Random Surfer: I'm glad to know that other people out there watch the show over and over again. (I think I border on being obsessive. LOL.) I kinda like the fourth season the most even though it's got a lot of angst in it (More than the usual amount). And, yeah, it is kinda hard - and funny - writing about Dean's lack of belief seeing as to how in season four he becomes heaven's plaything. LOL. Oh, and I feel like slapping Sam a lot, so I'm right there with ya. (That sounds so bad, doesn't it?) But anyway...that's another story altogether.

Houses of the Holy
Part Two

Sam, Dean, and I pulled up to the Our Lady of the Angels church, and at first glance the place was kinda creepy. It had a very gothic feel to it, and as I'd said…creepy.

Anyway, we talked to a Father Reynolds, and told him we were interested in joining the Parish. Lying to a church official…that's gotta be double sin points than for lying to a regular person. Right?

The room we were in had pews on either side of the aisle we were walking down. There were the traditional stained-glass windows, and paintings depicting different saints and angels and different famous battles.

"Well," Father Reynolds said. "We're happy to have you. We could use some young blood around here."

"Mm. Hey, listen, I've gotta ask you…no offense, but, uh, the neighborhood?"

Father Reynolds nodded sadly. "It's gone to seed a little, there's no denying that. But that's why what the church does here is so important. Like I always say, you can expect a miracle, but in the meantime, you work your butt off."

I smiled openly. "I can get behind that."

"Yeah, and, um, we heard about the murders."

"Yes, the victims were parishioners of mine. I've known them for years."

"And the killers said that an angel made them do that?" Sam asked.

"Yes, misguided souls. To think that God's messenger would appear and incite people to murder. It's tragic."

"So, you don't believe in those angel yarns, huh?" Dean asked.

"Oh, no, I absolutely believe. It kinda goes with the job description."

We came to a stop in the middle of the aisle and I looked around, my eye catching a bronze-colored statue(?) of Christ on the cross.

I turned my head away quickly; I found that image disturbing. And it wasn't that I didn't appreciate what it meant, it was just that I found it horribly morbid, and it was something I'd rather not dwell on at the moment.

Thankfully, I didn't have to dwell for long because Sam pointed out a painting - a rather famous one - of the Archangel Michael.

"The Archangel Michael with the flaming sword - the fighter of demons, holy force against evil."

"He's supposed to be the one who stopped Satan - or trapped him, anyway. Oh, and he's supposed to have been the one who stopped Abraham from killing Isaac. Although that's been given to other angels, as well. And he's the one who told the Virgin Mary when she was going to die."

Father Reynolds looked surprised. "I can see you've done some reading. Not many people know that."

"Oh…" I blushed. "Um…my mind remembers things like that. But, yes, I do a lot of reading."

"But they're not really the Hallmark card version that everybody things, right?" Sam asked, referring to the angels. "They're fierce, right? Vigilant."

"Well, I like to think of them as more loving than wrathful," Father Reynolds said. "But, yes, a lot of Scripture paints angels as God's warriors. "An angel of the Lord appeared to them. The glory of the Lord shone down upon them, and they were terrified."."

Sam and Dean continued to star at Father Reynolds, confused.

I rolled my eyes at them and sighed. "It's from the Bible. Pick it up now and then, ya might know somethin'."

I'd just been joking about that last part, but Father Reynolds smiled at my comment, and, ya know, at least he appreciated my good humor. Although, the two guys looked highly unamused.

Oh well, they'd get over it.

------------- -

Outside, on the steps, Dean, Sam, the Father, and I continued talking. I noticed what looked like a small altar set up near the sidewalk. I hadn't noticed it when we'd gone in.

"What's that?" I asked politely, gesturing to the altar.

Father Reynolds looked over at what I was pointing at. "Oh, that's for Father Gregory. He was a priest here."

"Was?" Dean asked.

"He passed away right on these steps. He's interred in the church crypt."

"When did this happen?"

"Two months ago. He was shot for his car keys."

"That's stupid," I blurted out. And then, hurriedly, I added, "not that he died, but that someone would kill for car keys."

"I agree," Father Reynolds said. "He was a good friend. I didn't even have time to administer his Last Rites. But like I said, it's a tough neighborhood. Ever since he died, I've been praying my heart out."

"For what?" Sam asked.

"For deliverance from the violence and the bloodshed around here. We could use a little divine intervention, I suppose."

"I think everybody could," I said.

"Well, Padre, thanks," Dean said, holding out his hand to shake the Father's hand. "We'll see you again."

Sam and I did the same and Father Reynolds went back inside. The three of us went towards the altar that had been set up for Father Gregory. There were candles and roses and even a cross. Leaning up against one of the candleholders was a picture of Father Gregory.

Dean picked it up. "Now it's all starting to make sense. Devoted priest dies a violent death - that's vengeful spirit material, right there. And he knew all the other stiffs 'cause they all went to church here. In fact, I'm willin' to bet that because he was their priest, he knew things about them that nobody else knew."

"Then again…Father Reynolds started praying for God's help about two months ago, right? Right about the time all this started happening?"

"Oh, come on, man, what's your deal?"

"What'd you mean?" Sam asked, honestly confused.

"Look, I'll admit, I'm a bit of a skeptic," Dean said, "but since when are you all Mr. 700 Club? I mean, seriously, from the get-go you've been willing to buy this angel crap, man. What's next? You gonna start praying everyday?"

After a brief pause Sam said, "I do pray everyday. I have for a long time."

Dean just looked at him for a while, taken aback. And then… "The things you learn about a guy. Huh. Well, come on, let's go check out Father Gregory's grave."

Dean walked away, looking like he didn't know what to make of Sam's confession.

I looked at Sam sympathetically and grabbed his arm to drag him with me to wherever Dean was leading us.

------------- -

To get to the church crypt we had to go through a room that had about six angel figurines. They were life-size except for the ones that were meant to be Cherubim - they were smaller, which was good because modern mythology usually described them as childlike.

"Yeah, this isn't creepy at all," Dean said.

"It's a church, Dean," I remarked. "Besides…you said you didn't believe in angels, so they shouldn't bother you."

We continued walking until we came to a door, and then Dean went through it. I followed after him. Him and I were now standing in another room with pews in it.

"I pray, too, ya know," I said. "Sam's not the only one."

"Yeah, well, good for you. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

I sighed. "Okay, look. You know how I feel about this, and I know how you feel…and I don't want this to come between us. So can we agree to disagree and then keep our beliefs to ourselves unless the other person asks for an opinion?"

Dean nodded slowly. "Where's Sam?"

"I dunno." I hadn't noticed he wasn't there, I'd just thought he was being quiet. "You go look for him, I'll go see to the grave."

We were near another door and I went through it while Dean went the other way. The room I was in now wasn't a room, exactly, it was more a pathway to other doorways. One of the doors led outside, I could see. Another door opened to another worship room. The last door I looked through led to the actual crypt, and I saw right away some type of plant. I didn't know what it was; I'd never seen it before. But it was only growing near where Father Gregory had been interred - as Father Reynolds had put it.

I went back out to look for Sam and Dean, and I found them in the room Dean and I had separated. Sam was sitting on a pew, and he was speaking.

"It spoke to me, it knew how I was."

"It's just a spirit, Sam. Okay? And it's not the first one to be able to read people's minds." Dean sat one a pew opposite him. "Now, let me guess, you were personally chosen to smite some sinner. You've just gotta wait for some divine Bat Signal, is that it?"

"Yeah, actually."

"Great. I don't suppose you asked what this alleged bad guy did?"

"Actually, I did, Dean. And the angel told me…he hasn't done anything. Yet. But he will."

Dean got back up, and I was finally right where they were. I sat down beside Sam, and Dean looked at us.

"I don't believe this."

"Dean, the angel hasn't been wrong yet. Someone's gonna do something awful, and I can stop it!"

"You know, you're supposed to be bad, too, Sam. Maybe-maybe I should just stop you right now."

"Okay, guys. Dean, you're not gonna kill Sam," I said. "And Sam, I don't think what you saw was an angel."

"Thank you," Dean said, sitting back down.

"I didn't say it 'cause I don't believe in angels," I said, clarifying. "But I found something weird near Father Gregory's grave."

"So we're not even gonna consider the possibility?"

"What, that this is an angel?" Dean almost growled.

"Yes!" Sam yelled. "Maybe we're hunting an angel here, and we should stop. Maybe this is God's will."

"Okay, a'right. You know what? I get it. You've got faith. Hey, good for you. I'm sure it makes things easier. I'll tell you who else had faith like that - Mom. She used to tell me when she'd tuck me in that angels were watching over us. In fact, that was the last thing she ever said to me."

"You never told me that," Sam said, eyes glistening.

Dean shrugged. "What's to tell? She was wrong. There was nothing protecting her. There's no higher power, there's no God. There's just chaos and violence and random, unpredictable evil that comes out of nowhere, and rips ya to shreds. You want me to believe in this stuff? I'm gonna need to see some hard proof. You got any?"

Neither of us answered, but what I really wanted to say was just because God doesn't help when you want Him to, doesn't mean He won't help when you need Him to. It's kind of like that Garth Brooks song Unanswered Prayers. Just because you don't hear a verbal response or see a physical one, doesn't mean God isn't listening or that He doesn't care. He's just waiting for the right time.

------------- -

Back in the crypt, Sam and Dean were squatting next to Father Gregory's grave marker.

"So…what is it?" I asked, referring to the plant growing around the marker and steadily up towards a window.

"It's wormwood - a plant associated with the dead, specifically the ones that are not at rest. I don't see it growin' anywhere else, except over the murdered priest's marker. It's him, Sam."

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Dean, I don't know what to think."

"Is there a way we can find out?" I asked. I felt kinda caught in the middle here. I wasn't on Sam's side, but I wasn't on Dean's, either.

"We can summon Gregory's spirit," Dean suggested.

"What?" Sam asked. "Here in the church?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we just need a few odds and ends, and that séance ritual in Dad's journal."

Sam scoffed. "A séance, great. I hope Whoopi's available."

"That's funny, actually. Seriously." Dean didn't sound like it was funny at all. "If Father Gregory's spirit is around, the séance will bring him right to us. If it's him, then we'll put him to rest."

"But if it's an angel, it won't show," Sam countered. "Nothin' will happen."

"Exactly," Dean said. "That's one of the perks of the job, Sam. We don't have to operate on faith. We can know for sure. Don't you wanna know for sure?"

Sam reluctantly nodded, and turned to walk out.

"Where're we going?" I asked as Dean and I followed Sam.

"Well, grocery store for one. And I don't know where else."

------------- -

So at the grocery store, we got most of what we needed, and everything else Sam and Dean said we already had.

"Dude, all right, I'll admit, we've gone pretty ghetto with spell work before, but this takes the cake," Sam said, grinning. "I mean, a Spongebob placemat instead of an altar cloth?"

"We'll just put it Spongebob-side down."

Sam laughed and shook his head.

Dean and I began to cross the street to get to the car, but stopped when Sam said, "Dean, that's it."

"What?" Dean began looking around.

"That's the sign." Sam pointed to a man, standing on the street corner holding a grocery bag. "That's him, Dean. We have to stop him."

The guy began walking, and Sam tried to follow, but Dean stopped him.

"You're not gonna go kill somebody because a ghost told you to. Are you insane?"

"Dean, I'm not insane. I'm not gonna kill him, I'm gonna stop him."

"Define 'stop'. What're you gonna do?"

I watched as the man got into his car. "Well, he's getting' ready to go, so whatever we're gonna do we better do it fast."

"Dean, he's gonna hurt someone, you know it," Sam said.

"A'right. Come on," Dean said, going to the Impala, unlocking the door, and getting in the driver's side.

When Sam and I tried to get in, however, the doors were locked - we'd done that before going in the store.

"Dean, unlock my door," Sam demanded.

"I've got this guy," Dean said. "You guys do the séance."

Dean started the car and drove off. I assumed I was supposed to play watchdog.

------------- -

Back at the church crypt, Sam and I started setting up for the ritual. We'd done as Dean had suggested and used the placemat facedown. Sam had to draw some sort of design on it and place the candles -mostly white, but one big black one - in a sort of circle with the black one in the middle.

I lit the candles one by one and Sam opened his father's journal. He got some type of leaves out of the grocery bag - they looked like spinach leaves, but they probably weren't - and then pulled a pouch of some kind of powder out of his jacket pocket.

Sam picked the journal up from the floor and offered it to me. It was in Latin. "Wanna try?"

"No." I couldn't read Latin. "With my luck I'd probably turn him into a zombie or something."

Sam smiled gently, and then began chanting, then after he was done, he sprinkled the powdery stuff onto the black candle and it sparked.

The door to the crypt opened and Father Reynolds came in. "What're you doing?" He took in the candles. "What is this?"

Sam set the journal on the ground. "Uh…Father, please. I can explain. Um…actually, maybe I can't."

I sighed, standing up. "This is a séance," I said bluntly. "We think that Father Gregory is responsible for the people that killed others and said an angel made them do it.

Father Reynolds was stunned for a moment, but then he said, "you two come with me."

We began moving to the door, but stopped because the room started filling with a bright light. The feeling I got this time wasn't the usual spirit-chills. It was warm; it reminded me of when I'd talked to the spirit of my mom.

"Oh, my God. Is that…is that an angel?" Father Reynolds asked, sounding mystified.

"No, it's not." Sam was disappointed, I could hear it in his voice. "It's just Father Gregory."

The light slowly faded and, sure enough, Father Gregory was standing where the light had been.

"Thomas?" Father Reynolds whispered.

"I've come in answer to your prayers," Father Gregory said, smiling slightly. He caught sight of Sam and looked slightly confused. "I thought I sent you on your path. You should hurry."

"Father, I'm sorry, but you're not an angel."

"Of course I am," Father Gregory said calmly. And he was calm…it was a little freaky how calm he was being.

"No, you're a man. You're a spirit. And you need to rest."

"I was a man. But now I'm an angel," he said simply, and firmly. He really believed he was an angel.

"Do you…remember what happened to you?" I asked gently.

"I was on the steps of the church, and I felt that bullet pierce right through me. But there was no pain. And suddenly, I could see…everything. Father Reynolds, I saw you, praying and crying here. I came to help you."

"Help me how?"

Father Gregory looked at me. "I believe Alyson has already answered that question."

"Those murders…that was because of you?" Father Reynolds stepped closer to Father Gregory.

"I received the word of God. He spoke to me, told me to smite the wicked. I'm carrying out His will."

"You're driving innocent people to kill."

"Those innocent people are being offered redemption." Father Gregory turned to Sam. "Some people need redemption. Don't they, Sam?"

"How can you call this redemption?" Father Reynolds asked.

"You can't understand it now. But the rules of man and the rules of God are two very different things."

"Those people - they're locked up," Sam said gently.

"No, they're happy. They've found peace, beaten their demons. And I've given them the keys to Heaven."

"No," Father Reynolds said. "This is vengeance. It's wrong. Thomas, this goes against everything you believed. You're lost, misguided. You are not an angel, Thomas. Men cannot be angels."

"But…but I don't understand. You prayed for me to come." For the first time since he got here Father Gregory seemed unsure of himself.

"I prayed for God's help, not this. What you're doing is not God's will. Thou shall not kill. That's the word of God."

"Let us help you," Sam said.

"No." It wasn't a refusal, exactly, it was more like he was in denial. He turned to look at his grave, and his calm, confident pose was slowly cracking.

"Look," I said, stepping forward. "I know this is gonna sound harsh and blunt, but…you died. You're not supposed to be here anymore. Not on this plane of existence anyway."

"It's time to rest, Thomas, to be at peace," Father Reynolds said. "Please…let me give you Last Rites."

After a few seconds considering, Father Gregory nodded. When Father Reynolds began I grabbed Sam by the hand and dragged him outside. The ceremony they were going through was sacred - in my opinion -, so it only fit that we shouldn't witness it. After all, we weren't Catholic, and we didn't belong to this church.

------------- -

After getting our stuff together, Sam and I left the church. We walked towards the motel we were staying in. It was dark and even colder than it had been earlier.

"We should've called a cab," I said, tugging my leather jacket closer to my chest to block the cold.

"It's not that far," Sam said, shrugging. "We'll be fine."

"Yeah, okay." Silence fell over us for a short while, but then I couldn't take it anymore. "You're not stupid for having faith, Sam. And just because this wasn't an angel, doesn't meant they don't exist. It just means we weren't meant to meet one face to face."

"Yeah." Sam still sounded disappointed, and maybe even a little resigned, and then something clicked in my mind. Father Gregory had said Sam needed redemption.

"You know that what Father Gregory said was wrong, right? He was human, he had no right to make judgments."

"Look, um…I really don't wanna talk about it, okay?"

"Sure," I said, nodding quickly. "But Sam…you can't hide from it forever. You're gonna have to face it someday. And I know, I'm the last person who should be telling you that since I run away from my abilities too…but they're a part of you, you're abilities are. They make you different, but it's your fault if you stay that way. They don't define you. Just remember that."

------------- -

Back at the motel, Sam and I started packing. I didn't think we were gonna leave that night, but I was putting Dean's stuff with mine, just in case.

Speaking of Dean, he walked in just as Sam was finishing up. He took one look at Sam's emotional state and said, "how was your day?"

Sam sighed as Dean shut the door. "You were right. It wasn't an angel. It was Gregory."

Dean took out a flask from his pocket and then took a swig, which was weird in itself because Dean didn't just randomly drink. He offered it to Sam, and he also took a drink.

"I don't' know, Dean, I just…I wanted to believe so badly." Sam sat down on his bed, and Dean shrugged his jacket off, tossing it onto the table. "It's so damn hard to do this…what we do. All alone, ya know? There's so much evil out in the world, Dean, I feel like I could drown in it. And when I think about my destiny, when I think about how I could end up…"

"Yeah, well, don't worry about that, a'right? I'm watchin' out for ya."

"Yeah, I know you are. But you're just one person, Dean. And I needed to think that there was somethin' else watchin', too, ya know? Some…higher power, some greater good. And then maybe…"

"Maybe what?" Dean asked.

"Maybe I could be saved," Sam said, and I couldn't see his face, but I could tell by his voice that he felt like breaking down. "But, uh…ya know, that just clouded my judgment, and you're right. I mean, we've gotta go with what we know, with what we can see, with what's right there in front of our own two eyes."

Dean looked down at the floor. "Yeah, well, it's funny you saying that."

"Why?"

I got done getting out stuff together and I sat down on the bed opposite Sam.

"Gregory's spirit gave you some pretty good information," Dean admitted. "The guy in the car was bad news. I barely got there in time."

"What happened?"

"He's dead," Dean answered.

"Did you…?" Sam trailed off.

"No. But I'll tell you one thing…the way he died, if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes, I never would've believed it. I mean…I don't know what to call it."

"What?" Sam asked. "Dean, what did you see?"

Dean didn't answer for a few seconds, but then he said, "maybe…God's will."

Then Dean went on to explain that the guy Sam had been meant to stop died because a pipe had stabbed through his chest…in a car accident.

So, it was either a coincidence, which I didn't believe in, or it really was God's will. It had been fated to happen.

As always...let me know what you guys think.