Disclaimer: I only own Hugh Jackman in my dreams. As for filling or ignoring plot-holes, that would be one of my fortes.

AN: This is a gift for another member of my graduating class who happens to be obsessed with Hugh Jackman. Please, con crit is very welcome. Have fun. Oh, and also, I speak only a handful of Latin words, so if someone who really does know the language wants to fix it, please be my guest.

Let Lie the Ghosts

Part 1

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"For those whose sins you forgive, they are forgiven; those whose sins you maintain, they are maintained." -John 20:22

"From everyone to whom much is given, much will be required." -Luke 12:48

"Him hath God exalted with his right hand to be a Prince and a Savior, for to give repentance to Israel and forgiveness of sins." -Acts 5:31

XXXXXX

Pain. Pain consumed his entire being, those portions of his body that hadn't been strafed by unholy claws burning, writhing beneath the blood that he had shed.

"Mei dieu, ignosce…" The plea took no conscious thought, no effort, coming as automatically as to his lips as the Latin prayer that he had slurred his way through over the bodies of those slain. No true desire for forgiveness consumed his heart, for forgiveness had already been offered him, offered him from a young tongue impaled by his hand.

Steps appeared beneath his searching fingers, and a dim sense of having reached a destination threatened to invade his mind, a sense that he quickly thrust aside. There was not meant to be an end to this mindless quest, this penance for his sins, a penance performed on hands and knees long after his body would have laid down to rest or death.

"Who's there?" The voice that called through the darkness held a faint tremor of fear… and well they should fear. Monsters hunted the night. Monsters and the monster who slew them.

"My God…" Now more than fear filled the man's voice, awe and terror mixing in even portions. Someone was giving an alarm... not a loud one, such as the villages often had, one that brought people to the edge of madness, driven to fight or flee, but a calm, quiet one, where everyone knew their place and purpose. The whispers of men surrounded him, and he could sense what he could not hear, decades of training having sharpened his senses.

He made no move to tell them that their fear and preparations were pointless, that the nearest monsters had been vanquished save the one that crawled up their stairs, and that he would be gone soon, as well, simply continuing on the path that he had been set centuries ago, a path that seemed only to grow harder, longer, the further he traveled. Even if he had wished it, his tongue could not have formed the correct words of comfort.

As quickly as they had come the voices receded, only a single lone whisper, too fast and quiet for him to follow, and the quick patter of two sets of feet upon the stair. He would have ignored it as he ignored the rest, save for the hand that fell upon his shoulder, a hand that brought the pain to a blinding crescendo that dropped him even from his knees, leaving him prostrate before the still-unseen men surrounding him.

Were these to be his judges, then?

"Who are you, son? Who…what… did this to you?"

This new voice was forceful but kind, and yet he found himself unable to answer, his thoughts too jumbled to put into speech, only one word residing on his tongue.

"Ignosce…"

"No… oh, Lord, no…" For those few murmured words the forcefulness and control abandoned the voice.

The same hands took a firm hold of both shoulders, and he couldn't help but whimper slightly at the fire that ran through his body. Eyes that had been closed for what seemed hours found the strength to crack open, to sharpen the jumble of images kneeling above him into one robed figure.

"Van Helsing…"

"He cries tears of blood, just as our Lord did." The hushed comment came from behind, a fearful whisper from the darkness that loomed at the edges of his vision. If he wanted he could have told him that it was not tears of blood, simply rivers of blood, his own running from wounds he had been too slow, too distracted, too overwhelmed to prevent.

"Van Helsing, what happened?" The same forceful yet kind hands now held his head still, keeping his eyes focused upon the face of the man—the priest—kneeling beside him.

What had happened? He had failed. Not only had he failed, but he had betrayed his mission, his Sight blinded by his eyes. The darkness was looming far too near for him to explain completely, though, and a half-explanation would not see him properly tried.

"Ignosce, abba…"

The darkness closed completely around his vision, and Van Helsing fell willingly into the cool shadow of unconsciousness.

XXXXXX

It was a steady pounding on the door that welcomed Van Helsing back to consciousness. A week had passed since he and Carl returned from Transylvania, a week in which he had been ordered simply to rest and care for the remaining injuries he had received during Dracula's defeat.

Renewed pounding, far less steady and patient, reminded him that something besides the ending of the latest in a series of disturbing dreams had awoken him.

"Van Helsing, you've got ten seconds to make yourself decent!"

Apparently Cardinal Jinette had decided to ignore for the moment the fact that patience was a blessed virtue.

"Van Helsing?"

He could almost believe that a note of worry had also taken up residence in the priest's voice along with the impatience. Given that even a monster hunter needed more than ten seconds to find and don appropriate attire, Van Helsing simply wrapped the bed-sheet firmly around his waist and padded silently across the room to open the door to his Spartan living quarters.

Cardinal Jinette only wasted a moment's glare at the hunter's scanty attire before launching into the purpose of his visit. "The Order wishes to know if you're ready to resume your duties."

Van Helsing was careful to keep his stance relatively neutral, leaning casually against the wall and watching the cardinal in his peripheral vision. It was the only possibly chance he had of getting any answers. "I've been ready. Most of the injuries were healed by the time Carl and I got back. I was actually rather surprised not to be met at the gate with another assignment. Is there some reason the Order decided to take pity on me?"

"Gabriel, you fought and defeated the monster many men have called the Son of the Devil. You were, for a short time, in very grave danger of falling into the snare of the devil. You slew the woman you loved. These things take time to recover from." The cardinal met the hunter's dark stare for a few moments before looking away. "Carl suggested—strongly suggested—that you be given a short leave of absence. He's become quite devoted to you."

"Carl? Carl was the only reason?" Forceful as the young friar could be when determined, Van Helsing found it difficult to believe that he had successfully stood and argued before the heads of the Order that he had served most of his life.

"If you wish to find other reasons besides charity, please, be my guest. However, in the meantime it would behoove you to listen to the details of what I wish to tell you."

"What's the Left Hand of God?" Van Helsing straightened and moved forward as he spoke, abandoning subtlety. He had never been exceptionally good at it, anyway.

"The what?" Jinette's face displayed none of the hesitancy or uncertainty that Van Helsing had hoped to provoke. For all the shock the cardinal showed, he might as well have asked him what a bird was. In fact, asking what a bird was might have had a far more amusing reaction, at least causing him to wonder for a moment if the famous monster hunter had perhaps taken one too many raps to the skull.

"The Left Hand of God."

"Why do you wish to know?"

This time it was Van Helsing who broke eye contact, spinning around and reaching for one of the satchel's that held his working clothes. He had omitted large parts of his conversations with Dracula from his report, deciding that what the Order didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"My God, Gabriel, what happened to your back?" Jinette moved forward quickly, true concern evident in his voice and face. It was only that concern which allowed Van Helsing to suppress the instinctive urge to dodge and attack, an instinct that, according to Dracula and his dreams, he had been honing for centuries.

The cardinal's hand was cool where it touched his back, but not so cool as the touch of dread that ghosted through Van Helsing's body when the priest thrust up fingertips dabbed with blood.

"Van Helsing, what happened here?"

The same forceful yet kind hands now held his head still, keeping his eyes focused upon the face of the man—the priest—kneeling beside him.

A quick shake of his head dispelled the memory, leaving only an unsteady feeling in his gut. "Nothing. Nothing happened."

"You don't bleed because of nothing. Did you do this yourself? Is this your idea of penance, Gabriel? To do that which a million demons would gladly do for you?" Jinette's voice increased in volume as he spoke, and it seemed only a supreme effort of will that kept him from striking the taller, more well-built man before him.

For Van Helsing's part, it was only a desire to keep some form of dignity as well as the continued feeling of being off-balance that stayed his hand and kept his voice calm and emotionless. "I did nothing. I've done absolutely nothing since arriving here, when I would gladly be out killing these demons you speak of."

Again a brief but silent struggle of wills waged between the two men, a battle that Van Helsing simply conceded.

"I dreamt again."

Jinette nodded slowly, stepping back. "Of ancient holy wars, like before?"

"No. It was here, on the steps outside. I think… I think it was the night you found me. You knew me from before, didn't you?"

"Only by reputation." Jinette turned away as he spoke.

"Why didn't you tell me what you knew?" Righteous anger filled Van Helsing's voice.

"Because the Lord had a purpose in erasing your memory, a purpose we were not going to override with information that was scanty at best and pure falsehood at worst. How much did you remember? Do you remember how you came to be here? That we never knew. You were barely coherent when we found you, and by the time you had healed enough to be coherent any memory you had of what had driven you to us was gone."

"No… it was just a few moments… I was cut, badly…"

Jinette's sigh and nod were accompanied by a small smile. "You're hardly the first person whose scars bleed when they finally remember how they were received, especially not in the Church. Do you still feel willing to accept an assignment?"

Van Helsing's easy grin was almost as uncontrived as before he had gone to Transylvania. "Tell me what it is and how to kill it, then get out of here for five minutes so I can dress decently, and the monster hunter rides again."

XXXXXX

"You… you want me to… but I'm not… I need to be here! This is where I work best, not in the field! Everything got so hopelessly behind when we were in Transylvania—"

"Brother, please tell me you're not falling prey to the sin of pride. There are many others here capable of continuing your work."

Carl simply stared in open-mouthed astonishment and, quite possibly, horror as Cardinal Jinette smiled fondly at him.

"I wasn't any use to him last time. What makes you think this time will be any different?" Carl quickened his pace to keep up with the cardinal's steady stride.

"Who determined the secret of killing Dracula, and the way to find his hidden fortress? Who was it that pulled the Valerious girl from Van Helsing's arms in the end? Who was it that kept him sane—or his version of sanity—when many others would have succumbed to the psychic ravages of being a beast and in that form slaying the one they loved? Who was it that begged and pleaded and cursed until the Order conceded that he had seen and done enough, even if only for a small amount of time? You were far far more help than you give yourself credit for."

"But why would he need me now? He's defeated Dracula. I kept him alive for that. I did my duty, as a member of the Order and as his friend. There are so many new experiments I've wanted to try, so many ways I could add to his arsenal—"

Carl nearly toppled over backwards as Jinette stopped and turned with an abruptness that would have done Van Helsing proud.

"Who is the Right Hand of God?"

"Jesus the Chirst, our Lord and Savior, Prince of Peace." The answer rolled automatically from his tongue, and the friar felt his cheeks warm slightly at the cardinal's piercing gaze. What ill belief or intent prompted Jinette to ask what any child remotely versed in Gospel would know?

"Very good, brother. And the Left Hand of God?"

Carl fumbled rapidly through his mind, striving to find any reference to a Left Hand of God, acutely aware that Jinette was waiting patiently, so very patiently, for his answer. "I don't know. The only time I ever saw mentioned the Left Hand of God was on the mural, in Transylvania."

"Which is far more than most men can say." Jinette turned and resumed his steady pace, not even sparing a glance toward the friar that stayed tight by his side. "Van Helsing has been tested once and proven himself worthy. Our Lord does not satisfy himself with one test, though, nor will the Fallen One cease his seduction. The mission itself is simple enough. A band of necromancers has been reported by numerous sources in the southern United States. He will kill the foul creatures."

Carl waited as patiently as he could for Jinette to continue, but the knowledge that he was about to be torn again from his projects and thrust into dangers he was ill equipped to face had done nothing for his already-lacking patience. "And just what part do I play in this? Bait?"

"Van Helsing faces more than necromancers and their evil creations on this hunt. Your orders are the same as before. Keep him alive. If possible, keep him sane. No matter what, bring him home. You might wish to go pack your arsenal, my brother. Gabriel has such limited patience once a goal is set before him."

With a final hurried Latin blessing, Jinette forcibly turned the friar around and urged him back towards his toys, content that all the pieces on the playing board were moving to their proper positions, no matter how reluctantly.

Latin Translation:

Mei dieu, ignosce—My God, forgive me.

Ignosce, abba—Forgive me, father.