Decapitation of... who?

Sam’s POV

I lounged back in my seat as the pilot announced our descent into Lawrence. 

“We’re gonna crash,” Dean panicked beside me, as the plane wobbled again.

“Shh,” I tried to reassure him, “it’s just a bit of turbulence.”

“We’re going down!”

“We’re landing stupid, weren’t you listening?” I sighed, getting a bit frustrated. Dean slumped back.

“Why couldn’t we have just driven here anyway?” Dean asked after a moment.

I frowned for a moment, but Dean kept going. “I’d rather have the old babe with us on this trip.”

I smiled grimly, putting one hand on his shoulder. “This will be a return trip Dean.”

‘Better be.” Dean smirked. 

The plane’s nose tipped sharply towards land.

“Is this supposed to happen?” Dean asked nervously, gripping the armrests of his chair stiffly.

“Relax. We’re landing.”

“Finally,” Dean sighed. We were silent for a while, both dreading what we’d find when we arrived. 

“So where do we start?” Dean asked, as we collected our bags.

“Police station,” I replied firmly. Dean nodded slowly. “We need a car though.’’

  We quickly found our rental car. A totally unappealing, banana yellow mini. 

“No.” Dean said solemnly.

“Dean, it’s the only one they had left,” I reminded him, loading his bag into the tiny trunk.

Dean’s eyes wandered, suddenly coming to rest on a shiny black Impala parked opposite us. “Yes.” Dean said.

“Dean,” I growled in a low voice. “No.” But I couldn’t mask my humor. 

As Dean began to approach the car, it drove off. Dean stared after it, horror and disappointment filling his face. Dean turned back to me, wide-eyed, mouth gaping. “They took my car,” he said in a pouting tone.

“It wasn’t your car,” I said. Now opening the door of the disgusting yellow mini. “Just get in.”

“You’re not getting me in that thing!” Dean exclaimed crossly.

“It’s the only choice,” I snapped back. I took my chance and got in the drivers seat.

“Come on Dean!” I sighed, opening the passenger door for him. But he was still staring after the now disappeared Impala.

“They’ve gone,” he sobbed quietly. I rolled my eyes, sighing. 

“Hurry up you jerk,” I snapped.

“Bitch,” Dean replied resignedly. He climbed into the passenger seat, a surly, disgusted expression imprinted onto his face.

 We drove through the crowded streets in silence, Dean still glaring at the car. After a while we found a hotel that we thought wouldn’t trigger too many memories. It was relatively new place, so I didn’t remember it in the slightest. I wasn’t sure about Dean though. He knew Lawrence like the back of his hand. But my brother was still wrinkling his nose at the mini.

“Double bed I’m guessing?” The receptionist assumed, glancing from me to Dean. I shot a horrified look at Dean.

“No.” Dean just about exclaimed. “Two singles please.”

“Right away.’’

 Dean and I carried our bags up to our room. 

“I think we should camp out.” Dean commented. Clearly getting over his disappointment over not getting a rental Impala, and his disgust over getting a yellow mini instead.

“No way.” I refused flatly. “Think of what’s out there.” I put on my most convincing expression. Dean frowned a bit.

“Oh no Sammy. Not the puppy eyes.” 

I chuckled.  “One night.”

“Camping or here?” Dean asked innocently.

“Camping.” I snapped rather crossly.

  My dreams that night were full of fire. I could see Azazel’s strange yellow eyes burning into mine. And my mother’s screams rang in my ears when I awoke. I sat up, still seeing Azazel’s eyes in front of my own. Dean was already awake.

“Are you alright?” He asked me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I laughed shakily. “Just about.” I got up. “So where do we start today?”

“Police station.” Dean replied simply. “We’ll need ID.”

“As always,” I said in an offhand voice, pulling an old suit out of my bag. 

  “This collar is stiff.” Dean complained, tugging at the collar of his shirt. I yanked his tie into place. Dean patted down my hair. I smirked a little.

“There.” Dean said finally.

“You got ID?” I asked him, as we got ready to leave.

He pulled it out. “Agent Decker.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I joked. “Have you got the weapons?”

He silently handed me a knife and a shotgun. I turned them over in my hands. “Are we handing these over to the police or something?”

Dean gave me a funny glance and didn’t answer.

We walked down to the car. The banana mini. 

“I hate you.” Dean muttered, ever so quietly. 

“Shut up Dean.” I muttered. Dean brushed past me and stalked to the passenger seat. 

“I’m not driving this thing,” Dean said through his teeth, as he chucked me the keys. I snorted, catching them reflexively. 

 I drove to the local police station, and, once outside the car, was hit by another wave of memories. I clutched my head, stumbling slightly. Dean glanced at me.

“Are you alright?” I nodded, gritting my teeth and straightening up. I frowned at the image that remained, one that I myself didn’t remember very clearly. I recognized myself as a baby, in my father’s arms. Dean, who looked about 4 or 5, clung onto dad’s elbow, looking scared. I realized we were standing in front of the same police station that we were now. 

“Sam?” Dean asked in a low voice. I looked down at him. “You ok Sammy?”

“Peachy.” I replied with a small smile. Dean laughed. “You sure?”

I rolled my eyes and didn’t answer. “Let’s go.” 

Dean put our weapons in the bag, and slung it over his shoulder. I followed him into the police station. In unison we flashed our ID. We looked at each other and smirked slightly.

“May we please se the records of the people reported missing in the past month?” Dean asked. The policeman on duty nodded, and left to get what we wanted.