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He finds the demon bleeding her guts out in the back alley of a Baptist church.
The fact that she doesn't even flinch at the sudden gust of wind says more than any gaping wound - her breaths are shallow and wet, and her gaze is locked on the filthy bricks in front of her. Her drenched hair falls, thick like ropes behind her shoulders, far from the bouncy curls she usually favours. THE LORD IS COMING, says the faded crimson sign above her head. REPENT NOW OR FACE DAMNATION!
He wonders how she managed to come all this way from the convent with so painful a wound.
Castiel's shoes barely make a sound under the heavy rain. When her head finally rolls towards him, her mouth drifts open ever so slightly.
"Come to kill me off, then? Finish what the Winchesters started?"
The place is barely lit - a single street lamp flickers at the end of the street, and from where Castiel is standing its yellowed, polluted light makes a halo behind her head.
"That depends," he answers.
Ruby flashes a sardonic smile, her head shifting back towards the wall. Still, her brow is raised, almost impressed. "Your buddy Dean would disagree with your shades of grey."
Castiel takes a few more steps forward. Watches the trickle of tarnished blood stream from the wound in her side. Tilts his head. "Why have you not taken another body?"
Ruby eyes him for a moment. Then, she shrugs, sucking her breath as the movement pulls at her ribs. "These are my wounds. I earned them."
Earned, like they were a reward instead of a punishment. Her very own stigmata.
On the uneven concrete, the puddle under her abdomen is misted red. The pouring rain splashes it over Ruby's jeans like splatters of holy water over a newborn.
"What did you think you would achieve, Ruby?" He says, eyes on the pooling blood. "Redemption?"
Ruby barks with irony. "Fuck no. Couldn't give a shit about that."
He tilts his head again, and squints. "Purpose, then? Apotheosis?"
Ruby sneers up at him. Castiel does not know what she detected in his voice - judgment perhaps, because her tone is sharp when she retorts. "Yeah, super rich, coming from Mr Angel-of-the-Lord over here."
"So I was right."
She glares at him, repressing a shiver. "Go away, Castiel. Back to your Winchesters."
He does not remark that one of them used to be hers.
He does not leave, either. Instead, he crouches down to her level, linking his fingers together in a praying motion. The edges of his trench coat soak in the muddy rainwater.
"Are you going to kill them?" he asks.
He has never been so close to a demon without smiting it. Now, he studies Ruby's pale skin, the blemish on her upper lip, the profound cave-darkness of her eyes and the tainted aura underneath. There is no trace of fear on her - not for the Winchesters, not for her life, not for Castiel. Just well-concealed agony, and a swell of resignation, and perhaps a trace of elation.
"Now why would I do that?" she says, and for a second her voice is tired, stretched out and fragile.
"They did this to you."
"Don't you get it, you ass?" She shifts, propping her weight on her left elbow, and the pavement gets redder. " I did this to me. And it was the best damn thing I ever did."
Castiel ponders that for a moment. "Because you found your God," he murmurs, almost a whisper among the drip-drip-drips of the gutter behind him.
Ruby grits her teeth. "You wouldn't understand."
Castiel does not know how to answer this. They sit there for a while, Ruby's gaze trained on the wall, Castiel's on Ruby. She exhales, and the little puff of steam that escapes her mouth seeps in between the raindrops.
"What now, then?" He asks.
Ruby's lip quirks up. "Bleed out and die, hopefully."
"You're of no use to Lucifer anymore."
Ruby levels his stare. "And I'm okay with that."
Castiel shifts from his crouch, setting his knees on the cold, wet pavement. Some of Ruby's blood is absorbed into the cotton of his trousers. "I know about losing your purpose, Ruby. And believe me, dying is not the solution to your problems."
Ruby rolls her eyes. "Giving me the holier-than-thou speech, then? Awesome. I think I'll pass."
"I'm not -" Castiel growls in frustration. "I'm not. Holier-than-thou. Not anymore."
Ruby stills slightly at that, eyeing him with suspicion. Her right eyelid droops with blood loss.
Castiel realises with a jolt he's sharing his weakness to the demon partly responsible for the Apocalypse (the other part, of course, being himself). In all honesty, he is not sure why he is still here, kneeling outside a church, trying to reason with a dying unholy creature. He is walking in blind, vision as black as the tenebrous void of the demon's eyes. His grace is fading fast, he can feel it trickling between the pores of his vessel's skin. He does not have much time.
Slowly, he extends a hand towards Ruby. The latter blinks furiously, inching closer to the wall behind her. Her gaze is glued to his movements.
"... What are you doing?"
Castiel does not answer, but merely guides his hand closer to her midriff. Ruby's eyes go wide in understanding, and a flood of panic crosses her features.
"No," she rasps, desperately crawling on her elbows, away from him, away from his hand. "No, no, no, no. Don't you dare."
Her breaths are shallow, racing against the pulse of her blood. She kicks out at his legs, but the force is barely enough for Castiel to feel.
"You asshole, don't you dare, don't you fucking - "
Finally, his fingers touch her wound. She flinches with her whole body, almost snake-like in her writhing. Castiel holds her still and closes his eyes, summoning the warmth he knows like the halls of Heaven. It swells inside him, through Jimmy's fingers, and pours into Ruby's body. There's a screaming resistance - it must burn Ruby, he knows, must cauterize her while sending spikes of unimaginable pain through her every nerve. His grace hesitates a little at the command to enter the desecrated host, but he pushes it through anyway. Slowly, the tissue mends itself, yielding to the still-higher-for-now power. Ruby is sobbing now, weakly throwing punches against his trench coat, spitting, raging at him to stop saving her life.
Finally, the wound is healed. There are scars, a deep, white, vertical slash on her torso, like half a cross. She will keep her stigmata. But the bleeding is gone, with only the red pavement-water as witness to Ruby's failed martyrdom.
Castiel withdraws, as slowly as he came. Ruby has gone silent, but he can still feel the roiling pit of seething fury beneath her skin. Her face is buried between her knees, no longer bathed in its street-light halo.
"I hope you find yourself, Ruby," he tells her with all the sincerity he can offer, rising up to his feet. "Until then, if you need someone who understands..."
His lips thin. "You can always pray to me."
The hate in Ruby's eyes as she snarls at him is entirely demonic, and yet the tears that mingle with it hold something inarguably more.
"Go to Hell, Castiel," she spits.
The rain pours in torrents, thorough in its cleansing, as Castiel lifts up his wings and flies away.