A/N: First off, I didn't proof-read all of this like I normally do. PLEASE PM ME if you find something wrong, like a weird phrasing or something. You know, that shit that slips by like "the the" and such. Weird inconsistencies too!

This is a flashback chapter. It takes place before Chapter 1.

"I'm sorry, Sam. We just can't keep you on the team right now. We've lost too many customers to keep all of the staff. I just want you to know that I fought for you—we had to cut a few from every department. I'm sorry, son."

Sam felt numb and nodded politely to his supervisor. The older man handed a bent envelope over the desk, giving Sam his final paycheck before he was no longer officially employed as a bagboy at the local grocery store.

It hurt in a deep, hot wave. Sam had been so excited when he found this job, which was easy on his mind when he was exhausted from college homework or, after graduation, working to save up money for his girlfriend.

He had plans. He was going to save up what he could at the minimum-wage grocery store and continue his job hunt for a law firm or anything with better pay, to be honest. He needed to save up money to get a used car to get to these fantasy jobs, however. And with Ruby he needed to help out with the bills. He was already living in her apartment—which she casually reminded him whenever there was a disagreement.

He was expected to pay for the grocery and electric bills, along with any little inconvenience to befall him or Ruby. Her car needs a new tire? I pay the rent. Ruby's laptop crashes? Sam, you wouldn't even have your job without me—you used my computer to apply.

He finally paid off getting the transmission replaced in her beat-up car and was hurting for money. He couldn't have lost his job at a worse time. Sam had left his worn black apron in a box in the corner of his bosses' office before staggering out the door and through the cold freezer aisle.

The guilt of losing his low-income job didn't fade no matter how many bad TV shows he skimmed or how many hits of Ruby's weed he took. Sam didn't try to get messed up like he and Ruby did on the weekends—every weekend since he started smoking with her—but he needed something to fog his mind. He didn't drink to ease his turmoil, not since growing up in a household where his father drank for fun, drank when mad, drank when any little thing happened.

If there was something Sam was sure of, it was that he would never turn out like his father and take out his anger on Ruby. He would never hurt her like his father hurt his mother. He never wanted Ruby to be afraid to even speak to him.

Sam would never be like John Winchester.

He truly thought Ruby would be the same way. She had been with him through his late-night study sessions, she had took hits of espresso with him to stay up late at the library, she had celebrated with him when he got overly excited to remember a passage from one of his textbooks flawlessly.

She attended his parents' funeral with him.

The look in her eyes when she returned home to a stoned boyfriend should have been his first alarm bell that something would happen. She didn't look concerned, but annoyed. Angry even.

"Sam, I thought you had to work until seven today?"

He shrugged his heavy shoulders and lifted his head from where it rested on the back of the couch. "I was fired… so they sent me home early."

Ruby's eyes narrowed a touch. "What do you mean you were fired?"

Sam missed the way her body tensed, the way she gripped her purse strap with an iron fist. He was too lost in his head to pick up the building signs of aggression. The only problem he had with smoking weed had been the way it dulled his senses, the way he was always sharp and seeing the hidden details.

He certainly didn't see the short Brit just outside their door, looming over the scene before disappearing with a smirk on his knowing face.

Ruby turned her back to him, gripping her hair tightly. She paced forward and stopped, turning back abruptly to throw her car keys straight into Sam's chin. Fast moving things, particularly things being thrown at him, was one thing that freaked out a high Sam. At least, it did when he wasn't dodging thrown items every other weekend—every other day.

"Jesus!" He flinched and grabbed his chin. "Ruby—what the hell?"

Ruby narrowed her eyes again and stomped to the sitting man. "I should be saying that! I have a hard day at work and come home to this shit? What, were you fired for being high at work? Or did you just do such a shitty job they had to can you for some fifteen-year-old that knows what he's fucking doing?!"

Sam felt his high fade at the cruel words. Why was she screaming at him? What got her so mad? "Ruby, I told you, I was let go. The store is losing too much money to keep all of us."

"Fucking pathetic, Sam."

The anger she felt at that moment didn't even compare to twenty minutes later when she found her glass bowl and the burnt weed she had been looking so forward to sparking up all day. It was petty and worthless to get so mad over, but it didn't stop the woman's rage from boiling over.

The glass piece was thrown at Sam and broke when it hit the floor—causing the woman to scream, "Look what you did! Look what you broke!"

Sam just flinched away and ran to get the dustpan when Ruby screamed that he better clean his mess up.

The next day was normal—if normal was Sam walking on eggshells and wondering if the day before was a one-time deal. He found by the next morning, when Ruby was running late for work, that it would become a common occurrence.

It was like the dam holding back Ruby's true feelings finally broke now that Sam wasn't working and able to pay for every other utility. She demanded he do all the housework and he best hope he doesn't miss cleaning or cooking anything by the time she returned home.

"You don't even work, all I want is a nice home to return to," she would say with just enough emphasis on Sam's unemployment.

Even when he cleaned every crevice and every piece of paraphernalia they owned, she would still be mad if she was feeling annoyed by her work or commute. It didn't take long for the Stanford-educated man to see he'd become a whipping boy. And in the beginning he saw what was happening, that he was being used. He always hesitated when it came to the term 'abuse.'

One day he finished his chores early, even restocking their supply of air fresheners that specialized in smoke odor, and decided to meet up with Dean. He had just began pulling his jacket on when Ruby returned a few minutes earlier than anticipated. He had hoped to avoid her just this once.

"Where are you going?" She asked, voice even, unsure whether to unleash the rage just yet.

Sam bowed his head for a split-second before the thoughts of you're a man, what would Dean or Brady or anyone say if you were acting afraid of a girl? "I was going to see Dean, maybe catch up a bit. We haven't really talked in a while. I thought I'd catch him leaving work."

Ruby smiled and approached Sam, running her hands up his chest. "Sam, baby, we talked about this. You're way too codependent to your," she grimaced when she finished, "brother."

Sam frowned. "It's been months, Ruby. I haven't even talked to him on the phone since—since—"

…How long had it been?

He could only remember the raging headache he had for hours after the phone call. Ruby was in a bad mood. Sam forgot to wash the dishes. Sam fucked up.

The short woman kept her eyes on her boyfriend's innocent, struggling face. "Come on, baby. Stay home with me. We can have a day to ourselves. I was really hoping to try something new with you."

Her tone was sickly sweet and Sam knew something had to be up. He just couldn't make himself care enough to look deeper into the deception, or the fact he was being tricked to stay home and isolated. He just wanted to have a good day with Ruby and he wasn't going to lose his chance.

"Y-yeah, I could stay."

He felt sick to his stomach when he relented and took the two small pills from Ruby's palm. She nodded her head in encouragement and he ignored the snicker from the British man sitting at their kitchen table.

He met Crowley—he finally met their elusive dealer and now he was sitting in his tainted home while the man watched him. It was unsettling and disturbing until the crushed pills in his mouth finally turned to giggles and euphoria.

Another plate shattered as it hit wall just beside where Sam was cowering on the floor. He was a trembling mess, head bent low and arms raised over his face. He was trying his best to be smaller and distance himself.

He wasn't sure what set Ruby off this time—so many instances happened over the last week. Every single day had ended with screams or slaps. Tonight, however, was much worse. It had been this bad before, sure, but the drawing-blood nights were rare.

"You're so fucking pathetic, you know that?!"

A coffee cup hit the man right in the shin and chipped as it hit the floor. He whimpered at the bruising contact. He was lucky in one aspect—Ruby didn't care if he whimpered or cried. He was allowed to be upset and to make strangled noises as he choked sobs down.

"I can't fucking believe you sometimes!"

A perfectly fine plate was thrown, hitting him right in the head, sending Sam to smack his skull into the wall and shudder at the sudden dizziness and nausea. Some bile rose but he swallowed it down, knowing how much Ruby hated it whenever he got sick.

The woman crouched before him, face still carrying the ghost of her previous anger. She seemed to sober at the sight of Sam: shivering, sobbing, red-eyed, bruised, and now bleeding from his forehead. She dug into her pocket, producing a few small pills. She carelessly forced them through his quivering lips.

"Chew them."

He jerked a nod out and chewed the mystery pills, not caring whether they were Oxy, Tylenol, or fucking heart worm medicine for large breed dogs. When Ruby stopped to give him something, whether it be a towel to clean his blood from the floor or drugs to ease the pain, he knew it was over. Hell, she stopped to give him beer or glasses of whiskey half the time when she'd calm down more.

God, how Sam hoped he wouldn't have to drink tonight.

Ruby got up and walked away. Sam stayed seated, surrounded by broken plates and cups and his framed family photo before his parents died. The shower head in the next room kicked on and he sighed harshly in relief as his twenty minutes of peace began as the drugs kicked in.

He shouldn't have opened that email. He shouldn't have disregarded what Ruby had said—that he would regret talking to Dean. The woman entered the clean-but-damaged apartment and immediately spotted her boyfriend, sitting on the couch, eyes glued to his phone.

She marched forward and snatched up the device before he could react.

"Ruby, wait, I can explain!"

A hand came down and slapped Sam's sensitive cheek swiftly. "What did I tell you about talking to Dean? Huh? It's not healthy and not fucking normal!"

Sam bit back the raising heat in his eyes as Ruby turned her attention to the email which, regrettably, held Dean's typed words about Sam being on a short leash and needing a break from 'the warden.' Even though Dean didn't call Ruby anything too explicit—he didn't even call her a bitch!—it didn't matter to her.

Sam fucked up. Sam fucked up bad.

The phone was thrown at the wall, shattering on impact. She returned her attention to Sam, who was tensing up and bracing himself mentally for the incoming pain he was about to be dealt.

She normally didn't hit Sam, opting for throwing things, smacking, hard pinches, and the like. She didn't want to hurt herself when disciplining Sam's misbehavior. The hard punches that landed on his jaw, eye, and cheek were unexpected and knocked the wind out of him. He tried to stand up and run for another room and lock himself in until she would inevitably leave for work—the next day—but was caught. Ruby had wrapped her arms around his torso and became dead weight to stop the much-bigger man from escaping.

She shoved as hard as she could, only releasing Sam as he was falling backwards and into the wall. He groaned as his head hit the solid wall and tried to ground himself against the dizzying pain. Ruby had no intentions of letting him recover and lunged forward, straddling his lap, hands wrapped around his neck. She was the type of woman to keep her nails long and manicured, meaning they were the equivalent to painted talons.

Sam gasped and pushed his hands forward, bracing against Ruby's body, trying to push her away. He was frightened by how hard it was, how weakened he had become.

"You. Don't. Fucking. Speak to him!" She cried, thumbs digging harder into Sam's abused neck.

The bile rose and he panicked, thoughts racing, sight blurring. Then he did something he knew would get his ass beat for—he spat. The acidic liquid splattered against Ruby's chest and face and she gagged when she realized what had hit her, backing off to wipe the mess from her face.

He took his chance and shoved her off, rushing to his feet despite the way the room was spinning. Sam crashed through the bedroom door and grabbed his go-bag before letting his adrenalin move his legs again.

Yes, he had a go-bag. He wasn't proud of it, he didn't tell anyone he had one nor did he ever explain to Ruby why he had a backpack filled with clothes sitting on the floor all the time. Since the email he knew he was in hot water and packed the bag when Ruby was gone, slowing filling it as not to tip off the woman.

Ruby was just standing up from where her ass hit the floor when Sam pushed her away. She saw Sam's backpack slung over one shoulder and it began to click what was happening. He didn't hesitate when he walked past her and grabbed the knob of the front door.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Sam paused. He swallowed back his fear and anxiety before answering, "I'm leaving."

Ruby's breath hitched. She hadn't expected him to actually leave. "You can't just leave!"

The door opened and he walked out without looking back. He hadn't known it was raining, unable to hear the beating of the rain when he was fighting to breathe and stay conscious. He hopped on a bus at the closest bus stop and ignored the few gawkers.

Shit. It must be bad.

He was sickened when he saw his reflection in the window by his seat. It wasn't clear but it gave him a general idea, especially the dark surrounding his one eye (the one he noted having trouble opening).

Unfortunately the stop was still a few miles from his brother's home, forcing him to walk the rest of the way as the sky darkened and the water drenched his body. It felt like years when he finally saw it: the light at the end of the tunnel in the form of a parked black Impala in the driveway of his brother's house.

Sam shivered lightly as he walked up the pathway to the porch, pausing on the porch. What would he say? How would Dean react to this?

His hand found the doorbell before he could figure out what to say. He was overly tired, worn, and too mentally exhausted to even want to lie.

The door opened and he saw the shocked face of his big brother staring at him, eyes darting all over his face, stopping at his bad eye. The warmth bleeding out of the house made the moment tolerable.

"Sam… What the hell happened to you?"

A new wave of nausea and anxiety flooded into Sam's veins. "Can I come in?"

A/N: Personal shit first: I have a job now and can't write as often. Which more means I'll be too tired to proof-read. Anyone wanna beta? That'd be nice. I'm not quitting this story in any way, I just don't have it in me to proof-read. Yell at me if you found anything weird, grammar or spelling-wise.

Sam's go-bag is based on real-life occurrences. It's helpful, so if you live in any kind of situation where you might have to suddenly leave try to keep a bag ready. Mine was a suitcase filled with clothes that I didn't even need til 6-8 months after packing it. It seriously comes in handy, kids. Listen to Adiaphory.

Happier notes: Threw in a Supernatural Season 9 Mockumentary reference. If you got it, fuck yeah a break from the sad. If you didn't, fuck yeah that means you get to watch the Mockumentary for the first time. LOOK WHAT YOU BROKE.

For the innocent: Ruby's "glass bowl" isn't the kind of bowl you eat from. The bowl is where you stick the weedstuff. It's a glass pipe for "tobacco." Please don't read this thinking they do drugs from their fine China.