the island.

iv

It was quiet when they silently pulled up, parking on the side of the highway under the cover of some dense trees to avoid being seen. The inn was completely dark, which was unusual for the time of night; it was only 10pm. Dean expressed this confusion as he looked over his shoulder at his brother and best friend, shrugging. They shot him glances in return, and the three of them made their way around the side of the house, where Dean assumed the outside entrance to the basement to be. He was correct, easily finding the large angled doors in the darkness. They were unlocked. Dean held open the door for Sam and Cas, as they clambered in and stealthily ensured the basement was clear. When it was deemed to be clear of werewolves and shapeshifters, Sam signalled for Dean to come in. Lowering the door behind him, Dean entered the basement.

The sight that greeted him was one he didn't expect. The basement of the 8 Mile Inn was renovated to look like the hallways upstairs; this hallway leading to the stairs up into the main house. There were three doors along the way, one on the left, and two on the right.

"Crowded with boxes, my ass," Dean muttered under his breath as he shot a glance at Cas. He moved to the first door on the right, his back against the wall, rifle ready in his hands. He signalled for Sam to open the first door. Sam counted down from three, mouthing the numbers, and when he got to one, he swung the door inwards and Dean jumped around the corner, rifle pointing into the room. Once he regarded the room to be empty and his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he noticed that it was just a storage room, filled with boxes.

"Now this is what 'crowded with boxes' looks like," he said, gesturing to the room.

"Dean," Cas warned. "Stop being petty."
Dean simply rolled his eyes, moving out of the room and closing the door quietly behind him. They continued down the hall, stopping at the second door on the right. This time, Cas opened the door for Sam, who stopped abruptly in the doorway, his rifle lowering.

"Sam?" Dean whispered, worried something on the other side of the door could be about to hurt his little brother.

"It's . . ." Sam trailed off. The concern swelled deeper in Dean's gut and he pushed passed Sam and into the room, rifle cocked. But he, too, stopped when he saw the contents of the room. It was a baby's nursery. A proper baby's nursery, kit out with a cot, changing table, rocking chair, and animal murals on the wall. The odd thing was, the room looked used.
The brothers looked quizzically at each other, moving deeper into the room to investigate. There was no baby in the cot, but the change table looked like it had been used recently; there were a few stains that Dean knew what they were, but tried his hardest not to.

"Why would there be a nursery down in the basement?" Cas asked from the doorway, keeping watch in case the couple appear.

"Yet another thing to add to the list of suspicions I have," Dean muttered, making his way back to Cas. A small part of his heart pulled at the sight of Cas standing in the doorway to a baby's nursery. He let his mind wander to a time when Cas was standing in a nursery, and it wasn't in the basement of a mass murdering shifter's hotel where there were chances that either of them could be killed. He shook the thought from his mind and noticed that Cas was looking at him curiously, head tilted to the side like an adorable puppy.

Trying to play it cool, Dean frowned and said, "what?"

"What were you thinking about?" Cas asked him, his curious look deepening.

"Nothing, it was nothing. I'm fine," Dean denied, pushing past Cas and into the hallway. "Let's check this other room out." Dean reached for the door handle, waiting for Cas to get into position. Once he was ready, he nodded to Dean, who counted down like Sam did, and swung open the door. Cas marched in, with a determined frown on his face that made Dean's stomach flip in a good way. He let Sam through the door, and then followed suit. The sight that saw him shocked him, but not nearly enough as seeing the nursery. They were in, what looked like, a surgical room. A large, cold, metal table stood gleaming under the fluorescent light in the middle of the room. The walls were lined with glass-doored cabinets, filled various surgical instruments and vials of clear liquids. At the back of the room, a morgue-like cooler system, with drawers for storing bodies, took up the whole back wall.