Okay... so I'm dabbling in something different and light since my other fics have been an angst fest lately. Thought I'd try my shot at humor. This is my first light-hearted case fic. Lots of fish-out-of-water boys. Early Season 1.
"Well, here's an interesting one." Sam's voice called from behind his laptop, which was perched on the cheap motel room writing table. His face was illuminated in a sickly blue glow from the light of the screen. Dean paused in his self-appointed task of twisting several of Sam's paper clips into strange animal shapes and looping them around the tab of his empty beer can. "Hmmm?" He said mildly.
"Upstate New York. Several people trampled to death by horses in the last 3 months within a few miles' radius."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "That unusual?"
Sam sat back and looked up at him. "I'd say so. Especially when the victim is found and all of the horses are locked up in their stalls and no one can figure out which horse might have done it."
"Seems weird, but supernatural? I don't know." Dean returned to bending the paper clips together.
"Could you refrain from ruining all of my office supplies, please?"
Dean caught his eye, smiled and kept twisting them around each other.
"Jerk," Sam said.
Dean smiled wider. Sam looked at the glowing screen again. "I don't know, Dean. Three young women in three months at three barns?"
"Young women?" Dean asked, suddenly interested.
"Yeah. 19, 24, and 32. No witnesses. All of them were alone at night, probably finishing chores and closing up." Sam's fingers chased over the computer keys. "Seems like it follows the lunar cycle too."
Dean snorted. "Werehorses?"
"Outside of something like pookas in the British Isles, there's really not much lore on killer horses. Not like black dogs, for instance."
"Were they fat?"
Sam looked bewildered. "The horses?"
"The girls."
"No. They're all athletes, most of them are pretty thin, actually. What difference does that make?"
"I don't know. I thought if they were fat maybe the horses were out for revenge. Horse can only take so much before it snaps, man."
"You know. Sometimes I have this very vivid fantasy that I'm not related to you."
"That's weird," Dean began. "Because I have this reoccurring dream that Mom and Dad brought me home a little brother from the hospital. But here you are."
Sam ignored the jibe and shook his head. "Well, we're not terribly far from New York right now. Should we drive up and take a look?"
Dean shrugged. "Guess so."
Sam closed the laptop and grabbed his carrying case. Mindlessly, his fingers moved to close it and he stopped. An assortment of paper clips were dangling from the zipper. "Really, Dean?"
Dean shrugged. "Got to kill the time somehow, Sammy."
Dean swung the Impala up the gravel drive. The stable sprawled before them in an impressive display of white siding and large windows. White fencing lined perfectly manicured pastures and an enormous outdoor ring stretched to their left. Dean whistled. "This place is fancy."
He parked near the outdoor ring and killed the engine, eyes following the young women riding by. "Look at all those spoiled bitches."
Sam rolled his eyes and stepped out of the car. He shut the door carefully. He strode over to the activity and leaned on the fence railing, observing in silence. He felt Dean's presence at his shoulder and glanced at him. Dean was watching one of the shapely blondes with rapt attention. She had her hair pulled back into a ponytail that escaped from under her black velvet helmet. Pink shirt tucked into a pair of grey breeches that fit like a second skin, black knee high leather boots. She trotted by them, rising and falling rhythmically to her chestnut horse's trot.
Dean inhaled sharply. "Oh God. I never wanted to be a horse so bad in my life."
She settled her seat deeply into the saddle and her horse slowed to an animated walk, the momentum swaying her hips forward and back in time to the movement. He sank his voice lower into something suggestive. "Or a saddle. I'll take being the saddle." He said huskily.
Sam shook his head. Dean looked askance at his younger brother. "Oh come on... tell me you don't want to hit that."
"I never said I wouldn't-unlike you I can exercise a modicum of self control."
Dean gave him a sharp look. "I exercise mine every single day that I don't slap you upside the head, dude."
Sam smiled slightly. "I'm sure you do."
"Can I help you gentlemen?" A brunette Sam guessed was the trainer walked up to them on foot from the center of the ring. She ducked under the railing.
"Yes." Sam said charmingly. "We're here from the insurance company to talk about the accident."
"Oh." Distress flashed across her features. "I'm sorry," she said, tearing up. "Its been hard on all of us. We're like family here."
"I understand," Sam said sympathetically, his face a study of concern and caring. He was so good at that. Dean had no clue how he managed to give a shit about everyone's problems all the time but he seemed too. Pre-law indeed. He'd have made a horrible fucking lawyer.
"Can you tell us what happened?"
"I already went over this on the phone."
Sam nodded. "I know, but red tape and all. I'm sorry. We needed to come out in person and look around."
She looked a little shell-shocked. "Of course."
"Can we start with your information?" Dean asked pulling out a small notepad.
"Carol Fendwick. I'm the owner/manager here at Oakwood Stables." She waved at them to follow her.
"Can you tell us what happened?" Dean nearly tripped as he avoided a pile of manure completely out of place within the Immaculate yard.
"I live on the property. I heard the commotion outside. It was about 8:30 p.m. I didn't pay attention at first. I mean horses make noise all the time. But something seemed off... I came into the barn and Claire..." she stopped, put her hand over her face. Her throat worked a moment. "She was only 19..."
"I'm so sorry." Sam said softly.
Her dark eyes filled with tears and she continued walking. They entered the stables. White cement was flanked on either side by stalls with heavy barn doors. It was a beautiful facility. Modern, lovely, bright.
Carol paused. "I found her over there near the wash stall."
Dean wandered over and crouched next to where she pointed. There were rusty brown stains in the other wise immaculate concrete.
"I can't get the blood stains off," she said.
Dean raised an eyebrow. "There's bloody hoof prints?" He asked the obvious as he noticed several sets of half-faded, bloody horse tracks.
Carol looked away. "She was trampled. Just... trampled... just..." she broke off again. Sam placed a hand on her back. "I'm so sorry Ms. Fendwick."
"Which horse did it?" Dean asked, looking up and trying to suss out which of the stall's fuzzy occupants was an equine Cujo.
"None of them. They were all in their stalls."
Dean took a picture of the crime scene with his cell phone and stood up. "Can any of them get out of their stalls?"
She raised an eyebrow. "You tell me. They all have bolted doors and bars on the windows... and letting themselves back in and locking it afterward is a pretty neat trick. And those hoof prints don't match any of the horses in my barn."
"You memorized the prints of all these horses?" Dean asked incredulously. "Anal much?"
