Just before you begin a quick note to say don't worry, Jenny doesn't have a big part in the story before you start to resent her! I just thought I'd use her for a cheap laugh at Dean's expense. Ahh the usefulness of OCs!

Enjoy!

Knowledge is Power.

The Chapel – perhaps unsurprisingly given that all students were in lock-down – was empty as Dean let himself in, footsteps clicking loud against the flagstone floor and reverberating up into the vaulted roof.

Sister Helena wasn't there, which didn't come as a great shock seeing as she somehow had to get her students back to their building and retrace her steps to meet him within the designated time-frame. Still, the longer he waited for her the longer Sam was alone with their chief suspect and whilst the creature had yet to strike during the day, in Dean's eyes that made the situation no less dangerous. The quicker he finished up in the chapel, the sooner he could go back-up his brother.

Gazing up at the familiar statuette of the Virgin Mother, Dean let his gaze fall across the simply carved features, the whole sculpture white except for a dash of colour here and there. A thin line of gold denoting hair tucked under a shawl, dark rosary detail around her neck, and bright cherry-red for small, full lips that reminded Dean all too well of the girl who had passed on Sister Helena's note. All seductive eyes and husky whispers. It made him miss his teenage years.

Chancing a glance in the direction of a relief depicting Jesus on the cross, he let out a semi-amused snort.

Too much to ask that the murders be in the girls school?

"Dean?"

"Huh?" clearing his throat and suddenly feeling unnaturally guilty, he spun quickly towards the voice, acting as sheepishly as if he'd been speaking out loud, "What?"

Sister Helena observed him shrewdly, looking quickly between the hunter and the relief that had drawn his attention before finally sighing and briefly shutting her eyes. She didn't want to know.

"So, there's been another one," she began instead, the sentence more of a statement than a question. Dean nodded,

"Father Kearney."

He paused as Sister Helena gasped, dropping her head and quickly crossing her chest.

"Saints preserve us," she whispered in distress as Dean stood awkwardly before her, unsure whether or not to interrupt. Eventually she swallowed, looking up again and nodding, "Right. Have you and Sam found anything else?"

"Not really. We tried to catch it last night but it got a pretty good head-start on us. We think it's being summoned, since it seems to go for specific targets before disappearing again."

"Father Gulla?" Sister Helena asked, almost sadly. Dean frowned, it had been her suggestion – however tentative – in the first place. Now she felt sorry for the man? Nuns.

"Sam's talking to him now."

"I see," she nodded, still looking sad. Dean stayed quiet, waiting, knowing there was something else the nun wanted to say but wrestling with her conscience over whether or not to say it. Finally though, she heaved a sigh, battle clearly won, "The reason I suggested Father Gulla – as well as his knowledge of foreign and sometimes occult cultures – is that just before Father Miner died, I overheard him talking with Father Gulla about his offer at Saint Mary's in Chicago. He was very kind and helpful towards Father Miner but I couldn't help but feel that…" she paused again, searching for the words, "…Father Gulla wished the posting had been offered to him. After all, he's been with the Church a lot longer than some of the other Priests here, and yet somehow he keeps being over-looked for promotion. So when Father Miner was killed I just thought maybe…" she tailed off uncertainly.

"Years of being passed-by have finally started to get to him," Dean finished darkly. Sister Helena sighed again, offering up a shrug,

"But that doesn't explain Father Bennett, or Father Kearney now either. I'm afraid it's all such a mess."

"Yeah," Dean agreed absently before realising that he should probably be trying to comfort her, "But don't worry. We'll deal with it."

And as Sister Helena glanced up at him she was sure he would. She had every faith in them.

"Thank you. Now, I'd best be heading back. I've left my girls unattended and they can be a little wild sometimes to put it mildly,"

Dean blinked, unaware if she was deliberately playing with him or not. Seeing the twinkle in her eyes

he decided she was and felt himself redden in embarrassment. Had Sister Helena seen his little exchange with…

"Jenny," she said suddenly, as if reading his mind.

"Huh?"

"The student who passed on my message. She's a good girl, a little unruly but very trustworthy."

"What did you tell her?"

Sister Helena shrugged casually,

"That I had a message to give to my godson's friend, and that Father Charles wasn't to see. She didn't ask any questions."

Not to you she didn't.

"Take care Dean," she continued, fixing him with a suddenly serious look, "Both of you."

He nodded in response, watching her turn to leave, hurrying back the way she had come and picking up her pace as somewhere a bell rang for what would normally have been lunch.

"We will."

"And if you need anything…"

She was gone before she'd finished the sentence, letting it hang in the air, speaking for itself. Dean let out a long breath, listening to it echo out into the newly empty Chapel. So, Father Gulla had a motive, Sister Helena had confirmed that much, now they just needed evidence before they burst in and accused the wrong man, which was embarrassing enough out in the real world where they could just melt away and regroup. At St. Gregory's they were going to have one shot at getting the real deal, and they couldn't afford to mess it up. Which reminded him.

Sam. Alone. With their possible suspect.

Turning on his heel, he pivoted up the aisle, stride determined, face set firm. He didn't get more than a couple of steps however before a set of hands grabbed him by the arm and pulled him sideways, tipping him off balance and pushing him into the opened side of the confessional before shutting the door behind him. It took a second for the familiarly seductive scent to waft in through the wooden partition, but as it did Dean felt himself start to stand-down from danger mode. Jenny.

"Forgive me Father," she whispered, dropping her voice lower in an attempt to increase the husky, seductive tone, "For I have sinned."

The sentence sent shivers down his spine. Good shivers. Shivers that made the breath catch in his throat. Damn this was one sexy schoolgirl. But she was a girl, he reminded himself quickly, that was the vital thing. Schoolgirl. He tried to imagine Sam's disapproving voice in his head. Dean, do not go there.

"Don't you want to know how?"

Dean chuckled as Jenny's semi-affronted, still suggestive lilt slid through the partition again, could see the shine in her eyes as she tried to gaze through at him,

"I think I can guess. Impure thoughts?"

He wasn't sure why exactly he was carrying the charade on. Firstly it was stupid and dangerous given that they were in the middle of the Chapel and anyone could have walked in, and secondly…schoolgirl. She however, didn't seem in the least concerned.

"Dirty, wicked thoughts."

Strangely the situation suddenly became almost funny, and Dean had to stifle a laugh, trying to work out how – given the fact that he hunted the supernatural for a living – his life had just managed to get that much weirder.

"I'll bet."

"Want to hear them?"

"Maybe later sweetheart," he grinned, letting out a long sigh of pent-up frustration, "Maybe a lot later."

"How much later?"

"Say, in a couple of years?"

"But," she sounded hurt, surprised even, "What if I don't have any sins to confess then?"

"I'll take the chance."

What were the odds that a schoolgirl who wanted to do a trainee Priest in the confessional was ever going to be sin-free? Fairly slim in Dean's opinion. Not, of course, that seeing her once they'd got the job wrapped up was ever actually going to happen either. Which again reminded him of Sam and where he was supposed to be rather than swapping innuendo with little miss like-a-virgin-touched-for-the-very-first-time-not-so-much.

Interpreting the silence as a further refusal of her offer, Jenny let out long sigh, her eyes still sparkling sharply through the ornately carved screen,

"You must be some kind of Priest," she offered in vague compliment, obviously viewing the brush-off as a mark of Dean's devotion to celibacy. Dean snorted softly, whatever helps you sleep at night. Which, ironically for him, was usually sex.

"You have no idea."

And that, apparently was that, because moments later Dean heard the door to the other side of the confessional creak open, saw the light beam into the small space and listened as the her heels clicked daintily up the aisle and away.

He let out a low groan of frustration, aware that it was going to take a little longer for his blood pressure to drop low enough to allow him back out into the real world. He was supposed to be a priest after all. Although, he had to admit that as a successful graduate of the uniformed schoolgirl resistance test he was probably a hell of a lot less pervy than plenty of the real thing. Creepy.

Pushing against the door as he began to feel more presentable, Dean let the light beam in at him sharply from the high Chapel windows, the brightness making him squint as he wormed his way out of the small dark space he'd been cramped in and quietly shut the door behind him.

Right. Time to find Sam.

Or at least it would have been had he not turned straight into the quizzical and unimpressed face of Father Charles.

"Jeez – ," Dean exhaled in shock, managing to avoid the second syllable at the last moment by turning the exclamation into one long noise, "Father Charles…I didn't hear you come in."

An eyebrow raised sharply in response. How much had he heard?

"Evidently not. What were you doing in the confessional?"

"Having a look?" Dean offered unconvincingly, drawing another narrowed-eyed glare.

"You do know you are not yet qualified to take people's confessions?" the senior priest continued, the barest hint of doubt creeping into his voice as if he thought that Dean might, in fact, be that stupid. The hunter gave him a wide smile in response,

"Oh, don't worry. I know. I was just practising."

"Practising?" the doubt rose tenfold.

"For the big moment."

Father Charles gave a single, slow nod.

"I see," he responded flatly, in a tone that suggested he didn't at all. His eyes narrowed again suddenly, closing almost to slits as he got the impression he was being mocked, "I think you should return to your rooms," he snapped quickly.

Rooms? Dean almost snorted. Sorry, rooms? Plural?

"Of course," he smiled instead, biting back the irritation that largely stemmed from his own carelessness. He had neither heard Father Charles approach, nor offered him a reasonable enough excuse. As if traipsing around a school after some rock maniac wasn't hard enough, he had gone and given the big bad boss yet another reason to keep an eye on him. Great. Still, it could have been worse. He could have wandered by five minutes earlier and got himself a ring-side seat for the attempted seduction. Dean could only imagine what he'd have to say about that, or what Sam would say about it for that matter.

Sam.

Right.

Offering a final butter-wouldn't-melt smile up at Father Charles, Dean turned and headed up the aisle, feeling the eyes on his back as he went and quietly cursing to himself at the way his week was going. He hoped Sam was having more luck.

The quicker they got rid of the rock-dude, the quicker they could leave and the quicker they left, the quicker he could get laid. Properly. Without having to worry about jail...

…for a while at least.