In the middle of the night, Dean and Sam receive an unexpected phone call from Ellen. Sounding worried, she tells them she is scared that an old friend of hers and their dad's, Frank Sanders, is in trouble. Frank happens to be a retired hunter living in San Francisco. While looking through John's old phone, they noticed several calls from Frank Sanders. The two brothers hurry to investigate. When they find Frank pinned to the wall dead in his own apartment, the San Francisco police burst in on the scene and things don't look too good for Dean and Sam. But when Adrian Monk enters the scene and announces that they aren't "The Guys," he, rather reluctantly, is thrown into the terrifying world of the Winchesters. Plus, Lilith is on the move. Could she be behind the death of Frank? Well, you'll just have to read and find out.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT own any of the characters in Monk or Supernatural. Thank you.

Mr. Monk and the Winchester Boys

Chapter 1: This Sucks

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"This sucks. Big time."

Sam Winchester sighed. He was forced to agree with Dean. The two of them were chained to a table in an interview room at the San Francisco Police Department. This seemed to be becoming a regular thing for them.

"What are we gonna do, Sammy?" Dean asked in a monotone voice.

Sam shrugged. "It didn't look too good when the police came in when we found Frank on the wall. That's pretty much enough evidence for them."

Dean groaned.

"Damn."

Meanwhile, behind the window looking in on the two brothers, a rather tired man with a moustache and an uptight looking man were gazing intently at the brothers. Captain Leland Stottlemeyer sighed and asked, "Are you sure?"

The other man nodded. "I'm one hundred percent sure. They're not the guys."

Stottlemeyer glanced over at him. Adrian Monk nodded and continued, "The man had to be up there for at least two days. I mean, he marked the days on the calendar everyday. He was two days behind. And the neighbors didn't call to report seeing them at his house until around two forty this afternoon. There's nothing at the crime scene suggesting a struggle or that there had been more than one attacker. And finally, the sulfur at the scene. Those two don't have any sulfur on them to drop." Monk nodded again and repeated, "They're not the guys."

Stottlemeyer sighed again. "Fine," he said, "Do you have any idea who it could have been?"

Monk shook his head. "No. It's weird. There are no prints, no sign of a struggle. And there's nothing holding him onto the wall. He's just stuck there. I have no idea what could have done that."

Stottlemeyer nodded, convinced, but Monk held up his hand. "I want to ask them some questions," he said. Stottlemeyer looked at him questioningly. "I want to see what they know. They're hiding something."

The door to the room opened, and Dean and Sam looked up at the same time. A stiff looking man in a brown suit stood in the doorway. He put the handkerchief he had used to cover his hand while touching the handle neatly in his pocket. Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Hello," the man said, waving akwardly.

"Well howdy doo," Dean said, and Sam closed his eyes in horror.

"My name is Adrian Monk," he said, pulling a wipe from out of his pocket and wiping the seat before sitting down. "I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Do we have a choice?" Dean asked.

Monk looked at him with a penetrating stare. "No Mr. Winchester, I guess you don't."

Sam opened his eyes, going pale. Dean, for once, was speechless, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. Monk smiled.

"How do you…," Sam started to ask, but he was cut off.

"We found his list of emergency contacts at the scene, clutched in his fist. Winchester was at the top of the list, so I assumed it was you," Monk said, as though a five year old could have done it.

Sam was fascinated. "How did you know it was there?"

"There was an opened notebook under a table with a page torn out."

"And then you found it, in his hand, just because there was a torn page in a notebook?" Dean asked skeptically.

Monk nodded. 'It's a gift. And a curse." Dean just stared at him, and Monk shifted uncomfortably, and then cleared his throat. "Now, how did you know Mr. Sanders?"

Dean was silent, looking completely pissed off. Sam glanced at Dean, rolled his eyes, and answered the question. "Frank knew our dad and our friend Ellen. Ellen called us, heard we were in the San Francisco area, asked us to check up on him. Then we went to his apartment and found him on the wall."

That was mostly the truth. He had, of course, left out the part about what had killed Frank. That wouldn't exactly fly.

"And how did you…," Monk tried to start, but Dean interrupted him.

"Look, it's obvious to you guys that we're guilty. So why don't you stop with the questions and lock us up already? I hate waiting."

Sam wanted desperately to kick the crap out of Dean, but Monk smiled again.

"I know you two are innocent."

The Winchesters stared. "Excuse me?" Dean asked in shock.

"I've seen the crime scene. It just doesn't add up. There's no way you two could have killed Mr. Sanders."

Dean and Sam looked at each other, and then back at Monk. "So…," Dean said, still confused, but Sam finished for him. "Can we go?"

Monk sighed. It was obvious he wasn't getting anything from these two. "Yes," he said, standing. An officer entered and removed the cuffs and chains. Dean and Sam stood at the same time. When they tried to exit the room, Monk stopped Dean. "Excuse me, but you jackets a little crooked. Let me get that for you…," He attempted to even out Dean's leather jacket. Attempted being the key word.

"Dude! Get off me!" Dean furiously swatted Monk's hands away. Sam pulled Dean out of the room.

"Thanks. Thanks a lot," he said to Monk. Stottlemeyer appeared beside Monk, and they watched the two brothers leave. Stottlemeyer looked at Monk. He didn't know what his expression meant, but he didn't like it.

Monk stood at the window and watched the Winchesters open the doors of a black 1967 Chevrolet Impala in the impound lot. Sam glanced up and saw Monk watching them. He said a few words to his brother, and Dean looked at the window, too. There was an awkward moment as the three stared each other down. Dean looked away, and the two climbed into the car, and the engine roared to life. The Impala pulled out of the lot and drove off into the street.

"So…" Monk jumped and turned to see Stottlemeyer and Lt. Randy Disher beside him. "How are you doing, you know, with Natalie on vacation?" Randy asked, in his bright and clueless tone.

"Oh fine, fine," Monk said, distracted. "I have to go. It's chicken pot pie night." He left the station, clutching a matchbox he had found in Dean's jacket pocket. "The Golden Gate Motel" was emblazoned in big yellow letters.

He smiled to himself, and walked down the side walk, toughing each of the parking meters as he went.