The Impala rolled into Singer's Salvage not long after the sun rose. Despite a stop at a motel for some shut-eye, Sam's head was still pounding, and sensation had not yet returned to an arm he found paralyzed upon waking. His angelic visitor had taken his leave while Sam slept. Sam was relieved that the kid had not yet returned.

He hadn't seen Bobby in person for over a year. The old man was a little grayer, a little thinner, and a lot more wizened than he'd been a year earlier. There was the slightest of tremors in his hands, hands with joints swollen by arthritis, but he still had a Hunter's strong presence and a sharp, alert look in his eyes. Age was quickly catching up with Bobby Singer, but he wasn't succumbing to it without a fight.

Their greeting was subdued, a hard embrace and a silent acknowledgment of the passing of time - a nod and a cursory visual assessment. Sam was actually pleased to see Bobby doing so well. Bobby's conclusion wasn't nearly so positive. The two of them sat down at Bobby's kitchen table and shared hot coffee.

Bobby poured. Sam raised the cup with his left hand - something he knew didn't escape the older Hunter's attention.

"You look peaked."

Sam smiled wryly. "Subtle."

Bobby shrugged. "Figured since I haven't seen you for a while it'd be better than starting out 'you look like death warmed over.'" Bobby slowly stirred sugar into his coffee. "How bad is it, Sam?"

"I'm okay."

"Like hell you are." His spoon clinked on the table as Bobby set it down and regarded Sam with a hard stare. "Talk to me, boy."

With a sigh, Sam shook his head. He left the coffee black. It was bitter, but hot, and drove away some of the weariness. He'd been advised against coffee just as he'd been advised against alcohol. He thought quitting it would make very little difference in the larger scheme of things.

"Sam..." Bobby prompted.

"Headaches are pretty bad."

"And you're still ganking demons." Tapping one temple, Bobby nodded. "With that hocus pocus you do, aren't you? Don't lie to me either. I'm not totally out of the loop these days."

"Yeah, it comes in handy."

"It's going to kill you, Sam!"

It already has, Bobby.

"Yeah, I know," Sam admitted softly. "But it'll do that whether I use my abilities or not. If I can take a few more demons with me..." He snorted. "Maybe I can win enough Brownie points to keep myself out of the Pit."

"You think so?" Bobby stood up and refilled both their mugs. "Last I heard the man upstairs was dead set against you tappin' into that well."

"It wasn't any heavenly host who put Lucifer back in prison," Sam replied coolly. "God should be grateful I don't follow orders." He sipped his coffee. "Ironically, that's why I'm here."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I've had a visitor," Sam said. "An angel has asked me to help him locate Ruby."

"And you said?"

"Sure, why not, whatever."

Bobby rubbed his chin in thought. "Ruby. The Ruby? This angel say why?"

"He says he doesn't know, but whatever it is, it probably isn't good. No angel is going to come mucking around down here again unless something big is going down." With a sigh, Sam closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "Bobby, the last thing I want to do is get involved with this stuff again, but he said..."

"Said what?" Bobby prompted, when Sam didn't finish.

"He said," Sam whispered. "That Dean didn't go back to Hell."

Bobby gazed at him sympathetically. From anyone else the look might have made Sam angry. He didn't want anyone's pity. Bobby didn't give pity, but he did provide understanding and support.

"So you are trying to buy yourself a ticket to paradise."

Sam tapped his fingers on the table. "I'm just trying to do the right thing, like I always have, and if it saves my ass from the fire, that's just icing." Raising his hand, he rubbed his forehead again where the headache was teaming up with the coffee to make him nauseous. A cold sweat broke out down his back only partially due to his physical illness. He laughed softly, without much humor. "I know how Dean felt, you know, when his contract came due. I'm running out of time, Bobby."

There was a brief, awkward silence in which Bobby turned away. Sam caught the glitter of tears, and heard the roughness in his old friend's voice. "So. What do you want me to do?"

"I need your help to scry for her."

"We've tried that before, Sam. She's real good at covering her tracks."

"And my tracking skills have improved since the last time." Sam stood up slowly so Bobby wouldn't see his unsteadiness. "This time I'll find her."

In the years since the final battle with Lilith and Lucifer, Sam had adopted a "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" attitude regarding his abilities. They were going to kill him whether he used them or not, so he decided to take advantage of the edge they gave him on the job. During his time laid up in the hospital, and later at Bobby's during the rest of his recovery, he'd done a lot of reading. If there were any sort of certification to be earned in witchcraft, Sam had himself a master's degree. He stopped short of calling himself a warlock.

"Let's start small," Bobby said as he spread a map of North America across the floor. "My ol' pop always said that if something ain't workin' fix the easiest thing first."

"You don't think she may have gone out of the country?" Sam brought over the tripod and centered its pendulum over the map.

"Mebee. Didn't you say she started out human back in Europe?"

"Oxford." Sam looked down at the map. "But you're right, let's start a little closer to home."

"Is Ruby her true name?" Bobby stepped back and leaned against his desk rubbing his hands. "That may be why it hasn't worked before, because she never gave us her real name."

"It won't matter this time."

In the kitchen Sam found most of the components he needed, including cloves and fennel, and a silver bowl. An inquiry yielded the hibiscus and meadowsweet tucked away in the upstairs bathroom cupboard. He found jasmine incense in a jar high upon one of the bookshelves above the fireplace. Bobby watched him carefully, his frown deepening with every item Sam gathered.

"This is some serious shit, Sam."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures."

"That's bull. I know you ain't that desperate to find Ruby."

Sam paused. "Maybe I should be," he said quietly, "for Dean."

"You were never so gung-ho about vengeance before," Bobby replied, just as softly. "You think that's what this angel wants?"

"I don't know." Sam began mixing the dried herbs in the bottom of the bowl. He handed off the incense to Bobby, who lit it. The sweet perfume of jasmine began to fill the room. "But to find out, we'll have to find Ruby first."

Drawing a deep breath, Sam sat down on the rug beside the map. He lit another match and dropped it into the bowl of herbs. The caught fire immediately, burning hot and bright, adding a bittersweet scent to that of the jasmine. Sam inhaled once more and closed his eyes. He heard Bobby's desk chair squeak as the old man sat down to watch. A moment later he began to chant and beneath his whispered words he heard the creak of the wooden tripod as the pendulum began to swing.

The words were not Latin, but Hindu, a more ancient version of the spell Bobby used. It was not as diluted by time as Bobby's. The words were rich and powerful, made more so by the energy Sam was able to pour into them. He pictured Ruby in his mind and set the spell to work.

Unfortunately, thinking of Ruby brought back memories he had tried hard to forget, like the sight of her standing naked before a window, her sleek form illuminated by the light coming in from a streetlamp, framed by the darkness inside the room. He remembered how her borrowed body felt against his own, could taste the mint on her tongue, mint she used to disguise the sulfur scent that often lingered on her breath. He could taste that too. It was bitter, a poignant reminder of his indiscretion.

The session didn't last long. Sam came out of it blinded with pain. If Bobby's hand hadn't been on his shoulder he might have fallen over. He looked up at Bobby feeling weak and ill, and struggling not to let it show.

"She's not here in the States." Sam pushed the bowl away and leaned over, putting his forehead to the worn carpet. His voice was muffled as he added, "She's close though, Canada maybe?"

"You want to rest first? Sam you better..."

"No." Sam sat up. "No. I'll be okay. Let's keep going. You got a map of South America? We'll check down there while we're at it, just in case."

A new map was produced, and Sam repeated the spell using a fresh batch of herbs. He found the thread he had felt before and followed it, pouring more and more energy into the spell as he continued to recite. Ruby's defenses tried to dissuade him, throw him onto a false trail, but Sam picked up the true path again almost immediately. He nearly lost her once as a burst of pain behind his eyes caused him to falter. Gritting his teeth he persevered, working through the pain as he always seemed to have to do anymore.

Finally he felt his quest come to an end. He forced his eyes open. The pendulum had stopped swinging.

Toronto. Ruby was in Toronto.

The first syllable was all Sam could get out before a seizure grabbed him by the collar and shook him until the lights went out.

Sam dreamed Dean was alive. He was feeling badly, lying on the sofa at Bobby's, with Dean hovering over him, fussing like a mother hen, just like he had when Sam was a little kid.

Idiot, Dean said. I never meant for you to do this!

Do what?

You know what, Sammy!

No. I don't. Dean?

"Dean!"

Sam sat up, or tried to anyway. A hand pushed him back down, and at first he thought his dream had come true, that his brother was there beside him. Refocusing, he realized it wasn't Dean, but the angel. For the first time Sam noticed the resemblance between his brother the angel's vessel. There were differences of course, but the kid's coloring and his basic boy-next-door, all American look was the same. Dean had been a handsome man, might have been even better looking if life hadn't been so hard on him. The actor-turned-angel's face was flawless, his youth untainted by hardship. There were no scars on him – either inside, or out.

"Lay down," the angel commanded. "I already told you my healing mojo is next to nothing. You keep squirming around you'll undo what I could fix."

"What happened?" Sam asked, falling back into the pillows. He was indeed lying on Bobby's sofa, just like in his dream, only it wasn't Dean hovering at his side, but a prick of an angel. "What did you do?"

The angel looked annoyed and didn't answer either question. "I thought you only used your abilities to gank demons."

Sam grunted. "You thought wrong."

"If I'da known you were going to do this, I would never have gotten you involved, Sam!"

"Well I'm sorry I didn't tell you and then maybe I wouldn't be involved. I never wanted to be involved in the first place." Shoving aside another attempt to keep him down, Sam sat up with a groan. He actually felt a little better than he had before he began the spellwork, but anymore, feeling better was relative. The ever-present headache was throbbing in his temples. "Ruby's in Toronto."

"Canada?"

"No, Einstein, Brazil. What do you think?"

"I think maybe you're an asshole, that's what I think."

"It takes one to know one." Rising slightly unsteadily, Sam waved off help from Bobby as he made his way into the kitchen. There was still coffee in the pot. He poured himself a cup and drank the tepid brew. It was bitter. "Suits my mood," he murmured.

"I'll go, by myself," the angel said. He'd followed Sam into the kitchen. "That's it. You're done."

Sam turned around to face him. "Like hell. You got me into this. I'm not backing out now."

"I'm not going to watch you kill yourself because of my stup..." Abruptly, the angel broke off, inhaled a deep breath, held it, and let it out before continuing in a more subdued tone. "You did what I asked. You got me the information I needed. I can handle this on my own from here."

"Do you have a name?" Sam asked. It suddenly dawned on him that it hadn't been given. Castiel had always been forthright with his name, and so had every other angel he'd ever met. This one hadn't said, and Sam hadn't cared enough to ask. He wondered why he cared now.

Apparently, so did the angel. "Why do you want to know? So you can curse it?"

Sam sipped his coffee. "Among other things."

The angel glared, which Sam found almost laughable in such a pretty-boy face. "Fine. My name is Barre."

"Bar? What kind of name is that?"

"B...a...double r...e. Barre. First name, Martin."

Until this point Bobby had been observing the exchange in silence, which didn't surprise Sam much. Bobby didn't say anything unless there was something important to say. If Sam wanted to verbally duke it out with an angel of the lord, far be it from Bobby to interfere. At this name, however, he looked up from where he'd been leaning in the kitchen doorway. His eyes narrowed as he studied the angel quite carefully.

"Martin Barre, the lead guitarist for Jethro Tull?"

"Uh…who?"

"That's an alias if I ever heard one," Bobby grunted. He examined the angel carefully. "So the question is," he added softly, "Why does an angel need an alias?"

The angel frowned. "So sasquatch here doesn't try anything. You know there is power in a name, Bobby. Didn't you once help Dean summon Castiel?"

Bobby shrugged. "Point taken," he said quietly, but did not take his eyes off the angel.

"I'm not going to try anything," Sam said sarcastically, "unless it's to send your ass back to Heaven, but I need something to call you."

"Fine, call me Evan. The kid here, that's his name. It's as good as any. But you won't need it. You got me the information I need, so I'll just take it from here." His voice lowered. An afterthought was murmured under his breath. "Cas was right. I shouldn't have dragged you back in."

Sam heard him. "Then why did you?" he demanded. "Is Heaven not content to let me die in peace? Huh? Why did you drag me into this?"

"I needed to find Ruby."

"Bullshit. That's not all it is."

"I don't know, okay? Temporary insanity maybe?"

From behind Sam, Bobby interrupted quietly. "Or maybe you just missed him."

Sam threw a glance back over his shoulder. "What?"

The angel snorted softly. "I...Sam? Sam!"

It was hard, Sam realized, to hide the fact that your knees have suddenly buckled beneath you, especially when you gasp and grab for the nearest solid object. He managed to grab the edge of the counter with one hand, the right. His left hand flailed briefly before his celestial visitor took hold of him, wrapping his arm around Sam's shoulders to take the brunt of his weight. The room was spinning. Sam listed heavily to port. Somehow he made it to a chair.

A vision nailed him, but this was no ordinary vision. It was not filled with portent. It did not reveal anything Sam didn't already know. He'd made an enemy, a dark, powerful enemy who had the ability to influence his followers regardless of his imprisonment, and torment those who dared work against him even from the depths of Hell. It wasn't often, for Lucifer's power had been greatly diminished, but from time to time he liked to remind Sam he was still in the game.

His reminders came in these visions, like Bin Laden video messages, relaying Lucifer's plans for the man who had thwarted his escape. Sam saw, with clinical detail, what would be in store for him after his death. He heard his own screams rising to join those of the other tortured souls in Hell. He felt the agony as inch by inch his skin was peeled from his flesh and every bone in his body was shattered one by one. There was no escape from it. The blissful release found in unconsciousness was unknown in Hell. The pain just went on and on and on and on...

The visions were just visions, but the pain was very real. It forced him out of the chair to lie upon the scuffed and dirty floor of Bobby's kitchen, where he curled into a tight, fetal ball and began screaming. It was bad, this one. He hadn't had one in months. Lucifer had built up a lot of energy, and sent Sam a particularly nasty message.

In the vision Sam looks up at his torturer and sees that the angel's words were true. He recognizes the man standing over him and he feels pain of a different sort. His lips jerk in denial, but it's true - Dean holds the knife, his face twisted in a snarl that renders him almost unrecognizable.

"Dean? No. Please..."

Blood stained fingers grasp him by the jaw, forcing his mouth open. A pair of tongs clamp down on his tongue, wrenching it out from between his teeth. He can no longer speak as his brother leans in to stare him in the face.

"I've wanted to shut you up for a very long time." Dean laughs. His eyes go black as the knife descends. "You won't talk...but you can still scream."

No. The angel said...you aren't here! You're not in Hell...Dean! No...

"Nuuuhno! No. No! NO!"

"SAM!"

He's trapped in the vision. He can't get out of it, no more than he can free himself from the wickedly barbed hooks that hold his body down to the wooden rack. He can hear the angel and Bobby calling his name but he can't react. He's in Hell. They don't understand. He can't make them understand. His mouth is full of blood….

And then, suddenly, his senses are overwhelmed with a flash of brilliant white light. It forces his torturer to back away, to flee into the darkness. Sam's sight blurs as his eyes begin to water. He feels a hand descend to rest upon his shoulder. The touch burns. He arcs his body away from it, but it is unrelenting. A new torturer has come.

Sam blinks his vision clear and realizes this is no torturer. Within the light stands the figure of a man, but a man with outstretched wings, and eyes ablaze with light. The hand is gone from Sam's shoulder but has not left him entirely. It is held out to toward him with much urgency, urgency reflected in the painfully familiar voice. Sam looks up into the angel's face. The twisted countenance of his torturer is gone, replaced by a sad, gentle expression Sam knows by heart. He's seen it many times before throughout his life, from childhood to adulthood, whenever he was hurting the most.

"Come on, Sammy. Take my hand. Everything will be all right now."

With a gasp, Sam emerged from within his own mind, the vision shattered. He lay shivering on the floor, gasping for breath like a fish out of water. It took some effort for him to uncurl himself and sit up. Hands grasped his arms, and with their assistance he sat down in a chair at the table and sat there shivering, eyes downcast, still struggling to recover from what he'd been through.

He barely comprehended the sound of Bobby's voice as the old hunter addressed Sam's new BFF. Under different circumstances Sam might have found it funny to hear Bobby ordering an angel around like he had once done to Sam and Dean themselves.

"We need to talk. In private. Right now."