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The bitter tang of broken ferns was blunted by the earthy scent of the disturbed leaf mold under their feet. Monroe was grateful for something to focus on besides the danger behind them or the rich taste of blood hanging heavy on the air at his side. The source of all his problems, and possible impending death, stumbled along there, loud and uncoordinated in the dark. Fearsome hunters or not, Grimms appeared to have the same lousy vision as any human. At least Monroe hoped that was the reason for Nick’s clumsiness, and not the spreading blood that stained his clothes black and ran ruby rivulets over the pale skin of the hand attempting to staunch the flow. He tried to find comfort in thoughts of home, of rhythmic ticking and the warmth of polished wood, of the place he’d be right now had he not decided to take a Grimm under his wing. Nick was an unusual Grimm, and he’d been so obviously floundering in his newfound sense of the world during their second meeting, and one thing led to another, and really, what had he been thinking?
The woods were quiet around them, the nocturnal trills and chirps of insects falling silent in the wake of their trampling path. Besides unnervingly labored breaths, Nick was quiet too, as if it was taking all his energy to walk. He tripped over a fallen branch, and broke the silence with a pain-filled groan, leaning heavily against a tree trunk. “You don’t look too good,” Monroe said, eliciting nothing more than a breathless scoff from Nick. No choice but to stop and let Nick regain his bearings for a moment. There was no sign of the wesen on their trail, but Monroe wasn’t foolish enough to think they’d slipped them that easily. He couldn’t smell them, but his focus was shot, and even if it wasn’t, the stench of blood and sweat filled his nose. When Nick pushed shakily away from the trunk’s embrace at last, Monroe was relieved to be on the move again.
Something shuffled along the dead leaves nearby. His senses still wouldn’t cooperate, couldn’t distinguish if it was simply the wind or the men tracking them. Monroe shrugged into a woge, and Nick whirled around to face him, hand darting towards the empty holster at his hip. Pools of obsidian reflected back at him.
“Easy,” Monroe warned. Distracted by pain, struggling to put one foot in front of the other, he hadn’t expected Nick to take any notice. But he was like any cornered animal, at his most defensive. It was difficult to force the wolf away under Nick’s gaze, but he managed, and watched the color creep back into his eyes. Monroe suppressed a shudder. It was still unsettling, a visceral reminder that he was in the company of a Grimm.
“Sorry,” Nick said, his tense posture slackening all at once. “Thought I heard…” he trailed off, expression going distant. Monroe surged forward as Nick’s knees buckled, clumsily snagging a sleeve and slowing his fall. Nick’s eyes were shut, slivers white showing between his eyelids, but he was still breathing, and his heart still beat, albeit too fast. It was the same way an animal’s heart beat, desperate to outrun the spreading pool of red on the ground. The heart is the last to give out, races on even after the animal itself has given up. Monroe’s own heart twisted unexpectedly at the image.
He stripped his loose outer flannel off, balled it up, and pressed hard against the deep gash in Nick’s side. It managed to rouse Nick, who fought with surprising strength for someone who’d just passed out from blood loss. “I know,” Monroe said through gritted teeth to a gasping Nick. After a few moments, he seemed to recognize who was hurting him and why, and stopped throwing punches. Shivers still wracked his body as he lay there, stifling noises of pain.
A chorus of yipping howls split the night and reminded Monroe they weren’t alone. Unbidden, his mind circled back to safety, back to where he’d been just hours ago. Until he’d volunteered to help a Grimm. A friend, some voice in his head amended, and he dragged Nick to his feet as gently as possible. The motion still stressed his injury, and Monroe winced as it tore a choked whine from him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But we need to go, now.” Nick was gray and frozen and barely able to keep his feet, but he nodded. Monroe pressed Nick’s hands against the bloodied flannel that rested against the wound in his side. “Keep pressure on it this time.”