Dean tugged at his tie, tightening it and then loosening it, glaring at himself in the mirror. Damn, he really did hate these things. He coasted to a stop outside the crime scene, a farm house at the cross streets of Middle Of and Nowhere. Sam snorted and shoved his arm.
"Dude, stop fidgeting. You're gonna scare the cows," his little brother said as he dug through the glove box for their fake badges.
"Cows? Sammy-boy, I think you're goin' a little crazy….WHAT THE HELL?!" He scrambled back from the window when he saw a big, black and white head and a crazy long tongue lapping at the glass of his baby. He let out a colorful string of curses that would've had Bonnie and Clyde blushing and Sam just laughed to himself, making his way out of the car. Dean quickly crawled out the passenger door, giving the damn cow a death glare, mentally threatening to rip its tongue off and beat it to death with it. He took his badge from Sam, fixed his crooked jacket, and closed the door, making his way confidently to the house. It was a little thing, one story, and a small porch with a beaten up rocking chair on it. He sighed and lifted up the yellow crime scene tape, stepping under and moving to who he assumed was the head detective, a tall, lanky man with short buzz cut hair and a serious, nothing but business, 'I wear the same tie everyday' look. The man looked him over with skeptical eyes.
"I'm Agent Bonham, this is Agent Page. FBI." He held up his badge to the grumpy detective, who mumbled something under his breath but nodded.
"Alright. This is one Terry White, approximately forty two years of age, strangled to death. No prints, no signs of forced entry. She's clean," the man said. Dean nodded, then made his way around the small house. So far, nothing was out of the ordinary. He could hear Sam asking about yellow powder anywhere, or any strange temperature drops, but before he could turn to hear the answer, the door burst open and in came two men, one a black man in a purple striped shirt, the other wearing a simple green sweatshirt and had his eyes closed. The one in the green was stumbling about like a drunk man, and Dean immediately felt the urge to punch him in the face. He shared a look with Sam across the room before turning his attention to the visitors.
"I see….cows. And grass and corn and….oh dear me, what could it be…..A BODY!" The man cried before pulling open one eye, and then the other. "Hm. Well. What have we got here, Lassie? FBI taking over your case again?" The green sweatshirt man turned to face Dean. "Ah, yes, you've got a nice car out there."
"Yeah, she- wait, how do you know she's mine?" he asked, brow furrowed.
"Oh, right, 'scuze me. I am head psychic for the Santa Barbra Police Department. My name's Shawn, and this is my partner, Donut Holstien," Shawn said, pointing to his buddy, who raised a hand in greeting. Dean stared between the two.
"Spencer, why am I not surprised?" the detective, apparently named Lassie, asked, hands on his hips.
"Should you be surprised? Oh, I love surprises," Shawn said, grinning around at everyone. Dean looked at Sam again, conveying his silent 'this guy is a looney' message before looking back to Shawn.
"Yes, well, Shawn, this is an official FBI case and you are distracting us from our work so if you do not shut up I will have my partner escort you off the premises," he said, nodding to Sam. Shawn's eyes followed his movement and he looked up at Sam, who was standing with his arms crossed and his lips in a thin line, amusement sparkling in his eyes, before shrugging.
"Sure, dude, whatever you say. Though, I just assumed you'd want to know this woman was murdered."