Chapter Text
“Father, I have sinned.”
Sam tugs on his clerical collar, cardboard strip suddenly restrictive in this cramped, wooden box. Head bowed, too tall he cannot sit comfortably, he spies the younger woman through the latticed opening gazing at him in awe. “That is okay… my child,” he winces, sweat dripping from his brow. The compartment sweltering despite how chilly the church had been, at first. “God forgives,” Sam lies, “why don’t you say a Hail Mary and –“
“But don’t you want to know what it is that I sinned about?”
Cursing under breath, he absentmindedly runs a twitchy hand through his hair, skinning the confessional’s roof by accident. “Right,” he says, “I – if you don’t feel comfortable with sharing… whatever it is, you don’t –“
“I think you should know, though,” she insists, leaning closer. Face pressed against the lattice, the patterned shadow obstructing her face. “Really.”
He shouldn’t be here. They wrapped their case, ashen corpse buried under six feet of dirt since last night. Except Sam felt compelled to visit the town’s local church one last time. Thank Fr. Brown for his help, pointing them in the right direction. At least ease his concerns about the ghost of Sr. Margaret, assuring him her soul had finally found peace. Assured he had the time, since Dean and Castiel were off elsewhere that morning; a note left for Sam on the nightstand and an empty parking lot his only clues. Sam walked from his motel over towards the church.
One of the staff told Sam he could wait in the nave, sitting at a pew, as they fetched him. While waiting, he was ambushed.
“Okay,” Sam sighs, “if you believe so… tell me, what is your sin?”
She nodded, leaning back slightly. Nerves returning, her stare dips away from his. Sam hopes it’s a sign whatever bravery compelled her earlier dissipated.
Sam’s luck doesn’t work like that. “I was out, on my morning jog,” she starts, playing with her ponytail, “and while I normally don’t go past Cedar I… I missed jogging yesterday, Billy’s fever keeping me with him because my husband Fred had work, so I thought if I went a little further I’d make up for what I lost –“
“My child,” Sam interrupts, awkwardly chuckling, “it’s not a sin to jog a little further than your usual route.”
“That wasn’t my point…”
“Of course it wasn’t.” He clears his throat, shifting, “Sorry. You can continue.”
“Thanks,” she says, biting her lip. “So I was on Cedar, and it’s this tiny little street, not too many houses there. In fact, the ones that are there are all up for sale, the old buildings were ruined in a tornado so they just finished building them. That’s why, I guess, I stopped. I was nosy… Y’see there was this car there I hadn’t seen before. This big, black car that looked to be from something out of the past.”
Scalding tendrils of recognition slip past the collar, searing the skin there with its heat. “Oh,” he says, interest piqued, somewhat. “I think I’ve seen a car like that around… being curious isn’t too bad.”
“But it was,” she sighs, “I was. I saw movement in the car and so I went closer – I thought someone was burglarizing it while the owners were checking out the house.”
“It wasn’t a burglar?”
“It was a priest, just like you,” she says, “making out with another man. From the glimpse that I got they were…” Tugging on the ponytail now, she audibly swallows. “They were far past the heavy petting stage.”
Whack! “Ow…” Sam rubs his head, checking for bumps after slamming it on the confessional roof. On the other side, the woman watches him in concern. Understanding mixed in, like she expected such a reaction.
Not for the reasons she may think. Hearing his idiotic, horny brother making out with his even dumber, hornier best friend is old news. Sam saw how they look at each other. Noticed that the space between them fell, and under every surface would tangle their fingers together. Entered rooms ruffled and debauched like it wasn’t obvious. Like Sam didn’t know what they did. Waiting for when they will finally explain themselves so they can stop this absurd game of chicken they’re caught in.
Although, if Dean thinks he won’t hear an earful from Sam about this… losing seems worth it.
“Oh,” Sam manages, still wounded from before, “that… is still not your sin.”
“It is!” she cries, a touch more frantic now. Her face fills the latticed opening again. “I saw them and I didn’t leave. I stayed… watching them like a – like a pervert.” Sam’s eyes widen, mouth stretching into a thin line as she spirals. “Since my son was born, I just haven’t felt attractive y’know? I’m always tired… and I don’t think my husband is interested in having sex with me anymore! But then I see this happening and for the first time in months there’s something stirring inside of me. I knew it was wrong – what they were doing and what I… what I was doing. But there I stood, five minutes just peering through that window until it fogged up enough I couldn’t see any more.” She quiets, slumping forward. Forehead resting on the lattice. “I didn’t know what to do, so I ran all the way here.”
For once, Sam is glad she demanded they speak in the confessional. The urge to reach over and offer a physical form of comfort rises, and he knows it would only strengthen the uncomfortable energy circling them. He clears his throat, waiting until the woman composes herself. “It is not a sin, to feel like this,” he explains, features softening, “you’ve just had your baby right? That was probably a traumatic experience… and you’re still recovering.” Sam subtly pumps his fist, seeing his advice click by how her lips part in a sharp gasp. “Y’know what? Forget the prayers. What I recommend is for you to go home and talk with your husband. Maybe see some counseling, whether here or with a therapist. Can you do that for me?”
She nods, “I… yeah, yeah that’s doable.”
“Great.” Sam reaches for the sliding door nearby, smiling. “I absolve you of your sins,” he mumbles, signing a quick cross as he shuts her out. “Thank you, have a nice day.”
“Thank you, Fath-“ Her voice cuts off, Sam alone in his silence.
He listens, tension unspooling as he hears her exit. Footfalls lessening the longer he sits there, until it’s silent.
Sam steps free of the confessional, phone in hand. He hits speed dial, braced by the confessional’s door handle. Dean answers, Sam overpowering him. “Dean, the next time you and Cas decide to fuck in the Impala… do it in the Bunker’s garage.”