Oh, it’s a hard road
Carry your own load
Oh, it’s a hard road
Oh, it’s a hard road...

They enjoyed a lazy dinner with Tom, helped to clean up and then, three rounds of Texas Hold ‘Em later, said they were calling it a night. It was time to go to the church, get some answers and find some solutions. Dean knocked on the rectory door, with Sam behind him, hiding the duffle bag with the rock salt guns and other accoutrements by the side of the door. They heard the shuffle, and then the sliding of the lock before the Reverend opened the door.

“Kind of late, boys. Can I help you?” The Reverend was struggling to place his collar back on.

“We would like to talk to you about Michael Lindstrom.” Dean said being forthright.

“Really, boys, at this hour?” The Reverend narrowed his eyes and looked at the brothers suspiciously. “I honestly have better things to do with my time.” He started to close the door.

Dean stuck his foot in, to stop the door from closing. “Tom said that you were a good man-are you still a good man, Pastor?” Dean did not give the Reverend time to reply. He stepped forward, and pivoted, side-kicking the Pastor enough that he staggered against the back wall.

Sam hurried in behind Dean, closing the door, in case anyone heard the commotion.

Dean bent down to the dazed man, and wrapped his arm around the Pastor’s neck. He curled his arm, placing pressure on the vagal nerve until the Reverend stopped struggling and was unconscious. “Let’s get to work.”

The Pastor awoke within a half an hour, and found himself tied to a chair his mouth gagged. The wooden box lay open in front of him.

“Hello again,” Sam said with a nod.

“We want to have a ‘come to Jesus’ talk with you,” Dean said quietly. “But, we need you to listen. Can you promise us that?”

The Pastor struggled against the ropes and began to try to yell against the gag.

“Language!” Dean nodded and Sam tossed him one of the rock salt rifles, while he pulled out another one. “Are you going to listen, now?”

The Reverend looked wildly around and then calmed. He gave a nod. Sam ripped off the duct tape in one pull.

The Pastor worked his jaw and then spoke in a normal toned voice. “Why are you here?”

“We want to tell you a story—and you’ll like this one, because it’s about you. Seems like your friends the Huaorani were trying to help you out.” Dean circled around the Reverend. “They made you this box and in it they put all the nasty stuff—lust, greed and pride.”

Sam slid the box forward with his foot so that it was in front of the Pastor.

“The box. . .It’s mine.” The Pastor narrowed his eyes. “You can’t have it.”

“I don’t want it.” Dean replied.

“Neither did Michael Lindstrom. He just happened to open it.” Sam said, taking a book from his pocket. “You killed him.”

“No, I didn’t. I am Pastor of this church. . .”

“Does this sound familiar?” Sam began to read, “In the life of the Christian, there is a law at work which is the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus. When you submit to and apply this law in your life, the Holy Spirit can begin to manifest the fruit of the Spirit within you.”

The Pastor looked confused and shirked back against the bonds.

“You lost your way, Reverend.” Dean stepped forward, closer to the Pastor. “There’s a good man inside there. . .”

The Pastor cut Dean off. “Set me free.”

Sam again read from the Bible he had brought with him. “If so be that ye have heard him, and have been taught by him, as the truth is in Jesus: That ye put off concerning the former conversation the old man, which is corrupt according to the deceitful lusts.”

“Come on,” Dean said to the Pastor. “You are a man of God—you aren’t supposed to kill people, and then get a Mercedes-that’s just wrong.”

The Reverend seemed to waiver for a moment. “I killed Michael.”

Sam continued, putting more intensity into his voice. “And be renewed in the spirit of your mind; and that ye put on the new man, which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness.” He hoped they would be able to affect the Pastor, with the words about the fruit of the spirit.

In a few moments he saw it, as did Dean - there was clarity in the Reverend’s eyes, and then he was sobbing.

“Lord, what have I done? What have I done?”

Sam looked at Dean, who went to untie the bonds. “You need to live with the good and bad. We aren’t meant to be good all the time.”

Released from his bonds, the Pastor knelt on the floor.

“You need to go to the police and tell them what happened to Michael.” Sam said, closing the box, and handing it to the penitent man.

The Pastor nodded. “I must seek forgiveness.”

The Winchesters left, leaving the broken Pastor alone. The moonlight was covered by clouds, and the darkness of the night was solely illuminated by the intermittent street lights. Silently, they made their way back to the garage.

“Think he’ll do the right thing?” Sam asked as they went up the stairs to the apartment.

“The right thing?” Dean replied, opening the door. He stared at the poster he had pinned up all those years ago. It was all a distant memory. “Yeah, I do.”