Dean drove his beloved Impala silently, something Sam both appreciated and worried about. They were on their way to the small town of Perfection, Nevada to investigate the disappearances of seven outsiders. Upon further digging, Sam had found that the town itself had been plagued by strange occurences and disappearances every ten years since the death of the wax museum owner's murder.

"Sam." Dean waited until he was sure Sam was listening to him. "Is this a good idea? I mean, your past...dream-visions, or whatever they are, didn't include you actually experiencing stuff. What if the vision was about you? What if-"

"What if we're heading to my doom as a wax statue?" Sam ended the sentence. Dean nodded.

"Yeah."

"I told you. It wasn't me in that chair, not really. It was like an out-of-body experience. Inside another guy." Sam rolled his eyes when Dean snorted at his accidental unfortunate wording.

"If you're certain, then we'll be there in a few hours." Dean checked his watch. "This town is so small they probably don't even have a good taco joint. Speaking of, we're stopping at the next one I see. You made me leave before breakfast."

"Dude, seriously? It's 7:30 in the morning." Sam teased lightly. "Who eats tacos this early?"

"Then I'll get a breakfast burrito, idiot." Dean said in a tone that suggested Sam was too dumb to possibly exist. Sam grinned and leaned his head back in the seat. He dutifully ate when Dean brought him some food, but he was tired from his lack of sleep. And if there was one thing he knew about hunting, it was that a few hours of sleep could be the deciding factor in a life or death situation.

'Wake me up when we get there." Sam told Dean as he closed his eyes. Thankfully, he didn't instantly see any horrifying images right away and he faded away as Dean turned his music down. The thrumming of the engine and the soft murmur of classic eighties rock were like a sedative to him.

Dean felt a little bad when he woke his brother up, but when they passed the sign to Perfection, he shook his younger brother awake.

"That sign said this town has a population of nine hundred and thirty-six people. Small towns give me the creeps." Dean looked around furtively as they drove down the main road of town. They passed a general store, a diner, a music store, and a few other buildings until they found a small off-brand motel.

An hour later, they had picked their fake IDs (FBI, as usual) for the job and headed to the sheriff's office. Another person, the eighth victim, had been reported the day before. This time it was a local teenager. Sam and Dean approached the secretary, Dean showed his badge and they were sent through the door.

"Well, gentlemen, this has been the worst couple of months in a long time. First those nice people from out of town went missing after passing through and now..." The older, portly man trailed off. Sam gave his condolences, and after a few more minutes of conversation they left. All the sheriff told them was, "The last time anyone saw him was the night he disappeared. Some friends dared him to go into the old wax museum and bring back a wax body part. He never came back out. We searched everywhere, but...he was gone."

As they left the building, Sam turned to Dean. "There's definitely something going on in the museum. We should check it out."

"Hold on Sammy. I think we should go to the diner." Dean pointed.

"Come on, really? You're thinking about food? Now?" Sam asked incredulously.

"We need more information, and where's the best place to get the gossip?" Dean looked expectantly at Sam. Realization dawned on the younger man's face.

"The waitresses. They hear all the gossip."

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