Author's Note: Because really, who hasn't thought of this meeting? Currently I'm stuck watching Jersey Shore and wishing I was dead or that I could use the gun I'm carrying to shoot someone or at least the TV.
Standard Disclaimer: Hah! If they were mine…this would be on TV, not
Sam Winchester wasn't unfamiliar with being on the wrong end of a gun. Or even the wrong end of the police. Hell, nowadays it seemed like everything and everyone between Heaven and Hell (and then some) wanted him and his brother dead. But this? This was a little unexpected.
Sam and Dean had finally decided to visit the West Coast for the first time in a long while it seemed, forgetting the midwest that they spent the fast majority of their time in. Dean seemed to be looking for some place as rainy and gloomy as his current moods, and Portland, Oregon, seemed like a perfectly acceptable place to go.
It also helped that there seemed to be a couple of their kinds of cases cropping up in the news. Except that they all seemed resolved, and by the police, nonetheless. Not some ne'er do well such as themselves or other hunters.
They caught wind of a current case as the cops did, involving a missing girl and a possible serial killer.
The Winchesters suspected something more along the lines of Hansel and Gretel, so they struck into the woods on their own, unexpectedly stumbling upon the house rather easily. Unfortunately, so did someone else. Apparently, the trail of cookie crumbs was a little literal and obvious in this case. Or the witch didn't think she was going to get caught.
The cop wasn't alone per say, but he didn't have his police issued partner with him, that was for sure. The cop was standard issue – clean cut, authoritative voice and prescence, and trying to keep the calm while aiming a police issued M9 at them. His partner, on the other hand, whoever he was, really didn't seem to belong there. Scruffy, dressed like someone who belonged in a library instead of the woods, and a perpetual complainer about why they were out there in the first place, and what did these yahoos have to do with the crime scene? And otherwise completely ignoring the standoff they were now in.
"What are you two doing out here?" the cop asked, gray eyes and dark hair in stark contrast to pale skin. Apparently the sun really didn't come out all that often in Portland, the guy looked like a vampire. "This is a potential crime scene."
"Key word being 'potential'," Dean said lightly, keeping his gun pointed at the officer, who in turn kept his pointed at Sam. "We're trying to stop that from happening."
"So am I. You should leave it to the police, we don't need vigilantes out here trying to help," the officer said calmly.
"I think you're a little out of your depth here, officer," Dean replied. "This is more our area of expertise. Trust us."
"You're not the Feds," the detective said. "I'm not a moron, thank you. And I happen to like Led Zeppelin and I recognize those names. So who are you really?"
"Hunters," Sam replied vaguely. It was really the first time he'd spoken in the entire exchange. He didn't miss the sudden change in demeanor, from vague suspicion that all cops seemed to hold for people who showed up at their crime scenes, to one that meant that he might actually recognize them.
Crap. Hopefully it wasn't from a wanted poster or the news from several months ago.
"Hunters?" he repeated. "Of what? This is a national park, no hunting allowed."
"Not that kind of hunting," Dean said by way of explanation.
The cop shot his partner a look at the bearded man shrugged. "I don't recognize them."
The detective looked back at Sam and Dean. "You're Grimms?" he asked, lowering his gun.
Who what now?
Sam and Dean glanced at one another, before the eldest Winchester echoed the question. "Grimms?"
"My aunt said that there were more of us, but she didn't keep contact with them. You're Grimms, right?" The man actually looked like he might suspect them of being exactly who they really were. And it didn't seem to surprise him. In fact…he looked a little hopeful.
"Winchesters," Sam replied, looking a little bewildered at the sudden change in demeanor.
"No, not your names…your…job. Sorry, I'm a little new to this," the detective said. "You hunt monsters?"
"Hey!" his buddy exclaimed indignantly. "Watch it there with the name calling."
The detective grimaced. "Sorry. You know what I mean."
"Wait, you mean you're a hunter too?" Sam asked, a little suspicious. Not many hunters held respectable jobs.
The cop shrugged. "I guess so. My aunt told me I was a Grimm. She never said anything about being a hunter. Are you like a different…kind?"
The detective was talking about them like it was his first day on the job at Wendy's. If he was a hunter, he was one of the few who didn't look like a reject from the lastest issue of Back Country Hicks. He had to be really new – he didn't look worn out and bone tired like the others.
"Your…aunt…said you were a Grimm? Did she elaborate at all?" Sam asked.
Dean was still staring at the detective like he was out of his ever loving mind, looking torn between his natural distrust for the law and the knowledge that there was obviously something about this guy that made him safer than most.
"Apparently it's an inherited thing. My parents were Grimms too, apparently."
"Okay. So a little like a hunter."
"They're like the cops between the creatures and humanity, I would say," the 'Grimm' replied.
Dean frowned. If that was the case, they might still be on the shit list. Heaven, Hell, and probably some others still wanted them dead.
"I thin we should continue this somewhere…dry, don't you?" Sam suggested. "The witch isn't here right now, and we don't know when she's coming back – if at all. At least we can compare notes for a plan of attack."
Some place crowded. With lots of witnesses to prevent anyone from doing something…rash.
"You mean the Hexe?" the detective said.
Dean shrugged, finally lowering his gun. "Sure. Whatever you want to call it."
"Because out in the woods isn't private enough for this kind of conversation," the other man said.
"I don't like the rain," Dean said, scowling. "And I'm still not sure about you two. Besides, if he's a Hunter, what are you? A sidekick?"
"I fix clocks," the man said.
"And apparently consult on crime scenes. Sure. That's completely rational. Let's go get a beer and discuss this. At the very least, you two need a couple pointers for the job," Dean said.
"You're gonna help us? And what do you know that we don't?" the bearded man bristled while the detective actually looked really happy about the prospect of getting to talk to them. He must be really new to this.
"It's 10 in the morning. Let's try coffee first," the detective suggested. He stuck out his hand, which was no longer holding the gun. "My name is Nick Burkhardt, and this is Eddie Monroe. He consults for me."
"Sam and Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you."