Summary: Mercedes is saved by a strange man who suddenly pulls her into a world she has already tasted. A world in which she knows little of but somehow knows exists, because she has witnessed what surely should not exist. When she finds her life is threatened, and two men offer to help her, it may turn out that they are the key to free her from a past mistake. Because she knows a guilty conscience grows, and she knows it never stops.

Spoilers: Season 2 spoilers. Be warned.

Disclaimer: I think you all know.

Characters: Mercedes, Dean, and Sam

Rating: M just to be safe.

Author's Note: Well, this is a story I began in the summer and never finished until now. That's right, it's already finished! This should be described as a full out miracle if you've read anything else I've written, for barely any of my stories are finished yet. (But they will be!)

Anyway, this one is a little different from my others. It's written entirely from another character's point of view. Her thoughts and all are included within the words, so there may be some pointless things added for that affect. I have no clue where it came from, and I don't believe it is very good, but I hope you guys enjoy all the same!


A Guilty Conscience Grows

Chapter One

I met the man who would kill me on a dark November night.

His fingernails are digging into my arm and I can smell the distinct stench of liquor upon his foul breath. I wrinkle my nose to ward it off, but it's wafting right into my face. A commercial for breath mints I had watched earlier that day enters my mind but it is quickly chased away by more serious thoughts. There is no way to escape the man before me, and there's certainly no way to escape his bad breath.

He's standing fairly close – close enough that I can see his eyes and discover that they're a muddy brown. I don't know why I notice the colour of his irises, but I tend to perceive odd details when faced with unfamiliar situations. I guess it's my own little way to cope with the foreign emotions that come with them, just as I seem to find humor when things take a turn for the worse.

Speaking of this situation – my situation -, I have no clue as to how I came to be here. One moment I am walking to work, a local bar only a few blocks from my apartment, and now I am in the clutches of a drunken molester. It's kind of funny actually. Hadn't my horoscope of the day warned me to stay away from isolated places? "Be wary of secluded spots" It had cautioned. "Love will not be able to find you when you're hiding."

Okay, so maybe my horoscope isn't exactly related to my circumstances, but maybe if I had listened and obeyed this wouldn't be happening. But horoscopes are completely irrelevant at the moment, for suddenly I am shoved against the brick wall, a gasp escaping my lips as the impact jolts my body.

I watch as a smile splits 'Crap Eyes'' face, his lips a thin red gash against his pale skin. I'm guessing he's in his late thirties, maybe older. He doesn't appear to be very strong, yet I'm not exactly musclewoman of the year. Red splotches cover his cheeks and neck, and I find myself wondering how much alcohol this guy has actually drunk. I hate alcohol at the moment.

His hands and eyes become groping, and I know what is about to come next; what this man wants. But though my mind is still trying to decide what to do about it, instinct is clear in my blood. It's the "fight or flee" impulse, and since running seems utterly impossible at the moment, fighting appears to be my only option.

I hear the grunt of a man who has lost his breath as I somehow manage to draw my knee up and ram it into Crap Eyes' stomach. He doubles over and I push him backwards. His balance – already shaky from the amount of liquor he has consumed – is lost and he effortlessly topples over, still gripping his belly in an exaggerated pain.

Relief floods my body yet fear is still evident in my mind, and, free now from the grasp of the vile rapist, I turn to run. Yet stupidly (forgetting the last instruction taught in self defense class – always look before you flee), I find myself in the clutches of another man. This guy, I'm guessing, is a friend of Crap Eyes, and now he is grinning down at me from the shadows.

In the dim light of the alley I can hardly see his face, but what I do notice is his build. He easily has a few inches on Crap Eyes, towering above me like a gigantic tree. His arms are like thick branches – no, make those trunks. He's enormous, and his grip on my arms is almost bone crushing.

Something is seriously wrong about him – and I don't mean petty drunken wrong. Though I have to crane my neck to look up at his face, his eyes somehow glint in the darkness, and what I see sends a shiver rippling through my body. Where his accomplice was simply looking for a "good time", this guy is searching for his own kind of deranged fun.

I try to scream, to yell for help, but my voice had deserted me from the very moment thick, sticky fear had slicked my throat, which was at about the same time I had felt Crap Eyes' cold hand on my shoulder. Attempting to struggle free, panic really settling in now, I watch in horror as a giant hand consumes my view and I feel my head bash against the brick wall behind me. Pain explodes through my mind as inky black splotches obstruct my view. They remind me of those cards psychiatrists sometimes use, when they ask "What do you see?", and you answer with "a butterfly" or "a rabbit" when really it just looks like a giant blob.

I can hardly see a thing, what with the lack of lighting and the dark spots and the massive shadow in front of me, it's almost impossible to make out anything. But I can still hear and taste and smell and feel, and what I hear and taste and smell and feel I certainly do not like.

Pain is what I feel. And blood. It's dripping down the back of my head, the liquid hot against my scalp as it soaks through my hair. I have heard head wounds tend to bleed a lot even if they're not serious, so I'm not all that worried, but 'Tree Trunk' is still here and obviously he is here to hurt me. This fact allows me to become increasingly aware of my heart hammering in my chest and my pulse thundering through my temples.

I smell blood too. It's mingling in the thick air, along with the stench of sweat and alcohol, and - is that urine? I fear for a moment that I may have wet myself involuntarily, but then I remember I'm in an alley. It's like the city's own porta-potty. Still, it all makes me want to throw up and my stomach is churning away as I fight to control the reflexes of gagging.

I taste copper; a metallic flavour in my mouth as I realize I may have bitten my tongue. I definitely have bitten my tongue, for now I can sense the throbbing and swollenness and I recognize the substance filling my mouth as nothing other than more blood. For some odd reason my thoughts turn to my clothes, specifically my favourite T-shirt that I have on at this very moment. I want to curse as I imagine it stained with red, but for one, I can't even speak, and secondly, there is much worse I should be fearing other than the future damage of a piece of cloth.

Lastly, I become aware of all the sounds surrounding me. There is the distant noise of passing cars, the faint wisp of music, and of course my own breathing. It's loud and shaky, and I kind of feel embarrassed at the way I seem to be hyperventilating, but what else can I do? Tree Trunk has his hand around my neck now, and the black splotches are starting to get larger and darker.

I feel my back pressing into the wall, scraping against the coarse bricks as my feet leave the ground and the man lifts me with one arm. My hands have instinctively gripped his impossibly large one, trying to tear it away from my neck, to give me some room to breathe. The world is fading to nothingness as the alley disappears and all I am left with is darkness; Darkness and an uncanny dread.

I am about to die. My lungs are screaming for air and pain is bursting through my mind like a fourth of July fireworks show. And I really have no clue why this is happening. What does this man want from me? Why does he want me dead? Am I simply a random girl that happened to be caught alone, hurrying down a dark alley near midnight? Why me?

And then I realize why me. Because I deserve it. I deserve to die for everything I didn't do, everything I could have done, and maybe those few things I did do. The mistakes… Maybe this man knows everything, all my deep dark secrets, and now he is giving me what I should surely have expected. It feels kind of fitting now; right to die, to go like this. Never have I been a strong believer in fate, but maybe this is destiny now. Or just karma… Whatever the reason, I let my body go limp and I let the darkness take me.

But what the hell is going on now? I have accepted death. I have let it seize me, but now it is refusing me? This isn't right. Seriously. Of all the things in the world I have always thought of death as something I can rely on. Something I knew was real and solid and concrete. How it has misled me!

But anyway, aside from the betrayal, I am now curious as to why I can suddenly breathe. I have fallen to my knees and am gasping for breath, nursing my bruised neck as I cough and cough and cough, my eyes screwed shut. Everything is pretty much the same. I smell and taste and feel blood, but now I am coughing it up as well, and my thoughts can't help but to dwindle back to my favourite T-shirt which is probably ruined by now.

But something has changed. The sounds. No longer is the alley near silent. I can still hear the blood pounding in my skull, my ragged breaths shuddering from my lips, but now there are new noises. Like the WHACK that sounds like a bag of meat being pummeled, the scuff of shoes on pavement, a cut off grunt, a sickening CRACK, an urgent whisper, and then I am struggling to open my eyes.

As they fly open I am still unable to see, but the splotches are quickly dying away and images are coming into view. The poor lighting within the alleyway makes it difficult to distinguish what is happening before me, but it is obvious two men are in a brawl. Their outlines are fuzzy but clear in the dim glow, and I can see their tense bodies, each ready to attack or defend.

I recognize one of the men as Tree Trunk, his height over his opponent clearly giving him the advantage. The other I first believe to be Crap Eyes, but that makes no sense. Besides, this man is too brawny to be the pervert who is probably still sprawled on the pavement unconscious.

As I stare and try to focus on the two men I notice that Tree Trunk seems to be faltering. There is no doubt in my mind at this point that he can easily crush his challenger - standing at least ten inches taller he is inhumanly large – but I am amazed to see him take a step back. I hear a threatening growl bubble up from his throat but the newcomer stands his ground. And then, amazement still clouding my thoughts, I watch as the man turns and runs down the alley, vanishing into the shadows as if he had never existed.

With astonishment still apparent on my face, I turn my eyes to the remaining figure. The dim glow of a light post from the street surrounds this new man's shape, revealing his trim but muscular profile. I can see his chest heaving up and down repeatedly as I become aware of the sounds of his breathing as well. They're low and gruff as he stares down the alley and into the impenetrable darkness.

And that's when a coughing fit decides to attack my body again. "Are you all right?" I hear a male's voice ask, and I struggle to reply. "Y-yah." I falter, blood still thick in my mouth but the coughing now receding.

The man is immediately by my side. I'm guessing he heard the pain in my voice. It shocked me at first too, but now I am again sensing the sting in the back of my head and my tongue feels like a balloon in my mouth. I worry for a moment that it'll block my air passage – not wanting to relive the experience of suffocating again so soon - but I seem to be all right for the moment.

His hand is pressing gently against the small of my back, his other lightly taking my arm and helping me up. I don't trust my legs at first, but as I find I am able to stand I am also able to relax a bit. The man speaks again. "You need to get to a hospital," he says as he swings around to face me, softly gripping both of my shoulders, making sure I am truly all right.

From the way he is positioned I still cannot see his face. All I can observe is that he is fairly tall (of course not as soaring as Tree Trunk) and his hair is cut short. I can tell he is wearing jeans and a dark coat of some sort, but that's about it.

I try to mentally shake the lingering effects of panic from my body as I hear him say, "There's a hospital a few blocks away from here. I can drive you there." I can do nothing other than comply, letting him guide me to the end of the alleyway. He seems anxious but patient and I can tell that he's still unsure that I'm okay. To tell you the truth, I'm not all that certain either.

But as I walk my head begins to clear and I chance a look behind me. Crap Eyes has disappeared. No longer is the unconscious drunk sprawled across the pavement. And the space remains empty with the other man now gone too. But even with the lack of a giant, sinister figure peering down from above me, I still feel threatened. I can hear my rescuer taking out his cell phone next to me, obviously planning to call the police, and I turn my head away from the darkness. Still, safe in the arms of my savior, dread clings to my heart like black ice.