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Once Castiel had confirmed that yes, inside that body there was still only a demon, Dean was all for killing her a second time.
Sam stopped him, but for the life of him he wouldn't have been able to explained why. Everything Dean said (screamed) at him sounded reasonable: it could all be another rouse (but Sam, deep down, didn’t think so. There was no sign of recognition when Ruby looked at him); Sam’s instincts when it came to Ruby meant approximately jack shit (Dean’s words; Sam could see where he came from, and yet).
Sam wasn’t an idiot, though, so he had carved containment runes into her skin to keep her from escaping. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience; she had struggled to keep her screams in with a pride the old Ruby had never shown him, maybe deciding to keep it hidden from him. It wasn’t the first time he cut into Ruby's skin, that her blood dripped in front of him, but this time it had been clinical and cold, devoid of intimacy. Dean and the others had watched over him like hawks, expecting him to fail and fall prey to his baser instincts, and Sam had told himself the dark red liquid wasn’t at all tempting.
On top of the carving, they had tied every one of her limbs to a chair, gagged her, blindfolded her, and put her inside a devil’s trap. It was the definition of overkill, but there was no question that the Ruby they knew —powerful, resourceful, cunning— would have granted that, and more.
Sam’s voice prevailed only because Bobby and Castiel weren’t as sure as Dean was of what they should do with her. Bobby kept offering a middle ground between the brothers in an effort to stop the fighting, suggesting she could be useful alive; maybe, he said, they could find a way to gather information out of her.
Castiel would’ve obviously had no qualms about killing a demon and calling it a day, but he questioned the timing of her return alongside their own. He’d examined Ruby’s mind as far as he was able and was inclined to believe her amnesia, and he couldn’t see any reason why Lucifer would bother resurrecting a lieutenant who couldn’t possibly serve him.
It might’ve been God too, he insisted. With what purpose, he couldn’t possibly divine.
His arguments barely mollified Dean. Sam was sure that, by then, Dean was arguing for Ruby’s death because, to put it simply, he wanted her dead.
Sam would’ve wanted it, too. He’s sure. He once held her in place for Dean to gut like a fish; her back against his chest, fingers gripping her arms so tight they must have left bruises. Eyes closed, unable to witness the deed, yes; but everything else had been... bearable.
But it wasn’t as easy to want this Ruby dead.
It should have been. Memories or not, there was nothing innocent about the demon before them. She didn’t plead or demand any explanations, and she sat before them with a disquieting, surely deceptive calm that chilled Sam to the bone; it struck him as a very different demeanor to what he was used to from her, a kind of self-possession he would never had guessed she had in her, and it made him wonder. Would he finally see who Ruby truly was, distilled to her core elements, beyond everything she’d carefully crafted in order to appeal to him, to infiltrate his life so profoundly?
“It’s wrong, Dean! She doesn’t remember doing any of those things it’s— it’s wrong.”
He’d expected Dean to repeat that she was still a demon, and that they kill demons, and who the fuck cares. Instead, he gave Sam a sickened smirk and said:
“Right. And I’m sure it’s not personal for you, when it comes to her.”
That shut Sam up. The only thing he could do was promising himself that he really, truly, was struggling for it not to be.
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