Hi--remember me? (or at least this incarnation of me..)

Well--after writing Three Days, the boys had ended up in Mexico, but the next story I'd written--which was Book of Woe--had them leaving the warmth and sun almost immediately. I always wished they'd been able to stay a while, (I'm living vicariously through them)--so I decided to write a story that wedged in between the two. In short--you regular readers know that this is out of order, but what the hell--?

Hope you enjoy the read----mal
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The Fury of San Mateo Alemánn

Chapter 1

The Winchester brothers had finally arrived. After a long and harried journey, fraught with the usual issues, plus a few new and decidedly unwelcome ones, they pulled up in front of the resort Sam had researched.
The Impala was hissing with the heat of the long run, dust-caked and radiating exhaustion. Black car, black interior, unrelentingly hot Gulf sun---it was a brutal combination for a lengthy trek. Dean was first to attempt to unfold himself from the sticky seat with some semblance of dignity. He got out, gripped the doorframe and stretched, groaning with a loud discomfort. It had been, to say the least, a very long drive.

Sam sat back in the driver’s seat and rubbed a weary hand over his face, plucking the errant sweaty bangs away from his brow. Air-con…he was ready to sell a kidney for it. He pulled the keys and waited a moment or two before exiting, closing his gritty eyes and resting his head against the seat. Finally—Mexico. It had been a nerve-wracking experience—crossing the border. They weren’t sure what to expect in terms of scrutiny—and both had sat, sweating and smiling stupidly in nervous fear, -as they were asked the usual questions. But their answers raised no red flags, --they were just another couple of yahoos in search of some sun and beach,--and they were allowed to continue through without any further interrogation. It took several miles more before either dared to breathe normally again. After that, they burst out in near-hysterical laughter and the tension broke.
---

Dean scratched his hair and gazed around him at the glowing sandy strand. It was a thing of beauty—warm and bright and sparkling. The vista was not quite what he’d expected. The area had been hard hit by the last battery of hurricane season, and the landscape was still devastated. What had been an elegant avenue of tall, swaying palms was now lined with ragged, splintered trunks of varying heights—all sadly shorn of their waving fronds. The ubiquitous thatched beach huts were non-existent—all flattened by the high winds and surf. The resort’s main buildings were relatively unharmed, with the exception of the glass, which had been replaced immediately. But there was endless work in store to rebuild the area to meet the fairytale expectations of the tourists that fed the economy here. It was a perfect situation---immediate paid laborers’ jobs, cheap rates—and a setting that demanded they do nothing but relax and unwind after simple days of hard work. No hunts, no distress…no harm.

Sam followed Dean, standing stiffly after his endless time behind the wheel. Dean had tried to do his share, but he’d found it too tiring and uncomfortable to stay alert and focused behind the wheel for any length of time. It irritated him beyond words—driving was his particular form of sanctuary. But after his run in with the werewolf in Texas, he found strength and stamina frustratingly slow to return---at least by his own, impatient standards.
Sam would try to catch a bit of shut-eye, but he’d frequently catch Dean mid grimace as he shifted around in the driver’s seat in vain hope of finding a position that didn’t stress his newly acquired scars. At that point he would find an excuse to request a stop, and then he’d take the wheel again—knowing he could never simply suggest that his brother take the back seat and rest for a while. Dean’s pride was all the more belligerent when he felt weak.

Sam had tried to remain patient. He had, after all, vowed to ensure that his brother finally got the R&R he needed and deserved. But by now, he was stretched to his limit by Dean’s restlessness and ill-tempered complaints. He hardly noticed the tattered beauty of this place—heading instead in search of a bed and some blessed sleep.
“Dean—you coming-?”

Dean wandered back, and leaned against the hood, clasping his hands on the hot metal.
“..yeah. ..What do we do—ask about work first, or check in..?”
Sam was already heading toward the units facing the beach. He was a man with a mission, and nothing was gonna get between him and his pillow.
“Room—“ he tossed over his shoulder.
He had no energy left for verbose answers. Dean shrugged and grabbed a few bags, following him to check in. By the time he’d caught up with him, Sam had gotten the keys and paperwork. They walked in tired silence back to the sprawling beach building, finding their unit and unlocking it.
Sam dropped the keys on the table and face-planted onto the closest bed, stretching his long arms to the sides as if hugging a long lost friend.
Dean dropped his bags and sat heavily on the second one. He watched his brother melt into the mattress.

“You coulda let me drive some more, you know..” he objected guiltily.

A muffled grunt served as Sam’s answer. But he turned over and stretched like a cat on his back, sighing with deep relief.

“Relax, Dean—I know you did your part. --Just a really long drive—that last bit….I’m fried.”

“mmm. How long are we booked here for--?”

“--a week. After that—we should look into finding work. It’s cheap right now—because of the shape everything’s in after the hurricane---but not so cheap that we can hang out forever.”
Dean was thwarted in discussing anything else, as Sam had settled into some deep snoring within minutes. Dean shook his head with a little smile, and lay back on his own bed. –Pussy.
He checked the time---it was late afternoon. Dinner would be served soon—he was famished. He wondered what these all-inclusive joints served—he was eager to fill the hollow space in his middle with whatever was going, plus a tray-full of Coronas. --Served, if there was a god, by some buxom, tanned waitress that thought nothing of delivering a meal in a tiny, neon bikini…..

When they both finally woke up, the sun was a deep orange ball floating over the sea, and it was long past the dinner buffet. Dean swore in disappointment, shaking a protesting Sam awake.

“Knock it off, jerk!” the younger man growled, attempting to roll over and away from the irritant.

Dean persisted.
“C’mon, lazy-arse---you gonna spend the whole time here in the sack, alone?? Let’s go find something to eat and see how the chicks rate around here—“

Sam reluctantly rose to sit on the bed edge, knowing it would be hopeless to ignore Dean when he was pumped on an entire road-trip’s worth of caffeine and eager anticipation.
“—Can I at least have a freaking shower? I feel like stale crap—“

“---yeah, you look the part too. Go scrub the bitchiness out, Sam…but hurry up, will you? I don’t wanna miss out on anything.”

Sam brushed past him and made his way to the can. He felt like he was pet-sitting a Jack Russell terrier-----entertain him or else--
As he adjusted to the steaming water, he felt the cramped, churlish feelings melt away with the cascading stream. God, it felt good. After all the hours in that damned car—this was pure heaven.

Heaven had a meter running. Dean, sure he was on the verge of expiring from starvation-- banged on the door and hollered at him to quit preening—it was a lost cause anyway. After some choice exchanges, Sam emerged refreshed and ready. He stopped short and stared at his brother-

“What the hell is that--?!” he burst out, with a guffaw.

Dean had adopted an uncharacteristic when-in-Rome attitude. He’d discarded his dusty jeans and pulled on a pair of baggy, wildly flowered shorts. He had been waiting with his hands in TaDa! position for Sam to come out.

“--What? --Just blending in, Sam. –Figured I’d go native for the week.” He grinned shyly.

Sam laughed. “Hey--dude—I’m with you. –just never figured you’d ditch the long pants without a fight.”
He remembered having to cut Dean’s jeans off and hide the rest of his clothes to get him into shorts when they were in Florida. --Guess he learned something after all….
“Where the hell did you get those--?!”

Dean rummaged in his gear for the flip flops Sam had forced him to wear in the Keys.
“—Bought’em in that last joint near the border. On sale too.”

“Go figure—“ Sam snorted. But before Dean could succumb to his embarrassment and attempt to change, Sam sought a colourful pair himself. The two stood in front of the mirror for several moments, eyeing their reflections critically.

Dean pronounced a verdict-
“We look like morons.”

Sam laughed. “No—but we sure as hell are pasty. We need a tan, like yesterday—nobody’s gonna bother asking if it’s our first day here, that’s for sure.”

Dean huffed in agreement. “Well, Sammy—I’m about to eat my own arm here—find us some food—“

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Six weeks earlier….
Young Father Elieis Herrera was freshly ordained. And as such, he burned with the passionate fires of youthful conviction, and was eager to implement his New Ideas. He envisioned a new path to God, one clarified by the discarding of the millstones of Old Religion—superstition,…ritual,…the ponderous language and observances. It was long overdue, in his mind. For centuries here, the Church had allowed practices that bordered on idol worship, activities, he was sure,-- that obscured the true path to salvation.
He vowed to work hard to eradicate these nonsensical devotions—particularly the abhorrent veneration of relics--the worship of bits of bone and hair and yellowed fingernails that had once been part of the living saints. His approach bordered on heresy, and worse--he was an irritating thorn in the side of his tired and jaded colleagues. The elder Catholic fathers were perfectly happy with the way things were currently done—both God and the people seemed happy enough—at least, neither was complaining.
They decided he needed to be contained. They worked to isolate him—drop him in some tiny rural parish where the waves he generated would peter out harmlessly, leaving the comfortable status quo intact.

And so—the young priest found himself in this poor and rural corner. Upon being given the old and crumbling Church Of San Mateo Alemann, he vowed that his first task must be to sweep away the parish’s regard of the very things he’d preached against. After an inspired and thunderous sermon at his first mass, one that left his new congregation agape with shock and worried disapproval, Father Elieis set about cleaning house.

He had some idea of how his new ways were received. He secretly reveled in the shock and bewilderment his people showed. To heal—he thought—one must cut away the rot.
Of course there was pain in this—but soon they would see that the result was a healthier faith. When mass was long over and the murmuring throng had left, he strolled around the patched and crumbling walls of the old building. He made a list as he went—making note of the statues and icons that seemed to rule every corner—their bland expressions, painted like whores, -- beseeching alms from these poor, misguided people. They were draped in decorated finery, as if they were kings and queens, and gilt crowns and baubles hung from them. Scraps of paper, each carrying the prayer of a worshipper, littered the statue bases, spilling over the edge and piling on the floor. Father Elieis knew that the faithful looked to these wood and plaster things as if they were gods in their own right—begging their favour in return for the offerings they could ill afford.
…No---it had to stop.

He paused finally in front of the ornate, gilded casket that held the relics. The pride of the parish—the blessed remains of San Mateo Alemann himself—
–Disgusting. He didn’t even want to know what lay in the revered container, seated on its dusty, half rotted velvet cushion, strewn with wilted and dead flower offerings and the wax from countless votive candles.—It could be anything—a shriveled finger, or a lock of hair, a tooth, or a darkened scrap of bone.
…He’d once visited a church in his youth, where he was told by a beaming deacon that they had the dried foreskin of San Salvatore in a silver box—and it was given to granting miracles. He snorted, remembering the man’s stupid pride over the macabre souvenir. Well—whatever lay in this box now—he would see that it was buried in the churchyard where it belonged.

Father Elieis wiped his hands on his cassock and turned to the vestry. He needed to learn now. There was a network of faithful that did things for the building and its priest—it was the same everywhere. He would familiarize himself with these good people, find out who did what—and who could serve as an ally while he imposed his changes. He scanned through the books and notes of his predecessor.
Sadly, there were few who served. Lino Salazar. --he seemed to be the caretaker. He had yet to speak to the man, but he had seen him puttering about the yard, a sour, hunched figure that radiated more malice than faith.. …And there was old, nearly blind Sister Crotilda, who did the laundry and washed the church-goods after mass. He’d watched as she made her way around the church, mumbling her prayers to the statues, kissing their gesso’d feet. She was going to be his cross to bear in this—she was the one responsible for the overwrought, ridiculous dresses in which the statues were clothed, and she was immensely proud of the precious box of San Mateo’s corporeal leftovers.
He was going to have a tough time convincing her that this was not the way to salvation—she’d fawned over these distractions for more than fifty years—and was more than likely going to try to brain him with the chalice when she found out what he’d done….

He sighed and returned to his chambers. This was not going to be easy.

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Thanks for visiting---seeya---mal

Hey
I got up this morning and viola there was a new story from you. Yeah yeah yeah. Glad that you aren't "bored" anymore. Great start to a story...would love to see the boys in those shorts...
looking forward to more greatness from you
Lisa :skip

WOW I'm glad you're back!! I actually read this story at another website thinking it was one that I have read before, but kept telling myself that I didn't!! :D

It was a great start!! Can't wait for more!

Keep up the "great fanfiction" :cheer

--Thanks, guys. Got a freakishly busy week--all i wrote so far is this bit--but i didn't want you to lose interest so i'm posting anyway. :rolleyes:

--seeyou in a few days---mal
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Chapter 2

Sam and Dean had decided to find out what they could graze on. They explored the resort, finding the pool area and sitting down at the bar.
Dean craned his neck to assess the prospects. Sam greeted the man at the bar—he was an affable type—a local Mexican, and having the breezy manner of one who was accustomed to chatting with tourists. He wore a name tag—Jorge— Sam shook his hand and introduced himself, and Dean.

“So Jorge—I guess we missed the dinner hour…anything edible left on the plates we could scrape off? My brother, here, has been whining that he’ll pass out from starvation..”

“What do you mean—like a whole meal or a snack? Hell, you can order anything you want. You don’t have to stick with the buffet—that’s for the old folks—“ he winked.

Hearing that--Dean abandoned his leering and turned to Jorge.
“oh man—You made my day. I already ate all the freaking mints from the housekeeping carts—I don’t care what you have—just bring lots of it!”

Jorge had a mischievous smile. “You like it spicy, or American..?”

“…uh….depends—what do you call American--?” Dean tested.

“American is for the retirees, the women……little kids. You want to experience the real Mexico---I’ll set you up.”

Dean glanced at Sam.
“Alright, Georgie—do your worst. I think we can handle it.” he assured arrogantly. But he was grinning, and Jorge was far from offended.

“--Ah—a challenge from Dee-Anne—“ Jorge parried. “--You ladies stick around. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.” he instructed, and Sam and Dean waited in hungry anticipation of a culinary coup—or assault—depending….

Jorge returned with two laden platters. Dean stretched toward the offering—soaking up the aroma.
“oh man—that smells good--!”

Jorge winked at Sam and served out a heaping plateful to each of them.
“Now you’re gonna taste the real Mexico.” Jorge sat back with a satisfied grin as both boys plowed through his efforts. When it was all consumed, Dean was poised to clean the plate with his tongue when Sam gave him the look.
He put the plate back down, slightly sheepish.
“Good job, Georgie---bit of a kick there—and good and filling. I give it an eight.”

Jorge raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “an eight…!.”

Sam laughed. “Hey—don’t take it personally, Jorge—we’ve been on the road for a long time—we’ve had the best roadkill America has to offer.”

Jorge threw up his hands in mock exasperation, muttering something about pearls before swine. He grabbed three coronas, deftly planted a juicy slice of lime in the neck of each-- and bade then to sit on the beach, as the waves quieted and the sun’s last throes scattered tangerine and pink jewels over the water. They sat in contented silence for a while—appreciating the defiant display as it slipped below the horizon into the sea.

“—now really—what are you boys wasting your time here for now?—This isn’t peak season and the place looks like shit—you outa sue your travel agent.”

It was Sam who answered.
“Jorge---sometimes you just have to say to hell with it, and check out for a while. Dean and me—we’ve had some rough times lately—with work…and other..stuff. We just needed some peace and quiet and sun and sand.”

Dean seconded that.
“Yeah…and we figured there was some work available—after the storm. –We’re pretty flexible—we can do pretty much whatever’s paying a basic wage---Sam’s got us booked for a week of holiday time—but after that—we’ll have to start washing dishes, or finding some rich old broad to charm…”

Jorge snorted. “Yeah—good luck. You’re a few back from me in that line. But seriously—you two want to earn your keep—there’s a lot needing fixing around here. Tomorrow—I’ll introduce you to Serge Rancourt. He runs the place—good guy. He’s looking for extra hands to redo the landscaping and shit like that—if you want—“

Sam was appreciative—but he had another, more important agenda to fulfill first.
“Thanks, Jorge. …I think….in a few days—we’ll take you up on that. But right now—I don’t want to have to do or think about anything more complicated than whether or not I should haul my lazy ass out of the sand to get to the buffet before the blue-haired swarm gets all the good stuff.”

Jorge laughed and raised his bottle to them.
“Ok—I hear the message—Do Not Disturb until the pesos run out. Let me know when you’re close to eviction—I’ve got some options for you.”
He rose and stretched.
“Well—good meeting you boys…but I gotta head home. Long day at the stove—all these pushy Americans—wanting dinner at all hours!”
That was followed by something Spanish and pithy. But he smiled genuinely and left them with a wave.


“..nice guy.” Sam commented.

Dean nodded, and lay back on the still-radiating sand, closing his eyes. The brothers stayed there for some time, listening to the quiet waves tumble over the fine, sugary sand as the sky turned from warm tones to the cool blues of night. As Dean lay on his back—head resting on his hands, he looked up and stared, mesmerized, , as the stars appeared weakly, then brightened. It was worlds away from anything dark or threatening.
---Perfect.

"..this was a good idea, Sammy.”


Sam didn’t answer. He was breathing deeply in peaceful and contented sleep.
Dean smiled and did the same.

--

soon--ml

Thanks for posting!! Hope you can update on Monday?? :P

ah a nice way to leave the boys before you get them into the swing of things...great job as always...I can just picture them sitting there!
Lisa

--okie dokie--here's the rest of chapter 2--

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If it hadn’t been for the mosquitoes, they’d have slept the night where they lay. But the whine of the insects finally pestered Dean awake, and he got Sam up and they turned in to continue their pleasant dreams.
Morning came with a brilliant azure sky, empty of clouds and glowing with the promise of a perfect day. Dean was up first, determined not to miss the breakfast buffet. He scratched the grit out of his hair---realizing that the sand was still in his clothing as well, not to mention his sheets. A quick shower solved that, and he shook out the shorts and threw on a fresh tee. A persistent series of kicks to Sam’s bed got the younger Winchester up, and once he too, was presentable, they hit the dining room.

Jorge was there, supervising. He caught sight of them and waved them over.
“You all recovered from your drive--?” he asked.

“Getting there. Sam and I nearly slept all night on the beach---it was pretty damned perfect.”

Sam agreed. “Yeah—I would have, but Dean’s afraid of the dark, so we had to go in.”
He yelped as Dean elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

Jorge chuckled. “You two remind me of me and my brother. Grab some breakfast, boys—after that I want to introduce you to Serge—he’s the red haired guy in the corner. I know you need your week’s layabout—but if you’re serious about working after that, you should set it up now. We’re hiring labourers daily—hate to see all the jobs taken by next week—“

The brothers agreed and made their way to the line. When they had piled their plates full, they found a shady table in the adjacent pavilion, and they ate in happy silence, watching the waves foam and retreat on the beach beyond. Dean had his eye on several promising little triangles of bright cloth, tied snugly over bronzed skin…
“Sam—check that one out…the blonde-“

Sam looked up from his reading—he’d picked up a handful of pamphlets about local attractions from the lobby. He raised his brow approvingly.

“Nice friend too---the girl with the short hair..”

Dean wiped his mouth quickly on the back of his hand.
“Come on, Sam—we can catch up with them…I’ll show you how it’s done-“

Sam snorted, but he remembered Jorge’s request.
“We’ll have to chase them down later. We’re supposed to meet that manager guy.”

“Crap--!” Dean reluctantly watched as they disappeared down the beach. “..aw man—I don’t wanna talk about work yet, we just got here--!”

“I know…but we should arrange this now, then we don’t have to think about again all week.”

Dean grumbled, annoyed to be thwarted in chasing his quarry. He hardly had time to whine though, as Jorge was motioning to them from the alcove to join him.
“Well—Georgie’s waving to us anyway, Sam-“ he said, rising.
Sam followed him.

Jorge did the intros and they quickly arranged to begin on the landscape crew next week. Serge Rancourt seemed like he’d be a decent boss—Jorge seemed to like him well enough. When the manager excused himself to tend to business, Jorge congratulated them.
“There you go, boys—no need to starve next week, heh?” he grinned. “—I was gonna start stockpiling leftovers—“

Sam thanked him. “that’s a load off my mind. You have no idea how hard it is to keep that thing fed-“ he pointed at his brother.

“Yeah. Sam’s easy, though. All he wants is porridge and warm milk.”

Jorge laughed. “Por nada. Listen—come by my place tonight, I’ve got some friends coming out—we’re gonna play some guitar and party a bit. It’s always a good time. Skip the dinner buffet, come hungry—I’m cooking up some good stuff.”

“Hey—sure, thanks, man-“ Dean said. “Can we bring a couple of dates?”

Jorge chortled. “Fast mover are you? Sure, bring’em along. I gotta go, enjoy your day.”

Sam drained the last of his coffee. “—Ok..now what, beach or pool-?”

Dean chose the beach again. They wandered out and nabbed a couple of beach chairs and parked themselves in the hot sun. Wisely, Sam had picked up some sunblock. After slathering a healthy dose on himself, he offered it to Dean, who made a face and declined.

“—You sure? You’re gonna fry.”

Dean shrugged. “Red’s better than white. And it smells too much like a pina colada—I’ll be craving them all day. —I’m not taking my shirt off anyway.”

“What? Why not?”

Dean looked away, embarrassed. “—cuz I look like a freaking autopsy stiff right now. Yeah, yeah—chicks dig scars—but not when the stitches are still sticking out, for shits sake. I’m not gonna get laid if they think I’m Frankenstein.”

Sam dropped it. He hadn’t realized that Dean was sensitive about how he looked. He was perfectly fit, of course—that wasn’t the issue. But the werewolf’s efforts were still raw and healing—it was probably just as well to keep the sun off the tender skin right now.

“..but you will go swimming--?”

“--hell yeah…I’ll just keep my tee shirt on. Look—all kinds of people are out there with their shirts on—probably got burnt to a crisp earlier.”

--Good—thought Sam He wanted Dean to have the most fulfilling vacation possible. And the salt water could do nothing but good.
“…I could probably pull them out for you by now—“

Dean glanced around, and lifted his shirt for a quick assessment. “Yeah—that should be ok…later.”

Sam pulled out the novel he’d bought, and he settled down in the sling chair for some pleasant reading. Dean tried to lie back and relax—just enjoy the warmth and sound of the beach, but predictably, he grew restless…and that quickly deteriorated into bored. He scanned up and down the sand, fidgeting.

Sam didn’t look up. “—Go find yourself a woman, Dean. You’re driving me nuts.”

Dean grinned sheepishly. “—Now we’re talking. Tell you what, Sammy—I’ll bring back a spare for you. ..I’ll see you in a while—“

“Happy hunting. –And don’t piss anybody off yet, ok?”

“—yeah yeah.” He sauntered off, walking barefoot in the surf.
Sam watched him for a moment, with a little smile. This was a good idea.

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Had Father Elieis been a little older and more experienced, he might have trod a bit more lightly. But he was determined to bring about change, and unfortunately he lacked the wisdom to pace it.
The Monday following his first, controversial sermon, he set about clearing the offending statues from the alcoves of his church. He had already made space for them in a vestry cupboard, and when he had carried the last, forlorn looking figure out of the church and closed the doors on it, he locked them securely.
He returned to the empty places where the figures had held court for so many decades—a century and counting, and began the arduous task of scrubbing the years of grime and wax and dried brown petals that had formed raised rings around the places that the plaster bases had stood.
It took quite some time and he was sweating with the effort. In the end—he had successfully removed almost all traces that they had ever existed, satisfied at a job well done. He went back to his chambers, and returned with an arm load of neatly written plaques, nailing them in place where the saints had been. He stood back and dusted his hands. The messages were abundantly clear—written in his own impeccable writing. They were prayers—but they were directed to God himself, eschewing the detours and intercessions of the plaster images.
There would be no more misguided idolatry here.

That, of course left the larger issue…the relics. This was particularly delicate. He wanted to simply empty the box of its gruesome contents and be rid of them, but these were the last remains of a beatified and pious man. He could hardly just toss them away in the dustbin and be done with it---there were rules. A body of a faithful man must be buried in sacred ground, whether the person had been a simple farmer or a venerable saint.
He said a series of prayers over the casket, and when he was done—he tipped it and unceremoniously dumped the contents into a waiting shoe box. He carried it back to the cupboard to join the doleful statues, there to sit until he could speak to the caretaker—Lino Salazar, and instruct him to bury the box deep in the churchyard. He left the gilded casket in place…he would address his people on Sunday, show them the empty box, and the equal emptiness of their adulations. He was most pleased with the metaphor.

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seeya---mal

Hey, new story! Alright!

Loving the casual atmosphere so far, sounds fantastic.

Look forward to more.

MORE, MORE, MORE, MORE!!!!!!!!!! :cheer

Intriguing story! Can't wait to see what happens next!! :P

oh mal, another story!!! too bad i wasnt here at the start of it, but oh well, vacation means vacation. i cant believe i wasnt on the internet [just to check email and messages!]

apparently the internet isnt as addictive as nicotine
who knew? LOL

great job mal!! I'm loving the way the story is going
poor dean, so self conscious, hell i would do frankenstein, he was one hot monster! LOL

cool another update...always enjoyable

another shortie--

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Chapter 3

True to his word, Dean returned with pleasant company on each arm. He’d found his earlier quarry, and won her over easily, promising her friend that his brother was at least half as charming as he was, and in the right light—not a bad looker.
Needless to say, she was pleasantly surprised when she met Sam---he certainly exceeded her expectations, after Dean’s faint praise.

Dean explained to Sam that the girls were on the last day of their holiday, they were visiting from Canada and were scheduled to fly home tomorrow. His eyes sparkled as he told him of the plan to make their last night a blast.
Connie was the brunette--- Julia the blonde. Dean and Sam spent the day with them—they swam, sunned, tried the various water-sports offered. It was shaping up to be an epically perfect day for everyone. By the time late afternoon arrived, the foursome was lazily relaxing by the poolside—nearly spent from the day’s activities. Nearly spent…Dean had an idea or two that would push the day over the top. After a snack and chat with Jorge at the bar, they promised to come to his party, after a well earned siesta.
There was some unspoken accord—Sam was going to claim their room for a few hours, while Julia laid claim to the girls’ suite.

Dean faked his best yawn.
“…So—what’s the thinking here…? Anybody feel like relaxing before going out to Jorge’s..?”

Sam picked up on the lead in.
“yeah—I’m pretty wiped after the parasailing. --And after those face-plants you did on the skis—I’m surprised Julia isn’t carrying you. I could sure crash for an hour..”
Connie smiled at him coyly.

Julia played along. “Dean—I have to go back to our room—I need something in there…”
He nodded, flashed a Cheshire cat grin to his brother and the couple headed off.

Sam and Connie got better acquainted while Dean and Julia wandered back to her room. When they arrived—he teased her..
“So..what was so important that you had to come all the way back to pick it up--?”
She grabbed him by the front of his shirt.
“—You, stupid--!”

The four were set to sleep through their invitation, but Dean was up and aware of the time. He grabbed a shower. Julia—after discovering the reason he insisted on keeping his tee shirt on all day—had been all sympathy and concern. He’d had to quickly make up a reason for his wounds, and the only thing that came to mind was a black bear attack while camping. At least he came off brave and manly—and it fit—it plausibly explained the stitches he sported. She was dewy-eyed with sympathy, he needn’t have worried that his condition would be a detriment to his social life. On the contrary—

When he explained that he was going to pull the stitches later—she shyly offered to do it. He thought her interest was really cool—
Julia was careful, she followed his instructions and gently snipped and tugged each stiff little knot free from his skin. He was embarrassed on one level, but really turned on that she wanted to pay such intimate attention to him. He kept his ouches to a minimum for her benefit. When the last one was removed, she washed the place with warm water, and patted it dry.

“…Better--?”

He didn’t speak—just pulled her closer.

--
It was nearing nine when the four reunited. Sam had gotten directions to Jorge’s cottage, it was part of a row of staff accommodation that was part of the resort holdings. They walked along, chatting pointlessly and laughing frequently. Jorge spotted them, and hollered his welcome from his doorway. Music was already spilling out of the place—raucous guitars and a number of voices were battling for supremacy. Sam and Dean and the girls found seats and Jorge handed a round of icy cervezas to them.

“So—good time so far--?” he shouted.

Dean nodded and raised his drink to him. “Good band—“ he joked.

Jorge laughed. “--And still completely amateur—hard to believe, heh--?!”

Jorge’s friends were a fun group—the music and beer flowed until late. Both the brothers and their companions had a memorable time. By the time things were winding down, and members of the impromptu band were separating and staggering for home, Dean and Jorge were sitting outside on the porch, nursing a last bottle. With the quiet, conversation was finally a possibility, and Dean asked Jorge about his brother.
“So Georgie—you hang out with your brother much nowadays--?”

Jorge’s expression clouded. “…Nah..I don’t see him much any more.”

“How come…is he far away?”

Jorge sighed. “No—pretty close by, actually. But me and Elieis—we grew up rough, you know..? My old man did what he could—but we never had no money…my mama died when I was twelve, and Eli was ten. Kids that young—they need a mother to keep them grounded, you know..? Man, we were wild little bastards….My Papa worked all the time—we never had alot of watching…nobody was at home to talk to, or to straighten us out when we got stupid ideas. And we had’m—me and Eli. We got into all kinds of crap—it’s a miracle we even made it to this age. But you can do that when you’re a kid..you can bounce back from everything. But after a while—you get older—and you start to feel it more. You start looking for something..I dunno—better…different…something more solid, I guess. So we got older—maybe a little smarter ---and after our misspent youth—we both were looking for something more real to fill the hole. I found the kitchen, and Elieis--he found God. And Elieis is always right—and he doesn’t mind telling you so. He got on my case about the church, how I live—all that. --Now the only common ground we have is that we both shove things down peoples’ throats…he does it with his religion,--with me it’s tortillas—which, I think, -- is much more palatable.”
He smiled to soften his comment, but Dean could hear the pain in his words.

“..Too bad.” Dean said. “…no chance you could patch it up and talk again--?”

“Sure..someday. Elieis always was a passionate kid—no matter what it was that gripped his interest when we were growing up—he always threw himself into it 200 %, without pausing to see the other side. He just finished his seminary studies—he was ordained about six months ago. I hear he shook things up a little—they gave him a church in the sticks somewhere to keep him occupied and harmless. But I guess it’ll cool down…he’ll mellow someday--and maybe we can visit then without coming to blows-“

Dean nodded, saddened. To have a brother close, but separated because of different philosophies—it was a tragedy.
“Jorge—man—you two have gotta figure this out. Me and Sam—hell—half the time we want to punch each other’s lights out—but I couldn’t even imagine going on with out him. God—he and I are opposite in so many ways—but we finally figured it out enough where we could hang out without killing each other. Hey—it’s not perfect—he still drives me nuts—I still make him pull out his hair---but he’s family. Nothing’s more important than that.”

Jorge turned away for a few moments.
“Yeah. ..” he sighed. “--I know what you’re telling me. But Christ—I just wanna talk to Elieis again—I wish bloody Padre Herrera would take the day off.”

Dean was silent for a while. Finally, he spoke.
“Jorge—you’ve gotta remember how close you were…but you’ve gotta see that you’re both different and separate too. Maybe…you need to talk to Padre Herrera for a while..let him make his case. You don’t have to agree with him—just let him say his piece. You said this is what he got hold of to keep his head above water—it’s a deep part of him now. He sees you reject that---and he thinks you’re rejecting him… If he feels you’re still with him after he does his Padre bit—I guarantee you’ll see Elieis come out too. They’re both parts of the same guy—you can’t pick and choose what you want—especially with family. Now—I’m just a screwed up gringo tourist that doesn’t have a home that ain’t on four wheels—but one thing I understand is blood. ---Figure out some place you can both sit comfortably…before you don’t have the option anymore.”

Jorge listened. After a while, he nodded, smiling wryly.
“ ok. Dee-Anne Landers, the advice lady, has opened my eyes. Too bad I’m so damned drunk—I’ll never remember any of this tomorrow.”
Dean got up shakily and patted his shoulder.

“yeah, you will. And if you don’t—I’ll remind you.”

------

thanks for reading---ml

Dean gives good advice and we had sex scenes what more could you ask for?
;)
Lisa

Hi again.

_____________________________________________________

Chapter 4

Father Elieis whistled to himself as he prepared his lunch. He was anxious for Lino to arrive—the caretaker was due in to work on patching the crumbling plaster of the church walls---a never ending task. He hoped his introduction to the man wouldn’t be unpleasant, but he didn’t hold out much hope. He’d seen his dour face glance in his direction several times, he’d smiled and nodded to him, but his overture had been met with a stony stare. And by all accounts—Lino Salazar was not a god-loving man. He worked for the church, but it was more by default than through any devotion. His father had been caretaker before him, and work was scarce—a man didn’t refuse employment when it was handed to him. But despite his bitter demeanor, there was no ground for complaint regarding the job he did. Father Eli was eager to get his box of bones into the ground, and he would assign that task to Lino as soon as he turned up.

He finished his spartan meal and rose to wash his dishes. As he was occupied with that task, Old Sister Crotilde had come into the church to bring the fresh linens. She shuffled in, humming her favourite hymn as was her habit, while she laid out the thread bare cloths on the altar. And as always, she made her way to the niche where San Mateo’s relics were enshrined, lighting a votive and dropping fresh petals over the box. She knelt and prayed. Her routine of devotions continued, and she fumbled her way to the next place where she would do as she had always done—kiss the cool sculpted feet of her saints, praying to the statues for their intercession and their blessings.

Father Eli dropped his soapy plate on the flag-stoned floor when he heard the scream. It shattered into shards, he stepped over them and hastened to the church. There--he found Sister Crotilde in a spitting fury—wailing and cursing over the empty spaces. Father Eli was shocked—never had he heard a woman use such words—even in his rough youth. To see this shriveled, toothless crone in such a state, he was momentarily speechless—

“Sister—please—let me explain-“

Sister Crotilde was frantically running her gnarled hands around the alcove of the last statue, searching for the familiar shape, and when it was clear to her that all of her precious saints were gone—she turned to the architect of her misery. She flew at Elieis and clawed and pummeled at him in weeping rage. He held her off—she weighed nothing and her blows were harmless. He tried to explain, to justify, but it only increased her fury, and her dry little voice rose into a shriek. Her words blended into a stream of syllables, Eli couldn’t understand what she was saying, and finally she spat a gob of yellow phlegm onto his cassock and fled the church.

The priest stood, shaken, in the silent aftermath. He knew she would react badly to his action, but he had never expected such vitriol. He wondered if he should go after her…
He was distracted by laughter. Lino Salazar stood in the doorway, chuckling in raspy, wheezing humour over the little vignette. Father Elieis took a shaky breath and drew himself up to appear somewhat authoritative—a hopeless wish, as Lino had witnessed the entire sordid exchange.

“She’s upset—over the statues—“ Elieis offered pointlessly.

Lino snorted.
“What did you expect? Those stupid things were everything in her miserable, pathetic life—did you think she would just accept this and bow to your holy wishes??”

Elieis stood in silence, his confidence wilting.
“—do you think I should… go find her and…and explain--?”

Again Lino laughed –an gratingly unpleasant sound.
“---Why?---You want your eyes scratched out?! You’re not gonna win her over—didn’t you hear what that bitch was saying?! That old dried fish cursed you to hell. That’s a mortal sin—she knows it--but she damned you to burn for what you did here today. Your flowery bullshit ‘s not gonna fix anything. You won’t see her again.”

Lino turned away and set about preparing for his plastering. Elieis stood, stunned by his words, stunned by the whole ugly thing he’d caused. He had no response—he turned and retreated to the sanctuary of his quarters.

--

After a few hours of contemplation and prayer—Father Elieis had come to some peace over what had happened. He regretted the effect on the poor old creature, but he felt he was on the right path. He knew his method here was a little brutal—but this was important, and Sister Crotilde’s reaction proved it. He needed to cut deep and fast to make the congregation understand the falseness of their practices here.
His resolve was strengthened, and he sought out the caretaker again.
Lino was sleeping on a pew, taking a break between mixing his stucco batches. Elieis shook him awake.

“What?! What do you want, I’m fixing it--!” the older man growled.

Elieis ignored him. “Lino, never mind the walls for today. I have a more important task for you—“
He handed him the sealed shoebox. “—I want you to dig a good, deep hole, in amongst the gravestones. Bury this box in it and fill it again after. That is all I require of you today. You may go home after this is completed.”

The caretaker eyed him with distrust. “I need my full pay—“

“Yes, yes, of course—I will count this day as a full work day. Do this last task and you may leave.”

Lino took the box. He shook it roughly, causing the priest to cringe slightly. The caretaker smirked. He knew what was in the box. Bones…the bones from the gold shrine in the church. --San Mateo’s relics.
He tossed it onto the pew. –What did he care-? The stupid priest was digging his own grave along with the precious Saint’s. It meant nothing to him.

“Si. I will go bury your box.”
He turned away from Father Elieis, shoved his plastering tools into a pile against the wall and stood, lighting a cigarette and grinning unnervingly at him. The young priest grew increasingly uncomfortable under the unpleasant stare, he tried to keep from dropping his eyes to the floor, but he couldn’t stand it. He mumbled a thank-you and retreated to his rooms. Still smirking, Lino snorted in disgust, picked up the box and left.

--

Lino entered the gate of the churchyard, tossing the box onto the ground. He retrieved a shovel from the shed and dug a hole into the hard dirt, just enough to show that the ground had been disturbed. Then he raked the spot a little with his fingers, as if he’d carefully tidied the burial. And finding his rusty bicycle, he picked up the shoebox, clutched it under his arm, and pedaled for home.

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


The week sped by, as good times always seem to do. But the healing effect on the brothers’ psyches was immeasurable. After the initial pink & tender period, both were tanned tobacco brown. After their first companions had left for home, Dean was never without company, and he made sure they came in sets of two for Sam’s sake. Jorge was most impressed with the parade of pretty women they brought to his evening jam sessions.
Dean didn’t ask him again about his brother---he knew Jorge had taken his advice to heart, and would act on it when he felt ready. Dean and he had become good friends…perhaps because they were both shaped by similar forces—both had grown up hard, and both played the protective older brother role. Dean had worked through his feelings that his brother had rejected him, Jorge still had his to resolve. Both found a solace in talking about these things.

On the second last evening of their official vacation, Dean and Jorge were lounging on the porch. It was a quiet evening this time, and Jorge was teaching Dean a few chords on his old six string. Sam snoozed on a hammock strung from the porch ceiling, and the other two smirked as he snorked and smiled in happy dreams.

Jorge pointed his bottle at Sam-
“—That boy’s a giant. You’re gonna get flattened when he sees what you did—“

Dean glanced over at his handiwork, chuckling. He’d taken a blue sharpie marker and drawn his best curly-tipped Captain Morgan moustache on his slumbering victim.
“—Nah…I can still kick his ass any day of the week. And I’m pretty sure I can out-run him.”

“Good.” Jorge snorted. “—Did you get your picture-?”

“Oh yeah…priceless.”

Jorge drained the dregs from his Corona. He really enjoyed the company of these two…it took him back to the days when he and Elieis would sit outside on a hot evening, a stolen bottle of his father’s tequila shared between them. They would talk for hours about their plans, in some charmed future where they would escape the boredom and poverty of the village and go out into the wide world.
.. Hopes, dreams…crude stories..idle chatter…and of course, the teasing. He missed those times. He missed his brother.

Dean twanged some off-key non-chord and Jorge winced at the aural offence.

“Jesus Christus, you’re hopeless-!” he grimaced—snatching the guitar away and coaxing a far more pleasing sound from it. “---Only you can make it cry out in pain like that!”

“Yeah, well—I don’t have your soft woman hands.” Dean protested.

Jorge ignored him, closing his eyes and playing a gentle, traditional ballad. It was lovely, and exquisitely sad…but it was depressing the hell out of Dean. He got up and hovered over Sam, tipping the backwash from his bottle onto Sam’s forehead a few drips at a time, until he swatted sleepily at it. After a moment of that, he was startled awake, and he sat up so abruptly that the hammock dumped him onto the porch.

“…asshole!” he groaned—accepting Dean’s hand as the older man grinned at him.

Jorge got up too, ushering them in as the mosquitoes had begun to be an annoying presence. By now, all three were yawning. Sam was making moves to head back to the room—he’d been on the wake board all afternoon and he was exhausted. He excused himself to go to the can.

“…Wait for it—“ Dean said.

There was a blood-curdling howl from the bathroom and Jorge and Dean nearly fell off the couch. The bathroom door was thrown wide, and Sam flew out and tackled Dean. Dean choked out laughter as he was being throttled, and Jorge finally whistled hard and separated them.

“Kill him tomorrow, Sam—“ he laughed. “I don’t wanna have to nail my furniture back together.

“--Dude—you are so dead--!” Sam warned, hauling Dean up off the floor.

“Relax, Sam--I got the fix-“ Jorge chuckled. He gave him olive oil and a dry loofah. “Scrub at it with this—it’ll come off.”

Sam threw a dagger-laden glance at Dean and returned to the bathroom. Jorge laughed and shook his head.
“..Nice knowing you , my friend..” he said to Dean.



The mirth was interrupted by the abrupt sound of a vehicle braking sharply in front of the house. Jorge’s grin faded, he looked at his watch—it was well past midnight.

“Expecting late visitors--?” Dean asked quietly, instantly wary.

Jorge shook his head. He pushed the curtain aside and looked out the window, but it was too dark—all he could see was a decrepit old pickup. Before he could get to the door there was a frantic pounding on it, and a rapid-fire stream of Spanish that Dean couldn’t understand. But Jorge did-

“Elieis--!”

He pulled the door open, and a man stumbled in, bloodied, and weeping incoherently. Dean and Jorge caught him as he fell, and guided him to a chair.
“Elieis! Jesus, Elieis—what happened--?!” Jorge barked, holding the younger man’s face and peering at him.
Dean saw him in good light now. He was still wearing a coarse cassock over his day clothes—it was torn and spotted with dirt and blood. His face—a younger version of Jorge’s—was bruised and swollen, tracks of tears evident in the dust on his cheeks. He cradled his left arm to himself, rocking as he sobbed his brother’s name, and mumbled incoherently in Spanish. Dean shouted to Sam, telling him to bring towels and warm water.

Jorge shook Elieis’ shoulders-
“Talk to me Eli—what happened—who did this to you--?!”

Shuddering--Elieis shook his head and covered his face—Jorge looked to Dean in alarm. Dean poured a shot into a glass and forced the man to drink some of it, while Jorge gently cleaned the blood and dust from his face with the water Sam brought. After a moment, he’d calmed enough to speak.

Jorge urged him- “You’re safe now, Elieis—tell me what happened-“

The young priest looked at them with eyes that were dark with terror and grief.
“Devils…demons—in my church—“ he finally managed, his expression crumpling in fresh tears.

“What are you talking about-?!” Jorge demanded. “--Stop speaking nonsense and tell me!”

Young Father Elieis took a deep breath and tried.
“--Jorge—it’s not madness, I swear to you —I saw it—things flying about in the church—terrible sounds—the bible torn to pieces, the pages curled and burnt. And the Sister—Crotilde—she…she—
He abruptly bent double and vomited. Jorge was growing wild eyed with concern, he held him until the retching subsided.

“—she’s dead—“ Elieis croaked.“—The Sister—her head was ...smashed in, -- just an old woman—blood and brains all over the flagstones—and the statues, all angry, they were hissing--—the statues were back—I’m not crazy—not crazy---I saw evil--!“

Jorge swore vehemently in frustration.---Elieis was babbling more religious nonsense. Dean put a hand on his shoulder-
“Jorge—wait—let him finish—he’ll spit it out— “
He crouched in front of the priest and spoke gently to him.
“Elieis, My name is Dean. That’s my brother—Sam. We’re friends of Jorge. I need you to tell me clearly what happened tonight, ok? We’re all listening, we don’t think you’re nuts—just describe what went on –“

This stranger’s manner was calming to Elieis—it forced him to get a grip and try to speak like a sane person, instead of being a hopelessly emotional wreck in the protective presence of Jorge. He wiped his tears away and nodded. Dean handed him a small glass of whiskey, and the young priest drained it, took a faltering breath and began his horrible tale.

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

thanks for reading--mal

cool another update...I had initial thought that the father was going to be the bad guys and now this...hmmm...
HOpe to read another chapter as soon as you can....
Lisa :)

omgee!! dude, i wonder why that caretaker didnt just bury the damn bones and get on with it!
ahhaha blue sharpie mustache! been there done that, not to me of course, but i drew it on a few wasted friends
:) such fun it is.

Great update!! Can't wait for the next chapter...
I've been reading this story on another website!!

As always loving your stories!! Update soon! :cheer

Whoa, that's some nasty goings on at the church. And a job just drops into the boys laps.

What's Lino up to?

Look forward to more.

....brain...tired....can't think....anymore........................................

=================================================

Chapter 5

“..I heard..strange crashes—noises—coming from my church. I was in my kitchen, writing my sermon..before bed. Through my window—I saw lights flickering in the nave. I thought…maybe some parishioner needed me, or perhaps—kids, you know?—up to no good. I went in, and---
He swallowed hard, and crossed himself.

“—Go on-“ Dean coaxed.

“I know how I sound—like some drunk, yeah?—But I swear it was like this…the candles were all burning—I’d already put them all out earlier, but they were burning furiously, wildly—as if whipped by a harsh wind. The bible was on the lectern where I’d left it. The pages were…fanning back and forth, tearing out and landing on the flames—burning to ashes in the air. …And the statues—

Elieis stopped—reliving the scene. Jorge was pacing and cursing—frustration and anger radiating. Dean held him off.

Elieis continued. “—I took the statues out of the church this morning. I put them away—locked them in a cupboard. It was my purpose..to show my parishioners that they did not need these false things to find God—these wood and plaster idols—they were distractions—they stood in the path of real faith. I put them away—out of sight. But the old nun—Sister Crotilde—she was very upset. When she discovered that they were gone—she was enraged…weeping, and she cursed me to hell, --she fled. I prayed for forgiveness for her sin…she was distraught—she didn’t know what she was asking for. …And the relics, San Mateo Alemann—the founder of our church…they belonged in holy ground—not in some golden box in the church. I had them buried in the graveyard. I was going to lead the people to a new way to God—without the reliance on these physical things….
..But then…then the Demon came. Such sounds, such terrible sounds as you have never imagined, Jorge! Hissing---wailing—“

Dean exchanged a knowing look with Sam, who hovered beside. This was no demon, this was easy. To the experienced hunters—it was text-book. They were dealing with one decidedly unhappy spirit. What they had here was a pissed off old saint who was obviously upset over having been disturbed from his place of adulation.

Elieis found his voice again. “—I went in…calling to God to bring calm to his sanctuary..and I found her in the aisle. There were things strewn about…heavy things, and candles and books and stones were flying—thrown into the air, hitting me…and the Sister…one of her beloved saints had…had fallen from it’s place and struck her…her head was…. I fled...I fled my church---I left her there, in that horror---“

He sat, in wide-eyed silence, seeing it all again…loathing himself for causing it, for abandoning her, and his church, to the Devil.

Dean stood up and spoke quietly to Jorge.
“..Jorge—listen. ..man—this is gonna sound so f~cked up—but I know what’s going on here—we know what this is. He’s not crazy—this has nothing to do with demons—

“Of course it doesn’t!” he shot back, angrily. “—He is crazy!—All this bloody religion—he’s lost his mind! Maybe some robber, or a vandal---but he won’t believe it, his passion is driving him to this madness!”

“No!—Look, Jorge, just calm him down, check him over and get him ready to go to the clinic. I’ll explain later—right now I have to talk to Sam.”

Jorge nodded tensely. He proceeded to pull off Eli’s cassock and clothing, and he laid him back gently on the sofa, checking him over.

Dean took Sam aside. “—So what do you think--?”

“Pretty classic. …Vengeful spirit—“

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. We‘ve gotta find those bones and salt & burn.”

Sam agreed. “Sooner the better, before any more faithful get their heads done in…”

“..what about the nun?—he said she cursed him—“

Sam thought for a moment. “No—I don’t think this fits. She was a nun, for shits sakes—she wouldn’t have the right incantations—it would have been the last thing she would have had access to. I think that was just an emotional outburst---I think the real problem is the relics…I mean—whatever was in that box was peacefully adored for who knows how long—and now, all of a sudden, this new guy comes in, full of ideas, full of change--—and he takes them out of the shrine and buries them. --No more hero-worship. Maybe San Mateo just can’t deal with that.”

Dean grunted. “Yeah—that sounds right. And even if the old nun did curse him—why would she end up the victim..? I think you’re on the right track. Now we just have to convince Jorge…”

“Why even bring him into it? He’ll be busy with Elieis at the clinic—we could go without him and finish it..”

That was exactly how Dean would have preferred it to go. But he knew that the young priest was tearing himself up over what had happened, and he needed to be brought into the loop for his own well being. Plus---they needed Elieis to show them where the bones were now buried. He said as much to Sam.

They rejoined Jorge. Eli was muttering and weeping again, growing more distraught.
“—She cursed me—she brought the devil to punish me for this—it’s my fault.. I might as well have killed her with my own hands--!”

Jorge had stripped him of his ruined cassock and shirt, the poor young priest was bruised all over, his wrist clearly broken.
“I need to get some fresh things for him—please watch him—“ Jorge asked, heading to his bedroom. Sam nodded.

Alone for a moment with Elieis, Dean spoke to him quickly.
“Elieis—look at me-“ The young priest raised his eyes.

“Listen carefully-- My brother and I—we know what’s happening in your church. I can’t explain now---but your nun didn’t bring any demon down on you—she wasn’t involved. Are you following me--?”

Elieis stared, then nodded.

“Good. Now listen--what’s happening here—is about those bones. It’s not demons—not a curse, ok? Your patron saint is upset because his last remains have been disturbed. I know how that sounds---but you know what you saw, and we know how to fix it—“

Elieis shook his head vehemently. “No..no—San Mateo was a good and holy man—a savior to these poor people…he would never harm them—“

Sam tried. “Yes, he was, but something has happened—something that is driving his gentle spirit to fury, and he’s lashing out. His spirit isn’t trying to hurt anyone in particular…Sister Crotilde was just an unfortunate casualty in this. Elieis—do you understand what we’re saying? Dean and me—we know about this stuff. And we can bring your San Mateo back to peace. But you have to trust us..”

Elieis wanted to believe, more than anything. But he wanted a solution that fit within the parameters of his faith—and these men spoke to him of ghosts. There were no ghosts—only God and the Devil, the living and the dead—heaven and hell and earth. He shook his head.
“No—you are wrong. San Mateo is in the arms of Heaven. This—this thing…this is demon’s work. I brought the Devil here—I made that poor old woman bring this on my church—“

Dean too was losing patience.
“Elieis—shut up and hear us out. We’ve seen every spirit you could think of, and we’ve seen demons. We’ve fought both and we’re still here. We know the difference, ok?! Now--- I don’t know anything about God and heaven and the rest of it—I leave that to people like you. But I know the other side. And I know how to deal with it. --Let me tell you exactly how it went—You put away the statues—and nothing happened. Your nun freaked out—screamed at you and left. Still nothing. Then you went ahead and got rid of the relics. And that’s when the crap hit the fan. Stuff flying around—weird noises—yeah, you already told us. But what about the church—it got real cold, didn’t it, when you went in? When it was all going on—you could see your breath, it was that freezing…and this is freaking Mexico! Stop me if I’m off track—“

Elieis sat, stunned, finally nodding.
Dean continued.
“Did you smell sulphur—while you were in the church?”

“—sulphur..?”

“Like rotten egg—did you smell it--?”

Elieis struggled to remember. “No—no—only the wax, the burnt paper…nothing like that—“

“Then there was no demon, Elieis. Demons always leave sulphur. What you have is an angry spirit. ---You said you had the bones buried—can you show us where?”

Jorge had returned with fresh clothing, and had heard the exchange. He was furious, he shoved Dean roughly away from his brother-
“What the hell are you doing?? He’s already crazy—why are you telling him this bullshit?!”

Dean kept his urge to strike back contained. He sighed with irritation—they always wasted precious time having to convince people while the spirits ran amuck—
“Jorge—I know how this sounds—but you have to believe me. Sam and me—we deal with this stuff all the time—it’s what we do. Hell--you know what shape I’m in—how do you think I got so freaking shredded?? I wasn’t wrestling bears, I was fighting crap like this. And I’m telling you this—Eli here will never be able to go back into that church unless we find those bones, and salt and burn them. He’ll never find his precious peace again, Jorge. Is that what you want?!”

Jorge shook his head, in angry confusion. But he knew the last part was true—the church was everything to Eli now---if they didn’t fix whatever this was, his brother would be a broken man. And as his protector—he couldn’t stand to see that happen.
“He has to go to the hospital—or at least the clinic…look at him—he’s a mess—and his arm is broken—“

“Yes--clinic first, Jorge-“ Sam intervened. “—then we’ll all go back to Elieis’ church. You can decide for yourself then if we’re just a couple of liars or freaks. But we’re the only ones who can fix this thing—and it won’t hurt anything to try, right?”

Jorge stood for a moment—staring from Elieis to the brothers. Finally he let loose a stream of Spanish epithets.
“Fine. We’ll go to the goddamned church. I must be as insane as the rest of you--!”
---
============================================

seeya---mal

off to the church we go..something tells me that it won't be as simple as the boys think it is! hee hee
Lisa

I'm glad to see that you updated the story!! I just wish it was longer... :(
I hope you update soo. Can't wait to see what's going to happen to our boys!! :fire

Oooh, yeah, go to the church, I'm sure that will go fine. *snickers*

I can feel some pained boys coming on.

Well--the crap had to hit the fan sooner or later...

______________________________________________________

Chapter 6

The brothers waited outside in the car as Jorge brought Elieis in to get medical attention. It gave them some time to discuss the situation, and plan.
Sam was on board with helping to deliver Jorge’s brother of this terrible situation, but he was realizing now that there was certainly the potential for harm—and he’d vowed it as his mission to avoid this very thing for a while---at least until Dean had a chance to regain his strength and health.
But here they were again, in the thick of it. There was no turning back, of course---neither one of them had it in him to abandon someone in the middle of such a problem when they were well equipped to solve it. But damn it—he didn’t want this now---

He also knew that it was irrelevant how he felt about it…this was happening here, and now—and there was no turning away. Jorge was a friend, and his brother Elieis needed them.
But he had to ask-

“Dean—I know...I know we can’t ignore this…but are you…I mean, this is serious—dangerous. The whole point of coming here was to relax and heal up decently, before we--

Dean sighed, irritated. “What do you want from me, Sam? We didn’t ask for this job, but here it is. You want to just bail on these guys?! Jorge’s been a good friend this whole week…he’s had us over every night practically. …And he and I—we talked a lot, about everything—about being the older brother—about family, about…about loss. –So you go ahead and do what ever the hell you want—I’m not gonna let those two head into this without my help!”

“--Dude, would you flatten your hackles down?! I wasn’t saying we should leave them to deal with this alone—I just wanted to make sure this was what you wanted…I mean…things have been really rough, lately…..I just wanted for us to..I dunno—take some time to …to get strong again, to be normal…….especially after what happened in Texas.”

Dean regretted his reaction. Of course Sam would never suggest ducking a hunt when there were people at risk. But he hadn’t realized why Sam had been so intent on seeing them do the vacation thing seriously. Sam was worried for him…for his state of health. …And it drove him nuts—

“Ok—I get it! Look--I’m fine, Sam….I appreciate the concern---but Jorge, and Eli—they need us. And who knows how many others will get hurt if we don’t. –So don’t worry about me, alright? I can manage this—“

Sam rubbed a hand over his face. --Fine. He’s always fine.
Things this past week had been so good---why the hell this—why now??
But he knew he had to let it go. It was, after all, what they did.
He simply nodded.

Jorge and Eli finally emerged from the clinic. The young priest had a bright, new cast on his arm, and several bandages. But at least he looked a bit better. The deer-in-the-headlights expression had lessened. Dean rolled down the window-

“He’s ok?”

“Yeah—“ Jorge answered, as he ushered Elieis into his car. “Bruises, and a broken wrist—nothing lethal. Are you sure you wanna go out to the mission tonight? --We could wait—he’ll come to his senses in the morning—“

Dean swore. “No! Jorge—we have to see what the hell’s going on out there—people already are hurt—and worse. Just tell him to direct us—we’ll follow you.”

Jorge nodded with a frown, and he pulled ahead of the Impala.
The drive was tedious and long—after leaving the luxuriant growth of the coast, it was hours of dry, poor farmland. Finally the mission bell tower loomed in the dimly lit distance. There were flashes of eerie light coming from the church’s tiny windows---it didn’t bode well.

“Turn on the EMF, Sam-“ Dean directed.
Sam found the unit and switched it on as they slowed to a stop in front of San Mateo’s sanctuary. It lit up like a Christmas tree-
“Whoa!” Dean exclaimed, parking. “--Guess that covers any doubts--!”

“—No kidding—“ Sam mumbled in agreement.

They exited the car and stood beside Jorge’s vehicle. Elieis was cowering in the passenger seat—speechless at the terrible display flooding from his church. He turned, wide-eyed, to his big brother-
“—You see, Jorge..? You see this evil--? It spills out into the night as we speak--!”

Jorge snorted. “It’s just your stupid candles---the wind is blowing them—look—some vandal has broken the glass in the windows--!”
He got out, ordering his brother to remain in the car. He walked toward the Winchesters as they stood, hearing the high-pitched scream of the EMF.
“What is that--?” he demanded.

“This picks up electromagnetic surges-“ Sam answered. “—Spectral activity usually generates energy—this detects it.”

Jorge snarled something and stalked to the church entrance.
“Wait--!” Dean barked. “—Jorge-!”

Jorge ignored him and pulled open one of the old, flaking doors. Dean caught up to him as Jorge stopped short and stared.
The church was a ruin. Everything that had been laid carefully and neatly in its place was dislodged—every book, every candle-stand. Stones from the crumbling wall were strewn about, along with the dust and grit of failed mortar. And the statues were there..well, some were---others were lying in pieces on the floor, and on the splintered wooden pews.
“—Jesus--!” Jorge muttered. Whoever it was that had assaulted Elieis—they’d laid waste to the place.

Dean grabbed him and pulled him back. “Jorge—get back to Eli—it’s not safe--!”

“Don’t be stupid—the vandals, they’re long gone!” He shrugged him off and headed further in.
The nun lay where she’s died, at the front of the centre aisle. He walked toward her body, glancing around at the damage. The brothers had no choice but to follow..
Suddenly the temperature plummeted. Jorge turned to speak to them, but instead he yelped in warning-
He had no chance to verbalize—the sounds drowned it out. A crescendo of hissing rose, gathering in intensity and culminating in an unearthly wail. He shot a WTF expression toward Dean—and Dean roared back as the rubble and debris rose and spun around them-

“Out!—Get out!!” Dean shouted, ducking and trying to avoid being struck by the things flying faster and faster.
The trio bolted for the open door—Sam almost made it through first when it slammed shut with a violence that shattered the plaster from the doorframe. He yelled, his left hand caught, and he pounded his shoulder against the wood until it gave way and freed his fingers. Dean pulled him back, and shouted over the din—
“—You ok--?!”

Sam shook his head, cursing impressively, as he gripped his bleeding fingers. He was glad they were still attached to his hand-
Dean would have insisted on seeing, but he had his own problems. Jorge was screaming now---a heavy, brass curtain rod had pulled free of the wall where it had held an old embroidered banner. It struck the bewildered man across the head, dropping him, and as if held by some invisible hand, it continued to beat him as he lay on the stones, covering up as well as he could. Dean leapt forward and grabbed the thing, ramming it under the closest kneeler, where it bucked and rattled violently against its restraint. He hauled Jorge back up, and half dragged him toward the doorway as Sam threw his weight against the planks. Dean threw his own shoulder against them, and finally the door gave way, spilling them out onto the dust. They stumbled back to a safe distance.

“What—what the bloody hell was that-?!!” Jorge panted, as he pressed his hand against the bludgeoned crown of his head. Dean was already tending Sam’s crushed hand—he glanced up-

“That’s your brother’s imaginary spirit-!“ he growled.
Sam swore a blue streak as Dean straightened his bleeding fingers from their dislocated positions.
“--At least it’s your left—“ he said, leading him to the Impala trunk to retrieve the first aid kit.

“Oh yeah—no freaking problem then--!” Sam retorted angrily, cradling his throbbing hand.

Jorge stood still, staring with disbelief at the church as the sounds of crashing and wailing continued to echo from it. Elieis left the car and stood beside him.

“..now you believe me.” Eli said, in quiet horror.
Jorge continued to stare as stones rattled loose and fell from the bell tower. “Holy Mother of Christ, Elieis---“ he muttered, “--what have you got yourself into now--!?”

--
Dean had wrapped Sam’s hand tightly.
“You’d better go check Jorge out-“ Sam growled.
Dean nodded and joined the Herrera brothers as they stood, watching the spectacle.
“Better let me see that-“ he said, pointing to the trickle of red trailing down from his black hair. Jorge tore his eyes away from the building and let Dean lead him to their car.
Dean swiftly looked him over.
“Nice cut—no goose-egg yet.” He dabbed at it and stuck a couple of band-aids on it. Dean was an efficient field medic, but his bedside manner left much to be desired. “So, Jorge—any questions--?” he snorted wryly.

Jorge pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a shaking hand. He took a deep drag, exhaling slowly, before he spoke.
“---Ok….So you and Elieis aren’t crazy. This isn’t a robbery—isn’t vandals. So what, then?? What the hell do we do now--?!”

Dean was blunt. “--We fnd those leftover dried up Saint bits and torch’em. --Along with salt. The spirit will be released and the church will be safe.”

Jorge looked at him like he’s lost his mind.

“--Don’t!” Dean growled, “Don’t give me that goddamned look. I don’t question your cooking, so don’t you question what I know. You want to deal with this on your own—you go right ahead. I’m on freaking vacation--!”

Neither noticed as Elieis walked away, drawn toward his stricken church. He’d seen enough tonight—he’d seen blood and death and horror. And now Jorge had been hurt, and the one called Sam….All his fault… It had to stop---
He walked through the open door, silently praying for God’s protection, and calling out to San Mateo. The iron bell began to clang wildly as the tower’s crumbling mortar rained down..

“Dean--!” Sam shouted, interrupting the exchange—pointing.
Both Dean and Jorge swore and the trio started running as Eli disappeared into the church.
They were met by a violent whirlwind of debris now. They ducked as well as they could, but were pelted by the things as Dean pushed through and tackled Elieis. Elieis was shouting over the din, crawling now,—begging San Mateo’s forgiveness. The church air grew icy—the Saint was not inclined to turn the other cheek. The sound intensified as Dean and Jorge pulled at Eli, trying to haul him back to safety as Sam pushed hard against the rattling doors to keep them from being trapped.

“—No!” Eli screamed, fighting them off, “—Let me go! It’s me he wants—Let me atone--!!”

Jorge hauled back and punched him hard on his chin, and Elieis went limp. He and Dean dragged frantically on his dead weight, as the bell rang now with maniacal fury, the rope whipping back and forth like a serpent as the yoke began to tear loose from its mooring.
The brittle old stonework gave way. The heavy iron bell broke free and dropped with a shower of stone and dust, just as they managed to pull the priest outside.
The silence that remained in the wake was deafening. Jorge and Dean choked and coughed at the dust that filled their eyes and lungs, Eli still out cold between them.
They looked up as the stones from the weakened tower began to shift---Dean’s shout of warning was lost in a roar and rush of air, as the structure gave way and the stonework tumbled down. They covered their heads as errant pieces struck and bloodied them, until the collapse was complete and they were left in swirling, dusty quiet.

Dean struggled to his feet, wiping blood and grit from his eyes. He stood in momentary shock, as the realization hit him-

“—SAM--?!!”
---

seeya--mal

*yells expletives* You're leaving it there?

Oh it does not look good for Sam. I'm on tenterhooks here.

Look forward to the next chappy.

what the flippin' hell! you get back here mal and you UPDATE!!!!
sammm!!!!!!!!!!!!

WOW!
:hide

awesome fic! i didnt know you started a new fic! i'm really enjoying it as always. you are exceptionally talented.

i hope Sam's alright. and its nice that Dean has a new friend.

:)

But..but....but......

Sam?????

I hate endings like that....lol...they make me nervous......

I just found this story. I was hoping you would write again.

Looks like Sam is in for a bit of trouble this time. I love the way you write a "take charge" Dean. Can't wait to see what state the walls tumbling down have left poor Sam. Please update soon.

Thanks for reviewing, sorry to have left you hanging--just no room in my skull for imagination the last few days...
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Chapter 7

Dean stumbled over the chaos of stone in his way, falling to his knees, coughing. The air was thick with the powdered lime ground out by the tower’s destruction. He crawled forward, and frantically began to claw away the debris.
The bell tower was a ruin, only half-walls remained. The bell yoke and wheel were visible, protruding from the rubble, the rope a tangle between the stones. Dean called out to Sam as he worked, hearing nothing in response. Checking to see that Elieis was unscathed, Jorge shook the cobwebs from his brain and joined him, sure that the young man was crushed somewhere under the pile of stones and timbers. The two dragged and rolled the stones and splintered beams away, clawing their hands bloody until brightly coloured cloth, chalked with dust, was revealed. Dean’s hands found tanned skin, and he brushed until he reached Sam’s wrist. He pressed trembling fingers against it, relieved beyond words to find a pulse.

“—is he-? Jorge asked.

“--Alive--!“ Dean answered. He pulled more rubble away, revealing a section of wooden steps. They were jammed at an angle, wedged against the remainder of the wall. Sam’s head and shoulders were covered by them, thankfully protecting him from the falling stones. Dean and Jorge pulled hard until they were free, lifting the section and shoving it aside.
“Sam--!” Dean cried, wiping his brothers face free of grit. “—C’mon, Sammy—it me--! Sam!”

Jorge worked at freeing the rest of him, as Dean tried feverishly to get a response. Finally he was rewarded with a groan.
Dean nearly cried when he heard it. “--I’m here, Sam— we’re getting you out of here --!”

Sam turned his head and squinted at his brother. “…Dean….”

“Where are you hurt-? Can you tell me?” Dean didn’t dare move him.

“..uh.. I…I dunno-
He didn’t finish, he gasped, grasping Dean’s wrist as Jorge began to tug at the bell wheel.

“-Stop--!” Dean barked, halting Jorge. He couldn’t see the problem, but clearly it hurt Sam. The iron bell was still half covered, the yoke was lying across Sam’s calf, the wheel keeping the full weight of the bell from crushing his leg. When Jorge moved the wheel, the yoke pressed down harder against the pinned limb.
Sam gripped his brother’s arm hard, shuddering with the pain. Jorge carefully removed the remaining debris so that they could see what they were dealing with.
The iron frame dug into the back of Sam’s leg. In the poor light, Dean could see dark blood staining the grey dust on his skin. He was sure too, that the ankle below the yoke was out of line with the rest of his leg—it was surely broken.
Sam’s face was screwed up in agony. He swore, his hold on Dean’s wrist tightening.

“…don’t..don’t move it---“ he panted.
“Ok, Sam—It can sit for a minute, but we have to lift it off or you’re stuck here. Are you hurt anywhere else—your back, or neck--?”

Sam nodded slightly, his hand falling away from Dean’s arm now. He was weakening, the black mist in the periphery of his vision creeping in.

“Where, Sammy--? Tell me—“
--everywhere—he thought. The effort to speak was too costly, Sam slipped into unconsciousness.

The doors that led from the tower into the church had begun to rattle again. It seemed San Mateo wasn’t finished—he was still enraged at the affront, his fury gaining strength again. Dean glanced fearfully at Jorge. “We’ve gotta move—“

“—that bell must weigh at least five hundred—“ Jorge said grimly. “We can lift it better with Eli-“
He got up and returned to his brother, who was sitting up, bewildered, where he’d left him.
“Get up—“ Jorge said harshly. “We need you to help. Your precious Saint dropped his bell on one of them—“

Eli got to his feet, clutching his brother’s shoulder to steady himself. He could see the flaring light of the votives through the windows, forming hideous, dancing shadows on the ground
“No, Jorge—I have to go in, I must quiet the spirit—God will-

Jorge slapped him hard. “--Screw your ghost, and your god! You can’t help him now—you have a living man to save!”

Elieis was shocked into clarity, he nodded. ---Priorities—yes---

Dean spoke to Sam, warning him that they were going to move it, hoping Sam still couldn’t hear. The trio each took hold of a part, Dean, standing over Sam, had the top of the yoke, Jorge and Elieis each gripped an edge of the bell. The doors were flying open and closed, pounding rabidly against the pile of rock that blocked them, they caught glimpses of the inside, a howling whirlwind of church goods pelting the walls. The joinery of the woodwork was beginning to separate—any moment now, the doors could give way and they’d be facing the mayhem that reigned behind them.
Dean shouted over the rising noise- “On three—“

On the third count they lifted the bell straight up, a few hard-won inches, each man straining under the heavy weight. They stepped away clumsily, and dropped it, and Dean scrambled back to Sam’s side. Sam was stirring, moaning now. Dean grabbed the fabric of his shirt and pulled him free, stumbling. Jorge pushed him aside gently, grabbed Sam under his arms and dragged him back to the car as Eli followed. Once at the car’s side, safely out of the angry saint’s reach, Elieis brought the med kit from where it had been left on the hood. They splinted and bound Sam’s injury as he groaned and cursed weakly, but he nodded in agreement when Jorge asked if they could move him into the back of the car.
They got him in, preparing to speed to the local hospital.

Sam raised his head, wincing, “—where’s Dean--?”

“Right here—“ Jorge assured him.

While Elieis tended to Sam, Dean had been leaning heavily against the Impala’s back fender. The pain he’d ignored while they’d worked to free his brother claimed all his attention now. He was breathing fast, as a sickening ache intensified. His vision swam. Alarmed, Jorge spoke to him.
He looked up, dazed, not hearing the words. He never heard Jorge’s shout to Eli. He slipped soundlessly to his knees, swaying for a moment, before falling forward onto the gravel.

--
Sam stayed alert for the rough ride to the hospital. He would have loved to be unaware, but his concern for his fallen brother would never allow it. Thankfully it wasn’t too far, although at first glance the facility resembled anything but a place of healing, no one would have blamed them for passing on it in favour of continuing to the city. But Sam was bleeding and in considerable pain, and they had no idea what ailed his brother—Dean hadn’t stirred since Jorge picked him up from where he’d collapsed. Jorge himself was nursing several badly bruised places, reminders of their rocky evening. Elieis drove ahead of them, he knew the way.

Jorge parked the Impala, scattering several stray cats.
“Stay there, Sam—I’ll get somebody-“

“-yeah.” Sam ground out.
Alone with Dean, he pushed himself up to where he could reach him.
“—Dean…?” he shook him gently.
When he got no response, he pulled himself up further, running his good hand through his brother’s sticky hair. He felt a large raised bump—there was no question he would have a concussion. He prayed it wasn’t a fracture. Dean did stir now, with a groan of protest.

Jorge returned with help, and the brothers were taken from the car to be assessed. They were nearly refused treatment without prepayment, but Eli was able to dissuade them, his position as the parish priest was, for the first time that evening, a benefit rather than a curse.
They were separated for a long time. Sam was stitched and had his broken tibia set and a cast applied. His fingers were splinted. It was agreed all around that it was a miracle he hadn’t had his head bashed in.
He asked anxiously about Dean. Satisfied that Sam would mend, Jorge went out to find out how he faired.

He found him, sitting wearily on the side of a bed. His head and torso were patched, and he was arguing uselessly with a doctor who spoke only Spanish. Jorge intervened.
After hearing the man out, he translated.
“He says you must stay—you have broken ribs and a bruised kidney, plus you are concussed. He won’t allow you to leave—you need to be observed, for your own good--“

Dean raised his head to Jorge and growled angrily-
“Tell him to bite me! I want to see Sam-!”

“Sam is patched up now. He has a cast—but he can go home. You need to stay, Dean—just overnight. Your injuries are-

“—are not gonna kill me, Jorge. I can’t afford to stay here, and we have work to do. We have to make that church safe before anybody else gets their brains mashed out. You know damn well that the tower collapse will bring people out—and that Saint is freaking out in the church—how many more times do you want to be hauling people here?!”
He stopped and grimaced, catching his breath sharply, as his left side and back reminded him of why he was sitting there. He lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper-
“—Look, tell him we’re broke. I’m leaving—ask him what we owe.” He stood up, gripping the edge of the bed until he was sure he could stay that way.
Jorge shook his head, but he knew Dean well enough now to realize that when he made up his mind, there was no argument. He spoke rapidly to the doctor, who finally threw up his hands in defeat and stalked out.

“Ok, Dean—you win, you stubborn bastard. Are you sure you can make it back to the car? You want some help--?”

“—just…let me hang onto your shoulder for a bit—‘til I’m steady. I gotta go find Sam.”

Jorge supported him and they found where Sam was. Sam was being fitted for crutches, he looked up with concern at his brother’s haggard face.
“What’s the damage, Dean--?”

“--Couple of ribs. And I’ll be pissing pink for a week. --Got a freaking ostrich egg on my skull. Other than that—it’s all good…what about you?”

“Two broken fingers…and this-“ He pointed to the fresh, damp cast. “They stitched me up. I’ll be hopping for six weeks.”

“—that sucks.” Dean grunted, sitting down carefully with a heavy sigh. “but you were damned lucky, If that piece of stair hadn’t landed where it did—“

Lucky was the last thing Sam felt at the moment, but he nodded in agreement.

Jorge left them to go in search for Elieis. He found him, in a ward filled with wrinkled old faces, the ancient elderly, abandoned here, and awaiting death. He’d passed the room earlier, catching a glimpse of their depressed faces, staring dully at nothing, some weeping with loneliness. He watched his brother make his rounds, speaking gently to each one of them, holding their gnarled and papery old hands as they beamed happily at his comforts. He blessed each one of them, and Jorge could see the immensely positive effect it had, and he saw Eli’s genuine smile. It was a side he’d never seen of Elieis. He stepped back, and waited until he was finished.

“Elieis-“ he said quietly. The young man nodded and joined him in the hallway.
“Did you get yourself checked over?”

Eli nodded. “Just a few new bruises. How are your friends--?”

“Banged up. Sam has a cast now, his brother Dean was hit by the stones—it hurt his ribs, but both insist that we leave now.”

“..Oh. …Is this wise--?” Elieis felt a piercing guilt—they would be fine now if he hadn’t returned to the church.

Jorge snorted. “Of course it isn’t wise. --You go tell them that. They seem to think that your Saint must be appeased tonight, before any more tragedy happens. I tell you, Eli—if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes….

Eli stared at the floor tiles as they walked. The whole business terrified him…not because they were dealing with any ghost, but because it flew in the face of everything he knew, everything he’d embraced and built his life on.
“These brothers—they say they know how to do this---to put San Mateo to rest. ..You believe this..?”

Jorge shrugged. “Elieis—I don’t know what to believe after tonight. You can pray all you want to fix it, but I know this—they’re ready to put their own lives in danger to try…I think that is a telling thing, and we should do what we can to help them. I don’t see how either could hurt right now—“

They met Sam and Dean in the foyer. Eli wanted to cry when he saw them—but he kept a grip on himself. Crying was useless, they needed support and facilitation now. He silently asked for them to be blessed, knowing that the present company would not appreciate him hovering over them, tracing the cross on their foreheads. He hoped God was awake and listening.

--
Dean asked to travel with Elieis. Eli choked out tearful apologies for half the ride, until Dean barked at him to stop. He told him to get over it—he already had.
He wanted to talk to the priest, to explain all he knew of vengeful spirits, and how to release them. Eli listened quietly, absorbing it all. In the end, he decided that perhaps it didn’t completely clash with his beliefs. After all---these confused souls were destined to go to heaven, or hell as the case may be---but they were halted in their path by circumstances beyond their control. He felt that San Mateo was, probably always in the church, benignly watching over the people, as long as his bones remained in the shrine. He was never able to join his God, because his remains kept him here. And now---something had happened, something that clearly put his soul in torment. He had to ask—

“Dean—I don’t understand—I had the bones buried in blessed ground. This is as it should have been…why would he object to this?”

His choice of words caught Dean’s attention.

“You had them buried? Eli—are you telling me you didn’t bury them yourself--?”

Eli looked down in shame. “…I…I was full of my own importance. Like a pompous ass, I swept into my new church, announced to the people that things would be changed, and then I passed that task off to the caretaker. ..But I saw the place—the soil was dug, the ground neatly raked after…”

“But you never saw the bones go into the ground--?”

“No.”

Dean swore quietly. There had to have been a break in the chain. Those bones were not in that ground, for god-knows-what reason, they were somewhere else…

“Elieis—we have to go talk to your caretaker--now!”
---

seeya--ml
---

glad that you found your "imagination" again...the boys get banged up again!
lisa

Exciting chapter, that was great.

Yeah, go and speak with the caretaker, find out what's going on there.

I reckon the caretaker needs a damn good slap.....he's well creepy......

Aw the poor boys.....they never cut a break do they?

ooh, great chapter! i wonder why that creepy old caretaker wanted the bones to begin with!

Hey-
-You've all been great--very patient--thanks! I appreciate the readership and feedback....
---So -----I've had a total drought for inspiration--RL rules at present and my story has stalled.
BUT I finally decide tonight's the night I'll write some more--and Lo and Behold--the Microsoft Word trial upgrade my son downloaded has expired. --Not tragedy necessarily...except the insidious nature of this marketing ploy has the trial version replace your existing program, and if you don't upgrade at time's-up----you're @#$% outa luck. Stories that I wrote in the old version will load into wordpad--but I started The Fury of San Mateo in the trial version. Now--if I try to open it in wordpad--it comes up as gibberish. I'm about to pull my hair out, I tell ya.

But I finally realized a way around it...I'll copy the text I wrote from my posts here, start a new wordpad document, and continue on from there. And Bill Gates can bite me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh--and apologies too--you probably expected a bona fide upgrade here, and got a rant instead. ...Well--here's hoping you don't give up on me--I'm gonna go rustle my own freaking text now. Maybe that'll drive the creative process, who knows??

---Mal

No problem!! Take your time, but can't wait for your story!!

I always enjoy your wonderful writing!! :cheer

..uh...hi--remember me? Sorry for taking so long....just tumbleweeds blowing around in the desert of my brain lately. Thanks for reading so far---hope you can rekindle an interest in the story---ml
_______________________________________________________

Chapter 8

After the endlessly rough and comfortless drive back, the four were more than ready to give in to their exhaustion and start fresh in the morning. Jorge ushered everyone into his cottage, brooking no argument from anyone. Dean was all for heading back to the church, but he was finally convinced that at this time, no one would be out and in danger. Morning would be another story, they'd have to get back there at the crack of dawn, before word got out about the tower's fall. If a crowd of curious and do-gooders gathered, the angry saint would add to his list of victims---the toll would be much higher.

Dean saw Sam to a room, staying up until his brother was asleep. Jorge set him up on a sofa, offering him blankets and the option of a stiff drink, which he accepted. Jorge sipped at his own, contemplatively. So many questions...
"..So...you hurt bad..?" Jorge asked quietly, uncomfortable at prying.

Dean shrugged and winced. "Nothing new, Jorge. It'll pass." He drained his glass and Jorge refilled it. "Me and Sam--we see stuff like this alot...and we get the crap kicked out of us more often than we'd like, but hey---we chose this job. No point in bitching about it."

Jorge nodded slightly. He was still reeling from his evening, the things he'd witnessed, and the knowledge that others, like the Winchesters, dealt with this regularly. All he could do was take his new friend's word that this was real, and solvable. He looked at Dean for a moment. After everything they'd seen and felt--this man was nonplussed. Most people would have been blubbering in fear and panic, but this one sat---shrugging off his wounds, and matter-of-factly discussing strategy to lay this violent and angry ghost to rest. He shook his head. He thought he'd seen everything--thought he had an answer for most things. Apparently it was all a bit more complicated.
"So--what now...?" he asked.

Dean sighed and leaned back. "Now..we find this idiot caretaker. Eli gave him the job of burying the bones, --I'm guessing he didn't. So now we have to track him down, and find out where the hell those body parts ended up. That saint is obviously pissed to the point of not realizing what he's doing...I'm pretty sure it's all about where his last bits have ended up. Hell--he's been trapped, peacefully--in his gold box for at least a century--everybody loving him, everybody paying respect. Now all of a sudden something changed--we have to find out what, and fix it."

"Fix it... like how?"

"Find the last remains and salt & burn'em. That's how you break the tether. San Mateo can't move on to the next level cuz his body--whatever's left--is keeping him tied down. I guess he didn't mind before---but now--he's lost whatever noble reason he had for hanging around, all he can see and feel is betrayal and dishonour. Until we fix that--he'll keep on freaking out until half the congregation gets wiped out and the other half takes off in terror. It's a crappy way to go out--for a man who did so much in the living years to help his people."

Jorge scowled. He hated this....hated that Elieis was a part of it. He had no understanding of spirituality, he only understood what his own eyes told him--what he could feel with his own two hands. Eli and he used to be so close...so kindred. How could his little brother have surpassed him in these things? Why was Eli touched by this--why had God called him? And why did He have to claim the one thing Jorge needed more than anything--his own brother--?! He didn't understand it, and he didn't want to. He was an outsider now--and he and Eli had been so connected--together a solid front against their painful youth. God had scooped his brother up and taken him away--leaving Jorge to muddle through alone.

---

Elieis had been praying. He emerged from Jorge's room, haggard and in pain. When he saw that Dean and Jorge were still up, he sat beside them. Jorge gave him a stiff drink. Eli sighed and spoke-
"Jorge, Dean--I....Well, thank-you, to start with. You saved me--you pulled me away from the angry spirit. After what happened to Sister Crotilde...I have no doubt that I owe you my life."

Both men shrugged. It was Dean who responded. "Yeah, well, nevermind that, Eli--we have to figure out how we're gonna appease that old Saint. We have to find out what happened to his remains. Do you have some way to get a hold of that caretaker?"

"I have his address---there is no phone. But I saw the burial place---why would he do this?!"

Jorge rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Eli--did you do everything Papa asked of you when we were kids? If there was a way around it, we found it. He probably thought he'd save himself some sweat and just pretend to dig. Those bones could be anywhere!"

Once again, Elieis was reminded that his status as priest was, after all, no guarantee of respect. He should have seen that---Lino had been a caustic presence since they'd met---of course he would shirk that duty. Eli should have seen to it himself. He offered what he knew- "I gave him the bones, in a cardboard box. I sent him to bury them, then dismissed him for the day. I thought...I thought he would take care of this task, and it would be a good thing. I thought he would do his best, in exchange for the rest of the day off..."

Jorge swore angrily. "Elieis, what the hell happened to you in that seminary? You grew up knowing how lousy people are--how they'll all take what they can get from you. Did your eyes get so filled with joy that you forgot the real world??? "

Eli became defensive. "Jorge--don't mock what I have. I've found a little beauty in this soulless world--why do you always want to deny me this? No--I don't forget how it was---although I've tried and tried, believe me! I just thought this was a simple thing for a man who was paid to do many such things for my church. Lino Salazar is the caretaker---he fixes the building, he tidies the grounds, and he digs the holes for the dead. It's his job, it's how he earns a wage!"
He sat down, tired and angry and hurt. "..and yes---it was stupid and arrogant, I should have done it myself. Maybe...maybe I should have done it all differently. Maybe my Saint would still be a benefactor, instead of this tortured fury undoing all the goodness of his life.."

Dean interrupted. "Shut-up, both of you. It's late--we all feel like crap. Eli--we'll fix this in the morning, ok? Right now we need some sleep, and you're all bitching in my bedroom!"

Jorge nodded. "Yes, of course. We will sleep, and then in the morning, we find this Salazar fool. Agreed?"

Elieis nodded. The trio separated, wearily hoping to escape from their pains and terrors for a few hours.

---

Morning came too quickly. All of the combatants were stiff and tired, and feeling the aching results of their battles mere hours ago. Jorge was the least harmed, he was up first and brewing coffee. Dean was next, he accepted the cup he was handed, and gingerly pulled himself up with Jorge's help. It was 5:30--the sky was already beginning to glow with the pending heat. Jorge watched him, noting how tired he looked. "Dean...are you sure we should go out there this morning..? Maybe it will be over by now, maybe the ghost will have spent it's anger and-

Dean interrupted him with a weary sigh. "No, doesn't work that way. ...Wish it did, Jorge. But if we don't get out there and burn those bones, somebody else will get hurt...maybe some kid, or another old lady looking for her daily blessing. Or Eli. He's gonna try to undo this on his own--you know it, and he doesn't understand what he's up against. But me and Sam--we do understand. As soon as we locate that box, your brother can go back into his church and start to repair it, --repair his life. It's not just the building that's broken down right now. Eli saw some things that he'll never forget, and he's gotta somehow find a comfortable place with all that. You saw it too, Jorge, but that church, and those people, that's what Eli chose to float him. We can fix what happened, but you're gonna have to help him through the rest of it."

Jorge nodded, as Elieis joined them. The young priest made a sign of the cross to them, wincing at the movement. Jorge ignored the gesture and went to the kitchen to pour him a coffee. Eli sat down.
"How do you feel, Dean...?"

Dean snorted. "Ask me later, Eli. What about you? How's the arm?"

Eli examined his cast. "Sore. But nothing I can't handle, with God's help. ...Dean, Im glad you were here with us, while this happened. I was awake, most of the night, thinking--I believe you were sent here--it was part of the plan. Jorge doesn't understand now---but I know that God brought us all here together, for this trial. Our faith has been tested, but now we will make things right for San Mateo. And Jorge will see--he will see the right way, the true path-- he will mend his ways and see all the good works that God is doing--He will stop fighting me and-

Dean turned away with an angry growl. He did not feel well, and it was too bloody early in the day for the sales-pitch. "Hey--Padre--give it a rest, alright?! If your God wants to put in his time for a change--that'd be just great. But so far I haven't seen a hell of a lot of his input down here. --And don't tell me about how I'm just not seeing it, or my mind is closed, or my heart is hardened! That's bullshit! I don't need all the freaking riddles and mysterious ways crap--cuz Hell is working hard to bring this place down and they're not hiding it behind any smoke & mirrors!"

"You have no faith-"

"You're damned right I don't! Elieis, I've seen demons, not inner ones--the real thing, in the flesh. I've battled them and sent some of'em back to hell, and I've got the scars to prove it. I didn't have to have faith to see and feel what they were doing to me--so why the hell do I have to close my eyes and pretend there's just as much good being done by your side?? Tell me why Heaven can't just snap its fingers and fix some of this garbage?? Tell me why's it's always up to me--?!"

Elieis had no answer. Dean swore to himself, surprised by his own emotional reaction to the subject. He got up and walked away from the young priest, leaving him alone. Outside, in the early morning breeze, he rubbed angry tears from his eyes. He hadn't wanted to get into it with him---he never let his mind stray down this path, it was too upsetting, and he had to keep a tight lid on the well of bitterness he felt or it would be too hard to get up every morning and carry on.
The Impala gleamed in the early light, dusty but still shining in the warming mist. Seeing it calmed him a little, he opened the door and slid behind the wheel, and he tried to derail his painful emotions and think of more pleasant things. After some time, Eli approached hesitantly, and sat beside him.

He sighed. "I'm sorry. There's a lot I don't know...and lately I am reminded of it at every turn." He stared out the windshield for a little while. "Dean---I grew up hard--very hard. And as I got older--the troubles threatened to be a crushing burden--Jorge doesn't know the half of it. But when I hit rock bottom, there was a man, a priest--who helped me.... I don't know your experiences, you've seen things that I pray I never will. All I can tell you is that, without my belief--I would be dead now, maybe in hell, I don't know. I needed something good to believe in or I was going to suffocate in filth. Sometimes I forget that others have different perspectives--I want to save them all--like I believe I was. I want to save Jorge...."

Dean turned to him. "Elieis--Jorge doesn't need saving, he needs a brother. He's a good guy---and all he wants is to have his family back. He said you were his best friend growing up, he misses that. You have to widen your parameters--he's not heading for damnation. He might make your God frown every once in a while, but he's not gonna get struck by lightning any time soon. So ease up--that's my advice. I nearly drove Sam away before I figured out how to let him be him and still keep my own views intact. There's a bigger picture here-- a way bigger battle. I seriously doubt that god's sweating the few minor sins that people like Jorge and me look forward to committing daily, when there's real evil lurking in every shadow. Just step back a bit--remember who you are, but remember who you were too."

Elieis nodded finally.

Dean had a question for him in return. "Elieis.....what was it? ...after the way you grew up, after all the stuff you saw and did....what woke you up to see the light--?"

Eli looked at him, afraid that Dean was mocking him, but all he saw was earnestness. "Oh..well, I'm afraid it wasn't any thunderbolt from the sky, no booming voice of God. It was...pretty ordinary, I suppose. I was drunk out of my skull, and I was in an alley--I was arguing with a couple of men over terms--they wanted me to do something, and my high was wearing off, I needed something to keep it going. So I went into the cathedral and did what they paid me to. They wanted the silver. The chalice was old--priceless. I broke the tabernacle open and stole it, along with the rest of the valuables. Padre Philippe saw, he chased me down and caught me. Well, I didn't hand them over. I beat him with one of the candlesticks, nearly to death, and when I saw what I'd done--the blood all over the church silver, I fled.. A few days later--I just couldn't take it anymore, I went to the infirmary and saw him. It was awful--I couldn't look at what I'd done to him....but he spoke to me quietly, he said.... he forgave me, and I must find the good inside myself. He said my soul was mine for the saving. And that was it. I checked on him every few days, we talked for hours as he strengthened. And when he was well again, I joined the church. ... Not so earth-shattering, eh?--my little miracle..?" he smiled.

"Huh. ...Wow." Dean murmured. But he quickly abandoned the philosophical thread, in favour of the more burning question. "But Eli--man.....no chicks? Ever?!"

Elieis laughed ruefully. "Yes--that's the harder cross to bear."

Dean snorted. He would have had a lot more to offer on that subject, but a surly Jorge interrupted. "Let me know when your little car-date is over. I have breakfast ready."

The four ate in tired silence. Sam, more than anyone, was in need of much more rest, after his rough night, but that was a luxury they would all have to forgo for a while. Once they were reasonably fed and caffeined, the discussion turned to strategy.

"So...as far as we know--the last person to have possession of the remains was this Salazar character.." Dean began.

Elieis confirmed it. "Yes--I gave the box to him to bury. I told him to do it, and then to take the afternoon off. It was that evening that everything went so terribly wrong.."

"Ok, then I think we can base the rest of what we do on the idea that those bones never made it into the ground. So we need his address--Eli--you said you had that--?"

"Yes--we will have to go out there. I believe he lives there with his wife, on a small plot of land. She sells things from their garden at the Saturday market."

"What about the church? Don't we need to guard it while we track this stuff down--?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Can't have any well-meaning people checking out the damage right now, while that spirit is freaking out. At least one of us will have to stay there."

"I will. I'll stay with my church." Eli offered.

Dean and Jorge exchanged looks. "Uh--Eli--I think we're gonna need you to be the liason with your caretaker. I don't speak any Spanish--neither does Sam." Dean said.

Jorge added to it- "I will guard the damned church. I can't trust Elieis to stay out of it while we're gone--the stupid bugger will probably try to appease his saint again!"

Eli took offense. "Jorge--you don't have the right anymore to play my protector! And anyway--I learned my lesson last night--I will leave this to the experts. But if we are to go find Lino, you will need an interpreter, so I will go with the brothers."

Jorge was still unhappy about the whole situation. It drove him to distraction--the thought that there was actually some validity to all this nonsense--good or bad. "So you find him, and maybe the damned box. Then what? "

"Then we salt and burn it, right there if we can. If the remains are complete, he'll be released then. You'll know right off, Jorge, if we were successful, --the church will go quiet. If there's more to this--the crap will keep happening and we'll have to figure out what to do next. Who has a cell phone--?"

Neither Jorge nor Eli did. Sam lent his to Jorge, --contact was of the utmost importance.
"Stay in touch---anything happens, we inform the others--agreed--?"

It was agreed.

--

The Winchesters and Elieis left in the Impala, while Jorge took Eli's truck. Dean was, of course, behind the wheel. With Sam's cumbersome cast--there was no question, regardless of how he was feeling. Eli could have driven, albeit awkwardly, but Dean would never allow a stranger to be in control of his car. He shifted and swore under his breath, trying to ease his aching side. Eli stared at the floor. It was a long and tedious drive back, and no one felt much like talking. It seemed a stifling eternity, but finally the church, newly shorn of its tower, loomed ahead. Already the heat was radiating off the land, it lent a mirage-like quality to the scene. They were already damp with sweat when the got out.

Jorge pulled up behind them and exited. He stood with the trio, as they scanned the building, nervously. "Seems quiet enough...nobody around, so far. Your Saint is worn out, I think."

Dean stretched and grimaced. "Good. At least there's no wailing to attact attention. Better keep clear of it, though, Jorge. Anything could set him off again."

Jorge nodded. "Don't worry--I'm not going in there. I don't darken the door of a church on a good day. So you just want me to stand guard here..?"

"Yeah. Just keep and rubber-neckers at a safe distance til we get back."

Jorge raised his brow quizzically. "Rubber-neckers--?"

"Sorry--sight-seers, nosy buggers--"

Jorge nodded. "What if they won't listen to me..?"

Dean popped the trunk, retrieving and loading a pistol. He handed it to Jorge. "Convince them."

Sam called from the car--he was roasting in the heat and eager to get the task finished. Dean barked a curt response and headed back. "Good luck, Jorge--keep the phone near."

---

They drove around to Eli's little house, and he went in, returning with the address of the caretaker, and a map. Dean took the latter. "Eli--how far is this place?"

"Can't be too far. Lino rides a bicycle from his house. Maybe a few miles. It's a small farm, as I understand. There are a few buildings there--just a house, and pigsties, that sort of thing. We can only hope he has a name at the road."

"Hmm. Ok, let's go--it's only gonna get hotter."

As they drove along the dusty road, Eli answered questions as well as he could.
"I was only the priest here for a couple of weeks. I said my first sermon only days ago." He winced, remembering. "My now infamous speech. It was where I introduced myself officially, and then pulled the carpet out from under them all. I told them that the church must move away from such things as the worship of bones and statues...and now that I was here, that things were going to change."

"How'd that go over?" Dean snorted.

"Predictably. I shocked them all--things are done slowly out here--change is an unwelcome stranger. I should have been gentler in my methods--"

"Why did you want them to quit with the saints and statues? What was wrong with it--?"

Eli pursed his lips. "Well.. because...I think it is an obstacle to a true faith. These are things, Dean--plaster and wood and bone. The people were treating them like gods in their own right, worshipping them,, begging favours of them, when they should have been speaking to god himself. It was my duty to change this--I worried for the people"

"Well--It's not your congregation that's your worry right now, it's your patron saint. As soon as we get that box back from this idiot, we salt and fire it. Then all you have to worry about is getting tarred and feathered by your people."

Eli fidgeted for a moment. "Dean...what if the box has ...things missing..?"

Dean frowned. "Eli--tell me you have some idea of what exactly was in there--"

"I..I never really looked, I was disgusted by it. I emptied the casket into a cardboard box, for burial. I did see some small bones, briefly. And I remember an old silver cross--in a bit of twine. Perhaps a bit of cloth.. There was nothing of a size--it was all small bits--and not many. Maybe three or four bones.."

"Well--you'd better pray that all that crap is intact, otherwise we're screwed."

Sam had been watching for their destination. "Dean--up on the left--a couple of houses."

They approached the decrepit little enclave. A few scrawny chickens scattered ahead of the car, road-savvy veterans. Dean pulled into the dirt lane. There was a rusted remnant of a mailbox, and the faded letters on it looked promising. Eli shielded his eyes, scanning the small, dirty house. "I see his bicycle--this is the place."

The trio emerged from the car. As they walked toward the building, a thin, scabby dog flew at them. It frothed and snarled, clearly not friendly. Thankfully, it was thwarted in it's headlong rush by the length of chain that tethered it to a lean-to. It yelped and dropped to the dust, and continued to pace frenetically in the half circle of space that the chain afforded it. The poor dog had obviously spent its entire life on that spot,---its track in the cement-hard ground was worn to a deep trough, and the space between it and the shed was devoid of any plantlife, swept constantly by the movement of the chain. It was strewn with feces and the odd unidentifiable scrap.

"Nice." Dean growled. Their attention was diverted from the animal by a shrill order from within the house. The dog slunk back, and lay down, and sullenly began to gnaw on one of the scraps. Eli knocked at the door. A disheveled and impossibly wrinkled woman came out, scowling. She spoke in rapid Spanish, as Eli explained their purpose. She spat on the ground, and put her tobacco-yellowed hands on her hips.
"Lino is not here. That lazy trash went into town last night--to try to sell some things. He never came home--probably drunk and whoring somewhere." She turned to leave.
"Wait--Mrs. Salazar...Do you know if Lino came home with anything yesterday afternoon...? A box--?"

She eyed them with sour suspicion. "Why? Did he steal something? If he's in trouble--I don't know anything about it!"

Eli assured her, "No--no trouble Senora, I was...something I asked him to take...a mistake I made. There's no trouble here--I just need it back...please--it is of no value."

She stared at him for a moment. She decided he must be speaking the truth, --after all, he was a priest. "He had a package or something under his arm when he came home. I saw him come up the lane with it. He put away his bicycle and came in, but he didn't have it in his hands anymore. I don't know where he put it."

Elieis pressed her, "Senora--may we look, by that place? It is important--" The brothers pasted on their most innocuous smiles.

She shrugged. "I don't care. Find your box of trash. And when you see that bastard, you tell him to get his skinny ass back here." She turned away and entered the house, the broken screen door slamming behind her. The trio turned and stared at the bicycle. It stood at the edge of the dog's reach, propped against a fencepost. They walked toward it, and the dog abandoned its chew toy and charged them again. They searched around the bike, at least as closely as they dared. Sam tried to soothe the enraged dog, talking gently to it.

"C'mon, boy--that's a good dog--go get your chew-bone--"
The dog was unaccustomed to a kind tone--it continued to growl nervously. But after a moment, it dropped its gaze, and to the surprise of everyone, it turned and huddled over its prize, and began to grind at it again.

"Way to go, Dr. Dolittle!" Dean whispered. Sam grinned, and continued to talk to the beast. Eli looked at the animal, glad that it had quieted. His relief was short-lived. Behind the dog, a few feet away, lay the flattened and torn remains of a shoebox.

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Thanks for reading, I promise it won't be so freaking next time!--ml

Eww dog slobbered saint bones. And I bet the caretaker took the cross so he could sell it.

Glad you're back!!

Great update! I wonder what they are going to do now??
The suspense is killing me :evil

There you go--that wasn't so long, eh?
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9

Padre Elieis roared a string of epithets that impressed even Dean.

"What? What's the matter??" Dean demanded. Eli simply pointed at the box.
"Aw, don't tell me....that's your box?!" Dean moaned. They all stared at the dog now. The realization amongst them was simultaneous---the box....the dog....it's jealous guarding of its bone treats.....
Elieis was so angry that he had tears in his eyes. "That stupid, lazy, cursed old bastard! He fed my Saint to the f~cking dog!! He turned away, and kicked furiously at the nearest fencepost until splinters flew and he hurt enough to have spent his anger. Dean found it hard, under the circumstance, to contain his humour. He coughed to hide it, Sam was not pleased.

"Don't be a jerk!" he hissed at Dean. "This is really horrible for him--have some freaking sensitivity for once!"

Dean grew sombre again....this did pose a nasty little problem. "So I guess one of us has to go in there and gather up the bits. I suppose we oughta flip for it..."

"Flip for it...seriously---? You're the only one without a cast, Dean. You're pretty much it."

"Yeah, right!" he retorted, "You're the freaking Dog Whisperer! And if he bites your cast, no problem!"
But he knew he was going to do it anyway. He would never allow harm to come to Sam if he could step in and take it. He sighed, swore under his breath and started to step over the sagging wire. The dog rose from its temporarily lulled state and rushed at the fence, snarling and snapping.
Sam pulled Dean back. "Wait--we have a couple of sleeping bags in the trunk--we can throw them over him, and maybe contain him."

Dean thought that was a particularly good idea. He walked back to the car and returned with one, as Sam tried again to soothe the animal. His powers didn't work this time---the dog would not be quieted. Dean wasted no time, and tossed the sleeping bag over him, hopping the fence and flattening the frantic beast, pinning it. Eli climbed over and swiftly collected anything that could possibly be a saintly relic.

"Hurry up--he's squirming loose!" Dean yelled, as the dog struggled wildly under the covering.

Elieis hopped back over. " I think that's everything-"

Dean counted silently to three, and let go, leaping back over just ahead of the snapping teeth. "Jesus--if that ain't a hell-hound!" he panted..

Sam was, as always, thinking the problem through thoroughly. "Uh, I hate to ruin the moment---but....that dog's had those bones for hours, and from the looks of what's left--he's been gnawing on them pretty hard. We're gonna have to take those...um... turds, too--the fresh ones anyway..."

Dean looked at him incredulously. "Aw, you gotta be kidding me--!" The last thing he wanted to do was gather up a load of fresh orange steamies and burn them. This job definitely sucked lately.

Eli had more bad news. "That won't be enough either. We're going to have to take the dog, and either open him up, or wait until...well...the rest comes through."
Dean stared at him for a moment. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He was a hard individual--there wasn't much that he would turn away from, but gutting a dog was something he just couldn't contemplate. He looked at the creature, the ugly, hateful thing trying desperately to taste their innards, and he sighed. "So I guess we take the mutt. Anybody got any tranquilizers handy? Cuz that thing won't be happy just sitting in the back seat, at least not conscious--and it'll suffocate in the trunk with this heat."

Sam knew what they had stock-piled in the first-aid kit. "There's sedatives in the kit. We just need to get him to swallow a couple..."

"Oh yeah, that oughta be easy."

Eli was a step ahead of them. "We can't just steal the animal. I'll go offer Senora Salazar some money for him. Maybe she could give us a bit of meat to give him."
The brothers nodded. Eli steeled himself and trudged back to the hovel.

---

"You want the dog...? Why?" she asked, her distrust and disdain twisting her features. Eli sighed and explained. Suddenly the realization dawned on her, and she cackled with malicious glee. "oh--of course! It's your Saint! It's the relics from the church, isn't it--the thing they're all cursing you over--your big plan!" She was beside herself with amusement over his predicament. "--oh, you've done it now--trusting stupid Lino with such things! What will all your good church-goers think of you now--!"

He was stung by her laughter. And it was true--he would never be able to face them now, and he could hardly rely on Good Senora Salazar to keep her mouth shut. A frustrated rage boiled up in him, but he beat it down and managed to stay his course.
"Yes, it is as you suspect. And now I need your help to set this right--for the sake of San Mateo, and his parish. Please, Senora---the dog--"

She spat into the dust. "It's Lino's filthy beast. I can't give him to you. Why, Lino loves that dog, sleeps with it every night in his bed.."

Eli knew she was lying---it was obvious that the poor creature had never in all its miserable life been off that chain. "I understand. But perhaps, a good price for the animal...will ease Lino's tears at his loss. What do you think would be the right amount to ease his pain..?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Five hundred pesos."

"Senora...that is a great deal of money, I have no such funds in my pockets. Please--"

"Well what do you have?" She knew full well that she was in the driver's seat.
He pulled his meagre wallet out, and rifled through it, counting. "I have only forty-three pesos. Good lady--I am only a poor priest..."

She eyed his crucifix, which hung on a cord around his neck. "Is that silver--?" He frowned and nodded.
"Give me the money and that cross. And--" She leered out the door at the young men standing several yards away, "I want a lovely kiss from that one--the tall one--"

"What--?" Elieis spluttered.

"Hah! Look at the blushing celibate! You heard me, he's pretty, and I want it. Give me these things and you may have the dog."

Eli nodded miserably and returned to the brothers. Dean asked if he was successful.
"Yes...she has her price. My wallet is emptied and I must give her my crucifix. And..."

"And--?!" Dean demanded.

Eli sighed. "And she's demanding ... a..kiss."

Dean burst out laughing. "Did you give it to her? Was it everything you and her dreamed of?"

"Not from me! She wants a kiss from....from Sam."

"What? No way! Forget it!" he shuddered. He looked to Dean for support, but his brother's grin showed that he wasn't going to get it.
"Come on! Seriously--?!"

Eli shrugged helplessly. After a moment of squirming in disgust, Sam gave in. He knew the importance of what they were doing--he knew what was at stake. He glared at Dean, who was still smiling annoyingly. He hobbled up to his admirer, she opened her mouth in a snaggle-toothed grin and licked her lips. He greeted her awkwardly.
"Hello, Ma'am..."

She grabbed his shirt-front, hauled him close, and pressed her wrinkled, foul-tasting mouth hard on his. He kept his lips pressed tightly together, and after what felt like a tortured eternity, she released him, bending double in cackling spasms of laughter. "Go. Take the dog, you stupid boys." She turned, still chuckling, and headed back in. Sam turned and met his audience. Even Elieis was having trouble covering his smirk. Dean whistled a cat-call and Sam flipped him the bird.

"Well, I'm done my whoring for the day. Congratulations--you're now the proud owner of a beautiful purebred rabid dingo. You're on your own, have fun collecting your big bag of crap, Dean." He hobbled past them and headed to the car.
Elieis and Dean exchanged guilty and sheepish looks. "Dog or turds, Eli?"

"I think you are better at handling the animal."

Dean nodded and tried to reach through the fence to retrieve the sleeping bag, but was thwarted by the lunging mutt. The dog's snap barely missed his fingers and he stumbled backwards, cursing. He landed on his backside, and he stayed there, pressing his hand to his throbbing ribs. Sam saw it and relented. He rummaged under the seat, and found a melted leftover bite of a chocolate bar, and he pressed two capsules into the sticky blob. He wrapped it in it's packaging and returned to the two that stood, in a helpless quandary, in front of the their newly acquired pet. He tossed it to Dean. "Throw him that. It's laced with valium."

Dean caught it and rolled the sweet lump out of its wrapper, shaking it into the dust within the dog's reach. It sniffed it, and immediately snapped it up. It chewed it briefly as the men watched anxiously, half expecting it to spit out the pills. But it didn't. Within minutes, it began to weave on its feet. It whined in confusion and lay down, drooling. Within short order, it had its head down on its paws, and had closed its eyes.

"Is it asleep--?" Sam asked uncertainly.

"Maybe it's dead.." Eli murmured.

Dean said nothing, he stepped over the wire and gave it a nudge with his foot. The dog turned its head and sighed, curling up in comfortable slumber.
"Nope--we're good. Come on, Eli--collect what you have to--I'll carry him to the car." He slid the dog onto the sleeping bag and gathered the bundle up, hauling it over the fence and carrying it to the Impala. Elieis collected his turds.

Dean took the precaution of tying a makeshift muzzle on the dog. It was snoring--it actually appeared to be smiling. The poor thing stunk to high heaven, Dean winced at the thought of it's flea infested hide against his seat. It had a tan colouring, a slightly curled coat. It was painfully thin, but with a bath, a few decent meals, and some taming, it might clean up to be a decent mutt.
Sam sat in the back with it as they drove back to the church. He stroked its dirty ears and spoke softly to it the whole way. He was often frustrated that they failed to save everyone in this job, but he was satisfied that at least, today, they saved a dog.

---

They approached the church, and stopped where they's left Jorge hours earlier. He was nowhere to be seen. Elieis got out and called his brother's name, but there was no response. Dean's stomach tightened, as worry for his friend gripped him. They could see flashing light, and noises coming from the building. The Saint was awake again. And he was not happy.....

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seeya---ml