Author's Note: Well, I had no idea what I was up to with the original storyline, but a couple of the reviews make me want to take this in a separate direction. Anyone else has any ideas, feel free to mention them. I accept requests, because my muse is a little ADD. Not unlike myself…:-D

"Sam, this seems like a stupid idea," Dean said. He glanced around the coffee house for what seemed like the millionth time. "And we've had some doozies in the past."

Sam gritted his teeth. "I know it seems like a bad idea. Hell, it probably is a bad idea. But it would be nice to have some help since we don't really have a whole lot of people we can reach out to. Rufus is gone, all of the Campbells are gone…Cas and Bobby…a friend in any place is good enough for me."

Dean's face darkened at the names of their fallen friends. He actually flinched slightly at the names of Castiel and Bobby, and Sam could hardly blame him. It'd been a rough couple of months, and while he himself was still plagued with doubts of whether or not he was in reality land or still in the Box, Dean was anchored miserably in his assurance that his Hell was real, unyielding, and inescapable. And at least Sam could rationalize that things could always be worse…

"I'm a little surprised he doesn't recognize us from the news a couple months ago when the alter-us went on the killing spree…" Sam mused, mostly to himself.

"I'm telling you, dude, this is a bad idea," Dean grumbled.

"Dually noted, Captain Pessimism," Sam retorted.

Fortunately, Sam was saved from having to deal with Dean's response by the arrival of their expected 'frenemies'.

"Sorry about the delay," Nick said, looking legitimately apologetic as he and Monroe pulled up the chairs opposite the brothers. Monroe still looked crossed between suspicious and vaguely inconvenienced. "I made the report to dispatch to have them check out the house in the woods, but so far they haven't turned anything up."

"Wrong house?" Sam asked.

Nick shrugged. "Possibly. The forest is pretty big, and it would've been kinda convenient in a sort of suspicious way if we managed to suddenly stumble upon the right one simultaneously."

Dean shot a look at his brother from over the travel mug worth of black coffee. "That's pretty much how we roll, to be honest."

"I also looked you guys up. Thought your names sounded familiar. Turns out I was right," Nick said nonchalantly. "You apparently went on a killing spree a while back across the US and were killed shortly thereafter."

Dean's hand automatically clenched tighter around the mug, while his other went surreptitiously to the gun under his coat. A warning glance from Sam that said plainly 'behave' kept him from pulling it and reduced him to a grumble.

"Any reason why you don't arrest us on sight?" Sam asked cautiously, and he admitted, a little more than curious.

Nick smiled. "Well, for one thing, your records are already a little dodgy. Dean over there has been dead I don't even know how many times. Shot by the cops in Missouri. Shot again after the country wide killing spree. Lot of accident reports involving a 67 Impala, misfires, stabbings, electrocutions, and so forth. You know you even have your hospital record listed with the police because of the circumstances around a lot of them. And you, Sam, are just as interesting. Pre-law, and then your girlfriend dies in an accidental fire, and then you disappear. Multiple times, it seems. So I figure with records like that, I can draw a couple conclusions – one, you're either the best or worst criminals in the world to know that I was going to find that information and still agree to have coffee with me. Two, a lot of it is made up or some of the worst paperwork I have ever seen in my entire life. Or three. You're something else entirely."

"Grimms," Sam said, echoing the earlier title the detective mentioned.

"Grimms," Nick agreed. "Except you didn't seem to recognize the title, so I'm guessing my aunt died a little too early to be able to explain much to me."

"Ok, so let me get this straight…" Sam started, trying to guess at what exactly the detective knew. Or was, for that matter. "You're a Grimm, which is something like a cop, and it's hereditary? How?"

Nick shrugged, looking a little lost. "I guess? My Aunt Marie came to visit me a couple months ago, and she was already dying from terminal cancer. Sort of explained things, but only really said that the Grimms' Fairy Tales were real. Or at least, all the creatures in them are. And Grimms are supposed to be the police between them and people. We can see through their faces when they lose control, and they seem to be able to recognize us too…" Nick trailed off. "I don't know why I say 'us', because until you, I never met another one. My Aunt said she didn't have contact with them."

Dean swallowed the coffee he already had before answering. "We're not Grimms. We're hunters. There's a difference."

"How?" Nick asked. "What do you do that I don't?"

"For one, we hunt things. As in go looking for things. We've gone after everything from vampires, to werewolves, to fallen angels and hell, even Lucifer himself."

Sam was watching the cop for a reaction, but was honestly surprised when he saw the recognition dawn on Monroe's face instead. The blood drained from his face, and his mouth formed a small 'o' of surprise.

Ah. A fan.

Apparently he was a Grimm too, except that Nick said he hadn't run into any other hunters, so he wasn't entirely sure why it was Monroe, not Nick, who recognized the deeds, if not the name.

"Wait…you're The Winchesters? John Winchester's boys?" the man fairly squeaked, his voice cracking as he tried to keep a whisper to his voice but not really succeeding at it. "Nick, we need to get out of here."

Nick looked just as baffled as Sam felt. "What? Why?"

"Because these aren't just hunters, they're…baddest of the bad. No one goes up against the Winchesters and lives to tell the tale," the bearded man growled, pushing back in his seat so there was at least an arm's length between him and the table they shared. Sam was a little surprised he didn't just take off.

"To be fair though, we only kill monsters. And angels…who misbehave," Dean said, smirking unpleasantly over his coffee.

"What the hell are you two talking about?" Nick asked, glancing back and forth between the brothers and his partner.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "God, I hate starting from scratch…" he sighed. "Ok. Long story short – our mom was killed by a demon who was trying to jump start the apocalypse in an effort to raise the Devil from his cage, which drove our dad a little off the deep end and he raised us to hunt things that go bump in the night until we figured out that they wanted Sammy as King of Hell. When that failed, there was a war in Heaven, we won that too. And in the middle parts we hunted your average wendigo, skinwalker, poltergeist…et cetera."

Sam blinked. "Wow. That really is the last seven years in three sentences. It seems so simplistic. Abbreviated, but simplistic."

"So you guys are like…"

"Super villains," Monroe supplied, lip raised. "They're like ten generations of Grimms rolled into one."

"Hey, watch the name calling, ass hat," Dean snapped. "We save peoples' lives. Hell, we've saved the whole goddamned world. So watch who you call a villain, Grizzly Adams."

"People like you are the ones who killed off my family members," Monroe snarled.

Immediately Dean and Sam both refocused on Monroe, and Nick was almost a little afraid of the predatory looks they suddenly fixed on his friend.

"That's an awfully specific word choice there," Dean said, slowly setting down his coffee mug. "People like us, no mention of you being 'people'. So who…or should I say what… are you?"

Nick watched as Eddie's eyes flashed red and there was suddenly more of a point to his canines than before. That he expected, considering his reaction to the Winchester brothers so far, but what he really wasn't expecting was the look of recognition that the Winchesters held.

"Werewolf," Dean growled, and lunged across the table.

Dammit.

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