SAM AND DEAN WINCHESTERS|| 10x6 SPN

The boredom in the parking lot near one of the motels became almost palpable. The Impala, gleaming with fresh welding, purred with its engine, but Dean still felt like he was in a cage. He was just wiping soot from his fingers with a rag when Sam came out of the room. In his hands, he was holding two tiny cardboard cups that smelled like “cinnamon rolls.”.

“Hey,” Sam grunted, handing one to his brother, and then immediately caught himself, glancing at you. “Sorry, buddy, I forgot about you.”

Dean stared at the cup as if it were loaded with explosives. A skeptical smirk touched his lips; he rolled his eyes, but still took a sip, grimacing at the strength. Then, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out Bobby’s old, worn-out phone.

“Maybe we should take a ride to Connecticut?” – he suggested, turning the screen towards his brother and you. – “I found this today when I was fighting with the dust under the workbench. I received a message two days ago. Some Bunny LaCroix gave the old man part of the inheritance. To receive it, you need the presence of himself or his heirs. And since he's in a better world now, we're the heirs.”

Sam picked up the phone, scanned the text, and nodded. The idea sounded dubious, but it was better than sitting here. A few hours later, they were already standing before the gates of a huge, gloomy mansion that looked more like a mausoleum. The doors were opened by a tall, thin maid in a strict dress. She introduced herself as Olivia and, barely glancing at the guests, led them into the living room, where the family was idly relaxing after the recent funeral.

The mistress of the house, Haddie, introduced the brothers and you to everyone present with a forced smile. Her sister, Beverly, was nervously twirling a martini glass. Stanton is the younger brother of the late Bunny, a gloomy man with disheveled hair, and his fiancée, Amber, who is as pale as a sheet. And Dash, a young man with a predatory gleam in his eyes, is the great‐nephew.

The atmosphere was oppressive. The family resembled a pack of dogs ready to tear each other apart over the inheritance. The butler, Philip, with a face carved from stone, waited for the moment when Dash began to argue loudly with his aunt, and quietly invited the Winchesters and you into the study. There he handed them an envelope.

“This is what Miss LaCroix bequeathed to Mr. Singer,” he said in a colorless voice. “The official announcement will be tomorrow, but I would advise you not to stay here longer than necessary. These people... they will stop at nothing.”

He left, leaving them with the envelope. Inside, there was a massive pendant in the shape of an old cross. Dean grunted, turning it over in his hands – it was cheap, the gilding had peeled off. However, the local pawnshop owner they stopped by on the way confirmed their suspicions: no value. But in the side wall of the pendant, under the fake stone, Sam felt an almost invisible seam. Inside lay a small, intricate key.

When they returned to the mansion, they found the police there. The living room was buzzing with screams. It turned out that immediately after they left, Stanton had a fight with Amber; she locked herself in the bathroom, and he went out into the hallway to follow a strange whisper. Less than a minute had passed when Amber, emerging from her room, found his headless body. Eyewitnesses claimed they had seen the ghost of Bunny’s late husband, Lance.

The detective gave the Winchesters and you a heavy look. Three new names appeared on the list of suspects. In the living room, Haddy was hysterically shouting at Dash, accusing Amber of murder for the money, while Amber herself was trembling in the corner, muttering something about a ghost.

“Well, hello..hunting,” Dean muttered, looking at the commotion. “Sam, keep an eye on this circus. And we,” he nodded at you, “will check out what attic this key opens.”

While you were sitting in the kitchen, idly running your finger over the pattern on the porcelain plate, chaos was unfolding in the house. Sam was keeping the family in check, and Dean slipped up to the second floor. In the old wardrobe, he came across a book whose cover bore exactly the same cross as the one in his pocket. He pulled on the spine – and the wall moved silently to the side, revealing a hidden staircase leading to the attic. The silver key fit the lock like it was made for it.

In the attic, in the dusty rays of light, Dean found the body of the second maid and Olivia herself, trembling in the corner. She said that Philip had locked her here so she wouldn’t tell the cops how he had dragged the body up here. When Dean decided that it was Lance’s ghost, Olivia suddenly turned pale.

“No,” she whispered. “It was Miss LaCroix herself. Bunny. She’s alive.”

There was no time to think. Dean grabbed the radio, relaying the news to his brother, and the latter rushed off in search of Philip, who was clearly hiding something more. Dean burst into the butler’s room, but the butler merely spread his arms, explaining that he simply didn’t want to spoil the funeral with a new corpse. However, when Dean’s phone vibrated with a message from Sam: “Found him in the kitchen. He’s dead,” the butler’s face twisted.

He rushed to the door with inhuman speed, knocking Dean off his feet. And in that same instant, his skin, like a glove, slipped off his body, leaving an empty shell on the floor.

Dean, cursing, ran into the kitchen, where Sam was standing over Philip’s corpse, and you were frozen by the table. The situation was becoming clear with terrifying speed.

“shapeshifter,” Dean breathed, looking at the shed skin in his hands. “We need silver.”

At that moment, a pale Olivia appeared in the kitchen doorway and let out a loud scream at the sight of yet another corpse. The Winchesters quickly reassured her and asked her to get the silverware from the sideboard – everything they had.

When she brought the heavy spoons and knives, Sam was the first to take one of them and quickly checked Olivia by touching her hand. The silver didn’t leave a burn. Then he checked himself and Dean — everything was clean. His gaze fell on you. The silence in the kitchen became oppressive; the only sound was the ticking of the old clock.

Sam slowly handed you the silver spoon, handle first, and a wary, steely glint flashed in his eyes. You’ve always known that Sam doesn’t like you and will find any reason to quarrel and prove to Dean that they don’t need a third person.

“Hey.” Take this.”