Diffidence in Apology
O'MalleytheAlleyCat
Sam never tired of old buildings. Catholic sentiment in architecture made the floor to ceiling stained glass windows, the elaborate branching transepts which held art or shrines, the gothic arches and those vaulted ceilings which never failed to bate his breath. He reveled in the overwhelming grandeur, to feel small and unnecessary yet wanted.
Sam's eyes fell away from the breathtaking eighteenth century architecture and looked with a smile at the curate making his way down the aisle. Standing, Sam approached the man, a shriveled tiny man with wispy white hair tucked under a zucchetto and body folded up in his cassock.
"How can I help you son?" He smiled benevolently, a sparkle of mischief in his clear blue eyes.
Sam smiled down at him, "just a few questions Father, and a few minutes of peace."
"Peace is difficult to find," the Father replied.
Sam gave a nod, mind wandering to the current chaos that broiled between him and his brother.
Sam followed the elderly man past the pews and into the entryway of the church. They came to stand right up to the threshold, looking out on the street and the clear blue sky of Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
"It's going to be a hot one, isn't it?" The Father said with a little hiccup of joy.
"I suppose it is," Sam agreed, staring out to admire the day.
"Now, what are these questions you have?" He said, turning to look up at Sam.
"I'm doing a research paper, on the Spanish occupation of Baton Rouge, I was looking at a particular figure, Isabella Garza, one of the Spanish parvenu who came here to settle, she came with her husband and brother. I was researching what I could on her, and I read that she was a benefactor and humanitarian with St. Andrew's."
"Oh my," the man said with a chuckle, "that's quite a mouthful young man, I'm afraid you won't find me very helpful, but I could definitely see if the Parish has anything, I can't see why they wouldn't. St. Andrew's was just opened up recently because of the city legislation to renovate and preserve historical buildings. I'm sure that in that spirit they would have plenty of records."
"I would appreciate that very much, Father-"
"Thomas, though that's more of an appellation than anything, a funny sort of mix up with assignments and I can't seem to get rid of the name. The actual Father Thomas ended up in Pennsylvania. I'm Father Welch."
"Well thank you very much, Father Thomas," Sam said with a laugh, "here's my number and email, call me or send an email whenever you get a hold of those records. It would really help me out."
"Of course, and take care of yourself young man, peace be with you," Father Thomas said.
Sam waved, stepping out of the building and into the sunlight. It was hot, the fresh morning being replaced by a mugginess that had his hair immediately curling up and sticking out.
The Impala was sitting there, Dean in the front seat and Sam felt a hand claw at his heart. Dean made things hard, just had to make things impossible. Sam bit his lip, already feeling agitated even though he wasn't even in the car yet and Dean hadn't seen him. With a few steps, made few by his long legs eating up pavement, Sam had his hand on the door handle. Slipping into the Impala was a natural action, bittersweet in this moment.
"What'd you find?" Dean said, voice gruff, he'd been dozing.
Sam let out a puff of breath, trying to pull himself together. He could almost feel his brother stiffen next to him.
"Umm, not much, I got a hit on the EMF, had to figure out a way to break the audio on the damn thing, but we're definitely dealing with a ghost. I talked to the priest about our number one lead, Isabella Garza, he didn't have anything on her but he said he might be able to get us some more information."
"So, uh, we got what? One death, three accidents and cold spots all in the church. Why Isabella again?"
Sam felt frustration rise in him. Dean had been lacking in his hunting game, seemingly bent on making Sam's job harder and being mad at him for having emotions. It was so much more complicated than that, but feeling like smacking his brother in the back of the head was an age old desire, born of a seven year old's ire when his cereal box prize was nicked by a big brother. Anger was so much easier to settle in compared to the many other things Sam was experiencing.
"Only gruesome-ish death attached to the church. It was built in 1783 as part of Catholic initiative from Spain, Isabella was very religious and had a husband with money so she was heavily involved in its construction. Isabella died in 1789 of illness. An accident caused a structural part of the church to collapse in 1806, the church was closed but because of the property holder, it got passed around and no one thought to do anything with the land. Then a couple years ago the city decided to include it in their restoration project. It gets opened up and six months later we've got ghost activity on our hands."
"Okay, so a crap ton of history but nothing violent and bloody, maybe some idiot kid crawled on site and died doing something stupid? Illness doesn't really seem to fit the bill."
Sam shrugged, glancing out the window as they drove back towards the motel.
"Well, I mean, it's the only death I can see that would have any connection to the church. No accidental deaths whatsoever, nothing hidden because the restoration was pretty in depth, they probably would've stirred up some bones during that if there were any."
"So we got zip?" Dean asked.
Sam shrugged, "enough to at least pursue it. The EMF is the clincher, we should stick around and see if it's an easy salt-n-burn."
Dean said nothing and Sam felt the silence swallow them up and spit them out. Sam wasn't ready to extend an olive branch, he still had nightmares of Kevin's burnt out eyes, the smell wafting up to him even in memory; burning flesh.
"Drop me off at the corner?" Sam asked, his tone indicating that it wasn't a request.
Dean's haggard face tightened and sank in on itself all at the same time. He didn't respond, but the Impala came to a careful stop. Sam climbed out.
"I'll make my own way back, gonna do a few things, don't wait up," Sam said flippantly, turning away knowing that he was hurting his brother by his subversive execration.
The Impala pulled away and Sam pretended like it didn't hurt him as well.
Sam was surprised to find an email from Marian Loker, in lieu of Father Thomas who apparently wasn't a fan of the fancy electronics of this century, and with it a several hundred megabyte file of pdfs. Apparently Isabella Garza's history had been well kept. Sam stayed in the local coffee shop till it closed at five in the evening and moved to a Starbucks. When that closed at eight thirty Sam thought about heading back to the motel. It would be about a half-hour walk, plenty of time to piece together the vast amount of information he'd just gone through. Sometimes hunts were obvious, they could find all the information, but seeing one small bit of information as the key to solving their problem was a little more difficult.
Sam made it back to the motel a little after nine. Turning the key in the door, he ignored the couple having sex against the wall about thirty yards away and pretended like he was back at the bunker.
The lights were off, the bags sat in the corner, a couple bottles of empty Smirnoff were sitting on the nightstand between the beds. Dean was completely clothed and passed out on top of the comforter. Sam set his laptop bag on his own bed and looked at his brother. Dean hadn't shaved and his face was sallow from lack of sleep, his breathing was congested from the alcohol.
Sam didn't want this, believe it or not, he didn't want his brother to suffer. He just wanted things to change, for Dean to understand. Or maybe, well, it was complicated and Sam knew that there was a lot more than that.
Carefully he pulled his brother's boots off, pulled the sheets down and went so far as to get his brother out of his jacket. With a practiced air Sam tucked Dean in. He always did it just right, it came from watching his brother do it so many times. In a nostalgic impulse, Sam brushed a kiss against Dean's greasy hair. Then with a sigh, he let his eyes drop and moved to the bathroom to take a shower.
"So, Isabella Garza was some crazy religious lady and spent all her time volunteering?"
Sam gave a nod, a small spike of amusement scampering through him at seeing his brother hungover; it was almost like when - well, when things had been different. Sam let out a cough and ducked his head to the papers he'd printed out this morning at the library.
He took a sip of his coffee while Dean dug into some hash-browns.
"Yeah, she died from cholera," Sam replied.
"Nothing fishy?" Dean asked.
Sam shook his head.
"I sent the Father a text so we could meet up with him today," as Sam said this his phone rang.
Sam, who had always taken his calls in front of Dean, stood up and walked away.
When he came back he had a frown on his face.
"There was another death."
The police tape around the church was off putting but morbidly familiar. Dean and Sam ducked under the tape, fake badges in hand. They entered the church and honed in on the group of people standing around the body.
It was a middle aged woman, her neck and back broken. Luckily there wasn't much blood.
"Sam?"
Sam turned around to face Father Thomas. The man looked troubled and now that he was seeing Sam wielding a badge, confused.
"I thought you were a student?" He asked.
Sam shrugged, "it's a nightly endeavor. I'm hoping to move onto another profession."
Dean shifted at the implication of the sentence.
"Of course," Father Thomas said.
Sam looked closely at the Father, noting the man's nervous appearance, the man was unsettled by more than just the woman's death.
"Did you see something Father Thomas?"
The Father met his gaze, wary, but eventually he gave a little nod.
"I'm afraid it would seem fanatical to those who do not believe in other forces than those we see," Father Thomas said.
"You'd be surprised by who are believers," Sam said with a smile.
"Alright, well, it might sound ludicrous, but Ms. Whitgard, she had just came in and was paying her genuflection when the church became very cold, I was near her. There was a voice, a man's voice, I couldn't understand exactly everything it said, but the words 'defiler' and 'trespasser' stood out, a visage appeared and attacked Ms. Whitgard, slamming her against the pew with a great amount of force, then-then it disappeared," at finishing Father Thomas was shaky.
"Thank you Father Thomas, that really helps us out," Dean thanked him.
They turned away and Father Thomas gripped Sam's forearm.
"He was so angry, but there was more, I could feel so much guilt," the Father said intensely.
Sam gave a nod and the brother's headed out of the church.
"What do you think?" Sam asked.
"I think we're gonna be coming back tonight," Dean replied.
Back at the motel, the two set into studying the documents sent to them by the Father. Hopefully they could figure out who the ghost was and what it wanted. They knew it wasn't Isabella anymore, the ghost was a man not a woman. But this is what they had to rely on.
The silence was stiff and unpleasant in the room, trammeling their ability to really focus.
"Hey, what's a physic?" Dean asked randomly.
Sam looked up, mind racking itself for an answer. When one wasn't forthcoming he asked a question instead.
"Why?"
Dean shrugged, "just wondering. Apparently when Isabella was sick that was what was prescribed her."
Sam frowned, something about that just seemed wrong.
"Physic?" He said.
Dean gave a nod.
"That's a laxative, or at least an old fashioned term for a laxative. What was her illness again?"
"Cause of death is cholera," Dean replied.
"Cholera induces vomiting and diarrhea."
Dean's brows raised.
"Didn't they do all sorts of weird shit back then to get people healthy, stuff that made them worse?" Dean asked.
Sam shook his head, "no, they would've known a laxative would make the condition worse."
"Sounds like foul play."
"But Isabella's not our ghost," Sam said.
It was quiet again, but the silence was less oppressive as the brothers applied themselves to the breakthrough. They had several hours still before they were going to head out to the church.
"Get this, her brother Alejandro Matega moved with her, he was a clerk over the ordnances of the Spanish fleet, handled the shipments and intake and stuff. His brother-in-law was the one who ran the whole thing though and when Isabella used the funds to help build the church and do humanitarian work it impacted his paycheck," Sam pulled up the pdf with the old "pay stubs" of Alejandro and his salary did indeed receive a significant drop the same year the church started construction.
"Check this out, Alejandro was the one who oversaw his sister's health issues, something he'd been doing since she was a kid," Dean said, showing Sam the printed proof.
They exchanged looks, the thrill of discovery that they experienced during a hunt temporarily washing away the bad feelings between them.
"But Isabella's not the ghost," Sam reminded him.
"Yeah, maybe it isn't her, maybe Alejandro felt guilty," Dean spitballed.
Sam gave a nod.
"Okay, so where are Alejandro's bones?"
Neither had an answer and they turned back to the beautiful archive that had been kept of the family. Minutes later Dean had a paper in hand that was Alejandro's death certificate.
"Buried in Granada, Spain."
They both shared a look of disappointment.
"Maybe it's some kind of object?" Dean suggested.
Sam gave a nod, eyes going back to the papers. They spent the next few hours searching, but nothing came up. Finally, it was dark enough and they headed to the church. Seeing what the ghost was like might give them a better idea of what they were working with.
When the brothers arrived, they pulled out the usual iron tyres and shotguns. Headed towards the church they were surprised to find that they didn't have to break in, the doors were unlocked and a few candles lit. Father Thomas was seated at one of the pews praying. The two exchanged looks, thinking on what they would say or do. The decision was made for them as an unnaturally cold wind swept through the room, putting out the votives.
There was an angry voice and a figure appeared dressed in attire fitting the time period that Isabella and Alejandro had lived.
"Father Thomas!" Sam cried out in warning as the ghost went after the old man.
Dean fired and sound exploded in the church, reverberating around the space. The ghost vanished and a pale faced Father Thomas looked at them in shock.
"Are you alright?" Sam asked, looking with concern at the elderly man.
The man nodded.
"Who was that?" He asked.
"A ghost," Dean replied harshly, taking point while Sam shepherded the old priest.
"A ghost?" Father Thomas said with some surprise.
"Yeah, you'd be surprised," Sam said.
The priest gave a little nod, chuckling at the repeated words.
"We're gonna get you out of here," Sam promised.
The promise was delayed as they reached the arching double doors of the church and they slammed shut. Dean tried to open them, but they wouldn't budge.
"Look, Father, do you know anything about the items you keep here? Anything old? Anything Isabella might have owned?" Sam asked desperately.
The Father shook his head, thinking. Wind whipped around them and the ghost re-appeared, lunging at the priest. Dean swung the iron tyre and it vanished.
"No, most everything that they owned was requisitioned to the museum a while ago," the Father said, the stress of the situation causing him to shake and fumble.
The ghost appeared to left of them and tossed Dean flying. Sam cried out his brother's name as he watched Dean sail across the room and crack his head loudly against the solid wood of the pew.
"Please, anything Father," Sam cried, swinging his own iron tyre at the ghost and dispelling it.
"Umm-one, just a few, Isabella left some of her items of worship specifically to the church, wanting them to be used for God and God only," the Father explained.
Sam went to ask what it was but he was tossed to the side, slamming against the doors. He slipped to the ground, head spinning. He realized with a dull mind that Dean hadn't gotten up yet.
Racing toward the Father, Sam grabbed his brother's sawed off and fired it.
"What were those items, Father?" Sam asked.
"T-they were a bible, some iron candelabra and a rosary her brother had gifted her," Father Thomas explained.
"Where is the rosary?" Sam asked, his best guess that that was what Alejandro was hanging onto.
"They're kept on display in the left transept."
"Thank you Father," Sam said.
It was short lived as a thin pole came hurtling at them, it skewered Sam, bursting through his abdomen. Sam was pinned against the wall. Grasping at the wood pole, Sam gasped past the shock surging through him. It didn't hurt, yet.
He watched with a detached view as the ghost broke the Father's neck. The ghost then turned to Sam. Sam didn't even try, fingers still trying to steady the pole, hands shaking and legs feeling like they were going to give out underneath him. As the ghost approached, Sam closed his eyes, expecting his end to come.
The concussive sound of a shotgun and the barely painful flecking of scattered rock salt that managed to catch him had him opening his eyes.
Dean was standing there, well more of swaying there, whole body trembling as he tried to stay on his feet. The knock to the head had been bad. Sam could tell from here. Dean came stumbling over and Sam could see one pupil blown wide and the other normal. A very bad knock to the head.
"Dean-Dean," Sam gasped out.
"Sammy," Dean was slurring his words and he looked frighteningly confused.
"Rosary, rosary in the case, to the left," Sam weakly pointed towards it.
Dean obviously didn't grasp what Sam was saying.
"The ghost, rosary, gotta burn it," Sam felt the pain hitting now and it was not good.
Dean stared at him, trying to make his broken head work. Sam watched in horrified anxiety as the ghost appeared. Dean stumbled toward where the rosary was. Sam watched the ghost stalk his brother slowly, malevolence swirling around it like a miasma. Sam gulped heavily, struggling to keep his breaths even while feeling like screaming.
Dean was nearly there when the ghost threw him.
Sam screamed his brother's name, the scream being drawn out in pain as the effort disturbed his wound.
Sam watched with incredulity as his brother rose, the undeterred redoubtable man stubborn enough to face anything. By dint of sheer will-power, Dean made it to the side part and disappeared from Sam's view.
The ghost flashed into view in front of Sam, and Sam had to wonder if despite all Dean's efforts his brother would finally fail in his perpetual goal to save Sam. Just as Alejandro's ghost was on him, he burst into flame and disappeared with an unholy screech.
The church fell silent, Father Thomas' body crumpled on the floor nearby and Dean gone from his view.
"Dean!" Sam shouted, wincing as even that pulled too much, hurt too much.
But not knowing, not seeing, that hurt so much more.
"Dean!' Sam screamed again, voice breaking.
It was still quiet. Sam felt tears on his face, where was Dean?
Then, as his brother had always seemed to do, Dean stumbled around the corner and headed towards Sam. It was painful to watch, long bowed legs coltish and weak. If Dean fell again and hit his head again, whatever damage that had been done could be made worse. But Dean came, getting next to Sam on the wall and sliding to his ass.
Sam looked down, head tilted as far as he could make it tilt.
"Sammy," Dean said, peering up at Sam with glazed green eyes.
"No light, na' f'me," Dean shook his head slightly.
Sam blinked, realizing how thirsty he was, how chapped his lips were. Smacking his lips together Sam rallied his voice.
"Dean," was all he managed.
"No light S'mmy, na' without you, and you," Dean's mouth moved ponderously, words lost for a moment, "y're gone."
There was a hopeless huff of breath and Dean started to close his eyes.
"No, no," Sam cried, "no Dean, I'm right here, I'm just mad, I-I don't, not without you!"
Dean didn't reply and his eyes stayed closed.
"Open your goddamn eyes, Dean Winchester!" Sam yelled.
Dean's eyes flickered open and there was a trace amount of acerbic amusement and the petulance Sam remembered from childhood.
"There's light, we just gotta, we can get past it, just don't leave me," Sam was crying now, desperate to keep his brother with him, the brother who was so ready to let go but would hold on for Sam, would fight anything for Sam.
"It just hurts sometimes Dean, and you gotta let me hurt, but don't leave me," Sam said.
A smile creased up Dean's lips and he shook his head, eyes falling shut. Nothing Sam screamed woke him up.
It was a miracle, in fact it seemed that most everything that followed was a miracle. Sam's cell was still in his back pocket and it had actually been quite easy to get it out and phone emergency services. They'd been brought to the hospital, and Sam thanked the late Father Thomas for telling the police that it had been a man who had attacked Ms. Whitgard the day before because Sam, Dean and the Father became victims of a gang related attack.
Sam's own wound was actually an easy fix. He hadn't bled much and nothing important had been damaged.
Dean on the other hand had experienced severe brain trauma, they kept saying it was a touch and go thing and to not expect anything. Somehow though, Dean's condition stayed favorable and soon enough, after so many days in a medically induced coma was brought out with no lasting damage.
Sam was seated at his bedside currently, sitting gingerly so as to not exacerbate his injury. Dean was on his way to waking up, something Sam was able to recognize. The past week or so had been exhausting and everything finally felt like it was being shed away.
Sam anticipated his brother's eyes opening and had a cup of water ready. Dean drank greedily, blinking back the sleep from his eyes.
"How long?" Dean's voice was terrible.
"Over a week, I kinda lost track," Sam replied.
Dean gave a nod and let his eyes close shut, exhaling deeply.
"They-umm- had to cut your head open, do a bunch of stuff, it wasn't looking so great there for a while," Sam said quietly.
Dean didn't reply, but his eyes opened and he eyed Sam warily. Sam regretted that, wished that they didn't have to fear the other, wished that everything between them could be propitiated. It wasn't that easy though.
"But I wasn't about to let you go," Sam said, looking his brother square in the eyes and hoping he got his message across.
Dean's eyes flickered through several emotions, but they landed on relief and vulnerability. Sam patted his brother's forearm and opened the book he'd been working on.
"Thanks, Sammy," Dean said quietly.
It seemed like everything was still there, the childhood memories still holding them together like glue, it just took a little to dig them back up.
"Get some sleep," Sam prompted.
And Dean did.