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"Sammy, are you ever going to wake up?"

Why should I? It's nice here.

"We have hunts to do. I need your help. I'm not as good without you."

Screw hunting. I'm tired of it. When has it ever done us any good?

"Please Sammy. I'm worried, Bobby's worried, hell even Ellen and Jo have stopped by once."

So what?

"Sammy…I need you Sammy…"

*12 days ago*

"Did we really have to wear the monkey suits to go see a farmer? Don't you know that farm people never freaking trust the government?" Dean yelled at me from the bathroom, where he was attempting to tie his tie.

"Oh will you just get out here and let me tie that for you?" I holler at him as I finish tying mine. Dean stomps out, white shirt rolled up to his elbows as per usual. "You know, you're going to have to learn to tie one of these eventually."

"Oh yeah, tying a tie will come in real handy when I'm in the pit." Dean scoffs as I finish his tie and stomps back to the bathroom to grab his coat. Sighing, I turn and grab my FBI ID and my gun, trying to be ready for everything. I almost reach for my jacket to grab my flask out but decide against it.

Once we're both ready, we hop in the car and start driving west to the farm where all the trampling's have been happening. After a few minutes, we leave the small town and become surrounded by rolling hills and a calm country atmosphere. We roll the windows down and start blasting one of the many cassettes Dean has laying around in the car, occasionally singing along horribly. After a half hour drive, we finally reach the road that the farm is on.

"Smells like horse shit out here." Dean bitches over the sound of the radio.

"Well what do you expect, this is horse country." I holler back at him, laughing at his complaining.

"Yeah well, the constant smell of blood, sulfur, and dead bodies is so much better than the smell of shit." Furrowing his brow, he starts paying attention to the few and far between mailboxes we pass, looking for the address we need.

"You know we live strange lives when what you just said makes complete sense." I reply, looking on the other side of the road for the right address.

"So what was the name of the farm again?" Dean reaches for the radio knob, turning down the music finally so we can talk without shouting at each other.

"Uhh… 'Horses Over Head Stables'. Apparently they take in a lot of horses that are from shelters. Ones people don't want usually because they're older or lame." I read from the printout in my lap I got off of their website.

"Huh, sound like nice people. Too bad things aren't always so nice for them." Dean replies, suddenly sounding a lot more caring about the case. "Something tells me we can stop looking at mailboxes though," Dean points out the window to a giant sign up ahead with angel wings carved into it. "Seems like something that would go along with horses being 'overhead'"

Turning onto the long driveway, we pass under the sign with the name of the farm on it. On both sides of the driveway – which is more like its own road – there are numerous areas that look like pastures. The farther along we drive, the smaller they seem to get and we even start to see a few horses grazing in them, or standing under some of the trees.

"Hey Sammy -?"

"Look, that must be the house." I point out before Dean can finish his sentence. I feel like an ass for doing it, but I really just want to get this case done.

Sighing, Dean pulls up to the farm house, looking to see if there is anyone around. He turns the car off and I climb out of the car. Straightening my jacket, I walk around the front of the car to wear Dean is. I glimpse him subtly slip his gun into the back of his pants before closing his door, keys jingling softly as he slides them into his pocket.

"Well I guess the one good thing about this job is we don't have to go hunt people down. Farm has been in the same family for at least the last two deaths." Dean grumbles as we head over to the porch.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean that the last two killings were related to these people, which rules out family curse." Climbing up the baby blue stairs, I glance over my shoulder to check for anyone behind us as Dean knocks on the door.

"Oh hey, what's the name?" Dean asks as we hear someone walking down the stairs.

"Amelia Gallagher," I tell him.

"Can I help you?" A voice asks from the now open door.

"Are you Amelia Gallagher?" Dean asks, already reaching into his pocket.

"Yes and let me guess, FBI." Sighing, Amelia reaches up to tuck her brown hair behind her ears. "Look, I don't know why you guys feel the need to keep checking on my farm like I'm running some illegal horse meat business out of my backyard." Even though you can clearly tell she's angry, she makes no move to close the door.

"No, actually I think you have us confused with someone else," I calmly state, reaching in my coat for my badge. "We just want to ask you a few questions about the history of the farm, nothing more." Flipping my badge open, I hold it towards her so she can read it clearly. "I'm agent Holt and this is my partner, agent Cleary."

"We actually think that what you are doing here is really amazing." Dean adds, holding up his own badge. "Especially with me being from a ranch in Texas, I know how horses tend to be treated sometimes, so it's nice to see someone trying to make a change."

I chuckle to myself at Dean's story, remembering one time when he actually did get to ride a horse. I was too scared, but Dean looked right at home on top of the animal. Hearing what Dean says, Amelia seems to relax a little and opens the door all the way.

"Well if you aren't here to cause me any trouble, I guess I can talk to you two for a bit." Her green eyes seem to pierce right through us as she starts to walk out the door. We move out of her way and follow her across the wide deck to a set of chairs that are arranged nearby. "I won't be able to tell you much," she explains, lowering herself into one of the rocking chairs. "My family hasn't lived on this ranch for very long, but I'll tell you what I can. Although, I'm sure I already have an idea as to what you're going to ask." She blinks, and then turns to look out over the front yard, staring off at one of the pastures that has a few older looking horses in it. "This is about my mother, isn't it?"