Dean moved through the first floor with a tray of champagne, doing his best not to look irritated. The disguise was working — which meant spending time around the guests.
Most barely acknowledged him except when they wanted a drink. One spent five minutes talking about an ancient statue he'd bought for an amount Dean could hardly comprehend.
If Henry wasn't involved, he wouldn't be at this rich bullshit party right now. It reminded Dean why he hated pompous events like these.
He passed several normal-looking rooms before he heard it. A muffled sound behind a closed door. A woman's voice, then a man's, then something else entirely.
A smirk appeared. "Not my problem." He kept walking.
A few minutes later the hallway got quieter. Fewer guests. Then he spotted two bodyguards outside a set of double doors.
Dean's eyes narrowed.
He approached casually with the tray. One guard stepped forward. "No entry."
Dean raised the tray slightly. "I know. Just figured you've been standing here all night — thought you might want some champagne."
"Move along."
"Fair enough." He turned and walked away. Three steps. Four. Five.
Then he spun around.
The tray hit the first guard square in the face. Glass shattered. Before the second man could react, Dean's elbow connected with his nose.
Sharp crack.
The first guard reached under his jacket — Dean put a punch into his throat, dropped him. The second lunged. Dean caught him with a kick to the knee, got behind him, locked an arm around his neck. A few seconds and the man went limp.
The first guard charged one last time. Dean slipped the punch and kicked him hard in the face. He hit the wall and went down.
Silence.
Both men breathing. Dean dragged them out of sight, straightened his jacket, and looked at the double doors.
Dean slipped inside and quietly shut the door behind him.
Storage room.
Shelves packed wall to wall with antiques, weapons, jewelry, and artifacts waiting to go downstairs. Glass cases in the center, spotlights on whatever the owner considered worth showing off.
Dean looked around. "Seriously?" Two bodyguards for a glorified storeroom.
Ancient pottery, ceremonial weapons, religious relics, paintings — the kind of stuff rich people blew fortunes on while regular people paid rent.
Then something at the far end caught his eye.
A coffin.
Not on a shelf. Not in a case. Its own section under a spotlight, like it was the whole point of the room.
Dean stopped. "Man, is this the coffin he made for himself?" Who the hell kept a coffin in their house?
He walked over, put both hands on the lid, and pushed.
Blue light spilled out.
Dean squinted. As his eyes adjusted, he looked inside.
"Henry?"
The idiot was lying in a coffin. Blue energy moved around him in slow waves.
Dean grabbed his shoulder and shook him. Nothing. Shook him harder. Nothing. Slapped his cheek. Nothing. The energy flickered slightly but Henry stayed completely motionless.
Dean reached into his jacket and pulled out his holy water. Not because he thought possession — just because throwing water on unconscious people had worked for centuries.
He poured some across Henry's face. The water ran down his forehead and soaked into his clothes.
Still nothing.
"You've gotta be kidding me."
Dean hauled him out of the coffin and lowered him onto the floor. The blue glow didn't change. Dean stepped back and looked him over.
Now he had a new problem — sneaking somebody out of a heavily guarded mansion was hard enough. Sneaking somebody out who looked like a walking lighthouse was something else.
He pulled out his phone and called Sam.
"Dean?"
"Found Henry."
"You found him?" The relief was immediate.
"Alive. Mostly." Dean looked down at him. "But we've got a problem. Get to the first floor. Now."
"What happened?"
Dean stared at the blue light filling the room. "Just get here."
A few minutes later the door opened and Sam slipped inside, stopping the moment he noticed the blue light filling the room.
Dean was sitting on the floor near one of the display cases. Sam looked around. "Where's Henry?"
Dean pointed at the glowing figure beside him.
Sam walked over and crouched down. "...Henry?" He stared for a moment. "Why is he glowing like that?"
"How the hell am I supposed to know, Sam." Dean rubbed his forehead. "Found him inside that coffin." He pointed at the open coffin under the spotlight. "Already like this when I opened it."
"You tried waking him up?"
"Shook him. Slapped him. Poured water on him. Nothing."
Sam reached down and gripped Henry's shoulder. "Henry." No response.
Then the door handle rattled. Footsteps outside. Someone had noticed the guards were missing.
Dean was already on his feet. "We're out of time. You carry Henry, I'll clear the way."
Sam pulled Henry up and got him over his shoulder.
Dean kicked the door open.
Several guards were waiting outside — someone had already radioed ahead. The first one lunged and Dean caught him, drove him into the doorframe, and threw him aside. Sam came through with Henry over his shoulder, moving fast while Dean kept the others back.
More footsteps from down the hallway. Then the alarms hit — loud and sharp, cutting through the entire mansion at once.
Guests started panicking below. Security was already converging, radio chatter bleeding through the walls.
"Move!" Dean pushed ahead, clearing the path while Sam kept Henry stable. They pushed through the hallway fast, no time to be quiet anymore.
The exit was below them. Getting there was going to be a problem.
*****
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