Providence, Rhode Island
A young woman, Gloria, was sitting in a dark room, watching television and smoking. She wore smudged hooker makeup and the table to her left held several small angel statues and an ashtray filled with cigarette butts.
"How little?" a woman asked.
"How about "a little eyeshadow"?" Drew questioned as a laugh track sounded. "You know, all this stuff, it's just very unprofessional."
"Don't touch the troll!" Mimi cried.
"Is that what your mom used to say to your dates?" Another laugh track sounded.
"Put the trolls down or I'll put a staple right between your-"
Gloria sighed heavily and lifted the remote control. She flipped to a televangelist station.
"Now I know it's hard," the televangelist said. "It's hard to look up when you're down. It's hard to look up and see the light. But I'm here to tell you folks, the Lord is with you."
Gloria turned off the television; the lamp to her right began sputtering and flickering. She looked around, frowning, and stomped out her cigarette. The television suddenly turned on again, and Gloria gasped in shock.
"You don't have to suffer, you don't have to be lost. The Lord is talking to you right now; he's saying, you are my child and you have a purpose! You think God forgot about you? I tell you no! All you got to do is listen! Can't you just hear those angels singing? Isn't it beautiful? It's time. It's time to receive the message he's sending. It's time to listen to the Word of God! Do you hear the glory? I said, can you hear it? I said, can you just hear the glory?"
The lamp was still flickering and the entire room began to shake. Gloria clutched at the couch, looking around in panic. Behind her, a blinding light glowed, and she turned to face it in horror, then awe.
"Oh my god," Gloria said.
INT. PSYCH WARD - DAY
Gloria was seated quietly on her bed in a psych ward. Her hair was straight and her face clean; she was wearing a bathrobe and reading a book held in her left hand. The door opened behind her and she turned.
"Good morning," Gloria greeted. "You're not the usual guy."
Sam, in white scrubs, held a clipboard and said, "No, uh, just filling in. So how you feeling today, Gloria?"
"I've never felt better."
"So, no disturbances lately?"
"You mean am I stark raving cuckoo for cocoa puffs?"
"I didn't say that."
"It's all right. I know what people must think."
"What do you think?"
"I think what I saw was real."
Sam looked around, pulled up a chair and set the clipboard down. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and gave her an intensely earnest look.
"I'd like to know what you saw," Sam said.
"It was all over the news," Gloria replied. "I stabbed a man in the heart."
"Why would you do that?"
"Because it was God's will."
"Did God talk to you?"
"No. I get the sense God's a little busy for house calls. No, he, he sent someone."
"Someone?"
"An angel. It came to me in this beautiful white light, and it filled me with this feeling. It's, it's hard to describe."
"And this angel..."
"Spoke God's Word."
"And the Word was to kill someone?"
"I know, it sounds strange. But what I did was very important. I helped him smite an evil man. I was chosen. For redemption."
"This man you stabbed, did the angel give you his name?"
"No, he just told me to wait for the sign. And the very next day I saw it, right beside the man's doorway. And I knew."
"Why him?"
"I just know what the angel told me: that this man was guilty to his deepest foundations. And that was good enough for me."
INT. MOTEL ROOM - DAY
Dean was lying on the motel bed, which is vibrating, as he listened to music on his phone. He looked sort of blissful. Lucie sat at the table as she looked over papers she had sprawled out. Harriet and Cadence were coloring. As Sam entered, Dean didn't notice him, Lucie did.
"Hey," Sam greeted, smacking Dean on the boot. "Hey!"
"Hey," Dean said. "Man, you gotta try this. I mean there really is magic in the-" He made air quotes.
"Dean, you're enjoying that way too much. It's kind of making me uncomfortable. Your wife looks uncomfortable too."
"What am I supposed to do? I mean, you've got me on lockdown here, I'm bored out of my skull."
"Hey, you were the bank robber on the eleven o'clock news, not me. We can't risk you just walking into a government facility."
"Hmm."
Sam waved a dismissing hand at Dean as he turned to go into the bathroom. The bed shuttered to stillness.
"Aw, dammit!" Dean cried. "That was my last quarter. Hey! You got any quarters?"
Dean pulled his headphones out and got up, crossing the room and leaning on the doorway to the bathroom where Sam was washing his face.
"No!" Sam yelled.
"Luce? Any quarters?" Dean asked.
Lucie shook her head. "Sorry, no."
"I don't got any either," Harriet said.
"That's okay. So did you get in to see that crazy hooker?" Dean asked.
"Yeah," Sam answered. "Gloria Sitnick. And I'm not so sure she's crazy."
"But she seriously believes that she was ... touched by an angel?"
"Yeah. Blinding light, feelings of spiritual ecstasy, the works. I mean, she's living in a locked ward and she's totally at peace."
"Oh yeah, you're right, sounds completely sane. What about the dude she stabbed?"
"Uh, Carl Gully. She said she killed him because he was evil."
"Was he?" Lucie questioned.
"I don't know. I mean, I couldn't find any dirt on him. I mean, he didn't have a criminal record, he worked at the campus library, had lots of friends. He was a churchgoer."
"Hm," Dean hummed. "So then Gloria's just your standard-issue wacko. I mean," he made a pshew sound, "she wouldn't be the first nutjob in history to kill in the name of religion. Know what I mean?"
"No, but she's the second in town to murder because an angel told them to. Little bit odd, don't ya think?"
"Well, little odd yes, supernatural maybe. But angels? I don't think so."
"Why not?"
Dean, as if it was obvious, said, "'Cuz there's no such thing, Sam."
"Dean, there's ten times as much lore about angels as there is about anything else we've ever hunted."
"Yeah, you know what? There's a ton of lore on unicorns too. In fact, I hear that they, they ride on silver moonbeams, and they shoot rainbows out of their ass."
Sam sat down, total deadpan. "Wait, there's no such thing as unicorns?"
"That's cute. I'm just saying, man, there's just some legends that you just, you file under "bullcrap"."
"And you've got angels on the bullcrap list."
"Yep."
"Why?" Sam and Lucie asked.
Dean looked up. "Because I've never seen one."
"So what?"
"So I believe in what I can see."
"Dean!" Sam cried. "You, Lucie, the girls and I have seen things that most people couldn't even dream about."
"Exactly. With our own eyes. That's hard proof, okay? But in all this time I have never seen anything that looks like an angel. And don't you think that if they existed that we would have crossed paths with them? Or at least know someone that crossed paths with them? No. This is a, a demon or a spirit. You know, they find people a few fries short of a happy meal, and they trick them into killing these randoms."
"Maybe."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Can we just — I'm going stir-crazy man. Hey, let's go by Gloria's apartment, huh?"
"I was just there. Nothing. No sulfur, no EMF..."
"You didn't see any fluffy white wing feathers?"
Sam sighed. "But Gloria did say the angel gave her a sign, right beside Carl Gully's doorway."
Dean said eagerly, "Could be something at his house; it's worth checking out."
Lucie nodded. "Let's go."
EXT. GULLY HOUSE - DAY
Dean was driving as they pulled up in front of Carl Gully's house. It was a moderate single-family home with steps leading up to the front door; to the left of the door was a plastic angel figure. Dean mounted the steps and saw it. Harriet and Cadence touched it curiously.
"Oh hey, Sam," Dean said. "I think I found it." He gestured to the angel. "It's a sign from up above." He peered in the window. "Well, I think I learned a valuable lesson: Always take down your Christmas decorations after New Year's, or you might get filleted by a hooker from God. Ha."
"I'm laughing on the inside," Sam retorted.
Sam and Lucie, who took her daughters' hands, wandered around back, through a gate, and Dean followed; they found a wooden storm cellar.
"You know, Gloria said the guy was guilty to his deepest foundations," Sam said.
"You think she literally meant the foundation?" Dean asked, exchanging a look with Lucie.
"I'll stay here with the girls," Lucie said.
INT. STORM CELLAR - NIGHT
Sam and Dean opened the creaking door and went down the steps, shining flashlights.
"Hm," Dean hummed.
Sam noticed scratches on a wall near the floor; he leaned over to get a closer look.
"Hey," Sam called.
"You got something?" Dean asked.
Sam dug at the wall and pulled something out.
"What is it?" Dean questioned.
"It's a fingernail," Sam replied.
They looked at each other.
Dean pulled two shovels from the wall and they began to dig.
Later, a deep pit had been completed to reveal a pile of skeletons.
"So much for the innocent churchgoing librarian," Sam commented.
"Yeah, well, whatever spoke to Gloria about this knew what it was talking about, I'll give you that," Dean said.
INT. ZACH'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
A young man, Zach, was lying on a single bed, staring at the ceiling. He drank from a bottle of liquor; a comic book entitled "THESEUS" rested open on his chest. The room began to shake violently, the lights flickering. More bottles tumbled to the floor from the night stand, and the television toppled with a crash. Zach scrambled out of bed frantically; a blinding light appeared in front of him and he held up a hand in terror; then awe washed over his features.
EXT. STREET - NIGHT
Zach walked down the sidewalk calmly, hands in his pockets; he saw the blinding light beside a house and stopped. He stared for a long time, then nodded and smiled and approached the house, and knocked on the door. A middle-aged man, Frank, opened the door.
"Yes?" Frank asked.
"Hi," Zach greeted. "My name is Zach."
"Can I help you?"
Zach pulled out a knife and stabbed Frank through the heart. A stone angel was to the left of the door - approximately where the blinding light had come from.
INT. MOTEL ROOM - DAY
Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed with a police radio in hand, listening and looked painfully bored. Cadence was sitting next to him, tapping his leg. Lucie was sitting at the table, helping Harriet with a worksheet.
A woman said over the radio, "We've got a minor TA, involving a motorcycle and a, uh van, this is at the corner of 28th and Pine, 28th and Pine."
As Sam entered, Dean sighed and looked back sadly at the "Magic Fingers" controller.
Dean eagerly, almost desperately, looked back at the Magic Fingers controller and asked, "D'you bring quarters?"
Sam frowned at the controller. "Dude! We're not enabling your sick habit." He tossed a sandwich at Dean. "You're like one of those lab rats that pushes the pleasure button instead of the food button until it dies."
"What are you talking about? I eat. And I got news."
"Me too."
"All right, you go first."
"Three students have disappeared off the college campus in the last year. All of them were last seen at the library."
"Where Carl Gully worked."
"Yep."
"Sick bastard."
"So Gloria's angel—" Sam was cut off.
"Angel?"
"Okay. Whatever this thing is..."
"Okay, well, whatever it is, it's struck again."
"What?"
"I was listening to the police radio before you got here. There was this guy, uh, Zach Smith, some local drunk; he went up to a stranger's front door last night, stabbed him in the heart."
"And then I'm guessing he went to the police and confessed?"
"Yep. Roma Downey made him do it." He crossed the room to take a Post-it note off the mirror. "Now, I, uh... got the victim's address."
Lucie looked at Dean. "I'll stay here with the girls."
Dean nodded. "That's probably best. I'll see you soon, Luce. Be good for Mommy, girls."
"Bye-bye, Dada," Cadence said.
Harriet waved. "Bye, Daddy."
EXT. VICTIM'S HOUSE - DAY
Sam and Dean climbed over the fence into the yard and snuck in through the window. Sam sat at the computer as Dean searched the house.
Sam, as Dean walked into the room, asked, "Find anything?"
"Well, Frank liked his catalog shopping, but that's about all I got," Dean replied.
"Not much here. Except he's got this one locked file on his computer, I can't.... hold on." He pressed a few buttons, then grinned in triumph. "Not anymore. God."
"What?"
"Well, he's got all these emails. Dozens, to this lady named Jennifer." He paused a beat. "This lady who's thirteen years old."
"Oh, I don't want to hear this."
"Looks like they met in a chat room. These emails are pretty personal, Dean. Look at that. Setting up a time and place to meet."
"Great."
"They were supposed to meet today."
"Huh. Well, I guess if you're gonna stab someone, good timing. I don't know, man, this is weird, you know? I mean, sure, some spirits are out for vengeance, but this one's almost like a do-gooder, you know? Like, like a-"
"Avenging angel?" Dean turned away. "Well, how else do you explain it, Dean? Three guys, not connected to each other, all stabbed through the heart? At least two were world-class pervs, and I bet if you dug deep enough on the other guy—"
Dean picked something up. "Hey."
"What?"
"You said Carl Gully was a churchgoer, right?"
"Yeah?"
"What was the name of his church?"
"Uh... Our Lady of the Angels?"
"Of course that'd be the name," Dean muttered as the flier was taken from his hand. "Hey!"
Sam held up the church flier. "Looks like Frank went to the same church."
INT. OUR LADY OF THE ANGELS CHURCH - DAY
Dean and Sam walked through the sanctuary of the church, speaking to a friendly-looking priest, Father Reynolds.
"So you're interested in joining the parish?" Father Reynolds asked.
"Yeah, well, you know, we just don't feel right unless we hit church every Sunday," Dean replied.
"Where'd you say you lived before?"
"Uh..." Sam began.
"Fremont, Texas," Dean replied.
"Yeah."
"Really?" Father Reynolds said. "That's a nice town. St. Teresa's parish, you must know the priest there."
"Sure, yeah, no it's uh, Father O'Malley," Dean answered.
"Hmm, I know a Father Shaughnessy."
"Shaughnessy, exactly. What'd I say?"
Sam broke in and said, "You know, we're just happy to be here now, Father."
"And we're happy to have you, we could use some young blood around here," Father Reynolds told them.
"Hey, listen, I gotta ask — no offense, but uh, the neighborhood?" Dean said.
"Well, it's gone to seed a little, there's no denying that, but that's why what the church does here is so important. Like I always say, you can expect a miracle, but in the meantime you work your butt off."
"Huh. Yeah, we heard about the murders."
"Yes. The victims were parishioners of mine, I'd known them for years."
"And the killers said that an angel made them do that?" Sam asked.
"Yes. Misguided souls, to think that God's messenger would appear and incite people to murder. It's tragic."
"So you don't believe in those angel yarns, huh?" Dean questioned.
"Oh, no, I absolutely believe. Kind of goes with the job description."
Sam nodded to a painting on the wall. "Father, that's Michael, right?"
"That's right. The archangel Michael, with the flaming sword. The fighter of demons. Holy force against evil."
"So they're not really the Hallmark card version that everybody thinks? They're fierce, right? Vigilant?"
"Well, I like to think of them as more loving than wrathful. But, uh, yes, a lot of Scripture paints angels as God's warriors. "An angel of the Lord appeared to them, the glory of the Lord shone down upon them, and they were terrified."" Sam nodded, Dean looked confused. "Luke. Two nine."
Dean nodded sagely.
EXT. CHURCH - DAY
"Well, thank you for speaking with us, Father," Sam said.
"Oh, it' s my pleasure," Father Reynolds replied. "Hope to see you again."
Dean, seeing a collection of tribute items at the bottom of the steps, asked, "Hey, Father, what's, what is all that for?"
"Oh, that's for Father Gregory. He was a priest here."
"Was?"
"He passed away right on these steps. He's interred in the church crypt."
"When did this happen?"
"Two months ago. He was shot for his car keys."
"I'm sorry," Sam apologized.
"Yeah, me too. He was a good friend. I didn't even have time to administer his last rites. But like I said, it's a tough neighborhood. Ever since he died I've been praying my heart out."
"For what?"
"For deliverance. From the violence and the bloodshed around here. We could use a little divine intervention, I s'pose."
"Well, Padre, thanks," Dean said. "We'll see you again."
Father Reynolds went back inside; Dean and Sam investigated the shrine.
"Well, it's all starting to make sense," Dean said. "Devoted priest dies a violent death? That's vengeful spirit material right there." Sam shifted uncomfortably. "And he knew all the other stiffs, because they went to church here, in fact I'm willing to bet that because he was their priest, he knew things about them that nobody else knew."
"Then again, Father Reynolds started praying for God's help about two months ago, right?" Sam asked. "Right about the time all this started happening?"
"Aw, come on, man, what's your deal?"
"What do you mean?"
"Look, I'll admit I'm a bit of a skeptic, but since when are you all Mr., uh, 700 Club? No, seriously. From the git-go you've been willing to buy this angel crap, man. I mean, what's next, are you going to start praying every day?"
"I do."
"What?"
"I do pray every day. I have for a long time."
Dean was startled. "The things you learn about a guy. Huh. Well, come on, let's go check out Father Gregory's grave."
INT. CHURCH CRYPT - EVENING
The crypt was a maze of stone hallways, with numerous stone angel figurines. They wandered through slowly, Dean a little ahead of Sam. As Dean went into another room, Sam stopped, looking back at one of the angels. He frowned as it, and then the entire room, began to shake. A brilliant light appeared behind him and he turned, confusion washing away to a look of awe.
INT. CHURCH - EVENING
Dean hurried back into the room.
"Sam, come on, get the lead out," Dean said.
He saw Sam passed out on the floor, and rushed over.
"Sammy?" Dean called. "Sammy! Hey!"
Sam jerked awake, groaning.
"Y'okay?"
Sam stared at the stone angel, stunned and replied, "Yeah. Yeah. 'm okay."
"Come on."
He hauled Sam to his feet and guided him into the sanctuary, a hand on his arm, and shut the door behind them.
"You saw it, didn't you?" Dean asked. "Didn't you?"
Sam replied, "Yeah. Yeah. Dean, I saw an angel."
"You..." Sam sat as Dean pulled out a flask, unscrewed it and handed it to him. "All right. Here."
"I don't want a drink," Sam said.
Dean shrugged and took a swig. "So. What makes you think you saw a, uh, angel?"
"It just, it appeared before me and I just, this feeling washed over me, you know? Like, like peace. Like grace."
"Okay, Ecstasy Boy, maybe we'll get you some glow sticks and a nice Dr. Seuss hat, huh?"
"Dean, I'm serious. It spoke to me, it knew who I was."
"It's just a spirit, Sam. Okay? And it's not the first one to be able to read people's minds." He sat down on another pew. "Okay, let me guess. You were personally chosen to smite some sinner. You've just got to wait for some divine bat signal, is that it?"
"Yeah, actually."
"Great. I don't suppose you asked what this alleged bad guy did?"
"Actually I did, Dean. And the angel told me. He hasn't done anything. Yet. But he will."
Dean stood and started pacing. "Oh, this is, this is... I don't believe this."
"Dean, the angel hasn't been wrong yet! Someone's going to do something awful, and I can stop it!"
"You know, you're supposed to be bad too, maybe, maybe I should just stop you right now."
"You know what, Dean? I don't understand! Why can't you even consider the possibility?"
"What, that this is an angel?"
"Yes! Maybe we're hunting an angel here, and we should stop! Maybe this is God's will!"
"Okay, all right. You know what? I get it. You've got faith. That's — hey, good for you both. I'm sure it makes things easier." He sat again. "I'll tell you who else had faith like that — Mom. She used to tell me when she tucked me in that angels were watching over us. In fact, that was the last thing she ever said to me."
"You never told me that."
"Well, what's to tell? She was wrong. There was nothing protecting her. There's no higher power, there's no God. I mean, there's just chaos, and violence, and random unpredictable evil th - that comes out of nowhere, and rips you to shreds. You want me to believe in this stuff? I'm going to need to see some hard proof. You got any?" He paused a beat. "Well, I do. Proof that we're dealing with a spirit."
INT. CRYPT - EVENING
Father Gregory's tombstone was covered in creeping vines; Dean and Sam crouched before it.
"That looks like—" Sam began.
"It's wormwood," Dean confirmed. "Plant associated with the dead; specifically the ones that are not at rest. I don't see it growing anywhere else, except over the murdered priest's marker. It's him, Sam."
"Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"Dean, I don't know what to think."
"Okay. You want some more proof? I'll give you more proof."
"How?"
"We'll summon Gregory's spirit."
"What? Here? In the church?"
"Yeah. Yeah, we just need a few odds and ends, and that, uh, séance ritual in Dad's journal."
"Oh, a séance, great. Hope Whoopi's available."
Dean deadpanned, "That's funny, actually. Seriously. If Father Gregory's spirit is around, a séance will bring him right to us. If it's him, then we'll put him to rest."
"But if it's an angel, it won't show. Nothin'll happen."
"Exactly. That's one of the perks of the job, Sam: we don't have to operate on faith. We can know for sure. Don't you wanna know for sure?"
EXT. STREET - NIGHT
Dean and Sam left a small grocery store, Sam holding a paper sack and smiling.
"Dude," Sam said. "I'll admit we've gone pretty ghetto with spellwork before, but this takes the cake. I mean, a Sponge-Bob placemat instead of an altar cloth?"
"We'll just put it Sponge-Bob side down," Dean reasoned.
Sam laughed, then stopped in shock, staring at something across the street: a young man holding a bunch of flowers; a bright white light glowed behind him.
"Dean, that's it," Sam said.
"What?" Dean asked.
"That's the sign!"
"Where?"
"Right there, right behind that guy! That's him, Dean. And I have to stop him."
EXT. STREET - NIGHT
The young man crossed the street; Sam started to go after him, but Dean stopped him.
"Wait a minute," Dean said.
"What are you doing?" Sam asked. "Let me go."
"You aren't going to go kill somebody because a ghost told you to, are you insane?"
"Dean, I'm not insane, I'm not going to kill him. I'm going to stop him."
"Define "stop", huh? I mean, what are you going to do?""
"Dean, please, he's going to hurt someone, you know it."
"All right, come on."
The young man had gotten into a car and started it up, pulling away. Dean got in the driver side of his car and started it; Sam tried to get in the other side, but the door was locked.
"Dean," Sam called. "Unlock my door."
"You're not killing anyone, Sam," Dean told his brother. "I got this guy, you go do the séance."
"Dean!"
Dean pulled away, following the young man at a short distance. The man stopped at a corner and got out with the bunch of flowers, handing them to a woman waiting on the corner. They both got in the car and drove off again.
INT. CHURCH CRYPT - NIGHT
Kneeling before Gregory's grave, Sam had the spell materials spread out: a circle of small white candles, a large black candle in the middle, the placemat, Sponge-Bob side down, and the Journal. He lit the candles, picked up John's Journal, and read.
"Amate spiritus obscure
te quaerimus, te oramus
nobiscum colloquere
aput nos circita
(loose translation: the Inquisiton, 10/31/08)
Beloved hidden spirit
We seek you, we beg you
Come speak with us
Join our circle
Sam sprinkled some herb on the black candle and it flared once, brightly.
Father Reynolds entered and asked, "What are you doing? What is this?"
"Uh, Father, please. I can explain," Sam replied. "Um... actually, maybe I can't. Um. This is a, a séance."
"A séance? Young man, you are in the House of God."
"It's based on early Christian rites, if that helps any."
"Enough. You're coming with me."
"Father, please, you, just wait a second!"
As Father Reynolds pulled Sam to the exit, a familiar bright glow built behind them. They turned, Father Reynolds in awe, Sam in disappointment.
"Oh my god!" Father Reynolds cried. "Is that... is that an angel?"
"No, it's not," Sam answered. "It's just Father Gregory."
The bright glow dimmed and coalesced to reveal a young, handsome priest; Father Gregory.
"Thomas?!" Father Reynolds called.
"I've come in answer to your prayers," Father Gregory replied.
EXT. STREET - NIGHT
Dean continued to follow the supposedly evil young man.
INT. CHURCH CRYPT - NIGHT
Sam approached the Gregory-spirit cautiously.
"Sam," Father Gregory called. "I thought I sent you on your path. You should hurry."
"Father, I'm sorry. But you're not an angel," Sam told him.
"Of course I am."
"No. You're a man. You're a spirit. And you need to rest."
"I was a man. But now I'm an angel. I was on the steps of the church. And I felt that bullet pierce right through me. But there was no pain. And suddenly I could see... everything. Father Reynolds, I saw you, praying and crying here. I came to help you."
"Help me how?" Father Reynolds wondered.
EXT. STREET - NIGHT
The allegedly evil young man turned down a dark alley and Dean temporarily lost sight of him. He slammed the steering wheel in frustration.
"Dammit!" Dean cried.
INT. CHURCH CRYPT - NIGHT
"Those murders — that was because of you?" Father Reynolds asked.
"I received the Word of God," Father Gregory replied. "He spoke to me, told me to smite the wicked. I'm carrying out his will."
"You're driving innocent people to kill."
"Those innocent people are being offered redemption. Some people need redemption. Don't they, Sam?"
Sam looked away, as it touched a nerve.
"How can you call this redemption?" Father Reynolds questioned.
"You can't understand it now," Father Gregory told him. "But the rules of man and the rules of God are two very different things."
"Those people. They're locked up," Sam said.
"No, they're happy. They've found peace, beaten their demons. And I've given them the keys to Heaven."
"No. No, this is vengeance, it's wrong," Father Reynolds corrected. "Thomas, this goes against everything you believed. You're lost, misguided."
"Father. No, I'm not misguided."
"You are not an angel, Thomas. Men cannot be angels."
"But... but I, I don't understand. You prayed for me to come."
"I prayed for God's help. Not this. What you're doing is not God's will. "Thou shalt not kill". That's the word of God."
EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT
The supposedly evil young man stopped the car; the young woman holding the flowers looked confused and smiled nervously.
"How come we stopped?" the young woman asked.
The supposedly evil young man smiled back more nervously, his eye twitching. He leaned over suddenly and kissed her. She fended him off with a laugh.
"Um, weren't we going to go to the movies? Ah -- We should go, or we're going to be late."
Suddenly, the supposedly evil young man hit her, hard, across the face. She yelped in shock.
"I'm sorry," the evil young man apologized. "I'm sorry, it's just I've never done this before."
She tried to get out of the car, but he had locked the door and she scrabbled uselessly at the handle.
"Look, I said I was sorry!"
"Please!" He pulled out a knife. "What?"
He lunged at her with the knife; she tried to fight him off. They struggled for a few seconds.
"No," the evil young man said. "N -- Stop it!
The window shattered behind his head; Dean reached in, punched in, and slammed his face into the steering wheel. Dean unlocked the doors and the woman got out; he tumbled over the hood to reach the young woman, grabbing her shoulders frantically.
"Are you okay?" Dean asked. "Are you okay?!"
The young woman cried, "Thank god!"
Behind them, the evil young man had come to and started the car; he drove off.
"Dammit!" Dean yelled. "Are you sure you're okay? Do you have a cell phone?" She nodded, still sobbing. "Call 9-1-1!"
Dean ran off and got in the Impala to chase after the evil young man again.
INT. CHURCH CRYPT - NIGHT
Father Gregory was staring, bewildered, at his own headstone. He turned to face Reynolds and Sam.
"Let us help you," Sam said.
"No," Father Gregory argued.
"It's time to rest, Thomas, to be at peace," Father Reynolds told him. "Please, let me give you Last Rites."
Father Gregory nodded in resignation; Father Reynolds lifted his hands in prayer and said, "Oh Holy Hosts above, I call upon thee as a servant of Christ to sanctify our actions this day, in fulfillment of the will of God."
Father Reynolds gasped as Father Gregory flickered like a distorted image.
"Father Reynolds?" Father Gregory called.
"Rest," Father Reynolds said.
Father Gregory knelt; Father Reynolds held a hand over Father Gregory's forehead and said, "I call upon the Archangel Raphael, Master of the Air, to make open the way. Let the fire of the Holy Spirit now descend, that this being might be awakened to the world beyond."
Father Gregory glowed brightly, then vanished to a short soft, angelic, chorus. Father Reynolds lowered his hand in awe.
EXT. STREET - NIGHT
Chasing the evil young man at a more frantic rate now, Dean gripped the steering wheel tightly. He cut across lanes, over grass, and generally cause mayhem; at a cross-street, a small pickup truck carrying long metal pipes screeched to a halt in front of the man's car. A pipe spun off the truck bed, bouncing once on the ground and plowing straight through his windshield. It impaled him straight through the chest. Dean stopped the car in shock, shielding and got out.
"Holy..." Dean began.
INT. MOTEL ROOM - DAY
Sam was packing. Dean approached the room and entered from outside and asked, "How was your day?"
Sam, sadly, dully, demoralized, replied, "You were right. It wasn't an angel. It was Gregory."
Dean pulled the flask from his inner pocket, took a drink, then, considering, offered it to Sam. Sam took it.
"I don't know, Dean, I just, uh..." He sat on the bed. "I wanted to believe... so badly, ah... It's so damn hard to do this, what we do. You're all alone, you know? And... there's so much evil out there in the world, Dean, Lucie, I feel like I could drown in it. And when I think about my destiny, when I think about how I could end up..."
Dean sat on the bed beside him. "Yeah, well, don't worry about that. All right? I'm watching out for you. So's Lucie."
"Yeah, I know you are. But you're just one person, Dean. Lucie's just one person. And I needed to think that there was something else, watching too, you know? Some higher power. Some greater good. And that maybe..."
"Maybe what?" Dean and Lucie asked.
"Maybe I could be saved." He let out a nervous laugh. "But, uh, you know, that just clouded my judgment, and you're right. I mean, we've gotta go with what we know, with what we can see, with what's right there in front of our own two eyes."
"Yeah, well, it's funny you say that," Dean replied.
"Why?"
"Gregory's spirit gave you some pretty good information. That guy in the car was bad news. I barely got there in time."
"What happened?"
"He's dead."
"Did... you?"
"No. But I'll tell you one thing. If... The way he died, if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes, I never would have believed it. I mean... I don't know what to call it."
"What? Dean, what did you see?" Lucie asked softly.
Dean replied after a moment, "Maybe... God's will."
Cadence and Harriet hugged their father's legs and climbed up to his lap, the former being helped.