Summary: Set seven years after "Mercy", Sam is now a promising new lawyer fresh out of law school and ready to tackle the scum of New York City. He has a bright future ahead of him, one that includes a beautiful fiancé and a large paycheck, but after he gains powerful enemies it seems that only a shadow from his past will be able to save him.

Timeline: Alternate reality: the year is 2008, Sam is 25, Dean is 29, and they're not brothers

Rating: M

Warnings: Foul language, graphic violence, adult themes, substance abuse, and sexual content. Contains SLASH. Once again, messed up things happen in this story, so if you're sensitive then please think twice before reading it.

A/N: This is the sequel to "Mercy". I suggest you read that before reading this, although it's not required.

MALICE

Chapter I

/

"Did you let go of the demons on your back?"

- Cry Wolf, Mt. Wolf

/

"You touch me and I will chop your fucking balls off, you got it?" I glared at the guy to prove that I wasn't lying. His slimy smile faltered for a moment before it disappeared entirely, his expression transforming from cocky glee into pissed-off embarrassment. He withdrew his hand, which I knew had been heading for my ass, and hunched over the table as his buddies laughed loudly, teasing him. I would have smirked at my victory if I had not repeated this act a thousand times before. Years ago I had welcomed men hitting on me, but now it was just a pain in my neck. I didn't even crack a joke before taking their next order of drinks, pissed-off as I was.

"Fucking college kids," I muttered under my breath as I shoved and elbowed my way through the crowd, trying to forge a path back to the bar. I didn't have to keep my voice low, however, for I could have shouted it and no one would have been able to hear me. Harvelle's Roadhouse was packed tonight, the Friday of the last week of classes, and the mixture of voices all simultaneously talking was louder than the music blaring from the speakers. That pissed me off too, because I liked the song that was playing.

"You okay?" Ellen shouted to me as I struggled to slip behind the bar. I needed a small break; a respite from the chaos.

I nodded even though I wasn't sure of my answer, giving her the order before leaning against a shelf of booze. I watched as she mixed an assortment of drinks. Her hands were quick and nimble, handling the bottles, glasses, and mixer like they were extensions of her appendages. She had told me once that she had been a bartender in college, before she had become a police officer, and she had since proven it. Over and over again. I had no clue how she did it, especially on a busy night like this, when impatient pricks were shoving bills in her face at every turn.

I sighed and crossed my arms over my chest, wondering if this was the same thing Sam was doing in Stanford; if he was one of those impatient pricks. To be honest, I couldn't picture him in this kind of setting, hitting on girls and consuming alcohol at unhealthy rates. But then again, I was picturing the Sam I had last seen seven years ago; the one who had hugged me and smiled before boarding a train to California, his hair too long and his eyes too sad. I'd seen him in pictures since then, on that Facebook thing, or whatever it was called. I had even talked to him over the phone a few times, but he'd never returned to New York after he had left. I had entertained the idea of going to Stanford to visit him myself, but I always ended up chickening out, making excuses. Besides, Ellen was way too overprotective these days to let me travel that far without some sort of chaperone.

"Jo, you listening?" I snapped out of my thoughts and refocused on Ellen, who was calling over her shoulder at the bar. She gave me a questioning look and then I was back in server mode, taking the tray of drinks she had prepared and holding it above my head as I embarked on the tedious journey back to the table of rowdy boys. Fortunately, Mr. Hands On was quiet this time, and aside from a few drinks being spilled on me, the remainder of the night went without incident.

By closing time I could tell that Ellen was exhausted. It was hard to imagine she could still keep up with the late nights, six years after the two of us had opened Harvelle's Roadhouse. I could still remember visiting the place when it had been "Larry's Bar", before Ellen had transformed it into a popular spot for college kids.

I recalled the moment when Ellen had proposed we open the Roadhouse. It had taken me by surprise, but only until she had explained her reasoning. Her late husband had always wanted to open a restaurant when the two retired. Ellen couldn't cook, but she could definitely bartend, so a bar it had been. But six years later and I could tell the late nights were finally getting to her.

The space was silent now, aside from the clinking of glasses as me and Ellen cleared the tables. Usually we'd spend these moments chatting about the drunken idiots we had the pleasure of meeting that night, but not this time. I was wiping down a table when I stole a glance at the woman, wondering if she remembered what day it was. I scolded myself soon afterwards for having any doubt. The slouch in her shoulders told me everything.

"You can go home, Ellen. I'll finish up here," I said as I flipped a chair and set it on one of the tables.

She gave me a look. "I'm not that old, Jo. I can still make it through the night if I have to."

I smiled to myself. "No one's asking you to do that. And I'm not saying you're old either. It was busy tonight, and I know what day it is."

I didn't want to bring up the anniversary, but I knew it was the only way to get her to leave. Otherwise she would make up an endless array of excuses to stay and work. She'd end up rearranging the boxes of bottles in the backroom until the sun came up, all to help keep her mind off of what she would have to face today.

Ellen sighed as she threw the rag she had been clutching onto the polished bar top. "You're right," she agreed. "I should try to get some sleep."

Although we both knew she wouldn't be getting any sleep today, I sighed inwardly with relief. There was nothing I could do to help her through the anniversary of her husband's death, but I did prefer she spend it safe in the two-room apartment we shared instead of wasting one more minute in this empty place.

She kissed me goodbye on the cheek before she made her way out and into the chilly night. Our apartment building was just a block over, and although the path was down an alleyway, I wasn't worried. Ellen had been discharged as a cop years ago, but her hand-to-hand combat skills were still impressive. I had witnessed them firsthand on a few occasions. Just recently she had stopped a pissed-off biker who had made the mistake of trying to push her out of the way during a bar fight. She had even insisted I take self-defence classes myself, though I often skipped without her knowing. The bar kept her so busy it was a rare occurrence when she actually drove me to the classes herself.

I managed to lock up the bar an hour after closing, having mopped the floors and taken inventory. I shivered when I exited through the side door that led into the alley. It was still cold out these days, despite the approach of summer, but the bite in the air didn't stop me from enjoying the feeling of another hard-day's work complete. Being a bartender wasn't the most ideal of occupations, but it sure as hell beat my last profession. Serving alcohol was always better than serving myself.

I locked the door behind me and stuffed the keychain back in the pocket of my jean jacket. As I began my short walk home, my flat shoes scuffing against the pavement, I took solace in the fact that tomorrow would be a cakewalk next to what I had gone through tonight. Ash would be filling in for Ellen and-

A hand suddenly gripped my arm, yanking me backwards and causing my legs to shuffle quickly in order to keep my balance. The momentum swung me around, and another hand gripped my upper arm as I came face to face with a man darkened by the dim lighting in the alleyway. He was pushing me back, and in my panic I tried to recall how to react in a situation like this. I was suddenly regretting not having gone to more of my self-defence classes.

"Get off of me, you asshole!" I shouted. At least, I tried to, but before I could get a word out the guy shoved me against the alley wall and the air was pushed out of my lungs in a forced exhale. I felt a hand cover my mouth as my head was shoved back. I recovered my breath quickly, but as I tried to make noise, any noise, all that managed to come out was a muffled scream of outrage.

It quickly donned on me that even if I could scream loudly into the night, no one would be coming to save me. I was on my own. The realization wasn't much of a surprise; more of a thought I had forgotten and was simply recalling now. I used to always know that, before Ellen, when there had been no one else but myself to rely on. That's how it had always been, but lately I had forgotten. This asshole, who probably thought I would break down into a weeping mess, was simply reminding me.

I felt anger surge inside of me, replacing the fear, and I immediately attempted to draw my leg up and knee my attacker in the groin. I thanked my muscle memory for having at least remembered that piece of advice from my self-defence instructor, but the man was already too close to me. I couldn't move my limbs freely, except for my right arm which I was ineffectively beating against his side as I tried to shake my head free of his foul-smelling fingers.

"Little bitch," I heard him growl, his breath wafting into my face like a dense cloud of evaporated liquor. "Think you can insult anyone you like? I'll teach you to fuck with me." He laughed, though it sounded more like a sneer. "Or maybe I'll just teach you to fuck me."

My arm was quickly getting tired, so I switched my tactic, reaching up to his face and trying to poke at his eyes. My reach was not long enough, my attempt only managing to annoy him. He released the pressure on my mouth and as I instinctively raised my head he slammed it back again, pain blooming from the back of my skull as lights flashed before me.

In my daze I didn't struggle as he turned me around and pushed me against the brick wall, the rough material scratching the bare skin of my face. He held me by the neck with one hand, the other reaching down for the zipper of my jeans.

"You're gonna enjoy me, baby," he whispered into my ear.

"Fuck you!" I screamed as I gathered enough of my wits. I threw an elbow back blindly, feeling it connect, and suddenly he was releasing me. I spun around and saw him backing away, his hands clutching his face as he yelled in pain. When he looked up at me the lower part of his face was dark with blood.

Good. I had broken his nose.

I didn't have much time to celebrate, however, because I realized now was my chance to run. I raced down the alley towards my apartment, my bedroom window visible a few stories up. I didn't get very far before I felt his hands on me again. He grabbed my hair this time, and before I could stop myself, my feet flew from beneath me and my back hit the pavement with a loud slap. The impact stole the breath from my lungs for a second time, and coupled with the blow to my head, I knew I wasn't going to be getting up anytime soon.

I told my body to move but it disobeyed. It was taking a timeout, my lungs burning as I tried to suck in air again, coughing on the short, rapid intakes. I rolled onto my side, expecting the man to try to straddle me, but after a time I realized he was no longer attacking me.

My breathing had slowed, my body shaking less now, and I finally managed to sit up and face the man. He was standing a few feet away, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. I wondered why he had stopped. Maybe he had just wanted to scare me.

Well, the motherfucker had succeeded.

But then I noticed the other man slumped at his feet, and as I returned my gaze to the face of the one standing, I realized he was not my assaulter. I suddenly recognized him, even through the veil of darkness. I crinkled my brow, narrowing my eyes as if that would clear them of their blurriness. "You…" I slurred. "You're supposed to be dead."

"Go home and call the police, Jo," the shadow said in a gruff tone. I could hear my heartbeat clearly, pain bursting through my head with each pulse, as I watched him walk back down the alley towards the bar. I briefly wondered if I should chase after him, but then he disappeared, blending into the shadows. When he was gone I found myself unsure if I had seen him at all.

There was a groan and I returned my attention to my attacker. I picked myself up off the pavement, teetering only slightly, and then walked slowly towards the douchebag. I gave him a good, hard kick, recognizing him as the idiot from the bar who had tried to grab my ass. I kicked him another few times, hoping to give him something else to complain about in the morning other than a hangover.

"You're lucky I'm not gonna call the cops on you, asshole," I said to the sniffling man.

But I knew that I had been the lucky one tonight. Or was that man's return more like a bad omen? I couldn't be sure. All I was certain of was that I had probably hit my head harder than I thought I had.

He's not real, Jo, I told myself. You didn't see him.

But as I made my way home I had the horrible feeling that my eyes hadn't lied to me. I had seen a monster in the dark.