A Black Impala at the Red Pony

A/N: I'm using the TV version of the Longmire characters, but having read the books, I just have to add a few things in. So, if you TV fans wonder why Walt has a pet: read the book! While Henry will have the size and background from the books, I'll stick with the TV version for speech patterns and character. And because I'm writing this for a friend who is a huge Katee Sackhoff fan, Vic is still a blonde.

Steve Dickson ran, panting heavily and crashing through the underbrush. IT was after him! As a young man, he might have been fast enough, barely. Even better, as a young man he would have had his unit at his back. Now, he was old, a retiree and alone. Now, he knew he would never move fast enough.

A thorn bush grabbed at his left leg, and the sudden shift in weight threw out his bum knee. He crashed heavily to the forest floor with a grunt and a stifled groan of pain. Stifled, because it didn't need Steve's help to make it easier to find him.

But IT found him anyway. And when IT found him, it hurt. A lot.

"Dude, check it out. You remember Dad's old war buddy, Steve Dickson?" Dean Winchester asked over breakfast in the bunker.

Sam considered the name. "Maybe… was he the guy that Dad had to carry like three miles after he twisted his knee?"

"That's the one." Dean agreed. He flipped the tablet around so his brother could see the screen and the obituary there. "He died a few days ago."

Sam sighed. "Didn't another member of Echo 2/1 die last week? What his name… Jonesborough?"

"Jonesy? Weird. I mean, I know Dad's generation is aging out and all, but they shouldn't be dropping off like this yet. Maybe we should swing by and check up on Deacon. Arkansas ain't that far away, and the whole prison break thing is old news by now. We'll buy him a few drinks and catch up. It'd be nice to see some old friends without bodies on the slab."

By the time Dean had finished his morning coffee, Sam swore heavily.

"What?!" Dean demanded.

Wordlessly, Sam turned around his laptop. Dean's mouth fell open in shock as he read the opening line of the article: Deacon Kaylor, warden at Green River County Detention Center, was found dead this morning outside his home. It went on to inform its readers that Deacon's body was too damaged by scavengers to determine a cause of death and there is no official comment at this time.

"Damaged by scavengers," Dean repeated, dully. "At least they didn't go with the wild dog theory."

Sam looked to his brother, worried. Dean always bonded with people faster and more firmly than Sam did, even though he was forever telling his younger brother not to get too attached. And for some reason Sam had never fully understood, his brother considered bar brawls and fist fights appropriate venues to making friends. Judging from the beating he took from Deacon while undercover county lock-up, the two men were firm friends. Loosing him no doubt hurt.

"It's a nine hour drive to Little Rock." Sam reminded, "We better get moving. I'm sure Sandy could use a friend or two right now."

"Wait, what are the odds that three men from the same unit all die within days of each other? Naturally?"

Sam paused to consider. Most of the soldiers from the Vietnamese police action were aging out, it wouldn't be much longer before veterans did die that close together. But Sam had discovered over the years that his brother always had an amazing instinct when it came to what was normal and what was not. "Maybe I should pull some police reports for Steve and Jonesy."

Dean nodded. "I'll call Sandy, see what she has to say. She believed Dad and Deacon about the supernatural so she'll know why I'm asking the weird questions."

.o0o.

"So, how is Sandy doing?" Sam asked as Dean slumped at the table, beers in hand for both of them.

"Holding it together. Barely." Dean slugged back his beer. "Poor lady. She said she'd scan us a copy of the autopsy, but the short version is something ate him soft tissue and major muscle groups first. So, not a Wolf."

Sam sipped as his beer. "Same thing with Jonesy and Steve. Coroners both ruled it a wild animal mauling with stereotypical predator eating habits. But neither coroner wanted to go on record with what kind of predator; bite marks don't match canine or large breed feline known species."

"So our kind of thing."

"Our kind of thing; that ate its first vic in Maine, three days later its second vic in Kentucky, and four days after that its third in Arkansas."

Dean traced a finger across the map. "Its working its way west. Going after Vietnam vets? Did you run a search for any other veterans dying of animal attacks?"

"I did," Sam sounded almost insulted that his brother had to ask. "Nothing."

"So, only members of Echo Company 2/1. At least that limits our victim pool. Maybe we can get ahead of this thing. I'll pry a complete list of surviving soldiers out of the VA if you'll get started on what kind of critter this is." Dean offered. Both of them knew Dean was far more suited to dealing with military men. While Sam was far happier with the research.

Sandy would forgive them for missing one funeral in order to prevent another.