Sam burrowed his fists in the pockets of his blazer in an attempt to hide them from the frigid wind of London. He kept his head down so as to meet nobody's eyes, for he knew what the look on their face would be if he did. He was walking down Hornditch, a road on which the wealthiest of men, and the luckiest of women, resided. Every man whom he passed had a suit woven with wealth, a beautiful wife hanging on his arm, and a wicked smile plastered on his face. All this while Sam wore a centuries old blazer with dirt and blood stained in the oddest of places, and under it a frayed plaid shirt with holes ranging from the size of a pen's tip to a thumb. To them, he looked like a beggar who just ransacked a poor, old and grumpy scot's house.
The brothers usually lived in shacks, or dilapidated houses if they were lucky, for that was all they could afford. Their job didn't exactly pay well. In fact, it barely payed at all. They made all of their money either from privately funded hunts from families without the money to move out of their haunted house, or from stealing from the houses in which the monster they just hunted resided (these were usually vampires, werewolves or shape shifters) and selling the loot. The last was of a werewolf who hunted prostitutes. The brothers were thrown off at first, because the killer was a psychopath who killed even in his human carnation, so killing schedule was not on a monthly basis. But the brothers were brilliant, and quickly figured everything out.
They terminated the beast three days before, and had been living in his lovely abode since then. By a stroke of luck, the lycanthrope was extremely wealthy and had a kingdom for a house. Or so it seemed to the brothers who hadn't slept on an actual bed in what seemed like years. The servants had all left, rather quickly I might add, once they figured out the satanic doings of their employer, so they had the house all to themselves. The neighbors were also exceptionally superstitious, and had become weary at even the sight of this house, which only added to the looks Sam was getting as he returned to his temporary castle.
Sam walked into the house and heaved a sigh of relief. From the isolated corner of the far room came, "Hiya Sammy, how was town?" Sam looked up to find his brother huddled in darkness, save the light coming from the single lamp that was illuminating him, reading what looked like H.G. Wells' The Time Machine. "Ah," said Sam, "I see you finally dove into the Time Machine. Took you long enough, It's been a top seller for over a year now."
"Better late than never," Dean replied, in a mocking tone that resembled their father's from the days when he would return at ungodly hours, to meet two exhausted and half-asleep boys who had stayed up all night waiting for their belated father. At this Sam gave a small smile as childhood memories made their way back to his thoughts. In response, Dean perked up with a hint of excitement as he said, "Oh, and while you were out we got a telegram from Bobby. He wants us to do a job in Transylvania. I know it's not our usual gig, but it would be nice to get away from England. London in particular. Have you heard how everyone talks here? No one can ever say a simple sentence, it has to be complex and have a billion metaphors jammed in to every point they make. And they stand like they have a hand up their ass. Friggen puppets is what they are."
Sam eyed him comically and said, "I don't know Dean, they sound pretty normal to me."
"Yeah well I didn't spend 3 years at Cambridge, now did I," He replied sarcastically. "Sorry I'm not as prim and proper as you."
At this Sam chuckled and poured some whiskey for the both of them, not bothering to ask his brother because he knew the answer would be yes. After a minute of sitting in silence, drinking the whiskey, Sam looked up and said, "So what's this case you were talking about? In Transylvania?"
"Ah yes," replied Dean, returning his nearly empty glass to the silver-lined mahogany table. "Apparently there's a guy who goes by Count Dracula. There are enough urban legends about him to take you to the moon, but they all tend to point to the same direction. Apparently he lives in an abandoned castle with three girls that he turned. He's never been seen outside his house, and he never allows anyone past his front door. Also people have said that they always hear wolves howling at night around his house."
"What are we thinking, vampires?" Sam asked.
"Yeah, and like I said, he never lets anyone in, so it's been hard for hunters over the years to kill 'im. All we know is that he sleeps during the day in a coffin somewhere around his house. Also, during the night he travels in the form of a bat –"
"- So long story short," Sam interjected, "it's pretty much impossible to find him, much less kill him."
"Exactly, but apparently he wants to buy some property in London. He sent for a solicitor to stay with him for a while, and Bobby intercepted it. He says he can get us on the job and that we're the best for it. What do ya say?"
Sam smirked and said, "I'm in."