Seriously. I'm an addict. I acknowledge it. Here, have another one.
And can I just be clear, the mention of Fic fics was merely part of the story. I do NOT want anybody to write Fic/Andrew, Fic/Ronnie, Fic/Gabriel, Fic/Castiel, Fic/Crowley, Fic/Castiel and Crowley/, Fic/Jesus, and ESPECIALLY not Fic/Dean/Sam. Come on, she's a NUN. Or at least, she's a novice.
Don't forget, the Library of Hell had all the document processing equipment upgraded during Orgle's stint as Temporary Acting Monarch of Hell Temporarily. So there's bound to be a Bizhub 8000, with diabolical customisations to Senior Librarian Verael's exacting specifications... ooooOOOOooooh, I feel a Lampito/Bizhub coming on...
Chapter Eighteen
The Winchesters – well, two of them – arrived at Felicity's room to find the door open and their sister gone.
"Fic! Fic!" called Dean, while Sam searched around the bare room. Jimi put his nose down, followed a scent across the floor, and growled. Sam bent down to see what he'd found.
"Sulphur," he told Dean, "And what looks like a bit of blood. They've been here."
"And they've got Fic." Dean ran a hand down his face. "Fuck. How do we find an abducted nun?"
"We don't," Sam grinned mirthlessly, picking up Sister Felicity's small bag. "We look for our sister. Thankfully, we got a dog who can find either of us, so I'm guessing..."
Following his train of thought, Dean took the bag, and grinned back. "Hey, J-man!" he called the dog, "We need you to find Fic! Find Fic!" He shook the bag, and Jimi sniffed at it. "She's family, Jimi! Find Fic!"
The dog raised his muzzle to the air, and scented, his eyes glowing the red of a banked fire...
Scenting... casting, casting... there! Traces. Blood. Sulphur. The smell of wrongness, the smell of evil... and the smell of his Pack. His Pack! Tracking! Tracking!
With a sharp bark and his eyes flaring redly, Jimi set off at a brisk trot down the hallway with the Winchesters hot on his heels.
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When Felicity finally pushed herself upright to sit against the wall behind her, she gingerly pulled off her veil. "Ow."
A boot nudged her side none too gently. "Shut up," a voice told her. "I need to concentrate."
"Oh, sorry," she said automatically, carefully shaking her head to try to clear it. What the hell was going on? She remembered Sister Agnes coming to her room. And Sister Lucia was there. With black eyes.
Oh, fuck.
A quick check ascertained that her phone and her small flask of holy water were gone. She looked around; it was an office space, of sorts, in a large open area. There wasn't much light – the only illumination came from several thick wax candles placed on the floor. As her eyes adjusted she could see that desks and chairs and the detritus of a workplace had been pushed back to clear a large space. The carpet had been torn up, and there were intricate markings drawn on the concrete below. Two people were adding to the design, a young man and a young woman, both frowning in concentration.
Oh, fuckity fuck.
She'd seen what one demon could do, and realised that she had no chance against two. Inwardly, she groaned; at school, she had been told in a Drama class that her acting was almost as bad as her singing, but she'd have to chance it.
Oh, fuck fuck fuckity fuckity fuck fuck fuck.
"Um, excuse me," she began, trying for a mixture of frightened and tentative in tone.
"Didn't I just tell you to shut up?" snapped the woman.
"Sorry," said Felicity, cowering, "I was just wondering, where are Sisters Agnes and Lucia? They are two elderly nuns, and I was talking to them..."
"Oh, we ditched the damned nuns," the man snarled, "Once we had the information we needed. Erk, jumping in and out of old nuns. It's been awful."
"But you have to admit, it was the quickest way to get the info we needed," the young woman told him. "I told you it would be quicker than trying to find the right paperwork – one of those retired old fossils was bound to know where the records were, sooner or later." She turned a smile full of malice on Sister Felicity. "Who would've thought that she'd already have helped someone else to do the searching for us?" she trilled, "It's our lucky day! We'll get serious brownie points for this."
"True," he conceded, "It's just that old meatsuits are damned uncomfortable. Especially consecrated ones. Who'd have thought a demented old woman could shout so loudly? I still got a headache."
"Who'd have known that mine knew language like that?" huffed the woman. "Did you know, the vicious old bitch tried to exorcise me from the inside? That hurt like fuck."
"Dead is much better," asserted the man.
"A lot quieter, that's for sure," agreed the woman, tapping her head. "I'll never take a live meatsuit again."
"Um, excuse me," Sister Fic interrupted meekly, "But are you... demons?"
"No," drawled the man, "We're you Fairy Godmothers." He turned completely black eyes to her. "Come to give you a beautiful dress, and some glass slippers, put you in a pumpkin coach, and send you off to the Royal Ball."
"Oh." She let herself sag. "Demons. That's a shame. I suppose I'm as good as dead, then?"
"Fraid so," grinned the woman, "And it's going to hurt you a lot more than it hurts me."
"And if I try to escape, you'll just catch me, and break every limb, presumably?" she went on.
"Then start on your fingers," confirmed the female demon cheerfully.
"I suppose I'd best stay put, then," sighed Felicity. "Um, what are you doing, exactly?"
"Fingerpainting," the man didn't look up.
"Not much," shrugged the woman, still drawing, "Just preparing to hang you like a dead pig and bleed your carcass dry."
"Really?" Fic sounded astonished. "Goodness me. Whatever for?"
"Because," the man let out an impatient huff and spoke very slowly. "We're deeeeemons. We're eeeeeevil. It's what we do."
"So, do you just go around gutting and bleeding nuns for the fun of it?" Felicity asked curiously.
"Look, this isn't the bit where the bad guys reveal their plan, and go bwahahaha," said the woman sourly, "So – shut – up."
"Sorry," Fic apologised. "It's just that, well, I really don't know anything about demons. Except that they can be occasions of sin. And you look nothing like the pictures in some of the historical manuscripts."
"Heh heh, occasions of sin," chuckled the male demon, "I like that."
"It's unfortunate that I'll never get to pass on anything I learn, what with being dead and bled out," she admitted, "But I guess at least I've had the satisfaction of learning something new today. Oh, am I in the way?" she drew her legs back as the intricate designs on the floor expanded. "I'll just go over there." She stood up carefully, and made her way towards a water cooler. "Oh, that's handy, I'd like a drink..."
"Don't touch that!" yelled the female demon, starting towards her.
"It's okay, I just want a drink," Felicity reassured her. "I won't try to bless it or anything. See?" She poured a cup, and drank it. "Oh, that's nice and cool." She poured and drank another one. "Seriously, if I even looked like I was thinking about blessing it, you'd come straight over here and break my arms, right?" The demon glared at her suspiciously as she downed another cup. "Look, I'm just trying to be realisitic here. I'm as good as dead. The better hydrated I am when I die, the quicker I'll bleed out, which will be a quicker death for me... how much of my blood do you need, anyway?"
"Lots," the demon hissed in annoyance. "All of it. Now, will you just SHUT UP!"
"Okay, okay, sorry," Felicity slid down the wall, had another drink, and used some water and her veil to dab at the back of her head. "Well, we've lost some right here," she muttered, "I'd better drink some more water."
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The Impala made its way out of the convent of St Claire's, following Jimi as he trotted along the road, eyes glowing hotly red, head turning from side to side occasionally as if triangulating on some signal only he could hear.
"They can't have gone far," Dean reasoned, "That blood was really fresh."
"It depends on how they're travelling," Sam sounded as worried as he looked. "If they're travelling by DemonAir, they could be in Finland by now.
"No, they want her for something specific," Dean countered, "And Jimi is tracking. They're still here. They've been looking for her, now they've found her, and they have something in mind... but what?"
The trail led them to the edges of the nearby town, through the business district, to the outskirts of the built up area where the zoning was more industrial and the buildings larger and more sparse.
"They need space," Sam said, taking in the buildings they were passing, "Warehouses, open floors, they're planning some sort of working that needs space."
Jimi let out a sharp bark, and turned left, trotting towards a nondescript building. He sniffed along the wall, until he reached a side door. He growled, and his hellteeth bristled from his mouth.
"I think we might have arrived," noted Dean, testing the door and finding it locked. "Damn it."
He set to work on the lock as quietly as he could while Sam popped the trunk of the Impala.
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"There," the female demon stood back to admire the intricate scrollings, script and patterns on the floor. "All done! Get the candles set up."
"Wow," breathed Felicity, finishing her cup of water. "That looks... intricate. So," she asked brightly, "What happens now?"
"I just gotta set up a long distance call," the female demon smirked, "Then, we kill you!"
"Oh," Fic drooped slightly. "So, what do I do?"
The young man glared at her suspiciously. "You do understand you're going to die, don't you?" he demanded. "Horribly, and painfully?"
"Oh, yes, I understand, "Felicity nodded, "But... there's no point in trying to escape, is there? And you said before, you don't like yelling and screaming, so I don't want to make you angry. In case you start breaking limbs."
"Nobody's going to rescue you," he told her, "This place is locked, and warded."
"I'm guessing we're a long way from anywhere," nodded Sister Fic, "So I'd be wasting my breath with calling for help anyway."
"Right," he agreed. "You sure you understand?" he insisted, "You're awfully calm for somebody who's about to be sacrificed for a demonic spell."
"I think it's the nun thing," Felicity replied thoughtfully. "You know, when I die, I go to Heaven, where I will have my Eternal Reward, so I'm trying not to worry too much." She looked confused. "Would you like me to scream?" she asked politely.
"No, no, silent resignation is fine," he replied hastily, "I'm telling you, that old bitch really did give me a headache."
"Your host body could be dehydrated," she suggested, pouring herself another cup of water and drinking it. "Perhaps you could try drinking some water."
"This one's dead," he said abruptly.
"Suit yourself," she shrugged, pouring more water and downing it. "Maybe you should avoid nuns in future. You could have some sort of contact allergy."
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"It's open!" Dean hissed angrily, turning the handle as hard as he dared, but the door didn't budge. "The lock is open!"
"Shit, it's warded as well," Sam growled, running his hands over the steel and taking in the small dark red marks that nobody would find unless they were looking. "Blood magic. Fuck, this is bad." He drew his knife, and made a shallow cut on his forearm. With his own blood, he began to scratch at the wards, trying to counter them. "If they want her for blood magic, it's really bad..."
Dun dun duuuuuuuun! Hurry Dean and Sam!
Review will make the Winchesters go faster! Trust me, I'm writing about a nun. Well, a novice.