trans_9 | He is my defense, I shall not be greatly moved.

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He is my defense, I shall not be greatly moved.

Nothing had ever, ever prepared the MacManus brothers for being abducted by aliens. This wasn't covered in school, or in any of the extra lessons Ma made them take. Nobody at the slaughterhouse ever talked about this, though one or two people may have mentioned it in a pub or bar or insert place serving alcohol here. Those people, though, they hadn't taken very seriously. Here, even the unshakable certainty of their Mission was trembling in the midst of so much foreign and bizarre.

So after the 'OHFUCKOHFUCKOHFUCK' factor had died down a little - definitely not completely, but a little - and the big group had been disbanded, the twins went where they felt sure to get some guidance.

During the very brief tour of the city, Connor noticed something in the distance. He'd nudged Murphy about it, but they left checking it out until later. When 'later' came, and they checked, it was, well, "Jesus fuckin' Christ! That's the fuckin'- that's- that's the-! Fuck!" the Vatican.

Ten minutes later, they'd calmed down sufficiently to stop cussing and were walking through the eerily quiet St. Peter's Square. Slipping wordlessly through the doors of the Basilica itself, they made their way to pray. At the moment it didn't matter why these buildings were here. The aliens might be overstepping themselves, in which case they would die soon. On the other hand, it might just be a sign. Before they could decide, Murphy and Connor needed advice.

Nearly an hour later they reemerged, troubled but much calmer. There had been no direct answers - there rarely were - but the two of them were ready to wait it out. Whatever happened here, their Mission remained unchanged.

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With his efforts to get any research done in the Media Library being complicated by his inability to concentrate with "Three O'clock Blues" set on repeat in one of the rooms, Sam decided to take a break and do some more searching of the ship. The pod caverns had so far revealed nothing and, aside from the 'pretty' view out the windows, the Obs Deck wasn't exactly the most relaxing of areas either--nor were the 'sleeping quarters' for that matter. Meanwhile, the art hall had already managed to creep him out enough for him to decide to avoid the place for the time being.

Somehow his feet--and the transport tubes--had led him back to the city, the place where the lot of them had very nearly killed the guy in the bug suit. Maybe it was the call of all the religious temples and churches that brought Sam back, seeking--perhaps--some kind of peace amongst replicas of the structures that were meant to embody it.

He was walking down one of the 'streets'--or perhaps he was strolling, Dean would have called it strolling--when he saw two guys, the same guys he'd been assigned to 'bring up the rear' with earlier, come walking out of an exact replica of Vatican City.

"Find anything interesting?" he asked, nodding in their direction.

Connor looked up from attempting to trip Murphy- fondly!- to study Sam. He shrugged slightly, and looked to his brother. When he finally spoke up, it was a tad more seriously than the others had probably heard from the twins so far. It was also, well, rather short. "Aye."

Sam stood silently for several seconds as he waited for some kind of elaboration, an elaboration that wasn't coming. "Ok..." he said, looking awkwardly from one brother to the other. "...right. Not really into whole sharing thing, huh?" he said, although it was more than a bit hypocritical considering--aside from Leela--Sam hadn't shared much more than his first name with anyone.

"What stands between God an' ourselves is not always fer sharing," Murphy replied easily, grinning. "But other than that, oh aye, Ma was big into sharing." He leaned against his brother companionably. Sometimes you just had to ask them the right questions.

Sam looked back and forth from one grinning brother to the other with a quizzical expression on his face as he tried to figure the pair out. Deciding, for the time being, that they were relatively harmless--aside from the small arsenal they were carrying with them--the corner of his mouth turned upward into a crooked smirk.

"Yeah, I imagine she was," he said with a nod.

"So, is it as convincing on the inside as it is on the out?" Sam asked, gesturing at the basilica behind them.

They're good boys, for the most part.

Connor smiles at Sam and shrugs. "Aye, convincin' enough for me."

It had served their purpose, anyway, and had been comforting. For now, Connor was happy enough with the fact that he was no longer feeling panicked.

"Not that we've been to the real thing. Seen a lot o' pictures, though."

Inside, Murphy agreed with Connor. It had helped, and that's what mattered.

Sam nodded then, deciding to leave the basilica alone for the moment--making a mental note to check it out later, if only to refill his flask with holy water--and turned to start back down the street. "So what the hell else they got around here?" he asked, secretly hoping he didn't run into a McDonald's, the place was already creepy enough as it was without having to deal with that freaky-ass clown, too.

Connor decides that, well, they might as well walk with him.

"Fuck if I know, just startin' to look, aren't we? But looks like they have every fucking religious temple you could name."

"An' some you couldn't. At least I don't recognize all of 'em." Murphy sticks his hands in his pockets as he adds his own thoughts to his brother's.

Sam wandered around the city with his newly acquire companions, studying all of the buildings as they passed them. After several minutes of silent walking, Sam realized that, given the situation they were all in and the odds that they'd all be together for the foreseeable future, it was time he started lowering his guard a little more and get to know the people he'd been kidnapped with.

"So..." he said, then paused for a moment, "...what's your guys' story?"

Murphy glances at Connor before saying anything. Their 'story' isn't exactly PC, even if they themselves see nothing wrong with what they do. On the other hand, conditions as they are, it's all going to come out eventually. It's better to lay it on the table immediately.

Nonetheless he starts out somewhat vaguely, wary of bad reactions, "We're from Ireland, obviously. Came to the states a while ago; Ma's still at home, but the three of us, us an' our Da, we've been travellin' on our Mission," you could practically hear the capitalized 'M.'

Scratching his cheek, he grins at Sam. "Tell the truth, we're sort of on the run."

"You, too?" Sam said, understanding what it felt like to be constantly on the move, especially from the authorities. "What mission?"

"Our Mission is t' hunt down the breakers of God's Law- The major criminals, murderers, rapists, th' mobsters and th' lowlife scum making it hard for everyone else t'live life peacefully. It's us an' Da, huntin' 'em down and killing them, for the good of all." Connor raises his chin slightly, and stares Sam in the eye. Whether he approves of not, Connor doesn't really care; he's not going to appear shamefaced because others disagree with them.

"Really it's just the irradication o' all that's foul an' Evil in the world, in accordance with the wishes of the great an' almighty God," Murphy adds casually. Underneath his relaxed demeanor and fun-loving grin, however, there's an edge of steel. Just as unashamed as his brother, just as proud.

Sam stopped dead in his tracks and turned, looking from one brother to the other. "You kill people?" he asked, arching a brow at his...determined...new friends.

Connor stares at him for a second, and then shrugs. "Bad people."

Murphy also shrugs, giving Sam a bit of a puzzled look. "Oh aye, murderers, rapists, the like. We're not psychos or anythin' like that. 'M sure you're perfectly safe from us."

The shorter twin half reaches for his gun. "Unless ye've a guilty conscience about somethin' or other?" He's probably joking.

"No, I don't," Sam answered, eying them warily. It was a lie. Sam still carried a great deal of guilt for killing that hunter--as well as nearly killing Dean and Jo--when he was possessed by the demon Meg last year.

"I just wish people would stop using God as a reason to kill," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Pushing off Connor's shoulder, Murphy places himself between his brother and their companion. Even for the least volatile MacManus those are pretty damn near fighting words.

Glaring, he gets in Sam's face. "Ye've got to be fuckin' kidding us, man. You think we'd lie about something like doin' God's work? He came to us in a fuckin' dream. It's our family's Work, ordained by the Lord, killing the motherfucking mafiosos and rapists and other fucking scumbags. How the fucking hell can you have a problem with something like that?"

It's a good thing Murphy is between them, because Connor's teeth are bared and he's ready for a fight.

"I am so fuckin' sick of people thinkin' that shit! It's not a fuckin' excuse, it's a fucking Mission, a Purpose! And fuck the motherfuckers who think this fuckin' shit is an excuse t'kill!"

Sam stood his ground and, pushing his shoulders back, edged closer to the nearest brother. His six-foot, four-inch form seemed to grow slightly larger as he moved closer. "How can I have a problem with that?" Sam repeated the question, flexing his jaw threateningly. "Because I've seen it before. I've seen people who've convinced themselves that they're on a 'Mission from God' to punish sinners and every one of them turned out to be worse than the people they thought they were sent to punish. Because, eventually, those people stop 'serving God' and start playing God."

Connor pushes around his twin, though Murphy's arm still separates him from Sam, physically and mentally, unwilling to fight without Murphy's permission. He puffs up his significantly-shorter 5'11" frame, apparently not intimidated by the taller man.
"Jus' cos you've seen some shit doesn't mean it's the rule for the entire fckin' business. God is more'n us, and if we ever stop fuckin' knowin' that, Da'll shoot us himself." He's got an angry look in his eye, and he's seconds away from a barfight-style brawl.

"Really?" Sam said, unconvinced and looked Connor in the eye. "You think it's that easy? You think your dad is just going to kill you the minute you go to far? Could you do it? Huh? Could you kill your own father?" He nodded at Murphy in a slight gesture. "Or your brother?"

Connor glares up at him, and gets as close to being in Sam's face as he can.

"Da? Oh yeah. He would. He'd kill us an not give a it a fucking second thought. But if you ever, ever fucking ask if I could fucking hurt Murph, the answer is fucking no. I could kill Da, Da could kill us, but nobody touches Murphy."

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