Stilinski? Meet Winchester

Just a short oneshot I’ve been meaning to post! Old but this was fun to write!

… 

Sheriff Noah Stilinski was not an idiot.  

He’d gathered, from Stiles’ interest in occult, mythological, and otherwise supernatural elements, that there was something going on.  It was one thing to be interested; it was another to see such extensive research about werewolves of all things scattered about his room whenever he went missing with Scott.  The Argent and Hale rivalry was making more sense by the hour after that little revelation. So, rather than worry his son to death (because that would be Stiles, to want to protect his father from whatever mess he’s in) he kept his knowledge quiet and did a little research of his own. He became well-versed in signs for werewolves, for other creatures, for hunters.  He recognized some felons in his actual work as prominent hunters—the most infamous of them all—and made sure to look out for them.  

Another set of strange disappearances was happening, and that was when the FBI agents that he knew weren’t FBI rolled in.  Knowing Rafael even briefly, it was plain to see that they were faking (though they would have likely fooled him had he not known about hunters at all).  

“Sheriff,” the taller one said pleasantly, “I’m Agent Collins, and this is—“

“Agent Sheppard.  We’re here about the recent disappearances?”  Ah.  So they either hadn’t caught wind of the werewolf issues, or Argent had been enough of a deterrent.  

“Right.  Step into my office for a minute; I’ve got some info.”  They followed, and he closed the door behind them, locking it for good measure.  

The shorter one raised his eyebrows at that.  

“Sir—"

“Okay, you can cut the crap.  My fiancé’s ex-husband is a fed, and I know enough to know you two are Sam and Dean Winchester, hunters, not agents.  I’ll direct you to Chris Argent if you like after this; he’s been living here for a few years now and knows what’s up.”

Dean spluttered, and Sam gaped.  

“Uh, sir, I—sorry.  That was just—unexpected.  We know a couple of sheriffs up in North Dakota, but—“

“Oh, no one told me.  My son’s just friends with a bunch of werewolves and thinks he’s keeping it secret from me, and once you know the supernatural exists it’s pretty easy to spot you two.”

They looked so put out, and Noah had to hide a grin at putting those sheepish looks on their faces—like Stiles after getting caught out late on a school night.  

“Right.  Still, whatever info you have would be great,” Sam offered.  

“Here are copies of the files each of the victims have.  I haven’t got much information on creatures myself, but the werewolf pack in town is primarily teenagers that I know to be good kids, so it’s not them.”

“Yeah, they check out,” Dean nodded, “Despite the lacrosse team getting an advantage.  It’s these disappearances—they’re random hikers.”

“We think it might be some sort of fae,” Sam said.  

“I’ll let you do your thing.  Call Argent or me if there’s any trouble.”

…

“Chris?”

“Who is this?”

“Sam Winchester.  I’m calling about the recent disappearances.”  Some mild swearing and a ruckus followed—he’d likely tripped or dropped something.  

“Winchester?  I wasn’t sure you two were still alive.”

“On and off,” Sam said, amused, “I think we have a solution.  You willing to let us in on the job?”

“I’ll have to direct you to the pack,” Chris said, “I’m mostly retired. Information and weapons broker.”  

“Really?  I wouldn’t have expected that.  You come from a long line.”

“Yeah, well, my father and sister were insane, and my daughter nearly died, so that kind of put me off the life.”

“I remember Kate,” Dean huffed, “Way too into sadistic ways of killing wolves.”  Sam hoped the phone didn’t pick him up.  

“All right.  Keeping your daughter out of it, then?”  Chris snorted.  

“Hardly.  She’s dating two members of the pack.  One of whom is a true alpha.  Her words to me were, ‘Dad, I’m probably the worst werewolf hunter known to man.’” Dean’s laugh at Sam’s side did not go unnoticed this time, and Argent huffed.  

“You want help, you shut up,” Chris warned.  

“That’s fine,” Sam assured, “Does the pack have multiple alphas?”

“Just two.  Derek Hale and Scott McCall.”

“Hale?” asked Sam.  He’d definitely heard that name before somewhere.  

“McCall’s the friendlier one,” Chris advised, “He’s dating my daughter. So believe me when I say—he’s probably the biggest puppy of the whole crew.”

…

They called ahead, so the two alphas were waiting outside when they pulled up.  And one of them was recognizable.  

“Derek?” Sam asked, surprised.  

“Chris called ahead, said you two had information?  Stiles thinks it’s some Shakespearean fairy kind of thing, but—” Scott frowned.  “How do you know Derek?”

“Sam?  Sam Winchester?” Derek asked, brow furrowed.  “You tutored me in American History, right?  With that Stanford program with my high school.”

“Jesus,” Dean rolled his eyes.  “Small world.  You always makin’ friends with weres, Sammy?”

“The Winchesters are legends in the hunting community, dude,” Stiles glanced at Derek.  “They have been.  For years. How did you manage to get buddy-buddy with two hunters without knowing it?” Derek just growled and flashed his eyes in response, which was tamer than most of the pack expected.  

“I wasn’t hunting at the time.  Anyway, it actually is the fae,” Sam explained.  “We’ve dealt with them before, though, to be fair, the town thought it was UFOs, so it took us a bit to get to that conclusion.”

Stiles was practically vibrating in his seat in his need to ask questions.  Scott chuckled.  

Yeah, the kid looked a lot like the type that would try and miserably fail at keeping the supernatural from his father.  Dean grinned to himself—this wouldn’t be a boring case, at least.