Chapter Ten
"She's okay, isn't she?" Sam grinned sunnily, and managed to get up out of the Impala on the second try. "For a nun. She was quick with the holy water."
"Yeah, she's okay," agreed Dean, putting an arm on Sam's shoulder to steer him towards their room. "For a smart-ass nun with a fetish about undressing people who don't need to be undressed and an unhealthy interest in counting their nipples.."
"She pulled your shirt up!" Sam tittered as Dean opened the door and led him inside. "And you went 'Eeeeeeep'!"
"Well, that disinfectant was cold," grumbled Dean, pointing Sam at his bed, where he sat down heavily.
"Sissy," Sam giggled, listing slowly to starboard until he was horizontal on his bed. "Oh, you fell sideways."
"No, Sam," Dean sighed, "I think you need to get ready for bed. We need your brain tomorrow to help figure out why a demon would be looking for Sister Fic."
"For the teeth," Sam declared with authority, nodding seriously.
Dean turned. "Teeth?" he sounded dubious.
"Yup," Sam nodded again. "They make sourver... souvens... sourever... veneers... they make necklaces and charms and stuff out of 'em," he explained.
Dean stared at his brother. "Teeth?" he repeated. "Demons make souvenirs out of nun's teeth?"
"Uh-huh," Sam confirmed.
Dean blinked. "What for?" he asked.
"I dunno," Sam shrugged. "Presents, and stuff." He hiccuped again. "You can get hundreds at a time from just one."
"What?" Dean paused in taking off his own boots. "From one nun?"
"Oh, yeah," Sam waved a hand. "Hundreds. Thousands, even. They have rows and rows of 'em."
"Sam," Dean moved to his brother's bed, and helped him to sit up again, "I think maybe you should go to bed."
"You can buy 'em on eBay," Sam told him, as Dean bent to work his brother's boots off.
"Really," Dean sighed.
"A Great White Nun can have three thousand teeth at any one time," Sam sounded awestruck.
"Amazing," said Dean, helping Sam out of his jacket.
"Over the last sixteen million years, they have evolved to become the perfect preder... prederer... preterdreter... pret... they kill stuff and eat it," he finished portentously.
"Incredible," agreed Dean, wiggling the plaid shirt off his little brother.
"Little is known about their mating habits," Sam continued as Dean lifted his legs onto the bed, "But unborn nuns do engage in intrauterine cannibalism." His voice dropped to an astonished whisper. "They eat their little brothers and sisters before they're even born," he breathed.
"The wonders of Nature, Sam," Dean couldn't help smiling at his brother. "That's why they call her a mother. Mind you," he mused, "There are times when I can understand where the little guys are coming from..."
"Next time we're in Florida, we could go to Orlando," Sam suggested hopefully, "And see Bruce, the rubber nun, at Universal Studios."
"I'll have the PA book it in our diary," he assured Sam, pushing gently until Sam was horizontal again, then pulling a blanket over him, "But for now, you just get some sleep so that brain will be ready for duty in the morning. We still have to figure out why a demon might be coming after Sister Fic."
"Who is she?" asked Sam.
"You know, Felicity Morgan, Sister Fic, the Great White Nun," Dean said patiently, sitting down on his own bed to get ready for sleep. "Hey, what sort of bite power do nuns generate?"
"A nun that's reached twenty feet can generate a bite force of eighteen thousand Newton," Sam replied immediately. "No, before she was Felicity Morgan. Who was she? Before she was twenty feet long?"
Dean paused and stared at his little brother. "That, Sam, may be a very good question," he replied thoughtfully. "The whole bloodline descent thing seems to be important to demons and angels and all sorts of unearthly assholes who take an unwanted interest in human affairs. Remind me to make a note of Father Callahan's preferred blend." He got into bed, and turned out the light. "Night, Sammy."
"Night, Dean. hic!"
Silence descended, broken only by the snuffling of Jimi as he settled on his blanket.
Then...
"Daaaaaaaaa-dum..."
"Hmmmf? What?"
"Daaaaaaaaa-dum..."
"Sam? Is that your phone?"
"Daaaaaaaaa-dum..."
"Sam? Is that you?"
"DUM dum DUM dum DUM dum DUM dum DUM dum DUM dum DUM dum DUM dum..."
"Sam, knock it off! Go to sleep!"
"Doodle-OOOOOOOOOOOO!"
"Sam, if you don't shut up right now, so help me, giant boat-sinking man-eating nuns will be the least of your worries..."
"Hey, Dean, how many nipples do you have?"
"...Because... huh?"
"'Cause I thought I counted four, just before..."
"That's because you're drunk. Shut up and go to sleep."
"You're bossy."
"Sam..."
"And short."
"Sam, if you don't shut up and go to sleep, I will feed you to the nuns."
"Your left one does look a bit like Oprah Winfrey..."
"That's it, I am never letting you near alcohol again."
"Hey, Dean, what goes black-white-black-white-black-white?"
Sigh "I don't know, Sam."
"A nun falling down some stairs!"
"I dare you to tell that one to Sister Fic."
"I'm gonna need a bigger boat."
"Shut up, bitch, and go to sleep."
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They managed to sit through their diversion program class the next day, although Sam looked slightly green. didn't say much and clung to his coffee like a man clinging desperately to a life buoy after his boat has been sunk by a giant man-eating nun. Afterwards they lingered to speak to Sister Felicity.
"Booze Boy here had an idea last night," Dean told her, "Regarding why a demon might have been looking for you. Apparently, one of his neurons must've stayed sober – the designated thinker." Sam shot him a reproachful glare.
"Good, because I got nothing," she shrugged. "I'm really not anything special as a nun. I'm not even actually a nun yet! I'm only a novice!"
"It may not be the nun thing that they care about," Sam explained. "What demons – and angels – do care about, though, is bloodlines."
"Bloodlines?" echoed Felicity.
"Oh, yeah," nodded Dean, "Those assholes are more obsessed with pedigrees than the craziest dog people at Crufts. Do you know anything about your real family?"
"My Mom and Dad were my real family," she said firmly. "But, as to my birth mother, well, no."
"Not even a name?" pressed Sam.
"They gave me a birth certificate with Mom and Dad's name on it," she told said, "But it's got my real birthday on it. I tried to track down my birth mother years ago but, well, I just kind of kept hitting brick walls. It's the law, you see. State, and church. At the time, it was thought that it was best for everybody if there was a clean, complete break when a child was given up. Some kids didn't even get told they were adopted." She paused. "I started looking again, not long ago. Now that Mom and Dad are gone, I thought, well, I'd give it another try."
"Any luck?" asked Dean.
"I got a letter just before I arrived here," she responded, "Giving me pretty much the party line. Records are patchy, can't find anything, probably been lost now, prevailing attitudes at the time, yada yada yada. But the archivist did suggest that I could talk to one of the nuns who worked there at the time. She could be about 117 by now, though..."
"Sister Fic, it could be really important," Sam said earnestly. "If there's any avenue at all we could chase up to find out who your family was, it could be linked to the convent break-ins."
"I could apply for a leave of absence, to go find out," Felicity mused. "In fact, I get the distinct impression that they might be glad to be rid of me for a few days. Apparently, calling in the cops did cause a bit of a stir – about half the class were found to be in breach." She grinned with an evil satisfaction. "I do love me a goat roast!"
"Getting you away from here might be a good idea anyway," Dean added, "That demon wasn't killed – it was only sent back Downstairs. It looked like there might've been more than one searcher; if that was just a minion reporting back to a more powerful demon, they might wonder what's brought a couple of Hunters here, and come back after you again. We can keep you safe, but not if they come after you like they really mean it."
"Well, I'll see what I can do," the nun assured them, "But I gotta tell you, it's gonna look pretty damned strange. It sounds like the beginning of a joke: 'Two guys, a nun, and a Rottweiler got into a classic car, and went on a road trip'. Not exactly inconspicuous. The phrase 'stick out like a sore thumb' comes to mind."
"Actually, I might have an idea about that," Sam said.
"Sam," Dean began levelly, "If you mention nun's teeth, rubber sharks, or intrauterine cannibalism, I will punch you."
"No, nothing like that," Sam reassured them as Sister Felicity shot a bewildered look at Dean and mouthed What the fuck? "But if Sister Fic can get leave to go to Kansas, I think it will keep us off the radar."
"Are you suggesting that I go plain clothes?" asked the nun.
"No," Sam elaborated. "I'm suggesting that we hide in plain sight..."
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
Sister Felicity was granted a leave of absence, and immediately went about doing something that would mean she had more theft to confess...
"Although, technically, it's not theft," she told the Winchesters later that evening when they returned to meet up and finalise their plans. "Since I have no intention of permanently depriving the legitimate owner of this property. I will make sure that it is returned. So, really, it's just borrowing. You can trust me, I'm a nun."
The next day...
Two guys, a nun, and a Rottweiler got into a classic car, and went on a road trip.
"I hate this plan," grumbled Dean.
"It's a good plan," argued Sam.
"It's a fucking hilarious plan," grinned Sister Felicity, minus her veil, from the back seat.
"Rowf!" went Jimi, adding his approval at having a travelling companion.
"Seriously," Sam went on, "Sister Fic is right. It would look really weird if we were travelling with a nun. And think of the money we'll save on accommodation! Plus, this way, we can stick close to her, and be on hand if the demons come looking."
"It will take us two more days to get to Kansas," Sister Felicity pointed out, "And if we do have to deal with demons, we'll be close to sources of holy water, relics, blessed salt, the sorts of things that you can use against them."
"I still hate this plan," griped Dean. "Why do I have to be the one with the assistance dog?"
"If there are demons involved, we'll need Jimi," Sam said firmly.
"You cheated," Dean snapped.
"Dean," Sam rolled his eyes and gave his big brother a full strength Bitchface #8™ (You Are Now Officially Talking Complete Shit, Dean), "We did rock-paper-scissors four times! You lost!"
"The kitchen at St Cecile's in Wheeling is worth the trip," wheedled Sister Felicity. "There's this nun, Sister Matthias, from Germany, she's older than Methuselah, and nearly blind, but she still loves her work in the kitchen and she does the most fantastic pastries, her pie is just to die for."
"Pie?" Dean emerged from his grumbling.
"Pie," confirmed Sister Felicity. "And she's something of a dog lover. You'll have seconds pressed on you before you know it."
Not too far out of Winchester, they found a deserted stretch of road. "I guess here is as good as anywhere," sighed Dean, pulling the Impala off the road. He headed for the trunk.
"You need any help?" she asked the Winchesters as she repositioned her veil.
"No!" yapped Dean sternly, "And no peeking!"
"Dean," Sam sighed.
"I don't care if she's a nun," grumbled Dean, "I don't want her counting my nipples. It's not right."
Chuckling to herself, the nun settled for helping Jimi into his harness.
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
Sister Angela had been Sister Porteress at St Cecile's for the last ten years, and was well versed in the vagaries of paperwork that never arrived before the people whose travel and accommodation arrangements it was meant to document; therefore, she was really not surprised to hear a car engine rumble into the wide drive unexpectedly. It was one of life's little trials, she'd decided long ago.
She watched a novice and a priest emerge from the front seats; another priest got out of the back. She thought it was strange that he would be wearing dark glasses at night, but the reason became clear when a dog wearing a working harness jumped down after him, nudging his leg until he picked up the handle.
"I'm so terribly sorry, Sister Angela," Sister Felicity apologised meekly to her, "Our paperwork must've been held up at Mother House."
"Oh, it wouldn't be the first time," Sister Angela confided. "No doubt, it will arrive a couple of weeks after you've left." She turned to the two priests behind the novice. "Good evening, Fathers," she greeted them.
"Good evening, Sister," smiled the younger one, with a dimpled smile that she reflected might've given her something to confess forty years ago. "I'm Father Malcolm, and this," he indicated the other priest, "Is Father Angus."
"Hello, Sister," Father Angus put out a hand for her to shake. "We are so sorry to trouble you like this."
"Oh, it's no trouble," Sister Angela assured them. "And who is this? Your dog, Father."
"This is Jimi," Father Angus smiled, "Guide dog extraordinaire." The Rottweiler whuffed cheerfully, and offered her a paw to shake.
"Well, you are all most welcome," she told them, "Please come with me. Have you eaten? Would you like some supper? Sister Matthias made a particularly wonderful apple pie tonight, I know I'll have to confess both envy and gluttony before Sunday..."
She showed the three of them in, and took them through to a small dining room off the kitchen. Sister Matthias was still pottering about in the kitchen, and she immediately emerged from her domain and began to fuss over Sister Felicity, Father Angus and Father Malcolm. She also shook hands with Jimi, praising him as a magnificent animal. She was an hospitable person by nature, and Sister Angela couldn't help smiling when the elderly nun slipped the dog a piece of pie too.
Reviews are the Giant Man-Eating Nuns Circling The People You Can't Stand In The Bathtub Of Life! (They won't have a big enough boat...)
Oh, yes, if I find any teeth-marks in Sam, I will come looking for you, Leahelisabeth *frowns*.