Dean and Sam moved through the drainage tunnel beneath the estate, boots splashing through shallow water as they followed the route Sam had mapped from the property schematics.
Dean swept his flashlight across the concrete walls. The tunnel smelled exactly how he expected a sewer tunnel to smell, which only made him more irritated about the plan.
"You know," he muttered, "for once I'd like to infiltrate a place through the front door."
Sam adjusted the duffel bag on his shoulder. "Then maybe next time become a billionaire."
"Yeah, because that's realistic."
The tunnel stretched on before Sam broke the silence. "Dean."
"Hmm?"
"Do you think we can actually kill Lilith after we get Henry back?"
Dean didn't answer immediately. "Yeah. We've got the Colt."
"It isn't that simple."
"Since when do you sound like that?"
Sam exhaled slowly. "Last time we saw her, she shrugged off attacks that would've wiped out normal demons."
"Sammy, you're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Getting ahead of yourself." Dean stopped and turned toward him.
"We don't even know if Henry's in that mansion yet. The mission tonight is finding him. After we get him back, then we worry about Lilith."
Not entirely satisfying. But practical. One problem at a time — the alternative was driving yourself crazy.
Sam nodded. "Yeah."
Dean smirked. "Good. Because I'd really like to focus on the rich psychopath collecting weird artifacts instead of the demon queen who wants us dead."
That earned a faint smile from Sam.
They continued forward until Dean's flashlight beam moved upward. A circular manhole cover sat above them — maintenance access to the rear gardens, according to the map. He listened. No footsteps. No voices.
"So far, so good." He braced himself and pushed upward slowly. The metal shifted just enough to let moonlight spill in.
Both brothers listened. Still nothing. Dean lifted the cover the rest of the way and looked outside.
It wasn't the rear of a private mansion. Rows of luxury cars filled a parking area beyond the gardens. Lights illuminated the estate and dozens of well-dressed guests moved between the mansion and a large exhibition hall erected beside it.
Dean let out a low whistle. Sam climbed up beside him. "That's a lot of rich people."
They waited until a group of guests passed before climbing out of the maintenance access. Sam followed and carefully lowered the manhole cover back into place.
Both brothers moved behind a hedge and surveyed the estate. Guests wandered between the mansion and the exhibition hall while security watched the grounds.
More importantly, dozens of employees moved back and forth carrying food, drinks, and supplies — and most of them looked exhausted.
Waiters hurried between tables trying not to spill trays of champagne. Several were visibly sweating despite the cool night air, and one young man nearly collided with a guest before apologizing and rushing off.
"Looks like they're understaffed," Sam observed.
The exhibition was much larger than either of them expected. Nobody paid attention to overworked employees. That made things easier.
A few minutes later they spotted two waiters coming out of a service entrance with empty trays, one rubbing his shoulder while complaining to the other.
"We've been running for six hours."
"My feet are killing me."
The pair disappeared behind a storage building. Dean glanced at Sam. Sam already knew what he was thinking.
A minute later the two waiters were unconscious inside the storage room. The brothers changed clothes and dragged the men somewhere they wouldn't be immediately discovered.
Dean adjusted the borrowed uniform. "It almost fits."
"It doesn't need to fit. It just needs to look normal."
Most guests barely looked at the staff anyway.
The brothers picked up the abandoned trays and headed toward the exhibition hall. The moment they entered, they understood why the employees were exhausted.
Guests occupied nearly every available space while waiters continuously moved through the crowd carrying drinks, collecting empty glasses, and responding to requests.
Dean grabbed a tray of champagne from a service station and immediately had three guests take glasses from it. Another stopped him before he had taken three more steps.
By the time he reached the center of the hall, the tray was empty. A passing supervisor pointed toward the service area without breaking stride.
"Refill and keep moving."
Meanwhile Sam was having similar problems.
Every few minutes a guest stopped him — some wanted drinks, others wanted directions, one elderly collector spent a full minute complaining about a display case placement while assuming Sam actually worked there.
After nearly twenty minutes, Dean passed close enough to Sam for a brief exchange. "This is worse than sneaking into the place."
Sam handed a guest a glass of wine. "At least nobody's looking at us."
The guests saw the staff the way they saw furniture. Useful. Necessary. Invisible.
As they worked through the exhibition, Dean's attention shifted toward the mansion itself. Several hallways led deeper inside, and a staircase connected to the residential section.
Dean moved beside Sam again. "We cover more ground separately. You take the exhibition — Jasper's more likely to be talking business out here. I'll check the mansion."
Sam agreed. "If either of us finds something, call."
The brothers split apart. Dean picked up another tray and headed toward the mansion entrance, blending into the stream of exhausted employees moving between rooms. Sam continued working through the crowd.
Somewhere inside the estate was Jasper. And if they were lucky, he would lead them straight to Henry.
*****
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