Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or its characters. Takes place after the Season 4 episode "Sex and Violence."
"NOBODY fucks with my car!" Dean thrashed furiously against his bindings as the nun looked on. "Don't you touch it, you bitch." Dean looked around frantically, finally spotting his shiny, black Impala encased within a large metal machine to the woman's left.
"I don't know much about cars," the woman reflected as she approached the Impala, "but Father Patrick tells me this is quite the classic." She reached out and slowly ran her hand along the curve of the Impala's trunk. Dean looked skyward. Some chick stroking his car would normally be hot as hell, but under these circumstances he was ready to break her fingers. The woman cocked her head to the side. "It's a pretty car. Old, but pretty."
"Listen, Whoopi," Dean said testily, "you should shut up about things you don't know a damn thing about."
"Like human nature? Because that's what I'm talking about here, Dean, and believe me, I know a great deal about that. We'll fight for things we care about. And, silly as it seems, you care about this car." She scrutinized his wounds. "More than you care about your face, apparently."
Dean turned his face to the side, hiding the worst of his injuries. "You don't know what you're talking about." Out of her pocket, the woman withdrew a knife. Without warning, she drove it into the Impala's back tire. "NO!" Dean bellowed. "Stop it!"
The woman removed the knife and faced Dean. "Funny. That's more of a reaction than Patrick got out of you."
Obviously not pleased with the comment, Father Patrick got in Dean's face. "Where's your brother?" he roared. Dean spit at him, and was met with another backhanded slap across the face.
"Patrick!" the woman cried out. "I will ask you to leave if you can't control your temper." She shifted her attention to Dean. "Now, Mr. Winchester, Patrick wants to know where Sam is." Dean was silent. "Come on, Dean. A tire is an easy thing to replace," she removed the knife again, "easier than a new coat of paint, I'd imagine." Dean tried to lunge forward in his seat as the woman scraped her knife down the side of the Impala, leaving a long, shallow scratch.
"That car didn't do a damn thing to you!" Dean could feel the ropes cutting into his skin as he struggled. "Stop hurting her, bitch!"
The woman seemed unfazed. "Taillights for an old car like this are probably also tougher to replace," she said, driving the hilt of her knife into the taillight, shattering it. In his head, Dean was tallying the amount of money and time it would take to restore his baby into top shape, and was growing more furious by the minute. "Could you please just agree to answer a few questions, Dean? I haven't really done any permanent damage to your car yet. If you start talking now, I'll even pay for the repairs." Dean pursed his lips and stared at her silently. She looked at him sadly. "Very well." Walking around to the exterior of the machine that encased the Impala, the nun began to turn a dial.
Dean watched, alarmed, as a large metal plate moved down toward the top of the Impala. The longer he remained silent, the more the woman turned the dial, and the closer the machine came to crushing his beautiful ride. Dean swallowed hard. The woman spoke again. "Have you ever seen what a crushed car looks like, Dean?" Dean looked at the ground, seething. "There's a pile of them over there, all stacked up. A machine like that destroys the doors, the windows, the seats, anything that's in the car… Like a jacket." She cocked her head to the side. "You feeling cold, Dean?"
Oh god, his jacket. Dad's jacket. Sister Bitch or Father Patrick must have taken it off of him while he was unconscious. He tried not to let his distress show. Then he looked down and realized what else was missing. "Give it back," he said quietly. The woman abruptly stopped turning the dial and approached Dean. "I don't care about the car, or the jacket, but I want it back… the other thing."
"What's he talking about?" Patrick yelled.
The woman ignored Patrick and looked at Dean. "The necklace," she whispered softly. Dean nodded. "If I give it back, will you start talking?" Dean shook his head no. Without warning, the noise of the machine started up again.
"Patrick, stop! What are you doing?" the woman cried.
"I'm getting results!" Patrick shouted over the roar of the machinery. "You don't have the balls for this – that's why they sent me. You're getting nowhere!"
The woman whirled around to face Dean and roughly grasped his collar in her hand, jerking his face close to her. "Listen well, Winchester," she said. "I'm going to give you back your necklace, but to do that I need you to do exactly as I say." Dean nodded quickly, his eyes glued to his car. "You are going to sit here and not say a word and not make any move to escape, regardless of what happens in the next five minutes, okay?" Dean nodded again. Suddenly, the woman slid onto Dean's lap and pressed her back to his chest. She slipped her arms around Dean's bound ones and threw her head back, an expression of fright on her face. "Patrick, help!" she cried, twisting around. "Patrick, he's got me!" she called again. Dean could feel the woman moving her body against him, working her hand down toward his side. Alarmed, he watched as she withdrew something metallic from her pocket.
Patrick left the car crusher running and quickly sprinted toward Dean and the nun. "Get off of her now!" Patrick shouted and reached behind him to the small of his back. Dean looked wildly at the woman, confused as hell and wondering if he'd been set up. A split second later, Dean watched in shock as Patrick's body fell to the ground, writhing. The woman leapt out of the chair and replaced the metal taser in her belt loop. She ran to the machine, stopping the dial just before the machinery made contact with the Impala.
"Are you out of your damn mind?" Dean spat. The nun ignored him and knelt down next to Patrick. She felt for a pulse before removing what looked to be a pistol from her belt and clocking Patrick in the side of the head with it. Task complete, she turned the gun on Dean.
Approaching him carefully, she withdrew a small metal file from her belt and placed it in his hand before stepping back. Dean looked at her quizzically. "I know a bit about you," she explained. "I imagine that you are quite capable of freeing yourself with that. Slide it back to me when you're done, and stand up."
Dean stared at her for a moment before grasping the file more tightly and working to free himself from his ropes. As he worked, he snuck a glance at the nun, who was looking worriedly at Patrick's prone form. "You know," Dean ventured, "maybe you two should have just taken your disagreement to HR." The woman was silent. "Did you kill him?"
"No!" she said, seeming genuinely hurt. "He's just unconscious… will be for a while though. He can't know I did that," she added, almost to herself. "Are you done yet?" Dean finished filing away the last of the ropes on his wrists and reached down to untie his feet. He paused at the sound of the gun being cocked. "Slide me the file first." Dean did as he was told and watched as the nun pocketed the thin piece of metal. "Now get up and face me." Dean rose, wincing as he did so – Patrick had left him with some painful souvenirs.
She considered him for a moment before making her next request. "Take off your shirt."
Dean gaped at her. "Whoa, Sister. Look, I get it – you haven't had sex in literally forever, and I am just that tempting, but I have to say, you're moving a little fast here. First the lapdance, now you want a striptease?"
The nun took aim with the pistol. "Take. Off. Your. Shirt."
Uncomfortable, Dean removed his flannel shirt and threw it at the nun's feet. "There, you happy?"
"Undershirt, too."
Wanting to make a comment but thinking better of it, Dean slipped off the light cotton undershirt and stood awkwardly in front of the woman, naked from the waist up.
"Dios mio!" the nun gasped, her hands trembling so badly she nearly dropped the gun. Recovering, she walked toward Dean. "Stay still," she commanded him. Dean followed her gaze. She was staring directly at his shoulder, the shoulder that bore the permanent reminder of Castiel's saving hand. Dean shivered involuntarily as her fingertips lightly traced his scarred flesh. Pulling back, she brought the gun to her side.
"Dean," she said seriously, "my name is Sister Cristina Elena Inmaculada. I do not want to hurt you, and I do not want to hurt your car."
"Could have fooled me," Dean muttered.
"And unlike my associate," she continued, "I do not care about your brother's whereabouts. The only thing I want to know is how you came to be raised from the dead by an angel. Please know that if you cooperate and answer my questions, I will do the same for you."
More to come later. Thank you for reading!
