Dean: Isn't it amazing how these Denizens always want to put us up on a pedestal?
Sam (clutching cassock around his knees): They're only doing it so they can look up our man-dresses.
Dean: Does that one have a leaf blower?
Sam: Aaaaaargh! I fear a Marilyn Monroe moment may be imminent!
Dean: Oh, I wish I'd put on a better pair of shorts this morning!
Sam: I'm going to stomp on that damned plot bunny...
Chapter Eleven
"How was your breakfast, Father?" asked Sister Matthias.
"Beyond perfect, thank you, Sister," Dean smiled happily. "If you weren't a Bride of Christ, I would leave the Church, and marry you myself."
The elderly nun made a tutting noise, and shook her head, but she didn't really manage to sound too scandalised. "Young people today," she muttered, "They say the most outrageous things." Nonetheless, she slipped Jimi a piece of bacon, and he thumped his tail gratefully on the floor.
"You're supposed to be a priest!" Sam hissed at his brother, who merely sipped at his coffee and burped. "Don't do that!"
"Hey, priests are human, too," Dean protested. "I hear they even fart, sometimes." He smiled as a younger nun approached to clear their plates.
"Would you like more coffee, Fathers?" she asked.
"That would be wonderful, thank you, Sister," Dean's Killer Smile slid into place. "Do you think it's too soon to send flowers to Sister Matthias? Be honest – do I have a chance?"
The younger woman just giggled, and retreated for the kitchen.
"You are incurable," grumbled Sam.
"Hey, it'll give them something to gossip about," Dean said easily, "So it's an act of charity."
"They're nuns, Dean," Sam reminded him, "They don't gossip!"
"They're women, Sam," Dean replied, "Of course they gossip. They just have to confess about it at some point. But for now, think about the fun they'll have, talking about the blind priest who had a thing for Sister Matthias. Did you see that Sister Evelyn who took the plates? What a waste. I bet she was a runner before she signed up for nunification – the habit cannot hide anything from the Living Sex God, I could bounce pennies off that ass. I bet she'd giggle if I... oh, shit," he groaned. Checking to make sure nobody was around to see him, he took his watch out of his pocket, and reset it. "I might as well as be a priest," he announced in a sad tone, "I'm doomed never to break this chastity curse anyway."
"You will, bro, you will," Sam assured him. "You've been going longer and longer between... occasions of sin."
"Aren't you getting bored?" Dean enquired. "I mean, I know how educational you must find my descriptions of past... occasions of sin."
"I'll live," grunted Sam, finishing his own coffee. "We should get going. Sister Fic wants to look through the records at St Basil's, as some documents were moved there when the convent in Topeka was refurbished." He grinned. "St Basil's, Dean! The saint that gave you your baptismal name, no less! Maybe you can pray for a miraculous decursing. Oh Saint Basil, who art on high, we do humbly beseech thee, remove this curse from thy modest and pious namesake, Dean Basil Winchester, that he might shut the hell up and stop whining..."
"Shut up, Samuel Francis," Dean growled. "Or maybe I'll pray for you miraculously getting a haircut, then attack you with the clippers."
"It would hardly be a miraculous haircut if you did it," Sam pointed out.
"The Lord helps those who help themselves, Sammy," smirked Dean. "Why pester God with your girly emo hair when I could deal with it myself? Besides, He wouldn't cut it short enough. I've seen pictures of what He let His own kid get away with."
"Jerk."
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"Why can't I sit in the front?" Dean sounded about three years old.
"Because it would be usual for you to sit in the back with your guide dog," Sam told him. "See? Jimi's really loving having you back there with him." The dog was snuggled into Dean, with his big square head resting contentedly in his Alpha's lap, snoring gently. In fact, he was so relaxed, he did what dogs often do when they nap in the car.
"Oh, gross!" snapped Dean, flapping a hand, "What the hell did that nun feed him?"
"I don't smell anything," Sister Felicity sniffed, "Oh, wait, that's... is one of you wearing lavender cologne? I'm impressed. It takes a man secure in his masculinity to smell that nice."
"It's Jimi," Sam explained, "Something to do with his Hellhound heritage. You know how dog flatulence usually smells really bad? Well, apparently, in Hell, the smell of lavender counts as a disgusting stench."
"Free aromatherapy," she smiled, "I like it."
"Dean hates it," Sam told her. "He probably thinks it counteracts his testosterone, or something."
"I got a draft up my man-dress," Dean complained.
"We could stop and get you some stockings," suggested Sister Felicity.
"Stockings?" Dean screwed his nose up. "No way! Stockings are all right on women, in fact, I really like stockings on women, if there's also suspender involvement, and possibly corsets, oh, yeah, but men do NOT... oh, crap," he sighed, taking out his watch to reset it again.
"Some priests wear 'em when it's cold," she shrugged. "What's with him, Sam?" she jerked a thumb backwards. "That's the second time he's said 'Oh, crap', and reset his watch."
"Hey, 'him' is right here," grumped Dean, "I'm supposed to be blind, not deaf. I got a chastity curse on me. Some asshole jealous warlock put a curse on me, and any time I try to, uh, succumb to an occasion of sin, it hurts too much. I have to be, uh, outwardly chaste for twenty-four hours to break it."
Understanding dawned in Felicity's eyes. "Ah, and hence the avoiding of 'occasions of sin', then?"
"Yeah," sighed Dean. "It's totally cramping my style. Plus, we have nothing to talk about."
"Nothing to talk about?" she sounded confused.
"Oh, yeah," Sam rolled his eyes, "Most of our time on the road, in diners, on stake-outs and even in the occasional hospital waiting room is spent with Dean relating to me, in excruciating detail, one of his sexcapades."
"Only now I can't," Dean added miserably. "I have to be outwardly chaste. To break the curse. Who's going to continue with Sam's education if I can't?"
"What sort of education?" queried Felicity.
"He's a great big girl," scoffed Dean, "Who needs to... find an occasion of sin. You need to get... sinful, Sam."
"Interesting," noted Sister Felicity, "Most boys go through a stage as toddlers where they discover that their dick is attached to them, and they're absolutely fascinated by it, just can't leave it alone. Are you telling me, Dean never grew out of that?"
"Pretty much," sighed Sam. "Since before I was a teenager, I have been subjected to a running monologue of the times, places and circumstances of The Living Sex God's 'beautiful natural acts'. I should probably be in therapy. These days, it would constitute child abuse."
"I was just trying to give you some good advice, so you'd know what to do when you were old enough for... occasions of sin," Dean protested.
"Makes me glad to have been an only child," chuckled Sister Felicity. "This could be divine intervention, you know."
"Huh?" Dean's eyebrows shot up.
"Could be," she elaborated, "If you usually spend the whole time talking about Chicks I Have Banged, maybe this is something that has been orchestrated in order to save my delicate nunly ears from such wanton and sinful talk." She turned around and gave Dean a pitying look. "It's probably some sort of unforgiveable sin to talk dirty in front of a nun, anyway," she told him, "If you did, God would probably be really pissed."
Sam burst out laughing. "You think?" he chortled.
"Oh, definitely," Sister Felicity nodded solemnly. "I'm betrothed, remember. The whole Bride of Christ thing? Technically, He'll be my father-in-law. And when you died, my fiancé would probably tear your balls off with His own bare hands."
Sam laughed even louder.
"You know, I get the distinct impression that nunning is not the first career you've had," said Dean, grumpily changing the subject. "Unless you belong to some warrior ninja nun cult or something."
"Police officer," she said, "I was in the job for twenty years."
"Yeah?" Sam snuffled his laughter to a halt. "How did that happen? Was your dad a cop?"
"No, he was a doctor," she replied. "So was Mom. Everybody thought I would be, too. I even started studying for it – I got a scholarship to Brown, and did okay on the MCAT..."
"What did you get?" asked Sam.
"43.4T," Felicity answered offhandedly.
"Fuck me," muttered Sam. "You got a licence to carry that brain?"
"Careful, Sam," snarked Dean, "You don't want Jesus coming along and tearing your balls off for make lewd suggestions to his girlfriend." He looked at Felicity. "So, did you go learn to stick your hands up people's... anatomy?"
"For a while," Felicity shrugged, "But I discovered that I didn't really have the temperament for it. If you want to be a doctor, you have to have a capacity to deal politely and compassionately with stupid people. It just wasn't... me. So, I joined the Force."
"Where you could deal with stupid people less.. politely," grinned Dean.
"Something like that," she agreed with a grin of her own. "But it did mean that I had to work with other people who weren't always the politest specimens on the planet. I had one partner who was a bit like Dean, I suspect. Every shift, all he could talk about was what he'd done, with whom, where, and how many pieces of furniture got broken."
"Oh, I feel your pain," Sam told her with heartfelt empathy.
"I'm pretty sure he made some of them up," she went on, "For example, he told me once about this time he met this girl, and she had this thing that looked like a clothes horse, and it turns out, it was a saddle stand – she rode showjumpers – anyway..."
"Er, I don't think we need to hear this," Sam cut in hurriedly, "We don't want to sabotage Dean's efforts to break his curse."
"Oh, I could stand to hear a little more," Dean announced sunnily. "So long as I sit here, and keep my mouth shut and my hands to myself, and look chaste on the outside, it's all good, right?" He beamed at Sister Felicity. "Do go on, Sister."
"Okay, well, anyway, it was a saddle stand, and then she had this pair of top boots, and then she put on a pair of spurs..."
"What happened to not being lewd in front of nuns?" Sam demanded.
"It's okay, I'm safe," Sister Felicity assured him, "I don't have any balls for God to tear off."
"Oh, God," wailed Sam, "I don't believe this!"
"Could be divine intervention, Sammy," Dean waggled his eyebrows. "Sister Fic has been sent to continue your education whilst I can't! Please do continue, Sister Felicity, you have such a lovely speaking voice."
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That was a most... interesting story, Sister Fic," Dean nodded thoughtfully. "And whilst I accept that you believe that your partner may have been making things up, I believe that he could well have been telling the truth."
"Surely not!" scoffed Sister Felicity. "The bit about the spa pool? Nobody can hold their breath that long."
"With training, human beings can learn to hold their breath for minutes at a time," Dean reminded her. "Traditional pearl divers are just one example. Many swimmers regularly do anaerobic drills during their training, in which they swim freestyle but take very few breaths per lap."
"And battery powered toys aren't safe underwater, surely they'd just short out and stop working," the nun alleged.
"I am given to believe that waterproof items are available for sale," Dean countered. "Perhaps it was one of those items made specifically for use in water in this case."
"Well, you can't convince me that pieces of chocolate wouldn't just melt, and, I don't know, just sort of get swirled away..."
"That would most likely depend on the proportion of cocoa butter versus other vegetable fats in the chocolate..."
"Stop it!" It came out more like a shriek than Sam had intended. "Stop it! Both of you!" He glared at Sister Felicity with a Bitchface™ that as yet had no designation, but would probably be something like I SO Do NOT Want To Hear A Nun Talk About This Sort Of Thing. "You sound like him!" he accused Sister Felicity. "And you, Dean, will you listen to yourself? You sound like Cas!"
"Just trying to remain outwardly chaste, Sam," Dean replied serenely. "And listen politely, as our guest regales us with anecdotes from her previous career."
"Well, don't!" demanded Sam. "Talk about her current career!" He let out a huff. "Maybe tell us how you decided to become a nun."
"I told you, an angel visited me," Sister Felicity replied. "I'd been questioning whether there was something, I don't know, something more important I should be doing, and I'd talked to a priest about it, and then, one night, this angel showed up to tell me there was work for me to do."
"Yeah?" Dean let the debate about the feasibility of certain lewd aquatic activities go. "So, what happened?"
"A strange woman who looked remarkably like my third grade teacher just appeared as I was getting out of the shower, and scared the shit out of me," confided Felicity frankly.
"Been there, done that," muttered Dean. "So, what did you do?"
"What do you think I did?" snorted the nun. "I punched her with everything I had, and broke my hand. Very embarrassing. Then, when she showed up again in a parking lot, I emptied a clip into her, and she just looked at me like I'd done something confusing."
"Don't even bother to try stabbing them," sighed Dean, "They just do that look."
"Anyway, she kept turning up until I agreed to listen to her," Sister Felicity. So, I entered St Claire's as a postulant, survived the incident with the possessed microwave, and made it through to my novitiate, and now, here I am, being hunted down by a demon for reasons unknown, on the road with two Hunters posing as priests and a half-Hellhound masquerading as a guide dog, trying to find out who my birth mother was. I'm just a regular gal, really."
When the gates of St Basil's finally came into view, Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank fuck," he muttered, "Because I think that if I had to listen to you, I mean, really, a nun, talking about stuff like that, for much longer, seriously, my head was gonna explode." He gave Felicity a betrayed look. "I'd always thought that nuns were, well, godly women, poverty, obedience, chastity, compassion for the poor and sick and disadvantaged and overwhelmed."
"I'm not a nun yet, kiddo," she grinned back at him, "I'm only a novice. Come on, you can help me search through the records, and I promise not to make a single smutty comment. I'll even say the Offices in Latin, if you like." The car came to a stop, and she opened the door. "You'll like the archivist here, Sister Helen. She's very organised, and loves to help people poke through her files. I'm sure she'll be happy to have you go rummaging through her indices."
"Is that what they're call it these days? Ohhhh, Sam, you'll have such fun, rummaging through a nun's indices, and poking her files," Dean waggled his eyebrows behind the glasses. "Depending on what you're poking with, maybe she can get a hallelujah out of you... oh, damn." He quickly reset his watch, sighed, then got out of the car and picked up the handle of Jimi's harness in readiness to greet Sister Porteress.
Blasphemy is more fun in the Jimiverse - even the nuns enjoy it.
Reviews are the Delicious Pieces Of Chocolate To Snack On In The Spa Pool Of Life!*
*You may have the Winchester Of Your Choice bring the chocolate to you if you like. No pulling them in and getting them all wet, the chlorine is not good for Dean's jacket or Sam's hair.