Lord, was one of the younger angels in the so-called heavenly choirs. He was selected for this position not because he was a messenger angel or because he had particular skills with mortals, but because it was thought that he could communicate best with a mortal who was significant for the sacrifices he had made. He had not walked among men for any length of time even when angels did such things, and never on his own. He had accepted his assignment without question or uncertainty, had done everything asked of him and now patiently waited to be told the next step. He had visited the hotel room to see what the boys left behind, to learn more about the two mortals he had been charged to watch.

And now that he was here he was beginning to have doubts, something that an angel tasked by his Lord could not tolerate within himself.

"Some angel you are," the woman's voice came from the doorway, and he didn't jump. But he did turn his head, slowly and a complete quarter turn over his shoulder, to stare at her. "I thought you'd be all wings and sword, smite first and ask questions later."

He recognized her as soon as he had turned his head and, yes, he did have a brief idea of striking her down where she stood. But that was not in his specific mandate, for all that it was given to angels to strike down evil if they found it in the course of their duties. That was still left up to their discretion. His discretion, at the moment, was not to strike her until she caused harm or until he had heard and judged what she had to say.

"Why are you here?"

Her eyebrows arched at that, arms folded under her breasts. "I'm doing the same thing you're doing, I guess. Dispensing invaluable advice."

He gave her a look that suggested while he did not employ sarcasm often he did understand it, and it was not appreciated. She didn't step back but she disengaged, looking away, letting the silence draw out between them until it tempered the words. It also gave him time to form at least some way of approaching her.

"You've been speaking with Sam."

"Bra-vo..."

That was the wrong answer. Or the beginning of one. The lights flickered and one bulb popped in a shower of exploding glass shards and angelic irritation. There was a rustle of beating feathers and Ruby's eyes went black.

"What do you want?" It was sort of the same as why are you here, only one question earlier. He was losing patience.

"Why are you here?" she retorted, arms folded again in case she had to defend herself from breaking light fixtures, since she couldn't really defend herself against anything worse. Her eyes blinked rapidly for a moment, then subsided. "Shouldn't you be off hovering over Dean for when he gets himself into trouble again?"

The corners of his lips twitched in what passed for a smile for him but wasn't really. Why were people so fascinated with that image? "When he's ready, I'll go to him." From the look on her face that either hadn't been what she'd expected or she was hearing something other than what he intended. It didn't bother him much.

"You people really don't do straight-forward, do you?"

Rather than answer that: "What. Do you want."

Ruby opened her mouth to answer that but didn't seem to be able to come up with an answer that didn't involve sarcasm or dodging the truth, or whatever else it was that she thought he didn't want to hear. She had to look away, finally, to tell him. "You broke Dean out of Hell. I wanted to get a good look at you." That wasn't everything, of course. But it seemed to be as much truth as she felt capable of saying at one time. At least, it seemed to be the truth. She was a demon. They were not known for their honesty and openness. Angels, at least, contented themselves with obscure veracity.

(Although after Dean's display of temper and then deep hurt, Castiel wondered for a moment if that was really any better.)

"Why." His tone, even and level as it (almost) always was, made no question of the question word. Ruby didn't seem to have anything to say to that, either. She just turned back and stared at him as though she didn't understand the question, at least in this context. It might have been something as simple as wanting to spy out the enemy, but then she moved up to him with a purpose in her stride, three steps to close, and her expression changed to one of having words on her lips.

He should have taken the opportunity to step back, but he didn't.

Hubris? Overconfidence or angelic arrogance? Or simply the awareness that they were most likely evenly matched, and stepping back would only result in her stepping forward and would accomplish nothing. They could circle around each other or smash all the furniture in the room to pieces with fighting and it would accomplish nothing. They were in stalemate, and had been for some time now.

"I don't know," Ruby said, looking off to the side. Her dark hair fell over the side of her face, obscuring his view and whatever chance he might have had at reading her face. "Pride?" That echoed. "Curiosity. Sheer dumb stubbornness." She laughed, tipping her head back to stare at the ceiling with a wide-eyed and blank expression on her face. "Maybe I have a death wish."

His head canted to one side. "Why would you say that?"

"Oh, come on. Don't pull that act with me, you..." But whatever it was she saw in his face stopped her words in her mouth, made her lips shape further noises without giving them breath to sound them out and finally turned her to look away again. He wasn't sure what it was. She had been a good person, once. She was a creature of hell but once, she had been human.

They stood there, awkwardness and empty space between them big enough to encompass all the host of heaven and all the hordes of hell between the molecules of their borrowed bodies. He turned his palm up to her, arm still relaxed against his body, no extending towards her but it was a gesture of peace if she would take it. "I have no inclination to do you harm," he told her. "As long as you behave yourself." Or until orders came down to the contrary, but she had to know that was a possibility. Her eyes flicked from his open hand to his face.

"A truce?" Ruby didn't seem too inclined to believe him, but at least she wasn't threatening him either. It was progress. (Towards what? He was not here to make agreements with demons.)

"A truce."

Her hand inched forward, and then again, and then she shook his hand with a nod. Her palm was hot against his, her hand slender and fingers steady despite the uncertainty she radiated in every other aspect. "All right. Just till we both leave the hotel. After that," her borrowed head tossed her borrowed hair back. "All bets are off."

Again that very faint crinkling of eyes and turning of lips that passed for a smile with the angel. "After that, all bets are off," he agreed.

She seemed to relax after that. Satisfied, or something close enough to it that she stopped moving and standing as though she would run out the door at any moment. He felt his shoulders relax, which was something of a curious sensation, and tilted his head a little to consider her. She hadn't harmed either of the Winchester boys yet, which was somewhat surprising given her long history with them (relatively, for a demon) and though she most likely had encouraged the use of Sam's powers she had not encouraged him to use them for personal gain. Which was, Castiel suspected, the biggest reason why he had been sent here to help Dean steer Sam to a better path instead of simply to kill the boy.

Did that mean he had a demon at least partially to thank for not sending the world down a path from which there was no recovery?

"What."

He drew back just a little. She had read or seen something on his face, and he wasn't used to humans being able to do that let alone a demon. Or perhaps, again, it was the fact that she was a demon. "Why are you helping Sam Winchester?"

"For my own reasons," she folded her arms over her chest. Evidently a truce did not mean full disclosure, or even any kind of disclosure. "Why are you helping his big brother?"

"Because God commanded it."

Her expression was at first disbelieving, then scornful. "You angels. Don't you ever think for yourselves?"

Castiel's eyebrows arched. "You know nothing about us," he said, but it was placid and bland. He had no wish to spark a confrontation. "Yes, we do think for ourselves. That includes choosing to obey the commands we are given."

"You mean you go where He tells you to go, you hurt what he tells you to Hurt, and you don't give a damn who, or how, or why."

He hadn't been looking for a confrontation but evidently he'd found one. She took one step towards him, then a second, and by the end of it she was practically jabbing her finger in his chest. He looked down at her finger, then looked over at her. "What do you want me to do? Disobey?" That came out perhaps a little sharper than he had expected. "You know the fate of those who lose their faith."

That hadn't been what he'd meant.

"So you're afraid of him too," she said before he could correct himself, pouncing on his words like a hungry cat. "You obey because you're scared of the consequences? You don't want to join us in the basement?"

"I obey because I have faith," he told her. Still with an edge to his voice, though it faded as he realized something. A possibly very significant something, although the depth and nature of the significance of it eluded him for the moment. "I obey out of love. You obey out of fear. You obey because of what will happen if you don't, so do I... but you fear what will happen to you if you do not do as you're told, whereas..."

Ruby looked as though she wanted to take a step back but she didn't. Possibly because it would have been somewhat ridiculous. They were circling each other like two warring creatures which, he allowed, they were. But this was a truce. It was all right to stop circling.

There was a rustle of wings in the background. A sign of nervousness? Perhaps he shouldn't be talking with demons. Especially not demons who were particularly close, in all the wrong senses of the word.

"I don't obey anyone," Ruby said, and he knew she was lying. He still didn't know why. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Don't you be sad for me, angel. Don't you dare."

He touched her cheek. Humans were such tactile creatures; angels had none of the customary senses that human bodies did. Angels perceived things in different ways, and when in human form... sight, sound were not helping him. Too little information. Touch would not help him either, he reminded himself, suddenly seeing where he was going wrong, too late to stop her. Her breath was hot on his mouth and tasted, predictably, of brimstone. Sweat and miniscule particles of grit between his human lips. It was a contrast that jarred him, the physical and tangible with the spiritual bliss. Demons were far closer to the physical; it was simpler and coarser and easier for the mortals to understand. Perhaps that was why they were winning.

This didn't feel like losing. It felt like heat, intimacy that was both too close for comfort and inviting a kind of comfort he had never even begun to contemplate wanting, let alone reaching for it. Stories of what had happened to their older, earlier brethren flew through his mind. Stories of them and their half-mortal children. Easy to see, now, why they had fallen. But Ruby was a demon, and rather than make a conflict of it he put his hands on her shoulders and gently moved her away just far enough to put inches of air between them. Inches of air to stand in for the aeons of separation of heaven and hell. It would do.

"Do you still have no inclination to do me harm?" Bitter, and twisting his words of earlier, and it didn't anger him. It didn't even ruffle his metaphysical, metaphorical feathers.

He asked, instead, because he was curious. "Why would you do that?"

"Why would I..." she laughed. It was a jagged sound, the sort of laugh he would expect from a demon, but there was too much that was wounded in it for him to take it without consideration. "Why would I kiss you?"

"Yes."

And her mouth worked, as though she didn't have an answer for that or at least not one that she considered adequate enough to tell him. "You needn't answer if you don't want to."

"Jesus!" It was reflexive, as was the instinct to call her out on her blasphemy, except she didn't mean it in any way but the casual transgression of the time so he didn't say anything. "What is it with you guys? Are you all this fucking pretentious or is it just the ones who come down and lower themselves to walk amongst..."

"I don't consider it lowering..." he started to say, but she was talking over him and hadn't heard.

"... the likes of mortal men. I thought pride was supposed to be a sin, or doesn't it count if you were born upstairs like the rest of your..."

"Ruby."

Glass rattled behind lampshades; lights flickered wild and panicked. She stopped.

"I'm sorry."

She blinked.

They stared at each other as the minutes ticked by until she had figured out that he didn't feel the need to follow that up with anything. Then, to his bemusement, she went to the window and opened the shades.

"What are you doing?"

"Just making sure the moon hasn't turned to blood and fallen into the ocean or something." Ruby snorted, closing the blinds again and coming back into the room. "An angel apologizing to a demon. That's got to be a first."

"It isn't."

She reached out and closed the shades again with a gesture that made him think she didn't want anyone to see them. It made him think that perhaps it was odd that he wasn't concerned with who would see an angel kissing a demon (although she had kissed him) and yet the demon was concerned who should see her kissing the angel. Or perhaps it wasn't odd at all. And he shouldn't be here, he should be keeping an eye on Dean and Sam Winchester.

He still wasn't leaving.

"Why did you kiss me, Ruby?"

He thought his voice was gentle but her face cracked under the question, as though it had hit some hitherto undiscovered weakness and broke her down to the foundation. Nothing specific or obvious, but her eyes widened a little and her jaw clenched and her shoulders shook for a moment. Perhaps she wanted to hit him. When they'd first met Dean had stabbed him, which he could almost understand, what with Dean evidently not knowing him for what he was.

But she still didn't offer an answer, or any words at all. And in a moment she stepped forward again, closed the distance between them and pressed her palm to his cheek, curled her hand around the back of his neck and kissed him again.

He allowed it. For the moment, one hand light on her waist while he didn't kiss her back (though her kiss was growing more insistent) but considered instead what he might do. It wasn't forbidden specifically for angels to engage in such congress while on Earth, largely because it was not expected that any such would do so. Would even want to do so. Under normal circumstances they would be correct and Castiel felt no sexual desire for this demon, but a strange attraction and certainly a sense of pity that she needed to connect in this manner. That she couldn't simply reach out with words or actions, that she had to resort to this. Or maybe it was simply with him. Or perhaps she was trying to make him Fall.

She didn't have much conception or knowledge of angels if she thought this would incite him to lose or forsake God's grace.

Humans convinced themselves that all love was the same, but it wasn't. Demons were under the same illusion, or so it seemed. And just when she was about to draw away he cupped her cheek in his gentle hand and returned her kiss, letting it linger for a moment before straightening with what he presumed was an expression that, under no circumstance was this to be repeated.

But she was crying.

It surprised him, a little, that a demon could cry. Would cry, except for the gain of preying on the sympathies of others. What was to be gained here? Was there anything? He tilted his head at her, puzzled, now slightly unwilling to let his hand fall away and she put her arms around him tighter and kissed him a third time, softer but more desperate.

Desperate for what? He couldn't think what she was doing by this, or, for that matter, what he was doing. Was he thinking clearly, her lips pressed against his through the wet and her fingers clutching at his shoulders? What was he doing here? What did she want from him? What did he need from her? It was harder to think clearly. The sensations this kiss, different from the last, was giving him were distracting.

She did stop, at least, when he withdrew inside himself, fleeing towards some kind of serenity he might have possessed before doubts and demons worked their way in. Stopped and pulled back far enough to look at him from between the wings of her hair. He simply looked at her, a puzzled non-frown, slightly upturned beetled brow and hair all windwhipped. Hands gentle on her back, for there was really no need for otherwise yet. She was so close. Neither of them seemed to feel it necessary to harm the other. Whether or not there would be hurt yet remained to be seen.

By the look of her it was too late for that already, and perhaps for him as well. He had hope for her now, hope at least that some part of her could be saved, could be brought to seek forgiveness and peace. She was not at peace. The way she looked at him told him that. The way she kissed him, he realized abruptly, told him that as well. He took her into his arms, just for a moment, offering what peace he could share that she would accept. For a moment she seemed content to rest her head on his shoulder and he thought that maybe she would find it.

Electric sensation along nerve endings he hadn't until recently possessed. It took him a moment to sort out which feeling was coming from where, sort the heat from the weight and the weight from the pressure and the hot from the cold and who was touching where. Her kisses moved up as her hands moved down, and both suitcoat and trenchcoat pooled on the floor. It would have been innocuous if she hadn't been ...

... he put his hands on her elbows and tried to push her away. "Ruby..."

"Just, stop," she turned away, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand and slipping out of his arms so fast he had trouble following what she was doing, let alone why. "Stop. Never mind."

She thought he was rejecting her for all her demonic nature and all her sins, he realized. Or supposed, since she hadn't directly said that. He caught her arms gently again and turned her back to him. "What is it you want, Ruby."

"I want..." she looked down, as though she didn't know, and it was artifice. The knowledge that it was artifice blew through his mind like a storm. But when she looked up at him, sharp and afraid as their body language shifted to confrontational and adversarial, that wasn't artifice, and he was again at a loss as to how to proceed.

"Stop playing. Whatever you want, stop playing your games. I'm not here for you, and I don't want to play." And he was past the point where he would simply leave if he didn't want to play, if she pushed the issue.

"Fine." Her nostrils flared with her next angry breath.

But he waited, and no further words came.

Neither of them knew what they wanted. He was started to be... somewhere between hurt and upset, and how this demon had managed both when no mortal had done it yet so far (well, perhaps Dean, in the kitchen of that older hunter) he didn't know. But this. He was tired, and he was starting to be angry, and she had been...

... putting her hand on his chest, as she did now. Coatless, it meant more. Felt more. Weighed more, was warmer than her touch might have been otherwise. "Don't." As he drew in breath to say something. "I dont' want to fight. We've been fighting for months now," and she must have meant the war on Earth. "And... I don't want to fight right now. I don't want to do anything right now. Just this."

She was tired. He could sympathize. Perhaps this was'nt the way to go about it but he could sympathize with being tired of this damn war even if it hadn't been very long since he and his company had gotten involved. And six of them were dead now. And he was tired, too, and he nodded.

She kissed him again and this time he didn't even think to wonder why.

By the time it got to the bed he had justified it all sorts of ways. If he was damned to Fall already, he would have been for having interactions with a demon, let alone this. For his doubts, not for this single act. If he were not, if he was to be forgiven, then he was already, for with what she was doing to him he still had not lusted in his heart, or at least he didn't think so. There was a need for companionship in this lonely, exiled task. There was a need to be with someone who knew what he was and made no demands, there was a need simply to put aside the burden for a little while. All of these justifications and the doubts just kept crawling through his mind. Nothing made it any better.

Nothing convinced him to stop, either.

She didn't rush, which might have put him off. She seduced. She kissed him for a long time before moving any further, slowly relaxing against him, slowly enabling him to relax as the kiss went on and there was no sense of forbidding or damnation. Her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt where it buttoned at the top and rather than unbutton it she simply left it there, clinging to him. His fingers combed through her hair in a weak attempt to give comfort.

It seemed weak, but he must not have been doing that badly. She pressed into him further and he was surprised at how warm she felt, her arms wrapped around him, enfolded in his arms against this body. A body that he could feel responding to the fact that it had a warm, vibrant woman pressed against it. Castiel wasn't stupid, no matter how much his inexperience with human etiquette may have seemed like it, nor was he ignorant as to the ways of a man with a woman. It hadn't applied before, but he knew how it worked.

Her fingers uncurled in his shirt and began to undo the buttons, one by one. His breath caught and his mind froze and didn't start functioning again until she had reached his waist and was sliding her hand between layers of fabric, close enough that he could feel the ragged edges of two fingernails where she must have been biting them. It seemed like a strange habit for someone so poised, biting nails. And then she bit at the lower curve of his neck and all thought ceased, again. He didn't know how to communicate through the sensations, how to make himself move away from her or stop touching her. Or tell her that this wasn't right, they shouldn't be doing this. He didn't even know if he wanted to, but this was more than he had expected.

But not, he was starting to realize, more than he wanted. His fingers plucked at her jacket, easing it off her shoulders. She turned them and by the time he realized what she was doing he was being walked towards the bed, falling backwards onto it. Her astride his hips, touching his face. He expected her to be smiling, somehow, but she wasn't.

So be it.

Ruby didn't realize what he was up to until her bra straps were sliding forward on her shoulders, and she had to shift quick to take it off under her shirt before it became too uncomfortable. She gave him a slightly incredulous look as she did so, a look he wasn't much paying attention to since the way she had shifted meant his body was paying attention to other things. Like how she fit against him.

"I thought..."

Time froze for a moment. Speaking jarred the mood, any more words and it might shatter and leave them both torn to shreds because of it. He found himself reaching up and tugging her down against him to stop her words with a kiss. He didn't know why or how he'd thought of it.

It seemed to work, though. She stopped trying to reason with it, with him, or with her own conscience and kissed him back, tugging his undershirt up until he managed to wriggle out of it with only a shred of guilt for what he was about to do. She reached down to tug her blouse up and off and

"No..." he whispered.

She sat up, stung, and he sat up with her, and the hurt on her face transformed to wonder that was still touched with confusion and something like fear. He kissed her throat, the small hollow there, kissed down between her breasts, unbuttoning her shirt. Kissed every inch of flesh uncovered with all due reverence for a body given grace and beauty by his Father and a spirit with a grace and a strength all her own. First her cries were of surprise. Then of pleasure. He reached one hand out and pulled her more securely onto his lap, and her hand slid down to cup his face along the line of his jaw and pull his mouth back up to hers. This time it was all pleasures of the flesh, drunk in low-frequency, thick, smoky-hot pleasure.

He rolled her as they came back down to the bed again, kissing his way lower, curious at least now that he had committed himself to this action what it would be like. She started to say something again but this time she didn't even get as far as words before his fingers were on the button of her jeans, rolling them down her hips. Her underwear was black satin, but he didn't know what that meant.

"What..." she did start to say, and then his tongue swept over her clit and she didn't say anything, just moaned. He made note of that reaction, and the next minute or two were an interesting study in trial and error. Some places he touched, fingers and tongue, the way it was supposed to work, made her shift and whimper more than others. He thought they were good sounds, good responses. Her fingers curled tight in his hair, her hips bucked. It took him a moment to recognize.

There was another look in her eyes when she reached down, slid her hand down his arm until he was cued to reach up and take her hand, and then she tugged him up to meet her. He was still trying to figure out what this was as she undid his trousers, and thought he had it right before her fingertips brushed up the length of... his mind stuttered around the possible words. Or his mind had stuttered, regardless. He knew what she meant him to do but ... he had never done this before. And now he was blushing. She laughed. It was a strange, delighted sound.

Pity, that was what it was. Pity and affection and curiosity. And something else. Something more timid but still there.

He put that aside to discover later, closing his eyes, kissing her, let her guide him. Letting her smile at his moment of nervousness before he entered her. Letting her shift underneath him until the new angle of her hips to his, the way her legs wrapped around him drove his thoughts further down. They were still kissing. Her lips were soft, wet. The room had long since ceased to matter but somehow the air around them was heated and wet, too. Everything fell into place about a great many things, little nuances of interaction that had passed him by over the years that deepened and took on life and now he saw why touches mattered, when he wanted to touch her every way possible so much more in this moment than he had felt even minutes ago. When she clutched at him with increasing urgency.

He thought he might have cried out, that first rush of relief and release. He knew she did, softer, not his name but someone else's. Someone she remembered. He would have minded if he'd known he should, but all that mattered was that they were both secure, sated (and how exhausted did he feel now, after everything!) and breathing hard and he moved away enough from her so that he didn't collapse on top of her. She clutched at him, though, and he wound up with her in his arms, pressed against him, now feeling the full length of her body curled into his.

He realized he was crying. After a moment, and with even more surprise, he realized she was, too.

They stayed like that for some time, wrapped in each other, worlds apart. She pulled the blanket over them after a point but otherwise didn't move away. Neither did he.

His thoughts were whirling, circling each other, doubts and fears and little revelations criss-crossing back and forth in his head. Knowing from experience was a difference from knowing the acts in human memories so vast that he could barely comprehend it, let alone find words for it. What he had done was blasphemy on so many levels, and on deeper levels was it not also its own form of faith? Showing tenderness and compassion at least in a way that could be understood, if not necessarily the act condone. Was that rationalisation?

He was still here. He felt no diminishing, had heard no command. Had not felt the jaws of Hell gape wide to swallow him up. Perhaps God had forgiven him this act, or understood the spirit of why Castiel had done what he had. Castiel himself wasn't sure why. Except that, for a few moments and, though it was fading, for a few moments after, he had felt less alone.

It was almost dawn when Ruby finally slid out of his arms and out of the bed. He knew, not because of the light peeking under the curtains, but by the instinct of the angels that felt the world turn beneath them and the air currents passing through their wings. So, too, he felt the sun creeping over the land as the earth turned. He pushed himself to sitting up in the bed, watching her.

"You're leaving now?"

She was getting dressed with a determination not to show any sign that what they had done had affected her, and yet he could see into what passed for her soul as readily as any other. "Yeah."

He waited for the I got what I came for or I did what I came here to do even if neither were true. He was a little surprised when neither occurred. It was probably time for him to say something.

"Ruby..." he slid out of bed, took her by the arm as she turned away from him. She was dressed but for her coat by now. He didn't know what he meant to say. "There is always forgiveness, if you ask for it."

She smiled a little at him, but it was sad, and a little bit angry. "I'm not like you, Castiel. I can't just bow my head and obey. I have to be who and what I am." She uncurled his fingers from her arm. "I'm sorry."

By the time he was gone there was no evidence that either of them had been in the room at all, and he bore all the weight of what they had done upwards, as he flew up to ask forgiveness for the carnal sin they had committed.

But not the emotions they had shared. Never that.

Go to the top! For you have reached the bottom.