Chronicles of Absolution: Dark Secrets

Chapter 1

Then

… Sam made a grim line with his mouth. Something was up with Dean. "Dean I want to talk."

"Now you want to talk?" Dean looked up from his packing. "Why bother Sam? Seems you prefer to talk to her more than your brother…"

… Not sure. Town's full of mild mannered people until one suddenly goes postal. Attacks have been random. The latest was an old lady, the owner of the local market. Police aren't releasing too many details…

… The whispers calmed down enough. Ramos knew he had gained favor with Lenya since she loved direct approaches on specific targets. He smiled as he listened and then replied, "Perhaps the hell bitch might be able to get us close enough for the direct approach. You would need to be here to coordinate those efforts…"

… the customer who was a young man with rather messy light brown hair and hazel green eyes that appeared to have a bored expression but they had a twinge of alertness. He had a backpack slung over his shoulder and was dressed in jeans, t-shirt and a jacket complete with workman's boots…

… "No," Dean admitted staring straight ahead. "Thanks and you are right. I am worried. Yellow Eyes has some big plan and Sam is a part of it. I… don't know what to do…"

… "Little things bother me Sam. Angie bothers me and you bother me. Damn this whole stinking job with Yellow Eyes bothers me!"

Sam tried not to react to the accusation that Dean found him annoying. They both got on each other's nerves at times and right now he had to focus on getting Dean calm. "Calm down Dean. Yeah there are things that would piss anybody off but do you have to get into a fight over it?"

… Ramos listened grinning. This was going to be good. It was partially mingled in jealousy. He replied, "Sounds like you're wondering if she'll take your place in your brother's life." This was going to be a profitable night…

… "I once said that when people find out things about me, I am either still a fellow hunter or become the hunted…"

… She started towards the coffeemaker when something hard hit her across the back of her head. She fell forward and hit the ground seeing nothing but darkness…

Now

A wind blew through creating a chill that went straight through to the bones. It traveled down deep into the bones creating a film of ice that spoke of darkness arriving. It has been said by the old ones, the followers of the old way, that to feel the chill deep in the bones meant that death would be coming and usually to someone close. Perhaps it would be a welcome thing in some cases but that was considered guilt talking or intense pain.

The darkness could be considered a warm blanket. It was comfortable to be in but for the chill that seeped through into the bones. Darkness could not comfort that chill. Slowly the darkness began to fade and light began to filter in. Eyelids heavy with sleep began to open. Senses became aware of a dull throb and a slight burning sensation. Sore muscles made themselves known. Everything came alive as the heavy eyelids slowly opened.

The room was bare. All that could be seen at the moment was a wooden wall and a broken window. The floor was wooden and full of dirt. The room belonged to a time that was long gone. That much was clear. It was hard to see clearly due to the dull throb that was starting to pound through the head. The heavy eyelids started to close again. Darkness was a welcome thing. It would ease the dull throb.

"Such an interesting and pitiful sight you make."

The heavy eyelids started to open again. Angela tried to ignore the dull throb that was permeating her head. She lifted her head slowly to look around for the source of the voice. She felt the familiar sting around her wrists and looked down to find them cuffed to the arms of a chair. Her upper arms were bound tightly and strapped to the back of a chair. Her ankles were tied to the front legs. It was effective, especially the cuffs. She hadn't seen a pair of them in years and wondered who it was that bound her.

The dull throb intensified and she struggled not to unleash the tears that threatened as her vision began to clear. She had been hit hard before and by things that were a lot stronger than a typical human but this hurt worse than a mother fucker. It was as if she had gotten hit in the head with one of those batons that douche Nebi used on her.

Her eyes were open wide now even though she squinted every now and then to focus her eyes. She was able to observe closer what was holding her and her surroundings. A glance at her wrists and she noticed the cuffs. It was child's play to slip them but when she wriggled them, she felt the familiar sting and stopped. Adamantium silver again. That was the only problem since the rest of her body was tied with rope. It was a marvel that something so small could keep someone with strength like hers rooted to that spot.

Slowly lifting her head trying to minimize the headache that was raging, she looked to find herself in a bare room that looked like it was mostly built of wood. In fact it reminded her of the log cabins that she had stayed in when was it? History books would say in the time of the old West and she had certainly been around that long and she had stayed in hunting cabins before when on a hunt. This place though was old and a bit run down. Hell the one window she was facing was cracked and broken so that told her that she was in an abandoned structure. The question was where was that abandoned structure located? It was hard to tell since it was pitch black outside. Angela couldn't even tell if the moon was out or not.

"Definitely pitiful."

Angela lifted her head suddenly and was greeted with a severe headache. It was going to be a meadow walk compared to hell getting over it but it hurt all the same. She tried to get her eyes to focus and find the source of the voice that she was hearing. It was a woman's voice and that she was certain of. With her head ringing in a dull throb it was hard for her to focus on the voice itself and yet there was something familiar about it. She ventured, "I am a pitiful being?"

There was quiet for some time. It was as if whoever it was didn't have any idea how to respond. It was a puzzle and because she couldn't see the whole room. She moved her head to try and listen for any sign of a person. The lack of sound was disturbing. She called out again but this time she managed to make it sound like a taunt. She didn't have the capabilities at the time to deal with repercussions in the use of sarcasm but it seemed like a good idea at the time and she would rather go down fighting than lie down like a dog. "What's the matter? A cat got your tongue? You seemed to be good at giving insults."

The only response was the wind that was whistling through the broken windows. There was a slight creak from a nearby door. It creaked as it opened some. Then she heard it. There was the distinct sound of footsteps. They sounded familiar, like a shadow or a faded memory.

"And so are you. Sarcasm suits you when you choose to use it."

Angela turned her head every which way trying to see behind her. It was clear that the person was standing behind her and making every effort to stay out of her line of sight. She tried to twist but it was hard with the cuffs burning her wrists every time they rubbed. Glancing down, she could already see welts starting to form. The last time she got them, Sam pestered her about it and insisted on at least applying a salve. And that was before the kid begged me to play bodyguard again. She gave a slight smile at the memory and it made her forget the burns for a time. She replied, "I find that it is a useful foil for finding out what I need to know. I like to listen to people who like to talk."

A hand touched the back of her head right where she had been hit. The voice spoke again, "Hmm that's going to leave a nasty welt. I would give you a towel since you are bleeding but your hands are otherwise occupied."

Angela couldn't help but chuckle. It was typical to find humor and it detracted from the pain. It also occurred to her that she was not a typical prisoner. She replied, "Well that can be changed if you release my hands. Then I can be on my merry way and maybe get a glimpse of your ugly mug."

The hand continued to run its fingers, probing the cut caused by the hit. After a spell it removed itself from her head. Angela could hear the wood creaking but she couldn't discern if it was from her movements or that of the owner of the voice. It was clear that she wasn't going to see whoever it was that was taunting her so she might as well take the risk. She shook her arms to see about getting free and found that maybe she could wriggle the arms to the chair loose and free herself that way. She did have a pick hidden in one of her pockets and if she could get free…

Then something hit the back of her head hard. It was right in the same spot as where she had been hit in her room. Angela gritted her teeth when the blow came. She couldn't help but grunt out a cry of pain. It brought to mind that old saying about the dangers of opening up old wounds even though that didn't seem to apply here at the moment. She managed to get out Dean's favorite phrase to use when pissed, "Sonofabitch!"

"Naughty, naughty. Trying to escape."

Angela was past being polite right now. She grunted out in anger, "You would too if you were taken against your will. It's not rocket science." She gripped the arms of the chair and started trying to pull the arms up.

Her reward was another smack to the back of the head. All it did was to increase Angela's anger at being held against her will. She hated that feeling. The voice then said, "Keep trying and you'll just get punished and the real punishment hasn't even begun yet."

That caused Angela to pause in her attempts. Was this person going to torture her? It wasn't the first time she had been at the mercy at someone who had a vendetta against her. Now that she was alert, she could recognize the voice and she nearly froze in shock. It couldn't be… could it? Being strapped to the chair prevented her from seeing what she was hearing. Maybe she could convince the person to allow them to be seen. She replied, "And what is that? An interrogation complete with torture? Rather clichéd don't you think?"

The voice responded. It was familiar but it had a hardened edge to it. It was full of hatred and not like what Angela remembered. She didn't want to believe it. "And yet it is the most effective way to get what cannot be gotten by simply asking. Don't worry though, there will be plenty of it to go around."

"That's a relief. I was afraid I was going to get stuck with just you," Angela replied, her voice thick with sarcasm. She struggled again to see if she could get a response. All she did though was make the already red welts on her wrists redder and wider from all the rubbing. If she kept it up, they could blister and bleed. "So are you the kind that likes to hide or do you face what you are torturing?"

"I think you know who I am so what would be the point?"

"Possibly to savor the moment."

"Or maybe it is to confirm to your eyes what your ears tell you to be true. In your mind you are thinking that such a thing can't be possible. And yet your ears are telling you, that what you hear it possible and that it must be so. A fragile thing the memory is. I wonder how many you have that will make themselves known."

"I don't have to tell you anything."

"You won't have to. Your mind will speak for you. Still there is no harm in showing you what your ears hear." Then there was the sound of footsteps and wood creaking.

Angela straightened up her head and turned it to see who was coming. Then the owner of the voice came into view. Angela felt her eyes open wide as she saw the person. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. She had seen it happen. She was there. There was nothing left but ash. It wasn't possible. Angela felt the air in her lungs constrict as she looked at her companion with a wide eyed expression. She struggled to take deep breaths and watched as the owner of the voice gave a malicious smile, the hatred plain in her eyes. Finally Angela managed to let out one word, "Mary?"

12 Hours Earlier

Sam was waiting to take a shower. It had been a long night searching for the abandoned building and rescuing his brother Dean and that Natalia girl from that store. It was strange that he met a psychic and in the middle of an Indian reservation. Then again he had seen stranger things and that was the nature of the job. To add to the list was the fact that there was such a thing as a demon hierarchy and different types of demons.

Sam glanced at the Orion blade that he had tossed on his bed when he got back to the motel. It looked dull like it had been left out in the elements for too long and nondescript as it nestled against the shotgun he had taken on the hunt. It was a unique weapon and he had used it to kill a demon, the very demon that had been messing around with this town as well as his brother.

Thinking about his brother caused Sam to glance at the bathroom door. He had let his brother have first dibs on the shower mostly to be nice about it since Dean had it rough being manipulated by the demon and Sam could tell he needed the time to cool down since he had been pissed about being a demon's bitch. Dean even mentioned that he felt bad about getting angry over the stupid stuff and asked him if Angela was okay with it. Sam had reassured him that it was okay and thought that maybe Dean was going to be okay.

He certainly was when he came out of the bathroom looking like he was ready to go on a hunt. Sam observed though as he started making it look he had been busy with the weapons. He put the shotgun back in the duffle and in the process hid the Orion blade with the covers. Dean had been too out of it to notice it and Sam thought it would be best to keep pointy things away from Dean, at least the ones that he had some measure of control over. Dean's personal stash was off limits and he didn't want to raise suspicion. "You seem to be in a better mood."

"Hot shower does that Sam. It's not like those showers from that one place with all the bugs. Man I loved those."

Sam gave a slight frown to indicate that Dean was being weird, not that the elder Winchester noticed. "Right. So I guess I'll take mine. You gonna be okay by yourself?"

"Dude I've been taking care of myself since you wore diapers. I'm just going to grab something to eat and I'll be right back," Dean replied as he put on his favorite jacket and checked his pockets to make sure he could make it back into the room. "You want anything? One of your girly salads, Samantha?"

Sam let the comment slide. He replied, "Whatever Dean. Maybe just a coffee." He began to pick through his clothes looking for clean ones. They were going to have to do laundry soon and he could already hear the comments and jokes about personal hygiene from Angela.

"Alright. If Angie comes by make sure she didn't forget the pie."

"She never does."

"Right because you're the one that forgets," Dean replied with a smirk. "You know for a College Boy you sure have a piece of crap memory when it comes to the most important stuff."

Sam gave a slight eye roll as he glanced at his brother. He grinned as he replied, "In your book pie ranks up there as important as the Impala and your music collection."

"The important essentials when on the job," Dean countered.

"And here I was thinking that having salt, iron and silver were the essentials," Sam countered. He smiled at his brother who was trying to come up with a rejoinder for that.

Dean looked at the grin Sam was giving him and replied, "Shut up Sam. At least I don't have stupid girly habits and a desire to starve myself on rabbit food." He picked up the keys to the room and toyed with the idea of driving the Impala. The short walk to that store that sold just about everything was probably the best thing. "Don't forget the bubble bath, princess."

"Bite me jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam watched his brother leave the room thinking that there probably was nothing to worry about. He gathered his things and went into the shower. Turning it on, he realized that the hot water was gone and made a bitch face a nothing in particular. If Dean had been there, it would have been directed at him. He muttered, "Dean…" He could practically see Dean's face grinning.

At least Sam wasn't in the shower to feel the full burst of icy cold water. That would have added to the humiliation and the laughter that would have been sure to follow. He let the water run until the heat started coming in again and took his shower. It was quick since the water decided to be temperamental with him and he was out quicker than he had ever been.

The quiet gave him time to hide the Orion blade near his bed and tidy up. He would probably get ribbed about it later by Dean since keeping things tidy was, for Sam, some semblance of control over things that were largely beyond it. Keeping meticulous order of the gear was a job that had been ingrained by his father. Some may call it being OCD but gear like the guns required attention if they were to continue to function properly and dad was a Marine. He checked the shotgun that he had been using and made sure that it was ready to travel.

Everything was tidy by the time rolled around when to expect Dean back. Sam was on his laptop reading for anything that might be a potential job. Even though he was tired and ready to fall asleep, he was going to wait for Dean to get back. His phone rang and recognizing the caller ID, he answered, "Dean?"

Sam, line's longer than it should be so your decaf double tall latte is going to take a little longer. Just keep your skirt on.

"Yeah whatever Dean," Sam replied as he walked to look out the window to the room. He saw nothing out of place. "So how much longer will you be?"

Give or take about ten minutes. Then don't forget the thrilling walk back to the motel. If I get jumped by coyotes I'm taking it out of your ass.

Sam couldn't help but chuckle. "If anything Dean, the coyotes would be afraid of you and your obsession with mullet rock."

Bitch. Anyway I figured I give you a call since you're worrying worse than a mother hen. I seriously think someone switched bassinets at birth with you.

"Eat me jerk. I'll see you when you get in," Sam replied. He chuckled when he heard Dean's sarcastic reply on the other end and then the hang up tone. He clicked his phone off and put it on the nightstand and went back to surfing the internet. A dull throb started to occur near his temple and he thought that it was his injuries from the night before catching up. Absently he rubbed the sore area with his hand and continued to scroll the pages.

It was about a minute when he felt the need to rub his eyes. After doing so, he thought he saw something on his screen. Blinking he realized that there was nothing unusual about the screen and continued to read but the dull throb became more intense. Thinking that maybe an aspirin would help, Sam got up to search through his duffle for his personal bottle that he kept as a rule since the first vision. He was almost to his bed when a sharp pain coursed through his skull.

Sam squinted his eyes shut in response to the pain and pressed the palm of his hand to his forehead. The response was even more intense. For once he wished that he had a talent like Angela's as he grunted in pain as the images started filtering through his mind. He didn't realize that he had dropped to his knees and was cradling his head in his hands.

It was an abandoned cabin. The room was bare except for the broken window but no landforms could be seen.

Sam managed to crawl to the nightstand and grab his cell phone. It was automatic for him to speed dial Dean's phone. He tried not to panic when he got the voice mail prompt right away. He figured that Dean was talking to someone, probably Bobby or Caleb or someone. Pressing a fist to forehead he dialed the next number. It was agonizing listening to the ring tone.

In the middle of the room was a chair and the back was facing Sam. Someone was sitting in it. Wait, they were tied to the chair with a thick rope. She was struggling against the ropes and pulling at the arms of the chair. Sam couldn't make out who it was at the moment but there was someone else in the room.

Sam breathed a small sigh of relief when the person he wanted answered, "Bobby."

Sam? You all right son?

Sam grunted as he tried to remain coherent. This hurt worse than a motherfucker and he wondered why even though the obvious was the tie to the yellow-eyed demon. He replied, "Bobby, I'm having a vision." He couldn't help but let out a grunt of pain.

Sam? How bad?

Sam let out a yelp of pain and wished Dean was there. Hell anybody, even Angela would be welcome. "It's bad Bobby." He leaned against the bed as he sat on the floor.

The view shifted as Sam could make out red welts all over the wrists of the girl. He had seen that type of injury before and he tried to move forward but he couldn't. The girl was talking to someone but he couldn't make out who it was yet.

Sam pressed the phone tighter to his ear on one side and his fist on the other. "Bobby it's bad. God it hurts!"

He saw her face looking sad and defiant at the same time. She also looked broken and he could see the blood from a cut on her lip. She was looking at someone and he turned to take a look. What he saw had him shocked. He saw his mother but her eyes were full of hatred.

Sam couldn't hear Bobby's voice as he tried to not pass out but the pain was so intense that he could see black spots forming in his vision. "Bobby… tried… to call… help… grr…"

His mother was holding something ready to swing. Sudden the image shifted like a hallucination. Instead of his mother, he saw…

Sam hit the ground with a dull thud. His hand still clutched his phone in a tight grip. It was a wonder it didn't break under the strain. The only sound that could be heard was Bobby's voice calling out.

Sam? Sam!

A/N: Welcome to the newest installment of Chronicles of Absolution. We pick up where we left off and it looks like there will be surprises around every corner. What they are, find out and see...