The bunny is on fiyah! Metaphorically speaking. Not actually. That would be cruel. And might singe the keyboard.

Chapter Eight

The noises coming from the church were those indicative of someone trying to be quiet and not being terribly successful. The muttered cursing also indicated that the would-be burglar didn't have a flashlight, wished that she had brought one, had not done any recon of the layout of the place, was considering relieving herself in the confessional just for the fun of it and intended to see somebody flayed for pissing her about like this.

The Winchesters returned to the church silently, keeping to the darkened recesses beyond the aisles as the young woman made her way up the nave towards the altar. The weak ambient light showed the angry scowl on her face as she stood, apparently trying to decide what to do next.

Sam walked out of the shadows behind her. "Um, hi," he said, giving her a dimpled smile.

"Oh!" the intruder's startled surprise was genuine, but she covered it well, and gave him a smile of her own. "Oh, sorry, you scared me!' she trilled in an engaging way. "Do you know if it's, uh, okay to light candles this late?" she asked, waving a hand towards a small side chapel. "It's my grandma, she's really sick, and I thought, it couldn't hurt to light a candle for her…"

"I don't know," Sam used his best tone of friendly ignorance, "I just come here to read sometimes because it's quiet. And I have to concentrate when I'm reading in French."

"Oh," she smiled again. "What are you reading?"

"It's for a college class. Something by Père Dumas," he told her cheerfully. "Have you heard of it? The Count of Monte Christo!"

The young woman let out a malevolent hiss, and flinched backwards. "Whatever you're doing here, Hunter," she snarled, her eyes bleeding to fully black, "You're going to wish you hadn't set foot in this place!"

"So are you," he grinned at her, "But for now, I really would like to keep talking to you."

"Would you?" she purred dangerously, sauntering closer. "Do you like to live dangerously, little boy?"

"No," Sam replied, "But it gives my brother time to get behind you and do this."

Sam threw himself out of the way as the demon spun around to be met by Dean's cheerful "Hi!" and a slosh of holy water. She let out a stifled scream as the water hissed and bubbled.

"I'll end you for that!" she growled, charging at Dean and making a grab for him. He dodged, but came up against the end of a pew. The demon grinned, took a handful of his jacket, and threw him several metres through the air to land with a heavy thump and some choice cusswords.

"Still wanna talk, Hunter?" she turned back to Sam, pausing warily when she saw him draw a demon-killing blade.

"Actually, yeah," he snapped back. "What are you assholes doing breaking into churches?"

Her expression drew into cruel amusement. "Oh, wouldn't you like to know," she teased, wagging a finger at him. "But that would be telling! Oh, I don't think you really want to use that," she gestured at the knive, "Unless you don't mind killing the original inhabitant of this meatsuit. Not that I'd mind if you did, the screaming is starting to give me a headache…" Sam swore, and lowered the knife. "Sadly for you, Mr Hunter, I'm done talking. I'm just gonna kill you now. I might take my time with your brother though," she glanced past him to where Dean was wheezingly making his way to his feet. "He looks like a guy I could have fun with. If I'm feeling charitable I might even let him enjoy it too, while I pull his lungs out through his chest."

"Don't flatter yourself," Dean leaned on a pew, breathing heavily but nonetheless smirking cockily, "I'd rather stick my dick in a mincer. What is it with demons? Why are they always totally obsessed with sex? Is it a deadly sin thing? Sorry, sweetheart. I can, of course, understand why a perverted piece of crap like you would fantasise about a fine piece of tail like me, but The Living Sex God does not do demons. The occasional attractive redhead angel-turned-human, yes, but… oh, shit! SHIT!" Dean subsided to angry muttering, and fiddled with his watch. "She screwed up my chastity, Sam, just stab her somewhere non-fatal and we'll apologise later!"

Sam hefted the knife, but the demon hissed malevolently and waved a hand at him, sending him flying backwards to crash into his big brother, which sent them both sprawling heavily.

"Oh... God… Sam," Dean gasped and wheezed, winded again, "How can… somebody who… lives on… salad… weigh… so much?"

"Slight technical hitch there," she sneered, as Sam scrambled up, "You gotta get close enough to use your little fruit peeler. Oh, and once your head is caved in against the nearest stone wall, the whole hand-eye co-ordination thing goessss aaIIIIEEEEEE!"

Sam flung the contents of his own flask of holy water at her and darted in with the knife as she flinched and screamed while the water boiled on her skin, but she still struck out blindly, not giving him an opening. "Don't dick around… with holy water, just… send her back… to No Sex Land, Sam!" gasped Dean, struggling to rise. "Ohhh, I am so… putting you… on a diet…"

"Shit!" Sam kept looking for an opening as he began the rite. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,

omnis satanica potest – OOF!" He doubled over as the demon suddenly shot upright, and sucker punched him in the gut.

"Oh, dear," crooned the demon, kicking the knife away and picking up the empty flask as he doubled over, retching. "Looks like you've shot your load there, Mr Hunter." With one hand she picked him up easily by the collar of his jacket. "I was going to bash your head in," she informed him as he gasped to get air into his lungs, "But watching your goldfish impression is so much fun, I think I'll strangle you instead." Her other hand closed around his throat, as he struggled to breathe. "I just love the noises one of you makes as the life dies right out of your eyiiiiiAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

An enormous slosh of water drenched demon and Hunter both. She screamed, sulphurous steam billowing around her, and crumpled to the floor.

Standing behind her, Sister Felicity hefted a large plastic jug. When the demon collapsed, she stepped in and upended it again, sending up fresh waves of pungent, hissing steam.

"You okay?" she asked Sam. He nodded, and Dean appeared behind him, helping him up. "So, what now?" she went on, giving the demon another dousing.

"Ex… exorcism," Sam gulped in air as Dean dragged him upright. "Omnis… satanica… pot… potestas… omnis in… *gasp* incursio…"

"Here," the nun dumped more water over the demon and handed the plastic jug over to Dean, "Keep Dolly the Demon here nice and damp." She stepped out of range of the demon's random strikes, and grasped her crucifix. "Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica…"

"Er, running out of juice, here," Dean warned as the last of the holy water dribbled out over the moaning demon.

'S okay, bro," grinned Sam from where he was leaning on a pew, still coughing and gasping for breath, "Here comes… the cavalry."

Dean turned at the rapid click of claws on a wooden floor. Jimi, eyes blazing red and snaggled Hell-teeth bared as he rumbled with a growl like an angry earthquake, made a beeline for the demon, and as she tried to rise, he clamped onto her arm and held fast. The demon wailed and growled, letting out noises that no human voice could ever make.

Barely missing a beat, Sister Felicity finished the exorcism, then let out a little shriek of surprise as the black column of smoke screeched and howled out of the young woman and speared downward, disappearing through the floor. The sudden silence was broken only by Sam's wheezing to get his breath back, and Jimi licking anxiously at the vacated demon host's hand, whining to himself.

Sister Felicity dropped to her knees. "Ellie? Ellie? Can you hear me?" she asked, searching for a pulse. "She's alive," she pronounced with some relief, as the young woman stirred.

"You know her?" asked Dean.

"She's from the diversion group," Sister Fic answered, "I wondered why she didn't show up today. She's been doing so well – one of the sheep – and I was really worried that she'd relapsed."

Ellie's eyes flew open and she let out a scream. Sister Felicity grabbed her hands.

"Ellie, it's me, it's Sister Fic," she told the trembling girl, "It's Sister Fic. You're at St Clare's. Did you have a bad episode? We've talked about symptoms of withdrawal. Did you have an hallucination?" The girl burst into tears and threw herself into the nun's arms. "Sister Germaine is really better at this," she sighed. "All right, I have to deal with Ellie first," she stood up, bringing the young woman to her feet. "You two go back to the office, and I'll be back. And then, we will talk."

"Okay," nodded Dean, "Yeah, I could see that you want some explanation…"

"Fuck that," muttered Sister Fic, steering the girl back towards the door, "I want a damned drink."

Dean pulled Sam to his feet. "You good, bro?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sam assured him, "Just winded. Ow. And possibly a bit bruised." He rubbed his shoulder.

"I don't know how you could be, since you landed on me," griped Dean.

"Well, you're lumpy," complained Sam.

"I, on the other hand, feel like I've been sat on by a moose," Dean continued. "A moose who hasn't yet discovered the delicious variety of Weight Watchers' Points Plus System." He leaned down carefully to ruffle Jimi's ears. "It's a good thing you came to investigate, isn't it?" he told the dog, who panted happily at the praise from his Alpha. "Yes it is! Yes it is!"

"Well, he definitely does have a nose for evil shit," agreed Sam, smiling fondly at the dog, "He usually comes to investigate if there's demons involved." He looked around. "This evening has been… interesting." He gazed after Sister Felicity. "She seemed remarkably blasé for somebody who was confronted with the sight of an actual demon; I don't think she's coming back with the cops, you know," he opined.

"Sounded more like she'll be coming back with a bottle," grinned Dean. "Now, that's my kind of nun!" His face suddenly became anxious. "Er, you don't think, you know," he gestured indistinctly, "The curse…"

"No, that's fine," Sam reassured him, "You were just indicating that you would really like a drink. And frankly, so would I. Come on, let's head back to the office."

As they turned to leave, Jimi let out a sharp whuff, and nosed his way back towards the altar.

"Hey, J-Man, you going to sniff us out some sacramental wine?" chirped Dean, cheered considerably by the thought that consumption of alcohol might well be occurring in the near future. "I'd rather some sacramental bourbon, but I'll take what I can get. Why don't they have sacramental bourbon? I bet it would get people coming back to church…"

"Not alcohol, Dean," Sam noted, "But I think he has found something."

Jimi trotted back to his Alpha and Second, a crumpled piece of paper in his mouth.

"What you got there, fella?" Dean asked, taking the torn and slightly damp scrap of paper. "Whew, it stinks of sulphur," he complained. "You haven't got Francis' Disease, have you, Jimi? Maybe I shouldn't have let you have that last burrito…"

"Jimi tends to make things smell of lavender, post burrito," Sam pointed out, "This must've been dropped by the demon." The writing was a little smudged, but was still clear enough to be legible.

Winchester
F. & K. Morgan
11-19-74 11-23-74

"What is that? Some sort of demonic memo?" wondered Sam.

"Instructions," Dean said grimly. "A location, a name, and, what, a combination?"

"Could be dates," Sam suggested. "In November, 1974. At any rate, I think it suggests that they're not looking for an artefact, they're looking for people. F. and K. Morgan. Or information about them, at least."

"Why not start in the phone book?" Dean asked. "Work your way through the F. Morgans. Like the Terminator."

"Morgan is a pretty common name," Sam replied, "Depending on what their actual intentions are, a systematic demonic search for people named Morgan could leave a pretty obvious pattern; Hunters would pick up on it quickly, and know where to start looking."

"Yeah, I guess," shrugged Dean. "In the end, it didn't work for the Terminator, either. First he got squashed, then he got melted. Although I could die a happy cyborg if I was melted by Sarah Connor. She was way hotter in the second movie, I wouldn't have minded materialising naked in her cell and having her check me for concealed weapons… oh, damn," he sighed, resetting his watch. "I'm back to square one. Again. This sucks."

"Look on the bright side, bro," Sam consoled him, "At least you aren't turning chaste on the inside, after all."

"Yeah," Dean agreed gloomiy, "It must just be the nun effect. Don't have none, don't want none, aint gonna get none. Get caught in the chastity field, and you won't get none, either. Maybe I should just hang around with her for twenty-four hours. When do you think she'll be back with booze?"

Reviews are A) the Slightly Bruised And Banged About Winchester Of Your Choice Needing Your Tending OR B) The Unexpected Bottle Of Decent Booze Suddenly Appearing In The Office Of Life!*

*Winchesters will NOT be materialising nekkid. You depraved individuals.