Petunia the plot bunny must like the new laptop. Go Petunia! Everybody shake your pom-poms for Petunia!
Chapter Seven
"Well done, Mr Young," Sister Fic said to Dean, "You are a sheep, so, to the right, please. I will admit," she went on, "I had you picked as a goat when you first walked in," she gestured at the group who had not passed their swab tests – they were seated at the other end of the room, sullen and silent, while the two police officers took their details. "Sometimes I am delighted to find out that I'm wrong about somebody."
"Er, thank you, Sister," Dean smiled uncertainly. "I'm glad you were wrong, too." He suddenly looked to his brother anxiously. "That's all right, isn't it, Sam?" he asked plaintively.
"It's okay, Dean," his brother reassured him, "You just meant that you were glad to be a sheep and not a goat."
"Yeah," Dean's smile looked a little less uncertain. "Yay sheep! Baaaaaaaaa!"
"Yay sheep, indeed," Sister Fic agreed, her eyes sliding with un-nunly satisfaction towards the goats. "Today, it's the goats who get fleeced."
Sam gave her a concerned look. "Uh, are you going to, you know, get in any trouble for that?" he asked.
"Oh, probably," she answered cheerfully. "Still, it will give me so much to talk about in confession – you can only own up to uncharitable thoughts and filching chocolate from the kitchen so many times and you start to sound terribly repetitive, don't you think, Mr Young?"
"Uh, running out of things to confess is never a problem I've had," Sam found himself answering.
"Keep up the good work, then," Sister Fic told him. "I think the priests enjoy it," she confided, "When people come and confess something really interesting. Father Lucas once told me that it's better than daytime television. Older priests don't get out much - some days, I've felt obliged to make things up, just to make their morning a little more engaging."
Sister Fic informed the sheep that the rest of the class time would be taken up dealing with the paperwork for the goats, so they could go early, and keep on doing whatever they were doing, because for them it was obviously working.
"That was... kinda scary," opined a thin-faced girl warily as the sheep made their way out of the building.
"Yeah, that was... intense," agreed a young man.
"I remember the nuns when I was at school," shuddered an older man, "Kill you with a look, they could. She's just like that."
"Oh, God, I so wanna do her," sighed Billy. "No, I think I want her to do me. You think she might wear Victoria's Secret under the penguin suit?" he asked Dean conversationally as the women made noises of disgust.
"I, uh, I, I," stuttered Dean, "I, um, think that, er, nuns probablywearsensibleunderclo thesforcomfortlet'sgoSam."
Back at the Impala, Sam voiced his concerns to his brother.
"Dean," he began carefully, "Are you feeling okay?"
"Sam," Dean replied, "I think there is something wrong with me."
"I'm just a bit worried that... what?" Sam did a double take at the unexpected turn the conversation took.
"I think there's something wrong with me," Dean repeated, starting the engine.
"It'll just be a cold, or something," Sam reassured him, relieved that they weren't going to have the I'm-Not-Getting-Sick-Francis-So-Shut-Up conversation that usually accompanied any bout of illness in Dean. "We had been pretty busy, prior to that asshole spirit stabbing you in the leg – you're probably just run down, so if you rest up for a day or two, I'll do some more recon, we'll get you some cold meds..."
"It's not a cold, Sam," Dean went on. "It's worse than that."
Sam's face became worried. "Dean, is your leg giving you trouble?" he asked. "Are you feeling feverish? Because if you've developed some grumbling infection, we'll hand this job over to someone else and go back to Bobby's and call Doc in again, it's not something to macho your way out of, bro, if we don't deal with it, you could get really seriously sick…"
"It's nothing that modern medicine can help with," Dean replied gloomily. "I think I'm… losing it."
Sam looked at his brother in confusion. "Losing it?"
"Losing it," confirmed Dean sadly. "I mean, I was all psyched up to avoid any occasion of sin, right, but I can truthfully say to you that, confronted with a nun, and one that is quite attractive, I had absolutely no unchaste thoughts whatsover." He looked stricken. "I didn't just keep my unchaste thoughts to myself – I didn't have any!"
Sam's face rearranged itself into Bitchface #8™ (You Are Now Officially Talking Complete Shit, Dean). "Jerk," he griped, "I was starting to worry that you might really have something wrong with you, and all it is, is that your libido has finally learned some self-control?"
"It is something wrong with me!" Dean complained, " She should be an occasion of sin, but she is unhot! It's worse than that – she is anti-hot! I experienced absolutely no lewd thoughts, impulses or reactions in her presence!" He positively drooped, then suddenly looked panicked. "You don't think... you don't think this is because of the curse, do you?" he asked anxiously.
"Oh, God," sighed Sam, "Dean, there is absolutely nothing weird, unhealthy or in any way pathological about a man seeing a woman and not wanting to… er, not seeing an occasion of sin. It's normal! Well, for normal men, anyway…"
Dean didn't seem to hear him. "Oh, no," he whispered, "What if I'm doomed not just to have to be chaste on the outside, but I end up being genuinely chaste on the inside?"
"It'll never happen," snarked Sam. "My luck isn't that good. Just drive, Dean the Diaper."
...oooOOOooo... ...oooOOOooo... ...oooOOOooo... ...oooOOOooo... ...oooOOOooo... ...oooOOOooo... ...oooOOOooo...
After dark, they headed back to St Clare's for a spot of breaking and entering.
"So, where do we start?" asked Dean, surreptitiously flipping off a window depicting the Archangel Michael as he kept watch. "Have you ever noticed how girly Michael looks in so many pictures of him?"
"Angels are androgenous beings, and historically Michael was often portrayed with features that were ambiguous, not distinctively masculine or feminine," Sam replied offhandedly, working at the elderly mechanical lock.
"He always comes out looking like a sissy," noted Dean. "With hair even girlier than yours." He paused thoughtfully. "If he wanted a sissy vessel, why didn't he pick you?"
"I don't know, Dean," sighed Sam with an eyeroll, "You could ask Cas. Maybe lips and eyelashes carry more weight than hair on the Angelic Sissy Scale…" The elderly lock on the church door gave a distinct clunk that coincided with Dean's squawk of outrage, and they slipped inside.
"So, what are we looking for?" asked Dean quietly, pointing his flashlight up the aisle. "Whatever it is, I don't suppose it glows in the dark and whistles Dixie in the presence of evil?"
"Whatever it is, I don't think it will be in the church," Sam replied, "There hasn't been anything taken from inside churches. I found out that it was mostly offices, documentation that was tampered with. I think that's where we need to start."
They made their way through to the office area.
"You're going to tell me we have to look in there, aren't you?" Dean sighed, playing his flashlight across a bank of ancient looking filing cabinets.
"No computer systems were tampered with," Sam shrugged, "Suggesting that it's something older, not digitised, that is of interest."
"Great," griped Dean, "I can't even watch reruns of Dr Sexy while I pretend to help… you start at that end, I'll meet you in the middle." He opened a drawer. "I should've brought booze. Lots of booze. This is not an appropriate way for a totally unsissy man to be spending a night…"
"Dean!" Sam hissed irritably, "Your curse! Outwardly chaste, remember?"
"Yeah yeah," Dean sighed, and pulled out a stack of dusty folders. "I've done nearly twelve hours now, so…"
Sam heard a swish, a short yelp and a clatter as Dean's flashlight fell to the floor.
"Dude, what the…" he turned and stopped dead.
Dean was sprawled across the desk and pinned with his arm twisted up his back. When Sam raised his own flashlight, he saw Sister Felicity grinning at him as she drew a bead on him with Dean's gun.
Daaaaaadum…. Daaaaaaaadum…
"Oh, balls," sighed Sam, raising his hands.
"Hello again, Mr Young and Mr Young," she said pleasantly. "Baaaaaaaaa!" she added for good measure.
"Um," said Dean.
Sam smiled as reassuringly as he could. "Er, Sister Fic, this isn't what it looks like," he began.
"Really?" enquired the nun solicitously. "That's interesting. Because what it looks like is two guys sneaking around in the dark, casing the place."
"We're not… we're not exactly casing the place…" Sam went on.
"Ow! Well, we could ask the same thing of you, Sister Sneaky," Dean interjected petulantly.
"Dean," Sam didn't take his eyes off Sister Felicity, "Nun with a gun, Dean, annoying her, not a good idea."
"No, seriously, what are you doing sneaking around in the dark?" persisted Dean. "Don't you have a curfew? Prayers and stuff to say? Silence to observe? I've seen 'The Nun's Story', you know, OW!" he added as the nun behind him gave his arm a twist.
"Let's just say I have invisible whiskers, and you set them twitching the minute I laid eyes on you," she snapped. "But it's not what you're doing that I find really interesting. Do you know what I find really interesting?"
"Uh, no?" ventured Sam.
"Well, what I find really interesting," Sister Fic went on, "Is that you don't actually exist. Oh, I went looking, all right," she told them, "I like to do a bit of background checking on all our… clients here. As Ray found out today. And, guess what? Dean and Sam Young aren't real! Just fancy! Don't wiggle, you," she gave Dean's arm a tweak, eliciting another yelp, "I'm not familiar with this weapon, and I have no idea just what the pull on the trigger is."
"Saaaaam," Dean pleaded, "Trigger happy nun, say something intelligent and engaging!"
"I'm not actually trigger happy," Sister Felicity corrected him, "I'm just not squeamish." She paused. "Do you know how many ways there are to hurt somebody with a gun without actually firing it?"
"Saaaaaaaaaam!" trilled Dean.
"Look, Sister," Sam tried, "This is really difficult to explain, but we are not here to rob the place. There's something… bad going to happen here, we think, and we're trying to stop it…"
"The break-ins at the other convents," she cut him off, "What are you doing? What do you want?"
"That wasn't us!" Sam replied.
"Then who was it?" demanded the nun. "Who's breaking into our offices, and why?"
Sam gave her a beseeching look. "Look, we think we know, kind of, but not exactly. It's hard to explain…"
"Try," she gave him a mirthless grin.
He took a deep breath. "Look, there are… people who would try anything they think might work to… hurt other people, and… we think there may be something, we just don't know what, that these… people are looking for…"
"Try harder," she ordered, giving Dean's arm another twist.
"Owwww!" went Dean. "We think that demons are breaking into convents looking for something but we don't know what owwwwww!"
Sister Felicity's jaw dropped. "Demons?" she repeated incredulously. "Did you seriously just say, 'demons'?"
"Er," Sam stuttered, "He, uh, he gets these, you know, weird ideas sometimes. I think it's because he's, er, you know, dealing with his, um, problem, withdrawal can have all sorts of symptoms…"
From the direction of the church, there came a distinct thump noise, and the sound of swearing.
"Shit," muttered Sister Felicity, pushing backwards and letting go of Dean, "You two idiots stay here." She backed up and headed out the door.
"Hey," said Sam, following her, "Where are you…"
The nun was gone, disappeared into the shadows.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," snarled Sam, pulling out his own gun, "This is not good."
"You're telling me," Dean agreed, "She nearly broke my arm. What a woman. And you know what? She's still not an occasion of sin."
"If that's our demon burglar, the unhotness of a gun-toting nun will be the least of our worries," Sam mused.
"Come on then, bro," Dean headed out back towards the church, "If that's our demon, we gotta go save the nun. Even if she's anti-hot. And I want my gun back."
Yikes! Who will save whom from what?
Reviews are the Performance Enhancing Drugs Fed To Plot Bunnies In The Professional Sports Leagues Of Life! (Stay tuned for details of Petunia's tell-all interview with Oprah.)