"I know, Sam, but these people are not prepared for whatever it is that did that to that little girl!" He said, pointing at the body. "We're the only things standing between these folks and them sharing that same fate. Now, do you think making them think we're crazy is going to help the situation? Honestly, we should get the hell outta dodge for a couple days, and come back under the radar and solve this case so these people never have to know what Little Headless Annie here had to go through."
"But if we leave now, what are they going to do if the killer is shows up, and claims another victim in the meantime?" Sam said, making an excellent point. Dean hated when he did that. He was convinced Sammy way of handling things was a mistake.
The two real FBI agents came back to the Winchesters' position near the victim. "So, why did you want to meet with us, Dean, is it?" Dana Scully said, now subconsciously ignoring Sam in favor of Dean to speak with because of Sam's "ma'am" comment.
"Uh, yes, ma'am. I'm Dean, and this is Sam. Were the sons of John Winchester of Lawrence, Kansas." Dean said, by way of reintroductions.
"Great, there's two of them. Ma'am-ers", as she came to think of the brothers. "So what makes you boys think this was some kind of monster, rather than an old fashioned Satanic ritual decapitation, as the scars on the body would suggest?" Agent Scully intoned.
"Well, Agent Scully," Dean said, feeling the anti-ma'am vibe from the classically beautiful redhead, and choosing to stick to formalities, much the same way his brother had, "we were in town investigating a possible shapeshifter, but if it was a 'shifter, there'd be a pile of wet goo around here somewhere nearby, and we didn't find anything like that when we searched the immediate area prior to your arrival." Dean said.
"So, you contaminated the crime scene?" Fox said, thinking the Winchesters were rank amateurs out of their depth, as he walked the perimeter, pulling on a pair of latex gloves he'd taken from his blazer pocket as he spoke and picked his way among the rocks lining the creek bank, angling for a better view of the corpse.
"No, we didn't 'contaminate the crime scene', Redd Foxx." Dean said, his words dripping with sarcasm and the unspoken warning that he was ready to fight over it if his skills were questioned again. Not that he had any right to expect Agent Mulder to know his skill set, even if the Winchester Brothers' reputations did tend to proceed them.
"A 'pile of wet goo'? Why and what would that be?" Agent Scully said, making her point with minimum words, hoping the reply would do the same.
"Yeah, um, more like a pile of skin, really. You see, when a shapeshifter steals someone's identity, it sheds its old one. Quite literally. And since they're at their most vulnerable while doing so, they tend to just leave them where they fall and run off before anyone can connect the two. They usually kidnap their target victim, kill them, and take what they need to use later. As sort of a 'spare' identity. But sometimes it's an emergency situation and they get desperate... It's usually labeled as 'medical waste' or 'improperly disposed of organic material' or some crap. The City sends a couple guys out with a couple Hefty bags, some shovels, and a hose to clean it up. No one's the wiser, until something like this happens." Sam said.
"And they don't do this often, as a rule," Dean interjected, "They don't have a molting season, or anything." He continued, trying to be funny. "Oh, c'mon! Man, nobody ever gets my humor!" he thought to himself when no one so much as cracked a smile. When he turned his head, Fox Mulder smirked. Which, for Fox, was as good as a chuckle.
"Yeah, and, um," Sam continued awkwardly, directing his attention toward Agent Dana Scully. Awkward not only because of being thrown off by Dean's unprofessionalism when dealing with federal agents that they so desperately needed on their side if they were ever going to find this monster, whatever it was, before it killed again... but also by the fact that Sam had a thing for redheads. And smart women. And older women. And pencil skirts. And high heels. And cleavage. If she were wearing horn rimmed glasses, Sam wouldn't have been much use until he'd had a cold shower and went for a jog... or equivalent exercise of some kind. Sam started to feel a beads of sweat forming on his upper lip, he wiped them away nonchalantly, forced his eyes to look at Agent Scully's, and continued what he was saying, "They don't usually decapitate the victim's entire head. They mainly just need the brain and maybe a slab of skin to eat..."
"Did you say they eat the brains and flesh from their victims?" Mulder shouted from across the creek some ways downstream, but still within earshot.
"Uh, yeah. That's what they eat to assume somebody's identity" Sam said, cupping his hand to his mouth and needlessly raising his voice two levels so Agent Mulder could better hear him. He felt a bit silly for having done so, because Mulder gave him a quizzical look that said, "I can hear you just fine, Dumbass. What is wrong with these two?", he dropped his hand, but continued with his voice raised anyway, just in case, as he hated repeating himself, and found it usually took away from a conversation, rather than adding to it.
"But they usually just crack open the skull with a river rock and scoop out part of the brain, after biting off a chunk of the scalp, hence the finding victims in creek beds and such." He said, and began to regret the double cheeseburger gut bomb he had forced himself to eat at the last surviving snacks/cigarettes vending machine in the world, located just outside of the cheap hole-in-the-wall motel on the outskirts of Cross Creek, Indiana, just five miles south of where they now stood. The kind of motel with a name like The Dew Drop Inn, or The Starlight Hotel, or Casa Del Rey, or simply, Frank's Place, as this one was. It was fairly nice, considering the price, and had been recently renovated. It, of course, had orange shag carpeting, a room divider in the shape of dolphins and beach balls, like some horizontally challenged infant mobile, and two queen sized beds, complete with asbestos comforter and stained sheets.
"You boys sure you haven't been watching to many zombie movies in that cheap motel you're staying at?" Agent Scully asked, shocking the boys, catching them flat-footed and off guard again. They never expected anyone to do a background check on them. Dana loved doing that to people. She enjoyed having the upper hand in any situation. Who wouldn't? "The Sheriff's Deputy told me, in case you were wondering." Dana said, deciding to play her cards after seeing the shock and confusion in both their eyes. "Ma'am, indeed." she thought. "She ran your plates as soon as she spotted your car at the motel. Seems you boys are suspicious characters without lifting a finger. Apparently, she's not used to seeing many quote 'Cherry Black '67 Chevy Impalas' around here. You were just the first customer's Lily has had since Frank died last November," she read from her notebook she had been writing in since coming down to the creek bank, "according to Deputy Millerson." She said, nodding her head toward the attractive, but stern looking, blonde Sheriff's Deputy they had introduced themselves to, so to speak, before checking out the crime scene. Dean made a mental note to discuss the word "Cherry" with cute, blonde, Sheriff's Deputy, (hopefully Miss, or Ms., and not Mrs.) Millerson at his earliest convenience.
They both smiled a chagrined smile, which should just be called a cha-grin, and gave a short wave to the Deputy Sheriff, who rolled her eyes and turn back toward the other officer that she had been speaking with as he directed traffic around the knot of squad cars blocking most of the lane that ran along the embankment.
"Actually, Agent Scully," Sam ventured, "I think you'll find the head was only partially decapitated. It looks to me like the throat was torn out first, and the rest was cut off after the fact, judging by the torn skin around her collar bones, and the coagulation rate of the blood. Also, there isn't enough blood for her to have been decapitated here, no matter what happened. She was killed somewhere else and brought here. But, since there are no tire tracks, at first, I thought maybe all the blood had simply been washed downstream, but that doesn't explain the lack of blood on her clothes. So she was carried here by a relatively strong person. Even exsanguinated, she'd still have to weigh about a hundred pounds. And, I may be wrong here, but doesn't it look almost like the neck was cauterized in some way? I don't see any scorching or blackened flesh, so I'm thinking 'acid' of some kind? No smell, either. Very odd for a bloated corpse in July, wouldn't you say?" Sam said, showing off his forensic knowledge to great effect. "Finally!" He thought, "Now maybe they'll take us seriously, and not throw us in prison!" It was probably too soon to feel that safe about his future freedom.
But, as I said, it was to great effect. Both Agents Mulder and Scully were duly impressed at Sam's assessment, and Mulder had been meaning to say something along those very same lines to Scully, himself, had he had the opportunity. But, unlike our dear Samuel, Fox wanted to say it as a passive-aggressive flirtation. He loved nothing better than to be right first about something his M.E. partner had missed or had yet to say anything to him about. Ever the chatterbox. He loved being first. Part of the reason his and Dana's relationship would never work. But that's neither here nor there. Even Dean had been impressed, and told him so back at the motel, later that same evening. "Dude. That was some serious detective work you laid on those geeks. I'm proud of ya, Sam. Nice work." He said, without a hint of sarcasm. For once.