A/N: This is 2017 preview story, technically it was started in April of 2016 as a prompt from The Beta Branch to write an alternate universe story. Jane Austen is my favourite author and so I figured that I would write a 'Pride and Prejudice' style story for Supernatural. So put the brothers in regency era England and mix in any and all characters, changing them to suit my need, and there you go. There really aren't many rules, except that it was supposed to be written in a month and I've already failed that, so I'm going to put this here and I will work through this as a project for the new year.

Here is what I have so far...

Chapter 1

It is a truth generally accepted that any activity, common or otherwise, that occurs within the house of a gentleman, is the business of that gentlemen and that of his nearest relations.

When dealing with matters of the paranormal two options are presented: The first, and the most common, is to go about ones business continually denying any existence of such spirits or spectres that may cause harm or discomfort so long as it does not affect those outside of the house. This is done primarily to keep ones sanity from being questioned and ones good reputation solidly established for the sake of society, but also because, generally speaking, dealing with the supernatural is not something one learns at finishing school. The second, and less common of the two, is to locate those whom are understood to exist in the world who might be of some assistance in returning calm to the household. Those brought up in this business over generations of descendants and legacies established as early as the creation of the first ghouls and monsters that followed humanity out the primordial ooze. This acquisition of such individuals whom may return peace to a gentleman's house is slightly more difficult to deal with, but generally becomes necessity when the spectres, spirits and monsters become too violent and reap havoc on more than just the individuals living within the charge of any gentleman or other, or if the death of the master of the house is a direct result of such an incident or entity.

However little is know upon the matter among the general acquaintance of most, and the identities of such persons are nearly indistinguishable from those within a tightly knit society, they do, indeed, exist within an easy distance of any proper settlement and establishment which houses the gentry and the wealthy elite, and can usually be found with the help of a trust worthy street urchin or beggar. Generally speaking, they are gentlemen of good breading, with large fortunes and estates, and the time on their hands to develop their skills to carry on the family business. On account of this, they are very generous with those in much lower positions than themselves and have many street people within their society to seek out and acquire their irregular business for them, all while keeping up the facade of their wealth to their less knowledgeable neighbours and relations.

"Ignorance is bliss, my dear brother, and you should learn the benefits of a very good system of street fellows to manage your affaires," Mr. Dean Winchester said to his brother one Sunday morning as they returned to the family estate after their routine weekly visit to the local church; not because they were connected with the religious order, but rather, as a social acceptable Sunday activity and to keep up appearances. "When one has the means to have others work for them, then why should I trouble myself with the mundane?" He asked as he dropped several silver coins into the outstretched hand of an elderly man who sat at the corner of the lane.

"You only have the means because you are the eldest son," Mr. Samuel Winchester countered in response to his brothers boisterousness. "And that is generally why I manage most of your everyday affairs for you. And I do know the benefits of your street society because I am the one whom they come to with the business they find for us."

"Younger sons must have occupations," Dean commented in a near whisper but there was sarcasm and teasing in his tone.

"Occupations on top of occupations, it would seem, as I do manage your estate as well, and I cover all the Lore that you refuse to become familiar with," Samuel added and passed a letter to his brother out of the sight of their neighbours who were also leaving the Sunday morning service to return to their homes and estates oblivious of the work that the Winchesters truly performed.

"Ah, and who gave you this?" Dean asked once they were alone and climbing into the carriage that would take them back up to the estate.

"Should you speak so freely?" Samuel asked in a hushed voice. "You servants are bound to hear you."

"And they will not cross my Butler should they hear anything that seem undesirable or ungentlemanly. So please, dear brother, how did you come by this letter?" Dean asked as he handed it back to Sam.

"Mr. Castiel, did you not see him in church this morning?" Samuel asked.

"Of course not, the building is quite full of angels, why would I?" Dean joked as his brother rolled his eyes. "Besides, I was much more happily occupied by the young Miss. Harvelle."

"As you generally are," Samuel said and looked out at the passing woods of his father's estate.

"And, not surprisingly, Miss. Talbot was sour and quite displeased with my attentions toward Joanna, and so I must keep that up," Dean added with a wink. "Airs, I must put on airs, dear brother, for the sake of society. It is a hard job to undertake but will do it."

"Fop," Sam stated under his breath.

"Ninny," Dean countered.

"And so you look like you are prepared to throw away everything that father and mother worked so hard to establish for us, and on ladies you know nothing of," Samuel scolded. "Frivolity, Dean, must you be made so ridiculous?"

"It's just for show and you know that. And must I remind you that mama and papa are working still; don't you forget that Samuel," Dean hushed his voice. "But as they both have died, according to our social groups, and all of the ritual performed, they cannot come around here. Lucky for you, they are working to reestablish themselves as completely different people and in a completely different part of the country, continuing the family business as we are, so you will have an inheritance after all. As you know, death for our kind, is not so final as that."

"I'm well aware of my future prospects," Samuel huffed.

"I'm glad, Samuel, but what say you to the letter?" Dean asked as the carriage came to a halt outside the main entrance of the enormous great house and the butler stepped out to greet them. "Mr. Singer, I'll take my tea in the trophy room," Dean added in an aside to the butler as he passed him.

"As you please," Mr. Singer said harshly and bowed away.

"Come, Samuel, we have plans to make," Dean said as he handed his hat and his great coat to a footman and fled toward his precious trophy room.

"The angel has returned to the village," Sam said to the butler in passing.

"Not a good sign, Master Samuel," Mr. Singer said in a hushed tone as the footman took Sam's outdoor clothing and fled as well.

"Never a good sign," Sam said and handed the man the letter to read.

"Not another one," Singer said with a shake of his head. "And only two counties over. I'll be sure to sharpen the blades and procure the deadman's blood you'll be needing. Shall I accompany you on this journey?"

"I don't think so, Singer, but Dean may change his mind," Sam answered and heard his brother call after him.

"Very good, sir," Singer bowed and fled through a pocket door hidden behind a panelled wall.

"So, dear brother, a vampires nest in Yorkshire, what are we to do about it?" Dean asked excitedly as he pulled an ancient sword from a wall of weapons and tested its balance in his hand.

"We will do what is to be done," Samuel said with a sigh as he took up a place in a chair near the fire as two enormous Impalas, taxidermied to perfection, flanked it on either side. "And cover it with the facade of hunting or fishing, or whatever you wish. Perhaps the eldest Mr. Winchester is looking for a wife," he added and watched as a shiver rolled down Dean's spine.

"I'll play the part of gentleman for society, but it's not time for that just yet," Dean said and spun on his brother.

"No, you'd prefer to be a scoundrel, and use these poor women very ill," Sam said and stood. "Perhaps I should marry, at this rate you'll not continue the legacy, or perhaps you have and don't know it, but either way, we must do something for the good of the family business."

"Do what you wish brother, but steer clear of Miss. Harvelle," Dean warned.

"I would take your own advice. Mrs. Harvelle will have your head if you corrupt her sweet child," Samuel countered.

Dean smiled mischievously at his brother.

"Then a fool you shall be," Sam said with a sigh as he gave up the fight.

"We leave at dawn, tomorrow, you know what to do to prepare," Dean said as his tea arrived. "And so do you, I assume," He added to Singer.

"I know exactly what to do with you," Singer said in a tone of warning and displeasure.

"Very good," Dean said ignoring the harshness. "I think I'll go for a ride while you make arrangements. Send word to my valet and the stables."

"Send it yourself," Singer huffed and left the trophy room once more.