"This is a mortal sin, Castiel."
Michael stood tall and intimidating as always. His simple black trousers and white button-up were perfectly ironed and tucked in neatly, emphasizing his purity.
The small baby pink box in his hand proclaimed in an all-caps neon green flowery font, "NO LEAK! NO PAIN! SMOOTH PLASTIC APPLICATOR!"
There was a glare on his handsome face, and cherished baby sister or not, Castiel felt her heart hammering much too quickly in fear and the tips of her ears burning.
This was it. She was caught.
"I felt their use would lessen my… discomfort a few weeks ago, as my load of daily chores had been increased due to-" her breath hitched, "Anael's absence."
Michael's frown deepened and his fair skin was getting a bit blotchy at the mention of yet another traitor. His only weaknesses had always been his swift temper and his even swifter fists.
Castiel was usually so good at this, words melting on her tongue like butter, but she seemed to only be making this situation worse and worse, especially by mentioning the name of her rogue brother. That made Castiel the last sibling to have stayed in the compound, as the other three had taken off, most recently Anael.
There were others present in the compound; cousins both distant and close, converts, aunts and uncles, all referred to as "Brother" or "Sister". But it was Michael's own shame that he could not keep his own blood siblings in his late father's House of God.
Blessedly, a wide-eyed Leliel scrambled up to Michael, almost tripping on her long black skirt and unwittingly saving Castiel from the extent of Michael's rage.
"Brother, there is someone here! Two women, and it seems they need lodging."
Face still slightly blotchy, his gaze met his cousin's and he forcefully shoved the box of tampons back into Castiel's arms.
"Sister," he ordered Leliel, "gather up all of our women and make sure they are presentable for a welcoming." Leliel nodded forcefully, braided blonde hair tossed into a slightly messier state, and set off toward the women's side of the compound.
Without so much as a word toward Castiel, Michael started walking in the direction of the front of the compound, where visitors were usually received, as rarely as that was.
Before Castiel could so much as take a step away to stash the box somewhere safe in her quarters, his head snapped back, now devoid of any traces of emotion, and calmly he said,
"We will continue this after our visitors are received, and you will give those to Muriel." A slight pause, and then, "And make yourself presentable. Your braid is too loose." He then stalked off, leaving Castiel alone in the empty emerald field dubbed "the playground" by the children.
Castiel wanted to groan. Muriel was sure to never give them back, as she had seemingly harbored an unorthodox infatuation with the head of their church. Castiel wondered if Michael knew this, and if it had influenced Muriel's position as confiscator in any way. How convenient that he could break the rules without consequence, if he were so inclined.
In a slight fit of anger, which surprised even her, she kicked the box as one would a football, the box landing some eight feet away in the grass.
With that accomplished, Castiel reminded herself sheepishly that her sudden emotion, especially one as ugly as anger, was most likely a sin in Michael's God's eyes.
Castiel then decided that she would not tighten her long dark braid. She preferred it a bit messy.
"Dude, this place looks creepy as fuck."
Sam sighed at her sister's whining and pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Look, Deanna," she emphasized her older sister's name with a pointed bitchface and matching tone directed her way, "whether you like it or not, we are stuck in Bumfuck, Nowhere. I don't know where the next town is, nevermind the small fact that your stupid car can't even work at the moment, or even hold enough gas to-"
"Hey!"
"Anyway, these religious dwellings are known for their hospitality. If we stay a night or two, just enough to rest up and for you to figure out what is wrong with the Impala, everything should be just peachy. Pretend you're interested in their religion, and they'll let you stay. So cooperate, jerk."
Deanna was too exhausted and proven wrong to even give a more intelligent retort beside a mumbled, "Bitch."
After a bumbling blonde came up to Deanna's precious Chevy and asked what their business was in a shaky voice and then rushing away like they were bogeymen ("Kinda socially awkward, huh?" "Just shut up."), a tall and eerily pretty guy came up to the car and introduced himself as Michael Novak, the head priest of this humble little church, through Deanna's rolled-down window.
"We are completely open to accepting guests, as hospitality is a vital part of my father's teachings." He flashed an award-winning smile at them, and Deanna could practically feel her Amazonian sister's blush in the seat next to her. Gross.
This guy, as charming as he was, brushed her in completely the wrong way.
Free room, Deanna, she assured herself, free.
"You can park your car in this spot and come out, as I would like to introduce to you the rest of the garrison. Well, the female half, as is appropriate."
Deanna vaguely registered his words and wrinkled her nose in distaste at his choice of words (garrison?) as she got out of her car in favor of taking in the sight of the large mansion and small chapel in front.
It seemed pretty normal for the Amish, or whatever these guys were, even a bit nicer than expected. Sam was all over Michael, of course, starting to ask nerdy-ass questions. Michael, on the other hand, seemed to be completely unperturbed that Sam was only about two inches shorter than him.
Not a minute later, a group of about twenty women, some holding infants swaddled in white cloth and others holding the hands of small children, came pouring out through a large door on the right side of the mansion.
It was then that Deanna noticed there were two large wooden doors on the opposite sides of the mansion. This must be how they divide the men and the women, she thought.
They were in an ensemble of white button-down blouses and freaking long black skirts, which made Deanna conscious of her own ass-clinging jean shorts and tight Led Zeppelin t-shirt. The combat boots probably didn't help, either. Whoops. At least Sam was somewhat covered up, her freakishly long legs hidden under a pair of clean Levi's and torso safely clothed under at least four layers, including her Stanford sweatshirt. The freak.
Michael surveyed his followers proudly. "We will welcome these two young women
warmly," he said pleasantly. Deanna couldn't help but notice the immediate flinch of a few of the women.
Huh.
Then, Michael seemed to be gesturing toward someone to come forward. Through a parting crowd of conservatively dressed women, a girl who looked to be about eighteen years old trudged forward with a stoic expression settled onto her features. As she came closer, Deanna could make out her dark messy braid, which contrasted starkly against what little pale skin she showed. Her big bright navy eyes were what kept Deanna's attention. They were inhumanly blue, almost scarily so.
"This is my youngest sister, Castiel." Michael started.
Weird name.
"She holds immense faith, I assure you," he went on, glancing darkly at Castiel's hair but not faltering. Castiel simply offered a soft smile up at Deanna, her eyes holding a laugh.
"She will be the one to ensure that your stay here is a good and joy-filled one. Castiel, they will share your quarters."
Michael and the entourage seemed satisfied then, and quietly dispersed to go on their respective paths. This was all too Children of the Corn for Deana's taste.
As Sam was shaking Castiel's hand awkwardly, Deana looked down to further check the girl out.
Oh.
It seemed the girl had no inkling as to how to button up a blouse, as three of the topmost buttons were somehow inserted into the wrong slots. This enabled the right part of a lacy white bra to be seen, and the vaguest swell of pale flesh.
Arousal shot through Deana's south, and she conjured up her Sammy inner-monologue "Deana, she's a religious freak. Bible thumper. Keep it in your pants for once."
Castiel was completely awed by the beauty of the older sister, though the younger one she found to be more intellectually stimulating and rather talkative.
The smattering of freckles across Deanna's nose seemed to make her clear emerald eyes, as emerald as the grass of the field, even brighter, which in turn just accentuated her lovely physique-
Castiel stopped herself then and there. These unnatural urges truly needed to cease if she were to ever be acceptable.
In whose eyes? God's or Michael's?
After she had introduced herself to both of them, electricity having shot up her hand as Deanna's enveloped her own during a handshake, she led them to her quarters, located on the uppermost floor of the mansion.