Go In Peace.

If Father Charles was still in any doubt about Sam and Dean's not being trainee priests, then watching the eldest Winchester load their arsenal into the back of the Impala certainly did the trick.

"Oh…my – ," he paused, clearing his throat and watching Dean's amused face tip towards his, "That's quite…I mean…well – ."

He left it at that suddenly figuring it best not to pry and fearing that any answer would only concern him more than the not knowing. Silence is golden after all.

Sam stood inside the grounds on the steps to the dusty old dormitory he and Dean had called home, Sister Helena by his side trying to take in as many of the details as she could. Both kept their voices low against the tide of students surging to class; normal service resumed.

Father Matthews had been picked up by the police some hours earlier, the fearsome nun having somehow managed to extract a written confession from him. No one asked how, her methodology something Father Charles was again willing to overlook.

The Chapel was off-limits due to 'sudden and unforeseen structural complications' – which were going to be a bitch to explain away to the insurance company, but undoubtedly more realistic than the truth. Pretty ironic really.

"So," began Sister Helena slowly, face creasing in confusion, "It was a…model?"

"A golum," Sam responded with a nod, "Which is why we couldn't find any trace of it after the attacks. It just kinda shrank back to its normal size again."

"I see," she sounded uncertain but Sam wasn't going to hold it against the her. It was a pretty daunting concept. A Catholic Priest enchanting a hand-built model to kill his fellow clergymen all over a lousy promotion. Sam frowned, suddenly wondering how much promotion would have meant to him if he'd been allowed to carry on into the real world. Would he have become as ruthlessly ladder-climbing as Father Matthews? After all, if a Priest could be driven to kill then surely anyone could. It was an interesting thought and for a second, very, very briefly, it made him glad he was in fact a hunter.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sight of a familiar figure in his peripheral, able to sense Dean's approach no matter how deep in reverie he was. He looked up, watching his brother walk towards him with that cheerfully resigned let's hit the road face he always wore at the end of a case. Thoughts instantly on the next. Father Charles was following alongside him, his usual look of irritation replaced instead with one of vague respect.

Following his gaze to take in the approaching pair, Sister Helena raised her voice a little,

"Well thank goodness you boys came when you did," she stated pointedly, looking straight at Father Charles and watching his eyes widen as he offered a hasty nod, clearing his throat awkwardly,

"Err…yes. Quite."

Dean smiled. The Padre really wasn't such a bad guy after all. A little prone to grumpiness perhaps and not so good with gratitude but pretty damn brave all the same. It reminded him of someone…couldn't quite think who though. Sam bit back a grin, reading the moment as clearly as if he were reading a book and watching Dean throw a cheeky smirk in the Priest's direction.

"Don't mention it Chas. We're here to help."

For once 'Chas' let the moniker pass. No doubt realising it was the last time he'd hear it and probably silently thanking the Lord for the very same fact. Instead he smiled thinly, tone a little clipped.

"Yes."

For a second everybody stood in silence before finally Sister Helena clapped her hands together, cutting through the uncomfortable pause with a bright expression,

"So, where are you boys headed next then?"

"Wherever the wind takes us," Dean responded cheerfully before halting and amending his sentence, "Or the women," he turned to throw a wink at Father Charles, "Seriously, you really – ,"

"Okay then!" Sam cut in abruptly, sweeping forward to grab Dean by an arm and haul him off the steps, "We should really get going."

His brother seemed clueless,

"Dude! What the hell – ,"

"Language," Sam hissed in response, forcing an embarrassed smile as a group of small schoolboys stopped and stared at them open-mouthed, books clutched to their chests as if they'd just been passed by something unholy – which, compared to them, Dean probably was.

Behind them on the steps Sister Helena smothered a laugh, watching as Father Charles' brows furrowed in annoyance,

"On to lessons boys!" he chided the little group crossly, "Quick now!"

As they passed out of the gates, Sam turned and offered a wave to Sister Helena, who held up a graceful hand in reply, gazing across at them fondly as they stepped back out into the world. They were good boys, just like their father – God rest his soul. She was proud of them and she was in no doubt that wherever he was, John Winchester was too. How could he not have been?

"She's all right Sam," Dean offered as the brothers rounded the corner, his tone vaguely affectionate.

"Sister Helena?" came the reply, amused, "All right for what? A nun?"

"You know, an old broad."

Ah. Nice.

The Impala lay ahead of them beside the road, the gleaming black curves seeming almost unreal after the faux-Gothic grandeur of Saint Gregory's, a little piece of the almost-modern world in stark contrast to the rising curtain walls flanking their side. But it wasn't the sight of Dean's baby that caught their attention however, rather the uniform-clad schoolgirl sitting on the hood, legs crossed, peachy-skin running from the top of a pair of socks right the way up to the bottom of a very, very short skirt. They both stopped dead,

"Jenny?" Dean stammered, drawing a frown from Sam. How was Dean on first name terms with…wait, Jenny? That was Jenny? Confessional Jenny?

"Hey," she replied, going again for the ultra-effective sexy voice-drop, "I heard you were leaving."

Dean nodded, regaining his composure and stepping forward, offering her a hand in a silent but gentlemanly get off my car. She took it at once, sliding across the shine and purposefully making sure her skirt caught a little, hitching further up her thigh. Dean let out a tiny, involuntary groan, catching it in the back of his throat and turning it into a cough. Sam bit hard on his lip to keep from laughing.

"Yeah," Dean growled, desperately trying to keep his gaze face-level, "We are."

"Shame," she purred, leaning up and tracing an index finger across his jawline, "I had so much more to confess to you."

"I'll bet."

As a school bell rang from across the road, Jenny turned her head, letting out a suddenly-girlish sigh before regaining her temptress-façade and reaching out for Dean's hand. He let her do it mutely, watching as for the second time that week she pressed a fold of paper into his hand, curling his fingers back around it, deep eyes finding out his, voice a breathy whisper,

"Call me."

Then with that she turned and crossed back over the road, letting her hips sway more than necessary as she sashayed across the tarmac. Dean watched her go, mesmerized, barely registering Sam moving up to stand beside him,

"Dean?"

"I think I'm in love," he replied, awestruck. Sam snorted, partly-amused, partly-creeped out.

"Dude she's like, seventeen!"

A shrug, eyes still leg-bound,

"I can wait."

"What?!" Sam spluttered, finally unable to control the laughter, "You're kidding right?"

"No."

"Dean, you almost went postal last week in Wendy's when we had to wait three minutes for fries."

A flicker of childlike annoyance rippled across Dean's face as Jenny offered one last look back over her shoulder and then disappeared into the building beyond. He turned to Sam, indignant.

"It's called fast food Sam! Besides, this is different!"

"Ye-ah," his brother punctuated carefully, "This is sex we're talking about here. You? Wait?"

"You're right," came the reply after a beat, followed by a grin, "What was I thinking?"

Sam snorted in amusement, shaking his head as he crossed to the passenger side and opened the door. It was definitely time to get Dean away from Saint Gregory's, the place was starting to turn him almost pious. Well, not the lusting after a schoolgirl part, but the waiting. It was so un-Dean-like it was scary. Funny too though.

"So Sammy-boy," Dean sighed, climbing into the driver's seat and pausing briefly to run loving hands across the steering wheel. There was only one girl in his life, "Where to next?"

"Dean," Sam began evenly, casting an appraising eye over his brother and taking in the angry purple rings around his neck and the way he was gingerly cradling an arm over his hurting ribs, "You just went ten rounds with a sandstone giant. We're not doing anything for at least a week."

"What?"

"I'm serious!" came the reply, sounding very much like he was. Little brother or not, Sam was taking charge on this one. For once his word was law and he knew that deep down Dean would be grateful for the excuse to rest up, a fact proved by his lack of argument.

"Fine," he huffed, doing his best to sound irritated through waves of relief. Truthfully, he pretty much hurt all over and the thought of a comfortable – i.e. non-Catholic issue – bed was achingly appealing. Nodding once, he fired the Impala into life, involuntarily grinning at the growl. Beside him, Sam was buried in a countrywide motel map, eyes scanning their route.

"There's a place about an hour from here with a pool," he offered casually. Dean blinked,

"A pool?"

"Yeah," Sam looked up, smirking, "And a hot tub."

"Let's go."

"Without telling your future wife where we're headed?"

"Bite me Sam," he snapped, drawing a laugh. Sometimes Dean really was too easy to wind-up, but then of course, so was he and as they pulled away from the curb his older brother was already formulating his revenge.

He grinned over mischievously, watching as Sam stared out of the window. Oblivious.

It was going to be a good one.

All he needed to do before they arrived at the motel was find a service station that sold pink bikinis for six-foot giants and then make sure Sam was looking in the other direction.

The grin widened involuntarily.

Sweet.


And that's it! Done.

Thank you sooo soooo soooooo much to everyone who has followed this, and especially to the wonderful reviews that kept me writing and posting!

I've got a couple of other things coming up, a one-shot that I'll post tomorrow called 'The Ballad of Poor Slimer' (you'll have to read it if you want to know who Slimer is/was!) and then another story set in a zoo that I've just finished called 'Animal Instinct,' that should be up in a few! Honestly I don't know what's wrong with me at the moment, I'm just writing and writing!

Anyway, Happy New Year everyone! Best Wishes for 2010 and don't drink too much!


The End.