The funeral reception had been going for awhile when Susan heard a knock on the door. She put down the tray of deli meats she had been carrying to answer it. Outside were two young handsome men, dressed in black suits and ties.

"Hello," she greeted them. "How can I help you?"

The shorter one spoke as the taller, darker stranger looked morosely at the ground.

"We, ah, we were friends of the family," he said quietly, as if he didn't want someone nearby to hear him. "We heard about what happened and we wanted to pay our respects."

"Oh," Susan said, her brow furrowing. "Did you get an invitation to the reception?"

"Aahh…" the shorter one began.

"No, we knew the family a long time ago," the tall man said quickly, not skipping a beat. "They've probably not mentioned us before, they knew our parents."

His honest brown eyes forced her to trust him. "Alright then, you may come in."

"Thank you." They entered the house, softly closing the door behind them.

"I thought we talked about the plan on the way over," Sam muttered through the corner of his mouth.

"We did?" said Dean. "Sorry, I must have been distracted by the beautiful women in this town. God, they're hot," he whispered as he turned to watch a woman in a black dress walk by.

"Dean, upstairs brain."

"What? Oh, right, sorry."

They entered the living room. It was tastefully decorated, with blue sheers and white cushy cloth couches. People dressed in black were standing around holding glasses of wine, chatting to others in that muted way that happens at funerals. Sam and Dean each took a glass from a platter and politely sat down in a corner by the front window, near an elderly lady with white hair and tight lips that appeared never to have let slip a secret in their lives.

However, first appearances were not accurate.

"Why, hello there," she said in a cheery voice. Her lips pulled up in a too-wide smile that reminded Dean of a denture commercial.

"Hey," Sam said. He smiled back. Dean had to admit, Sam could act pretty natural around these kinds of overfriendly people.

"How did you know Sophie and Taylor?" she asked. She leaned towards Sam, awaiting an answer.

"We were friends of the family a while back," he said easily. He leaned forward as she was doing, excluding Dean from the conversation. "Our parents were friends with them since grade school."

"Oh, yes, alright," the woman said, in a way that showed she didn't care about the answer. Dean hated people like this, who would ask you a question and then not want to hear what you have to say. Maybe that's why he hated the cops so much in interrogation.

"So, how old are you, fine gentleman?"

Sam turned bright red, and Dean saw this as his chance to jump in.

"Well, he's actually turning twenty-one this week, aren't ya, big guy?" He grinned and hit his brother on the back. Sam's grin had all but faded when Dean added, "Finally old enough to meet some girls other than the ones from chess club. Have some fun in the local bar… maybe even get lai-"

"Dean." Sam interrupted, giving his older brother a glare of utmost loathing. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure, man, whatever." Dean stood as Sam led him out of the room, away from the wide-eyed woman staring after them, her jaw on the floor.

'Well, I never…"

Sam led Dean down the hall, just out of sight of the reception. Dean joked,

"Hey, dude, if we keep eloping into dark, deserted hallways, no wonder everyone thinks we're in love."

"Dean, shut up." Sam glared at his brother. "The real reason we're here is to take a look around, see if we can't find anything that might help with the hunt."

"And what are we hunting, exactly?" Dean asked as he followed Sam down the hallway. "Violent spirit, maybe? Or zombies again?" he shuddered at the thought. Dean absolutely hated zombies – they just wouldn't take the natural path and stay dead.

"I dunno," Sam said over his shoulder. "But this murder doesn't seem right to me somehow."

"Dude, it's not unnatural for a husband and wife to die on the same da-"

Thump.

Dean was interrupted by the noise of something falling onto the floor in the room behind the closed door they were approaching. Sam caught Dean's eye, and noiselessly they drew their handguns. With a nod from Dean, Sam quietly turned the door handle, and threw the door open with such force it banged back off the wall. They rushed into the room, and found something that neither of them had suspected.

A young boy, his eyes wide, was staring up at them from the carpet.