DO NOT feed the bunny illicit substances. Once they get started, they can be manic enough as it is...
Chapter Nine
"By rights I should probably be herding you towards the nearest Emergency Room to be checked out," suggested Sister Felicity as she cleaned the contusion on the side of Sam's face, "But I suspect that a couple of men who don't exist might be a bit reluctant to do that. Hold still."
"Sorry," Sam winced. "It stings," he added, a trifle defiantly.
"Try this, bro," Dean grinned, proffering the bottle of Irish whiskey. "Better than Tylenol. What's a nun doing with access to this stuff, anyway?"
"I'm Catholic, not a Baptist," she replied, "And I thought we might prevail upon the charity of Father Callahan."
"Who's Father Callahan?" Sam asked.
"He's a priest in the grand old Irish Catholic tradition," the nun answered, "Which entails lots of hellfire and damnation sermons – some have lepers – promises of eternal torment for Self-Pollution, and copious amounts of alcoholic beverage, stashed in strategic locations. I think you'll get away with a couple of butterfly strips, here, Sam."
"Are you saying that one of the priests here is an alcoholic?" Sam wanted to know.
"Nope," Felicity grinned, "He's a drunk. Alcoholics go to meetings. Okay, I think you're good. Now, Dean, shirt."
"Got one right here," Dean indicated the pertinent garment, "Clean on last week, even."
"Sister Laundress would be impressed, I'm sure," intoned Felicity, sounding anything but. "Shirt off."
"Huh?" Dean's eyes momentarily bugged. "Uh, look, I know that you're, uh, you know, supposed to be, the vow of chastity and all, so..."
"Oh, get over yourself, Casanova," she rolled her eyes in a very Samesque fashion indeed. "I'm sure that, if I call upon the Virgin Mary for help, I can somehow find the moral strength to resist your overwhelming masculine charms and the siren call of your enticing sexual ambiance..." Dean actually blushed. "You're holding your side, and after your brother landed on you, I'm betting you're as bruised as hell, at least. Off."
"No, really, I'm good," Dean assured her, feeling suddenly and inexplicably shy.
Sister Felicity's smiled; Sam heard that damned double bass tuning up again. "You know," she went on silkily, "When I first clapped eyes on you, I thought to myself, 'Now, there is a man who knows how to get it off'..."
Dean gulped.
"Oh, come on," she snapped, "You don't look like you've got man-boobs. What is it, you got a third nipple? An embarrassing tattoo from a drunken night out with a sailor named Roderigo? A birthmark in the shape of Oprah Winfrey's head?" She turned and appealed to Jimi. "Your human here is being a coward," she told the grinning dog.
"I'm not," Dean said defensively, "But I'm good, really, and I don't neeeEEEEEP!" Jimi shoved his nose at his Alpha's side, and when Dean flinched, Sister Felicity deftly grabbed his shirt, and pulled it up over his head.
"Aaaaaaargh!" Dean protested in a muffled voice, waving his tangled arms, "I'm stuck!"
'At least you're quieter," Felicity pointed out, as Sam tried not to laugh. "Oh, yeah, your brother got you good, I see what you mean about the moose thing. Hold still..." She dabbed at his side with the disinfectant. "This is going to be black and blue and sore as hell tomorrow," she opined, as Dean squirmed, "But I don't think you have anything broken." When she finished, she pulled his shirt back over his head. Dean gave her a baleful glare, like a small child who has just been assailed with a washcloth after a particularly enjoyable session at the finger-painting table.
"Where did you run off to, anyway?" He asked in a slightly peeved tone.
"I didn't run off," she corrected him, "I had a plan."
"Er, what exactly was your plan?" Sam couldn't help himself.
"I planned to see what you two would do," she told him. "Meet up with an accomplice and run for it, I might've expected that. Get thrown around like a couple of ping pong balls in a tornado, not so much."
When she was satisfied that the Winchesters were adequately tended, Sister Felicity took the bottle from Dean, and took a long drink. "All right, then," the nun seated herself on the desk, and stared at the Winchesters with her I'm-Not-Flipper-After-All expression. "I've seen people do some pretty impressive things when they're well trained, or off their faces. I've seen a skinny teenager coked to the gills bludgeon his way through half a dozen officers, because he thought he was Godzilla. I've been thrown halfway across the dojo by a woman half my size and twice my age, and she was just warming up before she really started training. But I have never seen a little thing like Ellie pick up a guy the size of you, or you, with one hand, and not throw him, but hurl him, hurl him, like he was a basketball." She paused, and handed the bottle back to Dean. "Ellie wasn't on anything. I'd stake my veil on it. But she was scared shitless. I convinced her that this is just a part of the withdrawal process. But I think it was more than that. And I think you know what it was. So, Mr Hunter," she smiled grimly, "Is that your name? Well, Mr Hunter, and Mr Hunter, of course, I would love to hear your explanation for this evening's events."
"Hunter isn't our name," Sam told her, "Our name is Winchester. Hunter is what we are. It's what we do."
"Hunting things, saving people," Dean took another drink, "The family business." Jimi woofed supportively.
"And what exactly do you hunt?" she pressed.
Sam began to say something, then stopped. "I think it only fair to warn you," he said, "This may well turn into more than a one-bottle conversation."
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
When the first bottle was empty, Felicity shooed Sam off his chair, stood on it to get to a high shelf in a dusty cupboard, and let out a little 'Aha!' of triumph as she withdrew another one.
"So, your mother was killed by a demon when you were both small," she recapped, "Your father took you on the road to hunt down the demon that killed her, turned you into a pair of capable little killers, then died in a car crash, then you found the demon and killed it. You're Hunters. Accompanied by your faithful dog Jimi, who is half Hellhound..." at the sound of his name, Jimi whuffed, and nudged against her for pats. "...And half utterly adorable Rottweiler, and was born after you managed to summon a full blood Hellhound and he mated your uncle's bitch, and his mom still grabs him and washes his ears whenever you stay there, and you all go roaming around the country, killing off supernatural fuglies, Hunting things, and saving people..."
"The family business," confirmed Dean, opening the second bottle and drinking. "I think I like Father Callahan."
"Enjoy," Sister Felicity sighed glumly, taking the bottle. "I'm going to be on my knees for a week after I confess the sin of theft. And gluttony."
"You came to help, with holy water," Sam pointed out as she handed the bottle to him. "And you finished the exorcism."
"Hey, you see this habit? You see this veil?" she tutted. "Catholic nun. We believe that holy water and exorcism can fix anything from the Black Death to a broken drive shaft."
"If only it was that simple," sighed Dean. "Would've saved me a fortune in parts by now."
The nun looked thoughtful. "I tried it on a microwave, once, when I was a postulant," she recalled. "The damned thing never worked properly, so I doused it in holy water and exorcised it. Fixed the problem."
"Really?" Sam asked with interest.
"Really." She took back the bottle. "The water got into the guts of it, it exploded and caught fire, and we were finally given permission to buy a new one."
"You never know, maybe it was possessed," Dean ventured.
"There was a lot of black smoke coming out of it when the Fire Brigade arrived," nodded the nun. "It didn't shoot off down into the ground, though."
"You were quick off the mark with the holy water in the church," Sam reminded her, "Have you seen a demon before? Besides the exploding possessed microwave, I mean."
"No," Sister Felicity replied, "But I'm not stupid, either. The last job I had, if you didn't learn to work out what was going on as it was happening right in front of you, you could end up dead. The priests here sanctify it in batches. We go through the most amazing amounts of it."
"The thing is, most civilians tend to react a bit more, uh, terrified when they see one for the first time," Sam admitted sheepishly.
She fixed him with the look that she'd used on him in class earlier that day. "You see this habit? You see this veil? I'm not a civilian, kid. Give me a couple more years, I'm going to be Mrs Jesus. Anyway," she shrugged, "If angels are real, it stands to reason that so are demons."
"You believe in angels?" Sam asked.
"I used to," the nun sighed, "Until I met one. Now I wish people wouldn't go around believing in them. I worry that it might just encourage them."
The Winchesters stared at her. "You... you've met an angel?" Sam was incredulous.
"Huh, don't be too impressed," Felicity told him, "They use willing humans as 'vessels', sort of like borrowed cars, so you can't see their wings – given a bit of a thunderstorm, you might see the shadows of them, though. They are utterly socially clueless, and take everything you say completely literally – oh, God, the time I told her to 'Bite me' is one I'd rather forget. And they have absolutely no grasp of the concept of Minimum Polite Distance." She swigged heartily. "What? It's true! Trust me. I'm a nun."
"We do, we believe you," Dean said hurriedly. "Because," his voice took on a hint of pride, "We know an angel too!"
She choked on a mouthful. "You know an angel?" It was her turn to sound dubious.
"Totally!" Dean smiled. "His name is Castiel – we call him Cas – and he's... uh... he's... a really important angel," he finished.
"He shares a 'profound bond' with Dean," supplied Sam helpfully, taking the bottle again and drinking heartily. "He does this Eye-Sex Stare Of Doom at him, until he squirms..."
Sister Felicity cocked her head at Dean. "So, what was his message?" she asked. "Did he manifest to discuss your vocation with you? Because, I don't want to be rude, to your or your angel, but you don't seem the, well, the monk or priest type..."
"No no no," Dean assured her, "He didn't want me to be a priest, he... uh... he..."
"He came to Dean's aid when he was in a really bad situation," Sam interceded smoothly, "And helped him out, so he could go on Hunting. Because he's such a good Hunter. And Cas wanted him to go on fighting the good fight." Sam took a drink. "He gripped him tight," he intoned seriously, "And raised him from Perdition."
"Really?" Sister Felicity looked thoughtful. "Did he do the Minimum Polite Distance thing?"
"Constantly," replied Dean gloomily, "He once told me that there's no expression for 'Personal Space' in Enochian. And if I had a dime for every time I've heard 'I don't understand that reference'..."
"Don't forget that time," Sam actually giggled, and waved the bottle eloquently, "That time, when you got angry, and you told him, 'You know what, Cas? Why don't you kiss my ass?', and Cas got that really serious look on his face, and he said 'Very well, Dean'..."
"I think you've had enough there, Samantha," Dean deftly removed the bottle from Sam's hand. "He's a lightweight," he told Sister Felicity.
"Well, let's just take it as read that angels and demons are real, then," she agreed, "Is that why you two are really here? To track down a demon? What was a demon doing here at St Clare's?"
"That is why we're here, yeah," Dean confessed, "Sam is the research guy. He figured out that demons were breaking into convents."
Sam nodded. "...And he tore your pants, bro..."
"Don't mind him, he's probably concussed," said Dean brusquely. "Anyway, he worked out that they were looking for something, but seemed to be concentrating on offices and information, rather than the churches themselves."
"...And you screamed like a girl..."
"We followed the pattern and picked here as the next most likely break-in target," Dean glared at his little brother.
"...And he got that really confused look on his face, you know, the one where he looks like a puppy trying to work out who just took the squeaky toy away..."
"Jimi found this by the altar," Dean elbowed Sam viciously and handed over the piece of paper. "The demon dropped it. We think it might be looking for these people. The numbers could be dates. Is there a Mr and Mrs Morgan associated with St Clare's here in Winchester?"
Sister Felicity stared at the paper. "Frank and Kathleen Morgan," she breathed. "F. & K. Frank and Kathleen Morgan."
"Do you know them?" asked Dean.
"Know them?" she looked up at him. "Yeah, I know them. Or, I knew them. They're dead now, three years ago. Frank's car was hit by a drunk driver, and Kathleen had a heart attack four months later." She looked back down at the paper. "They're not associated with the church here, though. They were from Kansas."
"Kansas?" Dean looked confused as Sam hiccuped gently. "So, how do you know them?"
"They were my parents. Well, they adopted me, when I was a baby." She pointed out the dates. "That's my birthday. And that's when I was adopted. When I was four days old. I was given up by an unmarried mother."
Her face assumed a smile that had Sam hearing double basses again. "I think you might have an answer to your search, guys. It looks like your demon was looking for me."
So, will he just quietly go to sleep, or must we deal with drunk!Sam?
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