Author's Note: I've taken down Job & Family for editing and will be posting the edited chapters as their ready. Major thanks to my beta-reader, Lastarael, for her incredible help with this massive project.


After Dean's death at Lilith's hands it only took a few days for Sam to find himself completely lost and alone. He'd convinced Bobby to bury Dean instead of performing the traditional hunter's pyre. It was a dishonor to his brother, but the finality of a pyre's embers was too much for him to take. Some small part of his mind whispered that maybe he could make a deal or find a way to bring his brother back, yet an attempt to deal with a Crossroads demon yielded nothing but a dead meatsuit and hurt feelings.

Without a better idea of how to save Dean, Sam quickly threw himself into drinking and his own despair. The feeling of helplessness was overwhelming. He needed to act, to lash out somehow at whatever he could. Yet in Bobby's house everything was stuck in a haunting routine. Unable to do anything for Dean, the old hunter resumed working the phones. Cases that Dean would never investigate kept trickling into various voicemail boxes. The wallpaper that Dean used to pick at as a child continued to peel from the walls. Everything around Sam dragged on in its sysphian sort of way, all the while taking care to not fill the hole that Dean's absence had created.

On some level Sam knew that Bobby loved him, but Bobby's all-too-easy acceptance of Dean's death had felt like a betrayal. Dean's death had only made Sam want to fight reapers, demons, fate, and any other creature or force in this cruel existence. But Bobby had seen enough death that what once were flames of rage were just the smoldering embers of an old hunter's familiar loss. Sam had been too hurt to see Bobby's sadness as anything more than resignation.

Lying awake in bed on the fifth night, he finally decided that he couldn't take it anymore. He needed to get away, to do something drastic. Sam quietly packed up his few belongs and descended the stairs, deftly avoiding the step that squeaked. As he walked toward the back door he stopped, debating whether to say goodbye to the man who'd been there for him when his own father hadn't. Part of him hated to leave the only family he had left in the world, but he couldn't stay and he didn't want Bobby to try talking him out of going.

Two weeks later he was in a rural little town he hadn't bothered to learn the name of, eager to find trouble just as much as demons. He'd barely slept or eaten in the past three days, too preoccupied chasing demonic omens, trying to find a fight. When he had finally located a promising contender, he didn't even bother to case the location and ran in without a strategic thought in his head.

Sam was drunkenly fighting—or more accurately being beaten by—two demons when Ruby swooped in and saved him. His nose, a rib, and his right pinky had been broken in the brawl, but he was too numb to feel it. When she offered him a hand up off the ground, he'd rolled away from her, pushing himself upright and further injuring his finger in the process. But he didn't care about the damage. He hadn't wanted her interference. He barely acknowledged her presence, let alone her help. After she tried to walk with him back to the Impala, he lashed out at her in anger.

It wasn't just the fact that she was wearing some innocent human; it was more that she had somehow managed to crawl out of Hell and Dean had not. She had proven it possible, no matter how difficult, and the fact that Dean hadn't done so himself made Sam's heart sink. That was the moment Sam began to wonder how far Dean's self-loathing reached. He wasn't sure if it was possible to save someone who was lost on that level. It was just another manifestation of Sam's inability to effect positive change.

Sam didn't bother voicing his fears about Dean to Ruby. Instead he decided to verbally attack her over the meatsuit. He'd never given much thought to the long-dead blonde woman she'd been riding the whole year prior. In all honesty, at that point he almost didn't care about the woman she was in at that moment. He hadn't been hunting since Dean's death and other people's problems just couldn't compete with his own pain for his attention. That didn't stop him from yelling at Ruby for it though. It was low-hanging fruit and he was too drunk and defeated to take any better shots at her. Ruby said nothing before she blinked away.

Two days later Ruby knocked on the door of the abandoned house where Sam had been squatting. Her new meatsuit had been brain-dead when she set up residence and Sam was too thrown by the gesture to stop her from entering the house. He wasn't mentally prepared to deal with people, let alone someone who was clearly acting with purpose—a characteristic that he'd somehow lost in his anger and depression. Once inside she began her pitch of how she could help him get revenge against Lilith. Sam was so confused by a mixture of loss, intoxication, and surprise that he couldn't bring himself to fight her. He resigned himself to accept her help, even if it meant her company. In exchange for sobriety and something resembling respect she would teach him how to hone his psychic powers and help with the hunt for Lilith.

It took some time for them to learn each other's boundaries. She had initially pushed him too hard, once invoking and promptly disrespecting Dean's memory at the wrong time. He had tried to punch her in the face, but she'd blinked out of the way before sweeping his legs. Ruby was kneeling on his neck before he'd had time to react, though she released him before he'd passed out and apologized before he could settle on his counterattack.

In general, Sam understood that she was trying to help him, so he made an effort to begrudgingly get along with her, but it was a challenge most of the time. It seemed like Sam's mood changed every couple minutes during the first few days as he tried to cope with his new sobriety-induced lucidity. He was mostly caught between sorrow and rage, quietly half-listening to instructions one moment only to be shouting the next.

Ruby tried to be patient, but occasionally she'd snap back at him or stop one of his fits by physically overpowering him. She tried to give Sam his space, hoping that he'd find a way to pull himself out of his grief, but on their fifth day together she realized how big a mistake that had been.


Trigger Warning: Suicide attempt. You can skip down to the end of this section to bypass it.

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She had found Sam lying on the bathroom floor, two rough slits and at least one hesitation cut down the each arm. His shirt and boxers had absorbed much of the blood, preventing a puddle from forming. Ruby was just a fuzzy image rushing toward him, emitting muffled yells as he lost consciousness.

Sam woke up slowly. His vision took too long to adjust to the afternoon light coming in through the large grime-coated windows. His bandaged forearms itched and tingled. When he attempted to lift his arms into view he felt a pressure on his biceps and across his chest. After a moment of flexing he discovered that he was tied to a bed. Large straps crossed his chest, waist, and legs. Looking around he realized he was in one of the house's bedrooms. There was an IV pole supporting two bags of blood, which fed into his right elbow. To his left he saw Ruby sitting in a chair reading a celebrity magazine, looking bored beyond measure. The sound of Sam's tiny movements were enough to catch her attention.

"If you're gonna go wasting your blood you should really let me know your type. It took me almost five minutes to find some O Negative for you." Her words may have been a slight tease, but her expression was anything but smiling.

Sam didn't know how to respond. He hadn't asked to be saved, but having even a moment or two of a second chance made his attempt scare him a little. What if he had succeeded? It'd be done, and while that had held appeal a few hours ago, right then his conviction faltered. His perceived escape would've likely led him to join his brother, undoing Dean's sacrifice. It wouldn't have ended the pain; it just would've changed the scenery. He didn't know what he wanted, really.

"Anyway, I'm not letting you kill yourself—" she began, but Sam cut her off.

"Why?" he asked weakly. He didn't look at her, instead opting to examine the paint peeling off the ceiling above him.

"I have worked too long and hard to save your stupid ass and I am not about to let you throw yourself into the pit because you're too consumed with your own self-pity to lift a single finger for your own wellbeing." Ruby's tone grew livid. "I am not going to stay to watch you die—and we both know I came back the last time I said that. So if you are so committed to offing yourself, then you're gonna need to get your shit together enough to kill me first. At least then you won't be such a sorry excuse—"

"Okay," Sam said, turning to finally look at her. He should've been insulted, but he couldn't feel anything beyond overwhelming sadness. It took him by surprise to recognize not just the pain itself, but also what it was doing to him. He was helpless to it in a way that scared him. "What do I do now?"

The vulnerability in his voice surprised Ruby. She'd been expecting him to hurl insults or whine, not to simply concede. Her posture had unwittingly become hostile. She exhaled, consciously relaxing her upper body.

"You're not thinking clearly," she answered in a more gentle tone. "Until you do, if you want to start recovering, you need to really listen to me. You need to start reengaging with the world and I can't drag you back into it if you're fighting me. Try to focus yourself on something other than your own suffering, hone your powers, and then we can start going after Lilith—but I am not helping you hunt down Lilith if there's even a sliver of a chance you're just looking to off yourself!"

Sam nodded silently.

"Also, you might be calm and seeking redemption now, but I don't trust you not to try again. You lost your autonomy privileges. I'm following you everywhere until I think you're ready."

Sam frowned and furrowed his brow slightly. "I'm human. I still need to use the bathroom." It was more of a question than a statement.

"I'll turn my back," she replied.

One corner of his mouth couldn't help but curl up, until it dawned on him that she wasn't joking.


End of suicide trigger. Recap: Ruby is helping Sam prepare to hunt Lilith after Dean's death.

After a week under Ruby's watchful eye, Sam's strength had returned and his mood had mostly stabilized. He was far from happy, but at least he was self-aware enough now to avoid random bouts of rage. He was also crying less frequently, but he wasn't sure if that was because he was improving or simply because he hated crying while Ruby just stood across the room staring at him. He didn't find joy in things the way he had before Dean died, but in general doing the training Ruby offered left him feeling something slightly resembling accomplishment.

One morning while Sam was finishing a quick breakfast consisting solely of a single, flavorless nutritional bar he spotted Ruby holding their jackets. It was still too warm and humid for any reasonable person to actually want to wear an extra layer of clothing, unless of course there was rain. He checked out a window at the dark grey sky, then reflexively glanced up to see if the ceiling was leaking.

"No training today," she told him when she saw his confused expression. "We're going out. There's an errand I need to run in the city." She left unsaid that she still didn't want to leave him alone for the better part of a day.

"What kind of errand?" Sam asked skeptically.

"I need some components to work a locator spell on Lilith's minions. We're nowhere near ready for a fight, but we should be monitoring their movements, doing our homework."

"I don't suppose we're going to stop at a grocery store for some chicken feet or anything? I could go for some real food."

Ruby smiled a bit at his comment. It was the first time since his suicide attempt that Sam had expressed a desire for anything. She hoped that meant he was returning to his old, assertive self.

"I only need a few items from a hoodoo shop, but after that we can get whatever you want."

"We're just going to walk into a hoodoo shop?" he asked, unconsciously showing his hunter upbringing. Ruby's smile grew.

"Of course Sam. I'm a witch."


The drive to Lafayette took three hours. Sam refused to let Ruby drive Dean's—his—car and Ruby refused to let Sam drive at all, so they stole a maroon '69 Pontiac GTO. Sam didn't express a preference about what kind of car they took, but Ruby explained that it was important to enjoy the little things when possible. Turning down an alley in what was clearly the poorer and more dangerous part of the city, Sam wondered whether it would have been wiser to pick a more subtle car. Ruby parked in the alley and turned to Sam before they got out.

"There's an etiquette to this whole sort of thing," she warned him. "I don't want you going in there thinking and acting like a hunter because that'll be a huge pain in the ass at the very least."

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to do? I don't know the secret handshake."

"If anyone asks, you're my apprentice. Just follow my lead—I doubt anyone'll even talk to you. Just don't start picking up random objects. It'll make you look like an idiot," she explained, causing Sam to frown briefly while rolling his eyes.

They exited the car and walked about a block before reaching a dingy cafe. There was a name painted above the front door, but the text was illegibly faded. Every piece of wood had paint peeling off of it and there was so much rusted metal around that Sam began wondering when he had last gotten a tetanus shot.

An elderly black man sat in a bright yellow, flimsy, molded-plastic chair on the sidewalk in front of the cafe's entrance. He eyed them as they approached. Sam wondered just how unusual it was for that neighborhood to get a pair like them: a tiny, white brunette in leather pants and jacket, and a 6'5" white guy in plaid with shaggy hair. Sam tried to slouch, making himself as small and non-threatening as possible, but Ruby marched forward with visible purpose.

"Can I help you?" the man asked while sitting up in his chair. He had a thick accent that Sam couldn't place.

Ruby stopped a few paces from the man, and Sam stopped behind her, unsure of what else to do. She replied to the man in a language that Sam did not recognize, making his eyebrows rise slightly in surprise. He quickly changed his expression to something more neutral, hoping that the old man wouldn't realize just how out of his element Sam really was. Luckily, the older man seemed to be distracted enough trying to recover from his own shock.

After Ruby said a sentence or two, the old man started smiling. He responded in the same language, which was almost certainly his native tongue. The speed and confidence of speaking a more comfortable language made the man seem warmer and a few years younger.

After politely listening to them chatting for several minutes, Sam gave up trying to understand what they were saying. He began looking around the cafe and neighborhood in more detail. There was very little English writing anywhere. He recognized some French, but he didn't know enough to gain any great insight. Most of the text was neither English nor French, but some non-romantic language. The products in the cafe were foreign brands.

The man began pointing down the street. Sam realized that he was giving Ruby directions. She expressed some sort of appreciation and then waved for Sam to follow her as she started down the street.

"Sorry about that," Ruby apologized. "Everyone thinks you're a narc or a hunter until you show 'em you're one of them. That was actually easier than I thought it'd be."

"What language was that?"

"Dagbani. It's from northern Ghana."

"You speak Ghanan?"

"It's not 'Ghanan.' I speak Dagbani and Akan—there are several distinct languages in Ghana," Ruby replied, but realized that that didn't lessen Sam's confusion at all. "I was born around there."

Sam was so shocked by her statement that he nearly tripped over some uneven pavement. Abstractly he knew that demons used to be humans, but it had never crossed his mind where any given demon may have been born or lived. The realization created a wave of new questions, which overwhelmed him. Before he could voice any of them a thought came to the forefront and his stomach ached slightly.

He knew nothing about Ruby. She had entered his life over a year ago, saved him countless times, put up with all sorts of bullshit from him lately, and the only things he knew about her were her name, that she was a witch, and now that she was born near Ghana…. It occurred to him that Ruby probably wasn't her real name. He felt guilty for knowing so little about her. At this point she was the closest thing he had to a friend and he didn't even think of her as a person. Sam's mood darkened as they stopped in front of an unmarked door.

Ruby knocked five times and waited. After a few seconds there was the sound of a heavy bolt sliding. The door opened inward to reveal a little girl looking up at them. Spotting Sam's towering form she let out a mousey squeak and retreated through the shop.

The store was dark, dusty, and tiny. It only had two five-foot-long aisles before reaching the small counter. The walls were lined with shelves containing books, trinkets, and spell components. There was no natural light, only oil lamps and candles. Sam wondered how all these probably rare goods hadn't been destroyed in a fire long ago.

Behind the counter were two teenage girls and the little girl who had opened the door. The three of them had dark complexions and looked confused by their customers who were clearly not from around there. Ruby stepped forward and began speaking in Dagbani again, but one of the teenagers shook her head and replied in something that sounded an awful lot like French to Sam. Ruby nodded and replied in the same not-quite-French. After a few more minutes of chatting with the girls, they'd established a sort of rapport. Sam could've even sworn that Ruby whispered something before the girls looked at him and started giggling.

By the time Ruby had actually given the list of needed items to one of the teens, Sam's eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting. He began looking around the shop only to realize that this whole time there had been an elderly woman sitting in a lumpy cloth chair in the corner of the room behind them. Her frizzy hair was white and loose, hanging around eyes that were visibly clouded over with cataracts. She had been staring in Ruby's direction, listening to the interaction at the counter, but then she turned to look straight at Sam's face.

For what seemed like the millionth time that day Sam found himself surprised and confused. He was pretty sure that he hadn't made any noise that would have drawn her attention. But more than that, she was looking him in the eyes, which on him were half a foot higher than a man of average height. If she was in fact blind, Sam had no doubt that she was a witch using some sort of alternate sense.

The girl and teen returned from the back store room with about a dozen items. Ruby inspected several of them carefully before giving her approval. The total came to just over $9,000 and Sam only briefly dwelled on what Ruby might have done to get the massive roll of cash she drew from of her purse. One of the teens double-counted the money. Meanwhile, the other teen put everything in individual plastic-sealed bags, wrapped them in a nice cushion of paper, and put them in two plastic grocery bags. Ruby thanked them, grabbed the bags, and turned to leave the store.

"Your kind," the old woman said as she turned back to face Ruby. She spoke with a French accent and her voice had a quiet rattle to it. "They kill. They steal. Never seen one pay. Not dèmon."

The girls behind the counter looked suddenly terrified. Ruby stopped walking and turned to face the woman.

"I kill and I steal," Ruby corrected the woman's misconception. "Where do you think that kind of money comes from—"

"But you don't here," the woman interjected. Ruby looked a little confused with where this conversation was going. Sam was also unsure, but unlike most of the last hour or so at least they were speaking English and he could begin to understand the interaction. "Dèmon, you are a special one. No shame for that."

The old woman turned to look at Sam. "And this one, oh you! Boy who dreams of tomorrow." Sam's stomach lurched. He didn't know if he could convince himself that that was some idiom for optimist—he certainly didn't feel optimistic—or if she was a psychic, able to read him like Missouri had years ago. "You poor thing. You can't see. Your dreams too clouded by pain. You only dream of the past, loss, and death." The expression of pity on her face mixed with some emotion that Sam couldn't place before she continued. "All that grief, you can't see through it, you can't see the future. Can't see what you need to know."

"And what's that?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"You will be happy again." She smiled, creasing her face with dozens of wrinkles. Sam's lips quivered slightly and his heart pounded anxiously. He wasn't sure he believed her. It felt like happiness was too much to hope for and he was almost pained by the prospect. He wanted to be happy, but each time he started to make progress he was taken back by a flash of guilt. How could he ever be happy knowing that Dean was in Hell for him?

But maybe this woman could really see his future. Sam couldn't think of a reason for her to lie to him, but he knew nothing about her motivations or allegiances. She was a witch after all… though Ruby was also a witch and seemed to be sincere in trying to help him.

The woman also knew that he wasn't having visions anymore. He hadn't told anyone that he had visions of Dean being torn apart by the hellhounds for a week leading up to his death. Sam had hoped that it was just his fear and imagination. Before those he hadn't had a vision since Azazel was killed. He had assumed that it was over. But then every detail of his visions matched Dean's death perfectly. It had crushed Sam to think that he ignored the warnings again, just as he had before Jessica's death. And now his dreams were only nightmares fueled by grief, forcing him to relive Dean's death, just like Jessica.

The old woman said something to one of the girls, who nodded and rushed into the back room. Sam watched the slightly tense scene, unaware of exactly what was happening. Ruby waited for a few moments, then gave up, stepping closer to the old woman. It looked like she was about to say something when the girl returned. The girl ducked around the counter and handed a small wooden case to the old woman, who in turn extended it in offering to Ruby.

"You take this, from me. You will need help. This is the best I can give."

Ruby slowly took the case, sliding back the lid to reveal several long thick needle-like tools made of bone, a tiny knife, and four vials of dark liquid. Her eyes widened visibly, but she seemed satisfied with the contents.

The old woman said something in that almost-French language to Ruby, who nodded back to her.

"It will rain soon," the old woman said as she tilted her head toward the door. "And you have a long walk back to your car."

With that serving as their instruction to leave, Sam and Ruby walked back out into the overcast daylight. Ruby handed the grocery bags off to Sam, but held the case to her chest. When they were half a block away from the shop Sam felt comfortable enough to talk.

"What is it?" He indicated the case by poking his elbow toward it.

"It's a perme set. It can be used for very powerful, long-term spells or wards." Her fingers unconsciously traced the edges on the case. "This is a really nice set, maybe a few hundred years old. The bone looked like it was treated incredibly well. I'd have to look at the inks—"

"Inks?"

"It's primarily for magical tattooing."

Sam raised an eyebrow and thought of the anti-possession tattoo on his chest. That hadn't required any sort of special tool made of bone. He didn't know what made him more uncomfortable, the idea that his anti-possession tattoo might be comparatively weak magic or that Ruby might just like the giant bone needles for tradition's sake. He turned his thoughts to other things.

"What language was that?" Sam asked.

"French Creole."

"Let me guess. This is your old neighborhood?"

"Yeah, sorta. I spent a lot of time in parts of the Caribbean and the Gulf Coast over the years. Some parts more than others, and some decades more than others."

"Anywhere really stand out as your stomping ground?"

"Haiti and Louisiana." Ruby didn't elaborate and Sam wasn't sure if he wanted to follow that line of questioning just yet.

"What did she say to you, right at the end?" he asked curiously.

Ruby hesitated slightly. "She told me that I need to protect you, no matter what."

Sam and Ruby stared uncertainly at each other for a moment as the first few drops of a coming storm fell around them.