Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nick left the coffee shop, doorbell ringing as he walked out towards his partner. Hank smirked as he looked down at the photo he shot of the detective. Nick rolled his eyes, “What’re you doing?”

Hank smiled again, “Just getting a photo of you while you’re still all young and innocent. I’ll need it by New Years, the way you're going.” The man’s gaze wandered up, glancing at a couple of women leaving the courthouse, locking onto one in particular. Nick followed his partner's stare, looking at a pretty blonde woman in… an Armani suit? Nick thought he was recognizing the brand right.

“Nick, I know you’re not the biggest on… much of anything, what’re you lookin’ at her for?” Hank joked, following the woman with his gaze. “Just saying, Armani suit, making six figures? Bet she’s got half her co-workers staring a little too low when she walks. Whole bag of trouble, I’m telling you.”

Hank rolled his eyes, taking the food bags and his coffee from Nick’s hold, “Why can’t you just look at her ass like the rest of us?” Nick chuckled as he watched the man get in the cruiser. He glanced back at the woman, who spotted and smiled at hi-

What the fuck

Nick blinked a couple times, then rubbed his eyes and looked up again. No, it’s gone now. Was he hallucinating already? He out of all people could admit his sleep schedule wasn’t the best (understatement) but it hadn’t even been more than, what, 2 days? “Nick? You good?”

Nick blinked a couple more times, sliding into the passenger side. “Yeah, just, thought I saw something.” Hank raised an eyebrow, half concerned, half desensitized to his usual bullshittery. Didn’t matter though, they had a call. Something off in the woods, a little north of where they were.

Nick appreciated the crunchiness of the leaves as he walked, the fall season providing satisfying steps everywhere you went. The forest service officer led the two detectives further down the trail, which was already flooded with personnel. Taped off area and clues already marked.

“I saw a lot of smaller animals flocking over near here earlier, didn’t think much of it. Then a hiker flagged me down and showed me this.”

The man gestured to the severed off shin that was leaned up next to a tree, claw marks and not all that decayed. Though flies were already settling in to feast. “The rest of her is off trail, though she provided enough food for the critters out there already.” Nick glanced back at the two, following as he led.

“How do you know it's a her?” Hank questioned, the guard pulling back some branches to reveal a bright pink, women’s shoe size nike. The two detectives exchanged silent words as they looked at each other.

“At first, we tried to look for some animal prints. What kind of animal could have done something like this, you know? Unfortunately, we only found one track.” The ranger stepped through some soft soil, revealing what looked to be a mens boot print in the mud. Sized 12, 13?

Hank called out to the forensics team to get a cast, Nick starting off to walk around the area. He was a good ways away when Hank noticed he was gone, the older man having to jog after him. Nick paid no mind to his partner’s struggle, crouched over an iPod and their earbuds, Sweet Dreams vibrating from them softly.

Hank sang along to the lyrics under his breath with a broken, out of rhythm tune as Nick pulled out a glove and slipped the music player into an evidence bag. “I would say I didn’t know you couldn’t sing, but I’ve seen you drunk enough times to be lying if I did.” Nick patted Hank on the shoulder, his smirk holding a playful edge as they walked back.

The two were talking about what they were going to write in the report when Nick stopped, looking over to his right as something caught his eye. A bit further, a complete opposite direction from anything else, was a small little baby doll figurine. Someone had dropped it without noticing, it seemed. Weird. But hey, might be evidence.

The two detectives sighed as they walked through the precinct doors, chattering of the next steps to the rather dull investigation. Well, as dull as you can get for the homicide department. Honestly, nothing fazed him anymore since The Statue-Of-Liberty-Pigeon case.

Brisking through the main office area, he glanced at some apprehended who was waiting for something or other, handcuffed to a chair.

Nick locked onto him as his features changed out of nowhere. Scales, were those scales? And a forked tongue flicking at him, slitted eyes focused.

Wu ducked around him in his usual way, by completely avoiding him but nicking his ankles with a slight kick. The bruises from the other fifty times they did this stung worse with each repeat of the same damn thing. “Watch where you’re going Nick, you still owe me for filling the medkit from last time.”

Nick would usually smile, or make a remark back. However, his eyes locked back onto the person, now looking just as human as ever, even with some bad face tattoos.

The only thing that was different was the absolute look of terror on the criminal’s face. He scooted away frantically, calling out to whatever officer was taking care of him, eyes darting back to Nick and never turning away for too long. Was he trembling?

It’s fine. The guy must have seen something or remembered something, and mistook him for someone else. And Nick’s just tired, that’s all it is.

Unbeknownst to the detective, a beat up old station wagon pulled into his yard, a metal trailer pulled behind it. An old, frail looking woman slowly made her way up the steps, pick-locking the door.

The lock clicked open, and she smiled as she hung the bobby pin and bent metal paper clip onto one of the wooden lanterns hung up by the front door. Glancing closer, they were hand carved. Oh, Nicky could be so creative whenever he was bored.

“Hey Nick!” Hank called out, catching the officer just as he was about to leave the precinct. “Hank, please, I’m already clocked out-”

He laughed softly, “No, I was just gonna say I got a missing persons report, matches the description of our forest vic pretty well. I’m gonna go check it out, I’ll update you.” Nick saluted him as Hank walked away.

Nick pulled up to his house, knowing something was off before he even turned the street corner. However, most of that anxiety vanished when he saw the familiar old station wagon parked in his yard. Though the trailer dragging behind it was new.

Almost excited, Nick bounded up the steps, plucking the shiny silver pick-lock from his wooden lantern. He should invest in better locks, but Marie would lord that over him enough when he got inside.

There was the smell of Zharkoye wafting through the house, accompanied by the garlicky spice of Pampushky. While the smell of his favorite comfort food was normally good, it would probably be used to soften the blow of some bad news. With his aunt’s declining health, it didn’t look great.

“You should really-” “Invest in a better lock, yeah, I know.” Nick interrupted the woman, echoing her.

Marie smiled at Nick, tip-toeing just high enough to kiss him on the forehead, though it didn’t take much. Listen, the Russian genes won out on his height, ok?

“If you knew then I shouldn’t be able to pick it.” Marie teased quickly returning to the stew she had on a simmer. Nick’s smile turned bittersweet. “Any updates?”

Marie’s expression also turned somber. “Well, my health is doing much better, with no current complications. Chemo’s as rough as always, but looks like it’s right on track.” Nick raised an eyebrow skeptically.

Marie sighed, “There is something I need to tell you, but that is a very long conversation and I’d rather not have it in here. A walk in the woods would do us both some good when it comes to the things I need to tell you.”

So it was one of those conversations.

“But that can wait until after dinner, it’s almost done now. You’ve always taken after Farley with your baking, I burn everything I put in the oven.” Marie gestured to the garlic dough used for Pampushky, unmade. Must have been some of their old yeast batch. The starter must still be going strong then. Nick smiled a little more lightheartedly as he rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

The street was silent, growing quieter as they neared the forest. Nick was always taught that a silent forest meant something was wrong, and yet whenever they went out walking, the silence always seemed to follow his aunt’s every step.

For now though, as they neared the edge, the crickets were still chirping and movement still audible. Marie stopped abruptly.

Nick turned to her, but the woman only made the gesture for him to walk alone. Nick eyed her suspiciously, but obeyed. Walking backwards, eyes never leaving the women, Nick drew farther and farther away. Marie only smiled as her eyes went unfocused, listening.

And hearing nothing.

The forest was dead quiet, not a single twig snap or a breath dared to be drawn by the several woodland critters. Nick had been to the forest before, it was one of his favorite pastimes to explore. It had never gone quiet like this, like it did with Marie.

Marie did as close to a saunter with a cane as she could, “Notice anything?” Her voice was like thunder in the cold. Nick nodded, whispering, “It’s quiet, like it is with you.”

“Ever wonder why that was?” Marie continued her walk deeper into the woods, trees growing taller and night turning darker. “There is a lot to explain, so I need to know if you trust me. I promise I’m not crazy, I have the evidence to prove it, and I’m sure that you’ve been wanting answers for a while.”

Nick silently watched the woman, implying for her to continue. He hated it when either of them kept stalling conversation, he always had. “Have you been seeing strange things? Things that you can’t explain?”

Nick was about to answer, but instead spun his head around to the quickly approaching footsteps coming from behind his aunt.

Swiftly drawing his gun, he fired a shot into the dark, the dark moving to the side to dodge. Marie almost surprised him, pulling a long ass dagger-sword-thing from her cane. Almost, because it was exactly the type of shit he expected to see from her.

Nick aimed his gun, faltering when he saw that the man wielded a genuine, whole ass, honest to god medieval style scythe, and giving him enough time to hit a good kick into Marie’s side.

Marie stumbled back, her bones making a crack that made Nick sick to his stomach. The attacker seemed locked onto her, not even noting Nick’s existence. Or the existence of the second amendment, as Nick shot several rounds into the man’s body until he collapsed.

With the moonlight shining on the mans, no - most certainly not mans, face, Nick could see the same scaly features as on the guy before. But, no, they faded just as quick.

Snapping out of his trance, he rushed to Marie’s side, surveyed her wounds. It wouldn’t be bad in any normal case, but she was weaker now. She was frailer and that mere concept had always frightened Nick to the core, ever since she got diagnosed.

The police got there quickly, the officers quickly recognizing his voice. Nick was pacing by the time he got his statement in. Most of the standard, but still shaken up.

The Captain, Séan, rested a hand on the detective’s shoulder. “You can take a couple days off if you want to, Nick. A cop’s first kill, justified or otherwise, is not something to be taken lightly.”

It was a phrase he had heard often in his beginning years. XYZ was traumatic, it was scary, it was supposed to affect him, he should take a couple days off. But eventually, ‘You have the next week off’ turned into ‘You can take a couple days off’ turned into ‘Do you want a break?’ as he kept refusing. Work was kinda all he had going on at the moment, and taking a break would just leave him restless.

“I’m ok, Cap, I promise.” Nick stated, his voice shaken but concrete nonetheless. Renard sighed, but nodded, letting him go to check in with his aunt.

“You sure you're good coming into work again?” Hank questioned, Nick shrugging it off. “Better than staying at home, keeps my mind off things.” The two looked back at the translation of the scythe, though Nick had resolved to keep himself off of working that case. Though the confirmation that the… thing-man he killed was definitely a douchebag helped to explain the lack of remorse he held for his death. What, he tried to kill Marie, like hell he’s feeling an ounce of regret about offing him.

Renard still made sure to give him a hard look when Nick brought up the results of the psych evaluation he most certainly did not do. Then again, Séan being lenient and making up lies for god knows why was the way he got this job, and Nick intended to keep it that way.

One of the other officers knocked on the door frame, “Hey, got the DNA and boot cast results for the forest-mauling case.”

The DNA was inconclusive, something that Nick had learned to accept just happened sometimes in his profession. So many unsolved cases with DNA that was just inconclusive. It was a sight he dreaded seeing on a report. He always shelved it with the fact that some members of the population could just do some things better. Hear better, see farther, run faster. It always irked him, but hey, he was one of those people so he had no room to speak.

The boot cast had a better clue, exact make and model, picture perfect example.

“Oi, Burkhardt! Griffin! You got another case!”

The other case led them to a disheveled mother and one missing little girl. The case got a hold of the Captain’s attention, putting everyone on it with different levels of priority. Of course, Hank and Nick got put on high priority. “Hey,” both Nick’s partner and the captain turned to him, “the girl by the hiking trail, she had a red hoodie, didn’t she?”

The captain nodded, then grimaced. “Let’s hope it's not the same guy.”

Nick and Hank started down the path the girl, Robin, was supposed to walk home from school. Normally, this would help them find any clues to where she went.

Nick brisked forward, then glanced at the narrow cut through shortcut through the woody park. Sure, the mother was very specific about the route, but children were a fickle bunch and didn’t know much about the world.

The two started walking down, splitting up to cover more ground. Nick was always calm on nature walks, finding something about them relaxing, comforting even. But something about this, something made his hairs stand on end.

Nick was renowned at the police station for a lot of things. A whole lot of cases solved, most of which he had to do some creative thinking for. The major thing, though, was his keen sense of danger. Whether it be when to duck to avoid being shot through an unassuming door or clocking in on the suspect far before he ever even had a shred of evidence against him.

It was something that he valued about himself, something he held dear. It was something that kept him alive, after all, long before he ever thought about joining the police force. But now, that sense was plaguing him, anxiety filling every inch of his body.

His movements became sporadic, trying to find the source for his instincts telling him to run to high hell. His head was on a swivel as he moved forward, slightly hunched like he only ever was when high up in the tree branches of the old park back in Brooklyn. His steps grew faster, not quite running but more than a jog.

“Nick, I got something here!”

Nick sprinted over, already antsy and wanting to move. Hank glanced over at him, showing off the pink and purple children’s backpack. In black sharpie, clearly written by her mother, was R.H, Robin Howell.

While Hank ran off to make the call, Nick spotted some barely there, almost completely washed away boot prints. A whole lot had been stomped and brushed away, not leaving any marks. But one, just one singular boot print pointed right of the path.

Nick, for all his credit, took off, spotting boot print after boot print, slowly becoming more and more frequent, less damaged. He shouted something at Hank so he would know where he was going, but otherwise didn’t stop.

On top of a high point, Nick skid to a stop, eyes locking onto a man with pushed back curly hair, wearing a gray sweater while going through his mail. Boots, though not the same kind. Three teenage girls rode by on their bikes, all wearing the bright red coloring of their local highschool volleyball team.

The man's head tilted to the side, fur sprouting and covering the sides of his face, eyes glowing a blood, crimson red visible even from where Nick stood. Hell, even Hank would have probably been able to see them if he were here. It was gone just a moment too late, the stranger spotting him locking eyes.

Holy shit, was that the scariest fucking thing Nick had looked at since- was that a fucking werewolf? Were werewolves real? Does that mean the lizard snake thing was a were-snake-lizard-thing?

Nick took one step back, eyes still wide open and staring at the man as he morphed back. Another step, and he shouted for Hank to get over here and to call for backup.

The officers scanned the place top to bottom, Nick refusing to get any closer than 10 feet to the man in question, instead standing off to the side and staring at him with a kind of crazed analysis, watching for any change in the man’s behavior or appearance. To his credit, he only ever glanced up a few times, immediately looking away and being very calm to anyone other than Nick, for some reason.

“Hey, Nick, what made you go after this guy? He seems clean, doesn’t even have the boots we’re looking for.” Hank rested a hand on Nick’s shoulder, proving that was a mistake as Nick immediately flinched back and stepped away from his partner, eyes locking on to him for a moment before darting back to the suspect. “I just-” Nick huffed, then tilted his eyes, eyelids coming upwards as he became more unsure of himself.

“Either I’m hallucinating, a. From finally losing my mind or b. From lack of sleep,” “Wouldn’t be the first time” “Or I’m right. But then again that last option is seeming less and less plausible.”

Hank sighed, looking at the crew and waving them back. “Well, unless he has another house or something, he’s clean. There’s nothing here Nick.”

He stayed put, still staring at the man even as he backed out of the house. He didn’t give off any particularly dangerous vibes, didn’t make any of his sense go off, but it still didn’t make sense. Besides, assuming that the whole freaky transformation thing happened not on a full moon but because of something else, why would girls in red jackets make him do that? Especially when both their victims had red clothing?

Nick backed off, but only barely. He would have to come back and confirm the old fashioned way. Let’s hope he either didn’t get caught, didn’t die, or Renard didn’t finally get fed up with his shit.

Nick scaled the closest and largest tree to the man's house, watching to see if he could notice any patterns. No extra cars from before, no unusual noises. The lighting provided enough to see inside, but every time Nick got into a good angle to look, he had to move again as the man looked out his window. Shit, could he sense him? Maybe it was best to come back on a different day.

And risk that little girl? Come on.

The man exited his house, Nick maneuvering around the tree to keep a good eye on him. His hands burned with the cold, rough texture of the bark digging into his skin. It was way too early in fall for it to be this cold.

The werewolf theory might be correct? He was certainly marking his territory. The thing stalked back inside, looking over its shoulder all the while.

Nick hopped down, crawling on all fours in a way he hadn’t done in a while. He’d made it past a good portion of the house, around and towards a window with a damn good vantage point that the stranger’s paranoia didn’t let Nick get to before.

Just before he could sit up and look, his brain screamed at him to get up and move. Dodging and ducking out of the way just barely in time to avoid getting fucking crushed by the man jumping out and breaking his own goddamn window.

Stumbling back to a stop, Nick was dazed enough to not block the man as he threw Nick into his house wall. Luckily, his survival instincts kicked in as he kicked back off of the wall (seriously dude, you threw him with his momentum carrying him horizontally, it wasn’t hard to shift around) and threw himself to the side. Nick landed on all fours again, skidding to a stop, and he was well aware of how much he looked like an animal himself by that point.

Shit, was he one of them? No way, he would’ve noticed by now if he was.

He was hurt, something in the back of Nick’s mind registered. A low stinging from his knees told him that push off was not worth it. If they were to fight, he would start off slow and sloppy. The fencing wasn’t tall enough to keep him from jumping over, but could he even manage a good jump right now–?

“Okay, okay, lighten up, I’m just making a point. Come on, let’s grab a brew.”

Nick watched the man go back inside casually, like they weren’t just about to fight literally five seconds earlier. Either way, it surprised Nick enough into actually listening, hesitantly looking around the room first, then coming inside with light, cautious steps.

“Oh, and you’re paying for that window.”

The man, what was his name again? Marilyn? Something like that, turned to him. “You know I’ve never seen one of you guys before. I grew up hearing stories about you, all wesen do, but to see one up close? Never thought I’d live to tell, y'know?”

He leaned into Nick’s face, Nick leaning farther back in response. “A Grimm,” the man let out an ironic laugh, “whaddya know?”

Nick glanced back at him with very confused eyes and a very guarded stance that was slowly dissipating the longer the man spoke (more like rambled). “Kinda weird that you’re not really killing me either. Woulda thought I’d be dead the moment you took a step towards the knife rack, but hey, you seem pretty chill. For a Grimm anyhow.”

Nick opened his mouth to bite something harsh, but then stopped. He was incredibly outmatched right now, and it wouldn’t do any good to antagonize the man. “Uh, yeah, uhm, about that. What do you mean by I’m a… ‘grim’?” Nick hesitated on the unfamiliar word.

The man spun around to look at him, tilting his head in a way that reminded Nick of a puppy, though that thought was quickly discarded as the man stalked closer in a very predator-like fashion. Nick took several steps back, hand lingering towards the dagger sheathed around his waist. Other than that he made no move.

“How new are you, man?”

Nick looked at him for a second, before deciding to go the social conversation route. It seemed to have been working for the past 2 minutes. “New enough to not know what the fuck you’re talking about.” This made the man stop and turn more serious, back against the wall on the other side of the kitchen island.

“Shit, like, fresh start, brand new? Are all your immediate family members dead?” The man asked like that was a completely normal question to ask someone. Nick’s eyes darted to the side for a moment. “You know what, my aunt came back to town unexpectedly and was trying to tell me something important. She is unfortunately decommissioned right now, so if you could kindly fill in the blanks…?”

Nick never talked this much or this casually, he never did. Even right then, it was coming off more biting and defensive than he was intending. But for now, this was his only source of information of what the fuck was happening and he needed a whole lot of answers pretty damn quick.

The man blinked at him a couple times. “Huh. Ok, uh, let’s start over. Hi, I’m Monroe. You’re Detective Burkhardt, right?”

“Nick’s just fine.” No, it wasn’t, but hey, he needed answers and he was going for the 'lets-pretend-that-this-is-completely-normal' strategy.

The man, Monroe, took a breath, muttering some things under his breath. “Brand new huh? Probably why you were on the defense, and why you raided my house. What did you think I was? Actually don’t answer that.”

“Ok, to summarize everything extremely quickly, certain people aren’t fully human. They’re things called wesen, that’s spelled w-e-s-e-n, it’s German, you’ll find a lot of German themes. Basically, we’re human-animal hybrids but that’s not always the case. Hey, your aunt leave you with anything? Books perhaps?”

Nick stuttered, still rearing from the information that was just dumped onto him.

“You know what, I haven’t looked but yes.”

“Okay, if there’s books, read them. They’ll detail more specifics than I can give you right now. Grimms are… things that can see wesen even if we don’t want to be seen. That thing where you saw me shift? That’s called a woge, once again with a w. There’s different types, there should be books about it. Case in point, Grimms can see us woge when kehrseite, humans, can’t. Because of that, you guys started slaughtering us by the millions. You have quite the history, and the reputation to match, forgive me if I was a little put off by you at first.”

Nick, for once, interrupted the man. “Wait, how is what some of my ancestors did relevant to how you see me? That seems kind of backwards.”

Monroe shrugged, finding the words. “It’s kind of just… like that. You were used as a story for most of us. Obviously, it’s been hundreds of years since Grimms were an active threat, but you’ve all been immortalized into our fairy tales, our story books. Hell, I remember getting told not to sneak out at night or a Grimm would cut my head off back when I was like 12. You’re the boogeyman to us, the monster under the bed.”

He sighed, “Wesen culture is… complicated. And I would absolutely love to tell you more,” the sarcasm dripped from the man's voice, “But it is late and I don’t want a Grimm in my house just because of an unfortunately timed woge-”

“I’m here because the boot prints of a kidnapper led to your house, Monroe. I would’ve probably brushed it off too if you hadn’t, uh, woged?” Monroe gave a nod, tilting his hand to say he was around close on the pronunciation, “when those girls in red blazers passed by. Both my victims had red jackets, it’s been one of our only correlations and we’re at a dead end.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s definitely a blutbad taking them then. Seeing red kinda makes us go a little stir-crazy, triggers something feral. You know the Red Riding Hood story, right?”

Nick pivoted to the man, of which was taking this all too lightly. “Listen, I don’t give a shit on whether or not you're wesen. I don’t give two shits on whether or not this other guy is wesen, because that doesn’t change anything besides how I fight you and how I protect myself. I thank you for the information, you saved me from a lot of bad calls, but you probably have an idea of where to look and dammit, I need help. So instead of taking all this like it’s a normal Tuesday night, can you help me? At least just so I won’t be taking up the rest of your night.”

The man looked at him, surveying.

He sighed, “Get in the car.”

Nick glanced at the man, silently panicking as the dirt road grew bumpier and bumpier. Some of his anxiety might be lessened if he, you know, stopped sticking his head out the window and sniffing but hey, what did he know?

“I got a hit.” Monroe pulled back into the car, stopping at the bridge and getting out. Nick bit back a comment, venom lining his tongue.

Nick followed, staying still, unsure of his footing in this. As Monroe went down to the river bank, ignoring the bridge, Nick couldn’t help but be skeptical. “I think the bridge got built so we didn’t have to deal with this.”

“What, and go through using the obvious way into the forest? Why not call him, tell him to fix you an extra plate.” Monroe drawled sarcastically.

Nick followed, looking at Monroe oddly when he abruptly stopped and started rubbing some sort of plant all over himself.

A faint narcotic odor wafted from the half(?)-man, Nick rubbed his nose slightly. “Aconite?” Monroe glanced back at him, looking mildly surprised. “Yeah, but also wolfsbane. Messes with our senses, and will cover our scents. Come on.”

Nick huffed, “What, do I need silver bullets too?” Monroe looked back at him with a deadpan glare, “Now you’re just being dramatic.” Nick gave a ‘how the fuck was I supposed to know’ look before rolling his eyes and continuing.

Nick backed away abruptly from Monroe the moment his head tilted a little too sharply and a little too aggressively. “I can’t go any farther than here, being in another blutbad’s territory? Not good for my self control. You’re on your own from here.”

Monroe quickly left, running at a speed not even Nick could catch up with.

Taking a couple cautious steps, Nick pulled himself into the thick branches of the woods as he made his way over to the bridge, flipping open his phone. “Hank? Yeah, I think I got the guy this time. I already called backup.”

Nick did not, in fact, call backup. He’d already fucked up on this case once and he needed to earn their trust back by nailing this one in the head. Hank did not approve.

“You didn’t call backup, did you?”

“What, and have my reputation even further ruined if I was wrong? It’s some light questioning, Hank, come on.”

Hank rolled his eyes, then startled as Nick pulled him away from the bridge and through the stream. Hank sighed exasperatedly as he watched Nick hop across the stones, water barely even misting on his pants.

Sometimes Hank thought that he should just not pick up sometimes to remind Nick that not everyone goes 2 or 3 days without sleeping just because they can. How that man can retain all his wits about him without 8 hours of sleep every night was beyond him. The joys of being under the age of 35, he supposed.

As soon as Hank got across the stream, Nick patted his back a little aggressively, and his front and- what the hell kind of plant? “Nick, what’re you doing?” Hank asked, still way too tired to be dealing with all of this. Nick shrugged it off, “Nothing, just don’t want our scent to bother the wildlife around here.”

The two made their way up to the house, Nick more confident with Hank beside him. The knocker was a bit odd, but whatever. The man opened the door, Nick taking a quick glance at his shoes. A pair of brown loafers.

Hank ran through the typical formalities, meanwhile Nick watched for every detail around the house. The alarm nearly had Nick jump out of his skin, but Hank’s incredulous worries were worse on his psyche. Nick spun around, looking at the figurines on the back wall. Were those… a bunch of baby doll figurines? Exact style? Clue number one, take that Hank.

Well, no, the man was in the kitchen talking to the suspect. Something about crusts, Nick listened in. He was a postman, on his route. He should ask what the route was, fact check with his company. Then-

"Oh, feel free to look around. I don't wear boots anymore, hard to find a good pair nowadays." Wait what?

Nick looked through his closet, and it didn’t take long for his eyes to scan over everything. Not here, though Nick didn’t expect it to be. Hank made some remarks about not wanting to lose his job and needing more sleep. Before Nick could even get a question out, Hank had already excused them both, giving a harsh glance to Nick as they left.

Nick huffed as he followed after Hank, already starting apologies as the doubts started to get to him. Without warning, the man spun around before Nick could finish. “Wait a minute, the song he was humming. It was the same as the one on the iPod.”

The two looked back at the house, the man looking at them through the windows with a harsh, ruby glare and cutting all the lights.

Hank spent no time kicking the door down, light flashing. Nick took his back, scanning the room carefully. A small creek and a sense of danger warned him to the man's location, allowing Nick to duck out of the way, the blutbad letting out a howl as he slammed Hank against the floor and bolted out of the house at an inhuman speed.

Nick didn’t even draw his gun as Hank shot the man dead. Nick sprinted up to him, yelling, “Where is she!?” in a desperate voice. The man’s eyes widened in fear looking up at him, struggling to breath. “Grimm…” the man said weakly, giving off one last breath.

The two detectives ran back into the cabin, calling out the girl’s name with no luck. Hank sighed, going to find the breaker and call in the incident. Nick looked around one more time, seeing if there was anything different.

Lo and behold, the carpet beneath the tiny little table in front of the sofa was covering something. Was that a handle?

Nick pulled the carpet back, finding a trapdoor, going down quickly. The girl, tied up and gagged on the bed in the cellar, shielded away from the brightness of the flashlight. Quickly, Nick switched his demeanor.

“It’s ok, hun, we’re the police. We’ll get you back to your mom, ok?” The girl nodded and hiccuped, sobbing starting as tears rolled down her cheeks. Nick sighed, undoing the knots and holding the girl on his hip, whispering sweet nothings as the lights flickered back on.

Nick got tunnel vision as he and Hank left the cabin, police sirens already growing closer and closer. “It’s ok, Robin. You’ll go back home in no time. You’re ok, you’re safe.” Nick cradled the child closer into his arms, missing the admiring looks Hank was flashing his way, even through the exhausted haze.

Later that night, Nick sat next to Marie describing his day and how it went. Both spiting her for taking her sweet time explaining and wishing she were awake to see this. Was she the kind of Grimm that killed, no matter whether or not they were innocent? She never seemed like that kind of person, always kind to everyone who deserved it.

Some of the curiosities from his childhood were now clicking into place.

Maybe Monroe would be up to answering some more questions? He should also probably thank him too. The man mentioned to one of the officers that he was vegan, back when they were raiding his house.

One of the nurses came in, Nick paid her no mind. Well, until she grabbed a needle from her pocket and not the tray. Looking up, it was the same pretty blonde that was most assuredly a lawyer and not a doctor and Nick senses started going haywire as soon as they made eye contact. Her face fell slightly, but she continued. Nick latched ono her wrist, pulling her away.

Instead, she switched the hand that held the needle, stabbed him with it, and hurried away as quickly as possible. Nick tried to give chase but found he couldn’t as his legs gave out, consciousness slipping from his grasp.

The last thing he heard was someone calling out for help as he slumped against the wall. Hey, better him than Marie, right?

Chapter Text

Nick got called into work at 4 o clock that morning. Given, he’d actively said he was down for such calls given that on any other day he’d still be awake by now. However, dragging himself out of bed, he wondered if this was how Hank felt every damn day.

 A dead body on the bridge, and one witness. Nick walked into the scene tailing behind Hank who was running down the details while blinking the sleep from his eyes.

"The driver of the car was Leyroy Trent,” Hank explained. “Said he was driving home from work, gets onto the bridge, see’s the victim running. She runs right in front of his car, says it was too close to do anything.”

Nick tried to keep his eyes open, “We got an I.D?”

“No purse, no wallet, girl looks like she just got out of bed.”

“Mr. Kent have anything to drink?” Nick raised an eyebrow.

“A couple, but he’s below the limit.”

“Any other witnesses?”

“Well,” Hank paused, “Driver said there was one other guy, told him to call 9-1-1 but he didn’t stick around all that long. I got guys drawing out a canvas now.”

The two detectives reached the man in question, who was sitting in the open back of an ambulance with bandages around his head. “Mr. Kent?” He glanced up, looking dazed. “How you feeling?” Hank asked, being polite. Better Hank than Nick attempting to be and failing.

“Is she dead?” Kent sounded broken, as if he already knew the answer. The two detectives nodded somberly. He shook his head, “At first I thought she was going to be ok, the guy said she was still breathing—”

Nick jumped in, “This the guy you said was there?”

Kent nodded, “Yeah, I ran over as soon as it happened to see what help she needed, how bad it was. Then this guy walked up from the end of the bridge I was coming from, and told me to call 9-1-1.”

“Where’d he go, you know the direction?”

Kent shook his head, “I was too focused on her, I went to make the call, I turned back and he was gone. Didn’t even get a good look at him.”

One of the Forensics team walked over. “We’re done over here if you want to come take a look.”

Hank walked over to the body, Nick turning to Kent. “Thank you for your time. Sorry about all this.” At least he was awake enough now to be considerate.

The girl’s body was cut up in several long streaks, glass still stuck in the wounds around her arms. Her hands were completely cut up, with slight abrasions around the wrist that were barely visible. Her light pink nightgown (“It’s gray, Nick, how the hell are you seeing pink?”) was cut up and damaged, the cloth fraying.

“No shoes, looking like she’s going to bed but a full face of makeup?” Hank questioned out loud. Nick hummed, “Maybe she was with or expecting someone.”

“The shards don’t make sense, the windshield and windows were perfectly intact. The glass came from something else.” “No cuts or abrasions on her feet either, she couldn’t have been running very long.”

The two men rose from the body, theories already forming. “Wonder where she was running to.”

Nick frowned, “Or what she was running from.”

Nick walked into the autopsy room with a smile and a bag of donuts, “Hey Harper.” The woman smiled at Nick, taking it shamelessly and waiting for him to walk over and look at the body. Nick looked down at the spotlight the flashlight was pointed at. The girl’s eyes were dilated like crazy.

“That isn’t normal.”

Harper shook her head, “Pupils dilate after death but not this much. Her alcohol-blood content was .06. None of the usual drugs, but unusual will take a little longer to find.”

Nick hummed, “Any sign of sexual assault?”

“No, but something else caught my eye. There’s no crushing on the lungs.”

“She was asphyxiated?”

“Looks like it, the contusions around her mouth and nose suggests her airway was pinched off. Not to mention the bruising around her wrists.”

Hank entered the room, the large double doors swinging on their hinges. “I got an I.D on the vic, Faith Collins, 33. Busted for a DUI a month ago, had her license suspended. Probably why she was running. Got an address less than a mile away.”

“Running from home?”

“Running from her husband, probably. Roy Collins, got a track record for spousal mistreatment and domestic abuse, both light and heavy.”

Nick and Hank gave each other a look, then started to head out. Hank glanced at the forensic scientist, who was munching on a donut right next to a dead body. He cringed, "You scare me sometimes, Harper."

The woman smirked, "You're just sensitive."

The two detectives walked into the construction building, asking around for a while before they found the guy.

“You Roy Collins?” Hank asked bluntly. The man sighed exasperatedly, putting down his power tools and slugging off his goggles. “God, what’d she tell you this time? That I hit her? Made some ‘threats’?”

Nick was about to bite out that his wife was dead, but something told him that this wasn’t the guy. It could be, but the feeling of danger he got around people capable of murder was distinct, and wasn’t radiating off of this one. Nonetheless, he was an asshole. In a very neutral, almost heartless tone, he stated, “Her body was found last night, Collins.”

The news seemed to shake the man out of his stupor as he blinked, horror washing over his face. “No, oh no…” Roy whispered to himself. Suddenly, Nick got a whole lot more empathetic. He could spot liars, this wasn’t faking. Either that or such good faking from such a mundane suspect that both Nick and Hank didn’t clock in on it.

“We know this is difficult, but we need to know where she was. Anything happen last night?” Nick tried, but the man still in shock.

“I- we had a fight. Just words, I didn’t mean anything I said," the man looked away, as if talking to himself, "did she know that?” Roy returned his focus to the detectives, continuing in an airy voice. “She left, she was mad. She does that sometimes when she’s fed up with me, I didn’t bother going after her or asking. She’s got like 500 friends, she would go to one of them…” Roy’s eyes were darting back and forth, becoming more frantic now.

“About what time did she leave, Roy?” Nick continued.

“I don’t know, I didn’t keep track of the time. Wasn’t late-late, 9? 10?”

Hank did not share the same sentiment of gentleness, “Did you go after her?” Roy shook his head no. “You just stayed home, that's your story?” Hank bit out the words harshly.

Roy didn’t have any reaction to Hank's aggression. “I was waiting for her to come back. She always comes back…” tears started welling at the rims of the man’s eyes, his weight stumbling back to lean on the workbench positioned behind him. Hank seemed to back off at this, but still not totally taking him off the mental list of suspects.

“We might need you for a line-up later on, just so it doesn’t surprise you if we call.” Nick added softly, Roy not responding. “Where… where is she?” Roy’s voice sounded broken. Nick always hated this part of the case. It makes you see the vulnerable, soft parts of people you would’ve never thought differently of then at first glance, people that you shouldn’t think differently of than at first glance.

“Her bodies at the morgue.” Hank supplied, not quite as soft at Nick but not accusatory anymore.

“Can I see her?” Roy looked up at the two detectives who shared a glance at each other.

Nick tilted his head a certain way, and Hank gave in. “Yeah,” he relented with a sigh, “we’ll bring you down.”

“Got anything?” Nick asked, Hank looked up from the computer briefly, then turned away again.”Credit card records say she had a couple drinks at a bar called ‘Blue Moon.’ Bartender didn’t give us all that much but said that he was pretty sure she left alone.”

Nick hummed, “Her license is suspended, we could run through a couple cab companies to see if there were any who made a stop near there.”

Renard passed by their desks, leaning over Nick’s chair and looking over their work, quickly scanning the information and muttering to himself. “Seems like the usual battered wife who couldn’t break the cycle. Sure the husbands clean?”

The two detectives nodded, “If he was being duplicitous, then neither of us picked up on it.”

The Captain raised an eyebrow at Nick. “‘Duplicitous’?” he echoed dubiously.

“Sorry, the suit you're wearing is just so high caliber that it’s rubbing off on my speech pattern.” Nick sassed with half a glare and a smug smirk that you would see on a bratty teen when they knew that they could get away with insulting someone.

“He’s not the one who killed her, though he’s far from clean.” Hank informed, Renard nodding before turning to Nick again. “бедный Жопа” the man whispered before leaving the two to go do whatever he does in his office. He’s in there quite a lot, isn’t he?

“There’s no calls on her cell phone after 9, but we could see if she posted anything on her social media.” Nick suggested after turning back to the case at hand. “Better than interviewing her 500 friends.”

“322, actually,” Hank corrected, beckoning Nick to come look at his computer screen. Lo and behold, at 11:37pm, Faith had posted an update of staying somewhere with a botanical garden. With the plant life around here, that didn’t really narrow it down much. Without suggestion, Hank traced the image back to an address.

“Bramble House, bed and breakfast. Definitely running distance from the bridge.” Nick noted, the other detective looking back at him oddly. “You go there sometime?” Nick scoffed, “When have I ever had time for a bed or breakfast?”

The two pulled up at the perfectly normal looking building, though they always looked normal at first glance. The hedges were cleanly cut but not pristine, and the fresh coat of blue paint on the building’s walls was pleasing to the eye. Paired with the pearly white, stone detailing. It looked like it was taken out of a stock image, or a cheesy sitcom.

The two walked over to the stairs leading up to the front doors, glancing at a nice blue sports car parked right next to the entrance. Nick whistled as he eyed it, his old sports car phase swinging back full force. “67’ MGB roadster, goddamn.” Hank rolled his eyes, preparing himself for the tri–

“Ready for some trivia?” It wasn’t a question, it was a warning. At least it wasn’t a philosophical debate about some societal division, that one lasted over an hour and Hank didn’t even know half the words Nick was using the entire time. That was a fun night.

“Within the hour, if you could” Hank teased. “Highlights then,” Nick speeding up to catch up with Hank, “Royal blue and chrome bumpers. The kind of stuff that professional collectors go after. Peak model, and most desirable MG ever made. Impressed?” Hank rolled his eyes, “Mildly.”

They walked in casually, the front room just as picturesque as the front. The desk and overhead banisters were made of dark wooden detailing, carved in floral notes in the corners. There was a vase of some exotic looking flowers sitting on the front desk too. The rug was lush under their feet, the kind that are real fluffy when you first buy them but degrade into flat neutrality over minimal use. There was only one person on staff, already a red flag but hey some people just own small businesses that do really well. And-

holy fucking shit what was up with this guy

Nick forced his head away under the guise of looking at the decor, while it was nice upon initial entrance, everything had a very sour edge to it. Nick wanted to hurl himself out of the nearest window and get the ever loving fuck out of there. He looked back to the offending source, the man smiling with his stupid dark blue sweater vest, black & white tie and brown slacks. His eyes were spaced too far apart, and he had this.. look to him that made Nick's skin crawl. A shiver crept up his spine when the man smiled.

Nick shuffled a little closer to Hank who looked… peaceful. Serene mixed with a type of interest that he never had with this kind of thing. Hank turned to him, tension falling from his shoulders. "So sorry to bother you, but we were wondering if you've seen this girl?" Hank flashed a picture of the vic.

The man squinted and then lit back up, almost cartoonishly. “Yes, I remember her. She came in kind of late, after 11pm. I was in the kitchen preparing for the morning, I heard the door buzzing, I ran over-” Two people came down the stairs and the man went to go either greet them or say his departures.

Nick took the time to analyze him even more. He was charming in a way that made Nick’s instincts scream at his every move. He spoke elegantly, held himself with a kind of casual pride that would ensnare the people around him. A people pleaser, but not at the cost of himself. Nick could read well hidden self absorbed narcissist all over this.

Yet Hank was still looking at him like he was falling for every damn card the man played. If his partner was compromised, it would be better for Nick not to say anything, lest he cause a scene and potentially disclose some tension to the very possible and likely suspect.

The lady and, what Nick assumed was her husband, sauntered over to the door with a light skip to their walk. “Oh you are going to love it here!” the woman exclaimed as she walked by, Nick giving a polite smile that was hard to force.

The man looked at the pair leave with an adoring look that held a more sinister, carnal hunger just behind it, “Newly weds, the third of my business. Couldn’t ever do it without them. Sorry, where we’re we?” He looked back with a kind of boy-ish charm, looking up through his eye lashes in a way that only served to agitate Nick more.

In a harsh tone, Nick bit out, “The girl.” He didn’t look too happy about one of the officers not completely enchanted, and it was obvious. That didn’t make much sense, people like that are usually masters at covering up any negative emotions. This guy looked like he didn’t think Nick would notice.

“Right, well I showed her the room and then the garden.” Hank chirped in, finally, “She didn’t stay?”

“No, she didn’t have a bag with her so I didn’t… sorry, is there a problem here?”

Nick shook his head, “A cab dropped her off but didn’t pick her up, can you explain that?” The man turned to look at Hank, directing his speech towards him instead of Nick, features quickly turning much more pleasant. “She didn’t have a bag with her, I didn’t question it. She did seem a little… troubled. I don’t really pester people about their personal lives and I can’t really make them stay, now can I?” Nick wanted to throw up the way Hank was falling hook, line and getting ready to latch onto the sinker.

“Could we see the garden?” Nick asked, the man lighting up, directing them both over, guiding Hank over with a light hand on his upper arm. And there would be the sinker. Nick waited for the two to go a little farther. Nick almost felt bad using his partner as a meat shield but the man had dealt with worse and honestly? Nick wouldn't know how to steer his partner away from the man with Hank so willingly going along with it.

The man looked over his shoulder. “Are you coming with us?” he asked sarcastically. Nick tilted his head, not bothering with a smile. “I just like my personal space.”

The man frowned, continuing to walk them into the garden where he finally let go of Hank's fucking arm. Nick maneuvered to the side of the two on the steps, crouching slightly to pet the bunny that was on the first step. The minute the man let go, Nick parked himself directly at Hank’s side, standing too close for the owner to get near either of them, lest he earn Nick’s ire. Or more of it, anyways.

For all of the owner’s faults, the garden was legitimately beautiful. The flowers complimented the trees with carefully curated color palettes. Absolutely perfect in every way. But nature wasn’t perfect, and Nick always preferred nature over perfection. It was like someone tried to make nature into beauty, forcing things together where they didn’t want to be. Sure, agapanthuses and amber rose's needed around the same requirements, but they didn’t go together. In no world without human interference would those two flowers be next to each other. Don’t get him even started on the wisteria.

“She said she wanted to sit alone for a moment and gather her thoughts,” the man droned on and on, grating against Nick’s ears. Nick looked down, giving a light kick at Hank’s ankle when he was about to step on one of the frogs jumping around. Hank jumped back, looking down at the creatures.

The man seemed to catch this, continuing on about the frogs as if he were avoiding something. “If you could quit rambling and get to the information we’re asking from you, please. A woman is dead and forgive me if I’m being a bit jaded here, I would love it if you could cut the ranting.” Nick gave a glare to the man, not even trying to smile. His face fell, giving a sorry look to Hank who was looking at Nick like he was batshit crazy.

With an extremely over dramatic sigh, the man finally shut the fuck up and gave them the info that was actually relevant. “She got a call from someone, I stepped back inside to give her some privacy then she ran out of the place looking panicked. I didn’t go after her, it wasn’t my business. I thought about calling the police but I assumed it was fine! I guess that was my mistake.”

The man spoke like they were in a goddamned Disney cartoon, with the overly dramatic emotion put into every line and the ups and downs of rhythm in his voice, it was sickening. Nick gave a faux smile, “We’ll be going now, thanks.”

Nick tugged on Hank’s harm, sharply pulling them both out of the place. Nick glanced at his feet when he heard a slight crunching from somewhere, but found nothing.

“Nick, what was that?” Hank damn near whined. Nick looked at Hank as he started the car. “What that was, was you acting like some sucker he was conning into staying there for an extra night. That was nothing like you, and he was freaking me out since the moment I looked at him. I kept sending you signals but you were too busy ogling at him when you don’t even swing that way. What the actual hell was up with you back there?”

Hank blinked a couple times, his pupils dilating back when Nick hadn’t even noticed that they were enlarged in the first place. “Yeah, sorry, I don’t know what was up with me.” Nick sighed, still concerned for his friend and happy to be out of that place.

“I am going to spend the ride back to the precinct roasting you about how many red flags there were and how easily you should have spotted them, though.”

“Really?”

“Just driving home a point.”

By the time the two got back to the precinct, the roasting had actually done them both some good, solidifying that the way Hank acted was weird enough to take into account some wilder possibilities.

Nick’s mind was already running wild. “I bet it’s some sort of chemical. Perfume or something that he sprays onto himself that messes with your hormone balance, something creepy and weird like that.”

Hank rolled his eyes, rubbing his arms, uncomfortable.

The searching proved unfruitful too, the name Billy Capra only dating back a year and a half. Meanwhile, Nick got one hell of a hit on missing women in the last six months. That then down spiraled into similar attack clusters in other cities. They got their info printed (thank Nick for his New York social style bruteness fighting their way to the good printer) and went into the Captain’s office to report everything they had.

Renard had taken it well, all but confirming Nick’s theory of chemical usage. It would have to be either contact induced or some sort of spray, most likely cologne or some such thing. Though, neither Detective could report if the man smelled of anything particular.

Renard had suspected that the man was a serial rapist, and put him on higher priority. These kinds of criminals always made Nick sick to his stomach, not having many qualms with an unfortunate accident befalling the man. Either in prison with a quick taunt of why he was in there within hearing range of the other inmates or putting them under watch of one of the rougher officers. Not that Hank or Renard ever said anything about that. It was justice, after all, the purest kind.

Nick got home feeling exhausted but that was his normal state of being, and he had a case to work on. Actually, he now had some new resources to his disposal and he still hasn’t set foot into the weird trailer Marie left him with.

Jangling the key in his hand, Nick took a breath and pushed open the door.

It was stuffy, the whole room shrouded in darkness. It was, however, electrically powered and had a light switch by the entrance.

Nick could hear and quickly spot the mini generator placed on the floor in the corner, tucked next to a large wardrobe. There were an ungodly amount of shelves, wardrobes and drawers in the entire place. Anything with contents visible from the doorway held either books (what Monroe mentioned or some other substances. There was a rack of dried herbs connected to the ceiling, and a spinning shelf filled with bottles containing bright and colorful liquids with names Nick didn't recognize.

Nick breathed it all in, feeling like he was in a storybook. Hesitantly, he took a random book off the shelf, flipping through it.

The book itself looked like an average diary (albeit ancient), but the first page was titled, in sprawled handwriting, ‘Wesen in Annem’. Underneath Annem was a correction ‘Indochina’ and under that another correction of ‘Vietnam’. Along the first title, in the same ink as the last correction was the date 1854, the second dated 1903 and the last correction dated 1972.

Flipping through the book randomly, Nick saw some shit straight out of a horror book. These creatures were probably what the legends were based off of. Then again, seeing a floating head with the spinal cord and inner nerves attached titled Ma Lai (Krasue, as another, more broad name) under the pretense of being real, Nick didn’t feel like going through whatever the fuck was in this trailer right now. He didn't know how it was organized and knowing his aunt, he didn’t feel like figuring it out.

And, hey, Monroe kind of volunteered himself by not banning him from ever coming back and he did need to make it up to him for the first time, soooooooo…

Nick knocked on the door lighter than he usually would, the classical music emanating from inside stopping for a moment then continuing. Nick knocked again, and the music stopped and was followed by some shuffling then heavy steps.

Monroe opened the door and then rolled his eyes, “Really? Didn’t I tell you everything you needed?” Nick offered the pastry box as an offering, “I don’t know how the books are sorted and I need information like, now.”

Monroe sighed exasperatedly, giving a small sniff to the bag. “It’s just pastries.” Monroe eyed him suspiciously, before opening the door wider and walking away. Well, he didn’t slam the door shut in Nick’s face, so that was a win.

"How do you know what I-…?" Monroe questioned with hostile suspicion.

"I noticed an empty bag on your counter when I… uhm," Nick trailed off.

Nick followed after hesitantly, shutting the door behind him. “What do you need to know?” Monroe asked, biting into the German sweet. His pupils went wide the minute he tasted it, and for a second, Nick forgot that this man was a real life werewolf.

Nick took a breath, “I have a suspect that has this seduction effect on anyone that gets too close to him despite him having multiple red flags. There’s been a cluster of missing women in every city we think he’s been to, some being found pregnant. I don’t know how to deal with him or how to prove that he’s using any chemicals, or how to avoid them if he uses a higher dosage on me.”

Monroe looked at Nick, processing his fast speech impressively quickly for someone who hadn’t engaged him in conversation before. “Sounds like a ziegevolk," Monroe commented, taking another cookie out of the bag. Nick tilted his head, “A what?”

Monroe continued, “A ziegevolk is a, in simple terms, goat type wesen. They produce more hormones through their skin than normal and it basically drugs people. I knew a guy in highschool, got every popular chick there. Guy was like 5 '4 and weighed in at 280 lbs with no respect for anyone around him. Like I'm a big eater myself, I'll make like 10 pancakes every morning, but jesus, you had to be there.”

Turning back to answer the Detectives actual worries, Monroe shrugged. “Since their hormone drugging thing is out of their control, you can’t really up the dosage. Not without a really good dealer, anyway. Why is this guy a suspect?”

Nick sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed tightly against himself. “I went in to interview him about some girl that stayed at his bed and breakfast for a while. My gut told me to leave and burn down the place but my partner was going along with everything he said, I couldn’t manage any real questioning.”

Monroe hummed in understanding, “Did he brush against him or touch one of you at all?”

Nick nodded, “Yeah, took my partner by the arm to guide him out to the garden.”

“Yeah, that’s a telltale trick for these guys. If they touch you, those hormones seep into your skin, clothing or not. Basically own you by that point, why do you think those Hollywood types are always hugging everybody?

“As for any way to block it? Lower your estrogen levels the best you can. These guys are breeders, and whatever pheromones they produce will heighten your estrogen balance and dope you up on a bunch of happy chemicals. Stuff like green tea, grapes, any plant or spices with curcumin, stuff like that. Don’t try to increase testosterone either, the effect will just go the other direction.”

Nick nodded, “‘kay, thank you for this, by the way. And also not killing me last time.” Nick slowly made his way back to the door, not turning his back to the Blutbad. The man didn't seem bothered by the action, he actually seemed mildly comforted by it.

"I would say don't come back but I'm not going to test my luck."

Nick sat by Marie’s bedside with shaky legs, thinking over everything that had happened. It had certainly been an eventful week, and it would have been tolerable if he had someone there to teach him everything. At first, maybe Marie could fill in the gaps. But now… all he had was some books and an unstable truce with someone who might snap and kill him at any second.

Nick sat back in the chair, heaving a heavy sigh. Hell, someone might come in and kill Marie any second, hoping for cover under semi-calm ICU nightshift. Grimms seemed pretty rare, and Marie herself seemed infamous in her own right (Nick hoped it wasn’t for the reasons Monroe described).

In this situation, he wouldn’t really mind leaving her. Knowing Marie, she’d pull some badass escape and kill any attacker that came her way. But this moment specifically? He felt like leaving her alone would be a death sentence.

He would be gone for most of the night, with no way of checking back on her. His gut instinct was always a guarantee. Well, until Monroe, but Nick was also going off of an unrelated factor then.

Nick probably shouldn’t be leaving her side, and the time window for police coverage had come and gone. Hank wasn’t available, hell he’d probably say Nick was actually being paranoid on this one. It was too personal to ask one of his co-workers.

Well, there was one person he could ask, not that he would like it.

Nick set down the sketch pad and pen, calling a number that felt unfamiliar to his hands. The phone rang four times before it answered, but no verbal response. “Monroe?” Nick asked, whispering to an almost unnecessary degree.

“Now what?”

“No, no no no no, no, No. An actual Grimm? Are you out of your mind! Well, of course you are, you have no context to how absurd what you're asking me is.” Monroe ranted to himself in a forcibly hushed tone.

“Just one night, then I will leave you alone and figure something else out-” “You said that the first time you called me to come help you with your Grimm escapades!”

Monroe started to walk away, Nick getting more anxious. “You are the only person I can explain this to-” “No,” Monroe spun around and interrupted him, “I am the only wesen insane enough to still be talking to you. I am a Blutbad, weider or not, we are known for bloodshed, and you’re asking me to babysit a helpless Grimm? Are you starting to get how crazy this is? Why would you ever call me here-!?"

“Because I trust you.”

Something about that line seemed to surprise Monroe into listening, going quiet in an almost unbelieving way. Nick continued, “I will be back as soon as I can, if anything happens you can call me over and walk away and that will be your job done. If you want to never see me again ever after this, then I will stay away. But right now, I really need help.”

Monroe looked at Nick like he had just told him that a Grimm was asking a Blutbad for help. And of course, the punchline to this joke was that the Blutbad agreed. “Fine, just, call when you’re going to get back.”

Nick gave him as genuine of a thankful look as he could muster. “Thank you, really.”

Monroe rolled his eyes, “You owe me so much by now.”

Nick walked away from the two in a slight jog, Monroe watching as the baby Grimm faded into the hall and around a corner. Looking back at the just about incapacitated probably killer Grimm, his eyes glinted red.

“Maybe you shouldn’t trust me…”

Nick slightly chuckled at his partner’s half jog back to the car after planting the bug. Hank settled into the back, reeling the seat back and getting comfortable as he picked up the cap off the headrest of the car. “Wake me up when something happens.”

Nick settled in to watch ahead like a hawk when he saw a key turn in the lock of the building and some steps against pavement. Sure enough, Capra came into view as he hurried down the steps, wearing a sharp suit that held a too-uptight air. Not that anyone would notice.

Nick shook Hank awake, “Wake up."

“Not funny, Nick.”

“No, he’s leaving.”

Hank shuffled awake to see their suspect walking away from his familiar building, and right past his car.

“He’s not taking the car? Well, he’s gotta take the damn car, or I got a grease spot for nothing.” Hank swore under his breath.

Nick quickly opened the car door, “I’ll follow him, you look for the broken window.” He didn’t give any other warning, bolting after the man so as not to lose him in the night.

Nick followed the man silently, keeping to darkened cover a long ways away. Nick stopped at a viewpoint, looking down at the man as he hid shabbily behind the corner of the bar the girl had been to before. Reaching into his coat, the man pulled out…a frog?

Oh, fucking gross.

Nick winced as he heard the crunches, then watched in fascination as fur grew over his face and horns sprouted from his head. But just for a moment, the features dissipating instantaneously. Ok, that has got to hurt at least somewhat. Nick called Monroe again.

The moment Monroe picked up, Nick started, “Hey, what if that Ziegevolk had frogs on his meal plan?”

“Oh he’s a frog eater? Aren’t those frogs extinct?”

“Nearly extinct, according to the bunch in his garden.”

“Ok, I know I said that they can’t exactly up the dosage, but I was under the assumption that those things were dead and gone.”

“If I were to go in there and intercept him, would I be too heavily impaired?”

“Well, it depends on the wesen. Humans for sure, but Blutbaden for example? Wouldn’t work as much, since you're a Grimm, it probably wouldn’t work at all-”

“Thanks, anything else I should be prepared for?”

“Yeah, be ready to get real uncomfortable real fast. Collectors like the rare ones.”

Nick flipped the phone off, then took a breath. Hadn’t he left this back in college? Nick ran a hand through his hair, messing up the professional swoosh into something more chaotic. Let’s hope that he could just sit down next to him and Billy wouldn’t spot him out of the crowd.

Nick entered, the bell of the door dinging behind him. It was as packed as it usually is on a Friday night, though with how late it was, most people were already past tipsy. Nick could spot his suspect out of the crowd easily, the man sitting at a table damn near surrounded by ladies. Nick would’ve mentally congratulated him if he didn’t know the context.

Nick sat at the bar, smiling at the bartender tiredly. Grizzled detective, just got off a shift, it’s an easy part to play. He could do this. “Whiskey on rocks, please and thank you.” He never really was much of a shot of liquor or beer at a bar kind of guy. Cocktails usually had more alcohol than liquor anyways and he had beer at home. But he had a part to play tonight.

“Make that on me.” Nick startled, looking up to find Billy standing just behind him. The man took a seat next to Nick casually, smiling like they were old friends. “Curious to find you here, eh?”

Nick wanted to set himself on fire, but he needed Billy to slip up. Nick gave a glare then stopped, appearing too tired to continue the harsh look. The drink slid across to the counter towards him, Nick mumbling a small thanks to the bartender.

“Just needed a drink” Nick replied, no energy in his voice. Truthfully, he was electrified just under the surface, and it took everything not to jump when Billy rested a hand on his shoulder. “A profession like yours can really weigh on you. I know we had a bad start, but if I could rectify it in any way,” Billy’s hand trailed down to Nick’s lower back, “I would be happy to make amends.”

Something in the back of Nick’s mind was content, but the rest of him was questioning the life choices he made to get to this point. Nick faked a kind of surprised expression, then tilted his head, “Yeah, I think I would like that.”

Ugh, the way Billy looked at him like a piece of meat. Didn’t they prefer to knock people up, why was he targeting Nick? Collectors’ choice, he supposed. “Hey, you seemed like you really liked the garden that first time. Would you mind a tour, now that you’re off the clock?”

“I would love that.” Kill him. Kill him now, really.

Monroe paced back and forth in the room slightly, muttering to himself about his current dilemma. “I should be killing you. I should kill you, it’s what Blutbaden do. But then I’m not a normal Blutbad, am I? I mean, hell, most of my family doubted it when I went weider. Actually, I think I lost my Blutbad privilege when I agreed to protect a Grimm for another Grimm.”

Monroe glared down at the unconscious woman once more, claws just barely starting to cross the surface of his fingertips. “Your people killed my grandfather, burned down his farm and killed everyone in it. Beheaded all of them, left their bodies to burn. Given, they probably deserved it, but if my parents could see me now, they would kill me out of pure shame.”

Monroe’s eyes glinted red, blood dripping from his fingers as his claws extended from the bone. “I should be killing you, it’s what Blutbaden do.” He would have to clean the blood off the floor later. Monroe almost flinched back as the woman opened her eyes.

She looked at him blankly for a moment, eyes analyzing him with a darkness pulling at the edges. Her expression was jagged, then softened. Her voice was hoarse, and breathy. She smiled, a hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “No, you’re one of the good ones.”

Monroe’s eyes widened momentarily, eyes going back to their normal dark, tuscan brown. The woman’s soft look disappeared as she whispered, “6 o’ clock.” Monroe glanced behind him, seeing a stranger standing in the middle of the hall, looking at him with a surprised kind of frustration. Noticing that Monroe was watching him, he quickly left.

Monroe swiftly followed after him, listening for his steps only to realize that there were two sets. The second set being right behind him.

Monroe didn’t even blink as he crouched and threw the man over his shoulder, arm coming off at the socket. The other man woged, Lowen, and charged at him as his friend passed out from the pain.

Monroe was rusty and out of practice, not even thinking to dodge, hissing at the pain of the wall hitting the back of his head.

One firm kick to the stomach, and a right hook. These guys were either cheap or weren’t prepared for a fight.

Speaking of, looking at the pool of blood, he needed to get out of there. Thank god for the lack of fingerprints while woged, though he would need to burn his clothes.

Monroe ducked out into the hallway, checking on Marie and making sure she was ok. She was conscious and her pulse was steady. He shuffled through the drawers and handed her a clean syringe to tuck under her pillow anyway. Precautions, you know?

Monroe flipped his phone on, abruptly spinning around to have his back to the several nurses carting the guy without an arm on a gurney. He called Nick.

Nick tried not to cringe as they walked out of the bar. The night had been painful, but bearable. He’d done more embarrassing things undercover. Pretending to be drunk wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t fun either.

Nick stumbled on a step slightly, the man smirking in an all too smug manner. Speaking of, where the hell was Hank? If he found anything, he should have called by now, though Nick did leave a text that he was undercover. To no reply. Which, for something as dangerous as to flirt with a known kidnapper and rapist should have garnered at least some protest.

Nick paused at a locked door, looking at it obviously. “What’s in there?” “Oh, just the basement. Mostly for storage, lots of sharp gardening tools so I don’t let guests down there. Don’t want a lawsuit, you know?” “Then why is it open?”

The man whipped around without warning, looking down the stairwell with wide eyes. “You know what, it’s probably not important. I must have forgotten to close it all the way.” Nick grabbed the man's wrist where he tried to close the door.

“What's really down there?” Nick asked, voice turning sharp. The man pulled away roughly, taking a couple steps back. “Didn’t want to bring it up, but my p went to go see if there were any broken or new windows visible from outside.”

Fur spread over Capra’s face, eyes glowing gold before turning back, eyes shrouded with fear. Billy stumbled back a couple times, falling flat on his ass and crawling backwards, tears welling at his eyes. Nick stalked towards him, hand tracing over his gun.

"There’s gas down there! Toxic, he won’t survive much longer. I thought you might go down there so I turned up the dosage!”

Nick’s expression didn’t change. Capra probably had people down there, why would he risk killing all of them? “And kill all of your precious ‘mates’? Try again.” Billy was shaking violently now, tears streaking down his cheeks as he ugly cried. “They’re used to it! It doesn’t affect them as much if I raise it!”

That… was plausible. Nick couldn’t risk it. Tearing his eyes from the pathetic piece of prey before him, he sprinted down the stairs. He was rewarded, seeing his partner passed out among multiple cages. Nick could hear the gas pump behind a locked door, and it didn’t take much to kick it down and turn it off.

Picking up Hank in a firefighter carry, Nick sighed as his phone rang. “Yeah?” Nick got out with a heavy breath. “It’s Monroe, and she should be fine for now, though there may have been a couple bodies to get there.”

Nick’s eyes went wide, he should’ve realized that the likelihood for someone attacking her would be near 100%. He thought that someone being near her would be enough to stave anyone off. “That’s fine, and thank you. Sorry about your probably ruined clothes.”

There was a lack of surprise from the other end, just a dejected sigh, “I wore my worst anyways.”

“All the flannels are the worst ones.”

“Rude.”

Nick slid Hank’s body into the passenger seat, getting into the driver and huffing. “I need to call backup, this guy was a real piece of work.” Monroe hummed, hanging up immediately after. Awkward but it was an efficient transaction-

A text popped up.

'Call me later to tell me how it went, yeah? Give some wicked dad lore for my troubles?'

'Yeah, sure. That might take a while, though.'

Nick hummed, looking up at the now empty place where the man's car used to be. Seems like the tracker didn't go to waste after all.

The man wasn't hidden well at all, easy to spot out of the crowd. Seriously, for a wanted man, he was fumbling around so confidently. Unfortunately, he spotted Nick and Hank almost immediately and took off sprinting and jumped on top of a roof.

Hank rolled his eyes as Nick tore off after him, following with a determined pace. How the hell he could even catch up to those athletic type freaks was beyond him. Though the look on the mans face was hilarious.

Nick jumped onto the man's back at the next jump down, tackling him to the floor with a crunch. Hank brisked over, putting no real effort into moving. Bystanders were watching with mixed expressions, some apprehension until Hank flashed a badge.

Hank picked the man up by the cuffs, dragging him in the direction of their cruiser. For someone like him, he didn't put up much of a fight. He looked terrified, like they were going to kill him. Like Nick was going to kill him.

Hank scoffed at himself.

Good.

"You went into a bar with a frog eating ziegevolk and flirted with him? Willingly?"

"I did have 11 victims, over 70 people's right to justice, and a partner on the line. Do what you need to for the investigation, y'know? Did feel dirty after, though."

"No kidding, just being in the same building as one makes my skin crawl."

"Speaking of, what's the whole like, culture thing with wesen?"

"You're going to have to be more specific than that."

"I mean, not really. How do wesen types, is that the right word?, think about each other, how do they interact. Is there like an entire new set of societal rules I have to learn as a grim?"

"Yeah, and also it's Grimm, not grim. Your pronunciation is still off-"

"It's been less than a week and I've never even heard German before."

"Touché. Anyways you probably won't have to learn any of the expectations or anything. Most wesen will probably scream their heads off if they see you if you're not in public. Or, hell, even if you are. I've had it happen to me a couple of times, and it'll be a lot worse than you."

"What does being in public have to do with anything?"

"I keep forgetting just how little you know. There's a reason that kehrseite–humans–don't know about us. The council makes sure of it."

"Council?"

"Uhhhh…"

"Secret wesen thing?"

"Yeah, point being that kehr–humans can't know about us. We have a government type system in place to keep up the statue."

"Statue?- Wait you have a separate government for wesen?"

"It's a worldwide minority that is kept secret from outsiders. Of course we have a separate government. Given, it's not a very good one but that's going into politics and if I'm not getting attacked for talking to a Grimm, then I will get attacked for making a Grimm hate the system off the bat. Though, talking you might have already done that. Anyways, case, story, tell."

"Oh yeah, so I get out of the bar and he takes me back to the motel right. It's pitch black and, I don't know if he had night vision or something like that, but the door to the basement is unlocked and cracked open. I ask about it, he explains it off, but then he notices it's open and freaks the fuck out. He voge's–"

"Woge"

"Woguh?"

"Woge"

"Woge"

"Yeah, 'bout time you got it. Work on your German, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Anyways"

Chapter Text

Logan sighed as he got home, slugging over to the emergency alarm and turning it off out of newly formed muscle memory. It had been going off randomly for a while, he'd been meaning to get it fixed. It just kept slipping his mind. It would have to wait for morning. Still, despite how tired he was, he had a job to do and more boring paperwork to sign. This job weighed on him, but it was far to late to find anything else to do.

He slumped at his desk, stretching and picking up the gaudy quill someone had gotten him for his last Birthday, getting ready to start scratching at the papers. But, Logan found himself drifting. With a job like his, you questioned your morals every other day, and regretted decisions every night.

Leave it at the office, huh? What a load of shit.

Logan glanced up at the window, the curtains were billowing slightly. He always kept his windows shut, so there should be no reason- Logan abruptly stood, turning off his lamp and the lights. Shuffling over to the door, past a window-

Logan yelped as he was tackled to the ground, a heavy fist striking him across the face. He could feel his skull fracture, pain seemingly missing, making the cracking all that much more noticeable.

Logan grabbed at his lamp, twisting around to his attacker and smashing it over his face. The glass shards that would pierce skin in any other case slid off the monster, leaving a few minor scrapes. It did nothing.

Logan scrambled away, grabbing a pair of scissors and trying to stab into the man's neck. It was like stabbing into an elephant's hide. It did nothing.

Logan ducked behind his desk, opening a drawer and fumbling the pistol from it's place. Shots rung out in his ear, blocking out everything else. It did nothing.

The man, a true brick shithouse, statue of a man, picked Logan up by the neck and lifted him off the floor. Logan fought with everything he had, brought back to his younger years when he was fighting off his older brother. Feeling like you couldn't escape, knowing you were no match.

Logan kicked at the man, scratched and bit, and fought.

It did nothing.

Nick whistled at the body, something that would have been Hank's reaction. Instead, he grimaced.

"Shame, one of the few good judges we have." Hank stared at the gavel stuck in the man's throat. "Or, had."

Wu ran them through the basics. No witnesses, anyone in proximity heard nothing. No one lived with him, the time of death was accurate.

"There's a gun, haven't touched it. Registered to the Judge, had a license and everything."

"Any bullet casings?"

"Five, and before you ask, there aren't any bullet holes or bullets here."

"So our killers injured?"

"Injured, but clean. All the blood is from the judge."

Hank turned to the officers attending to the scene, "Get an ABP on any hospitals or emergency rooms that fit the time frame."

"And tap the snitches for anyone working off the grid" Nick added at the end, eyes snapping onto their Captain as he walked in. Renard sighed, and shook his head slightly.

"Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath, "this is going to make a lot of people have a lot of questions." Sean turned to both detectives, "Patterson spent 30 years behind the desk and made a lot of enemies. Track down the most recent, then look into the most volatile or probable."

"Have anything yet?"

Hank glanced up at the Captain, shaking his head. "Got three parolee's in the last six months, all of 'em are possible." Renard raised an eyebrow, "You by yourself?"

"Nick's getting sleep, for once. Didn't want to call him back for some paperwork and cross tracing. Even if he reads faster than I could ever wish to." The phone rang, and Sean tilted his head slightly as Hank's expression turned more serious listening to what the person on the other line was telling him.

"Got a hit on the prints, Navy, evidently." Hank clarified, pulling up the ID on his computer.

The two cops hummed in confusion as they went over the profile. Vince Chilton, completely clean record. "Check if he has any immediate family with records."

Hank nodded, going through the family. Nothing. A whole lot of nothing. Hank sighed, standing up with a soft groan. "If Nick were here, this would be the queue for him to give some vague but accurate prediction of what we'll find."

Renard nodded, his equivelent of a chuckle, "I can try one. He's dead, or dying, and in either case mangled."

"That's too vague."

"But will it be accurate?"

It was, though it wasn't very impressive.

A sweep of the SWAT team put them in the clear and with a dead lead in their hands.

Ha. Hands. Get it?

The two kneeled over the body (well, Hank did, Séan crouched down with his heels touching the floor), examining it. "Looks like him," Hank flicked away the reference image. "Brutal"

"Which hand did the fingerprint come from?"

"Hmm, let me try and remember. Oh, I think it was the…" Hank faked a surprised expression, as if he had remembered something that had been plaguing him with intensity, "right hand." Hank cut the bit and rolled his eyes.

Renard gave a small snort. "You need to get to sleep."

"No shit"

Renard walked around the small home, analyzing for any kind of signature- there's an inside-out watch on the severed arm. How the hell did he not see that? They both needed sleep, it seemed.

"A woman's watch…" Hank stated aloud.

"How do you figure?"

"The fact it's engraved, 'To Mary, Love Mom'. It's not Chilton's."

"…" Renard looked at Hank blankly.

"At least you have more tact than I do while sleep deprived."

"Everyone has more tact than you. Go get your 8 hours, I'll drag Nick out from wherever he landed himself."

"It's an antique watch-"

"I got this handled."

"What do you mean you have this handled? You'll need a professional-"

"I have it handled. Trust me."

Monroe opened the door already knowing who it was, standing at the doorway just long enough to open it and then walk back into the kitchen and to his coffee. "It's early."

"Sorry, uhm, you know a lot about clocks right?" Nick asked, still watching his step but less in the 'I don't know if you're going to kill me if I do anything wrong' and more of the 'I am inconveniencing you right now and asking for a favor while doing it and my asian uncle is disowning me right about now for this blatant act of disrespect' kind of careful.

Even that nervousness calmed with the way Monroe's eyes lit up. Again, the puppy comparison wasn't that far off sometimes. "Where is it? Do you have one? What type is it? Is this police work?"

Nick smiled, a small, soft, tired, not really a conscious decision smile. "Right here, yes I do, I have no clue and yeah, but you're cleared to mess with it to your hearts content." Nick took the evidence bag out of his jacket pockets, handing it to the wolf.

Monroe quickly opened it, examining the gold with a close eye. "Valjoux movement, looked like 73 C? No, it's 72. Triple complications, that's day-date-month by the way, probably made in the 30's. Somethings stopped the machinations, can I go crack this thing open?"

"Uhhhh…"

"You can-" Monroe paused as if he was considering something, then confirmed in a more sober tone, "you can come up with me to make sure I don't tamper with any evidence."

Nick tilted his head. Monroe seemed rather hesitant about this. Probably something about a wolf's den. "You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Some assh- jerk put glue in the movement. It's destroyed, I wanna weep."

"You said that the watch was 'Triple Complicated', right? What's the date set on?"

"10:15, March 11th."

"Any way to find out who made it?"

"It would be who serviced it, and yeah. It would take a couple calls but I'm sure whoever serviced this beauty will remember it. Hate to be the informer of bad news, though." Monroe leaned out of his intense focus, stretching his arms behind his head. "It'll take a couple minutes. I made coffee, help yourself."

"Thank you."

"Lighten up, yeah? I know you're in the house of a Blutbad but you don't have to be so nervous."

"Yeah, thanks."

"Oh do I got one hell of a history for you." Monroe came out of his office with a more excited expression than Nick had seen on the man before. Still, if this was going to take a while, Nick needed the details now.

"It was first made in 1933, and sold to one Stephen Armstrong who gifted it to his wife. Later on, 1937 she gifted it to their son Neil."

"As in Neil Armstrong?"

"As in Neil Armstrong."

Ok, yeah, Nick'll gladly take the blame for being late on this one.

"Mary Robinson?" Hank parroted back at Nick.

"D'you know her?"

"Yeah, and not in the same way I know J.F.K or Walt Disney. She's an assistant DA, retired a year ago. Worked a lot of cases with her."

"This is going to end up horribly."

"Just horribly? No other weird specification thats going to wind up scarily accurate?"

"Horribly, the Statue-Of-Liberty-Pigeon case style."

"Ok, but with how that case went down, that still counts as too vague."

"You were right. Dead on too."

Nick was still thinking of the body, image stuck in his head, "To be fair, that case had a lot of stuff going on. It would be more of a challenge to not be like it. Anyways, who are we after?"

Hank quickened his pace in the kind of way that he only ever did when he was scared shitless, striding down the corridors of the precinct with intent. That prospect alone was daunting, but it had happened before. It was when the fear turned to reckless rage that Nick worried for anyone's safety.

"Oleg Stark."

"His name is Oleg?" Nick refrained from any further jokes, but only barely.

"A couple years ago, a father and his kid were abducted and tortured for two days. Still have the crime scene burned into my brain. Captain probably does too. A stone cold killer with experience and a single passion hit, he got tried here in Portland for it. Sentenced to an ADX facility in California, and I thought that was the last I would hear of him. God, I hoped it was."

"I take it he broke out?"

Renard joined the conversation, in the sudden and startling way that he always did, while he lead the two to his office, "He was on Medical Transfer. Broke the doctor's legs and bludgeoned the guards into a coma. They thought they had him trapped and didn't widen the search until he made it here."

Renard handed Nick some papers as the door shut behind him, the detective skimming through them quickly with growing interest. "'Convict displays signs of Congenital Analgesia, a disorder that makes it difficult to process pain,'" Nick read aloud, "'and bone structure not only is abnormally large but also dense.'"

Hank jumped in with growing hostility, "Patterson was the ruling judge, Mary was the prosecutor, Chilton was the man who handed the verdict and at exactly 10:15, March 11th. Stark was sentenced to 300 years in prison.

Renard stopped Hank in his run-walk, "You're the arresting officer. He's going after you, next."

"I'm taking this bastard down, Cap."

"No, you are going into protective custody."

"I am not hiding from this asshole, I'm not running."

"He's killed hundreds already, I am not losing one the best detectives I have."

Renard approached the now yelling detective, holding eye contact. "I am not going to risk it, and I won't let you make that mistake, Hank."

Hank glared down his boss with a kind of vengeful fury that you only get from loss, another retort on the tip of his tongue. Renard returned it with a hard and firm look of his own, silence permeating.

…

"He got here too fast to be on foot. We should watch for stolen vehicles, B&E's and assaults in any travelling pattern", Nick stated in a small voice, sounding like a child telling their arguing parent and older sibling that they have an elementary school project due the next day.

Hank shot a glare at Nick, and Renard sent a thankful nod his way. Hank left the office all too tense, and caught the door to cancel out the slam he made opening it.

"Know anything about Stark's past? Any family or something? If we can understand his psychology then we can get ahead of him."

"That's the weird thing. He doesn't have any records of anything besides criminal. No family, no history, no identity besides the name he told us. It's like he fell out of the sky."

Wu walked by their desks, slapping down some papers. "Ring ring ring, I have a public explosion caused by a pristine blue Cadillac blowing itself up with no one inside it. Parking lot across from the City Rec Facility, 20th and Belmont.

Nick furrowed his eyebrows, "Isn't that near your old place?"

Hank's frown furthered, "Lived a block away when I worked Stark's case. This is my call."

Hank strutted up and towards the door in a main character manner so intense that Nick could hear the background music building. Said background music was record scratch stopped by Renard casually sauntering by.

"Hank, you're not going anywhere." Renard didn't even look at the man as he turned the corner.

"Captain!" Hank sounded like a whiny, scandalized teenager.

"You are staying safe and staying put. Nick, go investigate."

"Roger."

Nick walked by Hank, and paused, waiting for Renard to go back into his office.

"'Captaiiinn-uh!'" Nick mocked, Hank smiling but punching him the shoulder just a hair rougher than the man normally would have.

Nick got home that night tired, antsy and restless. He would give another crack at the trailer, see if he could make heads or tails of anything. But so far, the task seemed daunting and whatever minimum wage worker that was operating his frontal lobes would much rather procrastinate that for as long as possible.

Actually, weren't there weapons in there? Maybe there'll be like a shotgun made for hunting things like Stark, mixed with some Oleg-kryptonite. That would be convenient. For now, as Nick boiled some water and began chopping vegetables, he needed to make something to fuel his body that wasn't a caffeine mixture that was poured from a fountain in hell.

Nick perked his head up as he heard shuffling from outside, and peaked his head out from the doorway. Nothing.

Shuffling again. No, not nothing. Most definitely something.

Hey, wasn't a window literally smashed to pieces by the wooden walls a point of entry for Stark? And the shuffling, there it was again, was by the window. Experimentally, and quietly, Nick looked a little bit closer, and, yep there was definitely someone outside of his window that was like 8 feet tall and half the same around.

He was fucked. He knew that, but how to make himself less fucked was the question.

The shuffling was more obvious now, and Nick pretended to be intrigued. However, he followed to the wrong window. A window which was next to the hidden drawer underneath the TV stand where he kept the sniper rifle that Nick got from his uncle. A window that was conveniently out of sight of the window the noise was coming from.

He could survive gunshot wounds, sure, but everything so far were all 0.-somethings shot from pistols. Let's see how this asshole handled custom 25mm grenade bullets shot at a rooms distance from a Barret XM109 anti-material sniper rifle, bitch. God bless America and the way it makes its citizens hate the government and thank his aunt and uncle for their lack of regard for the law.

Oh, his neighbors hate him. Nick's pretty sure they react to muffled gunshots the same way other civilians react to normal gunshots, the amount of times they've heard him.

Apparently, Oleg survived them well, based on the way he sprinted from the now broken window to Nick and proceeded to pick him up from the floor and slam him into the wall across the room.

Though, the bullets did pierce his skin and act like an actual fucking gun! Bad news, the bitch didn't couldn't feel it. It did nothing.

Nick scrambled into the kitchen, eyeing the pot on the stove and praying that it was boiling by now. Stark wasn't far behind him, his footsteps heavy and shaking the foundation of the house with every movement. He consequently got a face full of boiling water for his troubles.

It burned at his face, temporarily blinding him. Oleg screamed, a horrible, gut twisting sound that brought back Nick to his younger years in a way that made his stomach churn. But, ultimately, it did nothing.

Nick sprinted outside, if he remembered correctly, there had been some lighter fluid by the fire-pit he had in his backyard. He could hear sirens, but they were so quiet compared to the rageful roars of Stark as the man stomped down his porch steps.

Nick had gotten some distance, but it closed all too quickly as he scrambled to open the damn bottle up. The child-proof lid came off with a pop when Nick finally got the thing to open, and he didn't waste time in all but pouring it on the guy.

The man's eyes closed reflexively as he swung his tree trunk sized arms around in a daze... and hit Nick into his fence, which unfortunately held steady. Damned reinforcements, they definitely helped him (can you hear the sarcasm?).

Oleg picked Nick up like a rag-doll, slamming him into the dirt and breaking some bones that Nick kind of needed. I.e. Nick's everything.

With one last wave of hatred, Oleg olympic style spun-hurled Nick back into the walls of his house. Of which was a good like 50 feet mind you, and yet almost no momentum was lost as Nick felt like his shoulder blade's broke on impact, and his ears ringing like crazy promised a concussion.

Oleg stalked over to Nick's limp figure, scarred and hurt and still just as dangerous as when he first broke in. Nick looked up at him, quite the distance from where he was slumped on the floor.

Nick huffed, "Hey, did you know that your steps are like 3 feet apart? You take big steps man."

Oleg had no reaction that Nick could gather, but he paused, listening to see where Nick was going with this.

"Just far enough apart that I'm pretty sure, don't quote me on this, that fire wouldn't spread if your footsteps left gasoline." Nick smiled and flicked on his old style lighter.

The cruiser pulled into the street just as the man began screaming, rolling around on the grass and desperately trying to put out the fire.

To be fair, he was succeeding, and the fire was put out on the moist, fresh grass and wild flowers that Nick had never cut and only ever watered.

But, it took a good, long, 12 seconds.

Nick had thought about how he would kill this guy from the moment he became a larger problem. He does this with all of his suspects. A point of habit, Nick supposes. And outside of a couple of well aimed headshots from a mile away and a grenade hidden in a sandwich, Nick's other instinctive weapon was fire.

For someone like Stark, fire wouldn't do much on the surface. Like the man had just showcased, he would know how to handle it, especially with his amount of experience. Nick had thought that he would have to find some other method, but when Stark screamed at the boiling water, fire had another viable option.

See, fire made smoke. And you can inhale smoke. And inhaling smoke can do so much more damage than fire ever could to this guy. Thick skin, big muscles and dense bones had nothing on burning to the lungs.

He would survive, no doubt in Nick's mind. But he would be hurt. He would be disabled. He wouldn't get as much oxygen to his brain at the rate he used to and he would react slower.

Because Oleg, despite his appearance, was smart. Extremely smart. People underestimated him because of how he looked, and it gave him an advantage. He was smart, and had his instincts hardened by fighting and killing.

He needed to be brought down to their level.

Oleg saw the police officers sprinting into the yard and ran for it, jumping over Nick's fence because it was easier than running through it (reinforcements, bitch) and at a pace that looked inhuman.

The officers that responded were patrol, just responding to shots in the neighborhood. They weren't prepared to go after him. Nick forced a smile through the pain, at least just to comfort them. Some good that would do, he was probably covered in blood and gore right about now.

They both rushed to his side, calling in backup and reporting what little they saw. Nick's body protested when he laughed, hearing Hank's yelling cut off on the radio.

Nick turned to the officer, a rookie that had only been there for like 2 months so far. "You know I sold my vacuum the other day?" The officer, Favela, looked at Nick like he was crazy. Nick just smirked, "Yeah. It was just collecting dust."

Favela smiled in slight disbelief, but sunk into the wide eyed stare as he did whatever medical training he could remember. "Come on, I'm not a ghost yet, stop looking at me like I'm one now."

Nick tightened the makeshift tourniquet the rookie made with his baton and Nick's torn clothes. "I'll keep making bad jokes until you both laugh." The girl that was with him, a much more seasoned cop that was training the guy, gave Nick a playful glare that was more genuine than playful.

"Quiet, you look like you're going to die in the next minute. Don't make your heart stopping a punchline." The girl stood up, the paramedics transferring Nick to a stretcher.

Oh this bill would be a bitch to pay. Well, more of a bitch to argue with his insurance provider and, most likely, the hospital.

"He has 2 fracture's in his left arm, 3 in his right. 9 ribs are broken and so is his left clavicle. The cartilage around his sternum and the sternum itself is cracked to high hell. The broken bones made lacerations, and he had several deep abrasions. The concussion goes without saying. The most severe are the several cracked spinal bones. All of that, plus some more medical jarble that would mean nothing to you if I said them aloud."

The nurse looked up from the long list of injuries at Renard, "By all means, he should be dead. If not dead then unconscious, and probably in a coma for the rest of his life. If he wasn't unconscious and braindead by some result of divine intervention, he should be unable to walk and paralyzed."

The nurse glanced inside at Nick who was telling knock knock jokes to Hank as the man apologized almost hysterically. Nick was sitting up in his bed, not straight and definitely not without difficulty, but sitting up nonetheless.

"Somehow, somehow, he's fine. It's going to be a long 6 months, and he's probably going to feel the affects for the rest of his life but, I'm not even sure about that right now. He's healing at a rate that baffles me, and he is a stubborn sonuvabitch. And his puns are terrible." The woman gave him a look.

Renard nodded, going inside as the nurse walked away. Hank was focused on Nick with a suppressed rage that was threatening to spill over any second, fueled by the damn near brotherhood level bond they had built.

Nick spotted Renard in the corner and shifted the mood of the conversation, looking his partner in the eyes with a stern glare, "Hank, do not go after him. That man survived a sniper rifle from a few feet away, boiling water to the face and being set on fire."

Hank was about to refute the statement, but nodded and gave in, pulling away. Nick gave a look to Renard, mouthing, 'Watch him'.

Sean nodded, and as much as the Captain would love to check in with Nick, they had stuff to do and getting justice for Nick would clear whatever emotions were clouding Séan's judgement. He had to leave before he said something stupid.

The door shut, and Nick listened as the footsteps went down the hall and turned, based off the ding, into the elevator. Nick grabbed his phone, dialing a growingly familiar number.

Looking at the bedside table, there was a note next to his phone.

Get better soon, Nickie. I'll stay in touch <3

[email protected]

Nick smiled.

"Hey, I'm actually glad you called, I found out more information on that watch- what? What?… What? Oh don't you 'what' me on the watch, yours trumps that royally. Which is kind of ironic given the history I was talking about."

Nick smiled when Monroe walked in, an expression that Monroe wasn't used to getting in reaction to seeing him.

"The hell happened? Did that watch belong to to a Siegbarste or something?"

"You know I don't know what that is. I did get beaten bloody by some guy who can't feel pain and has some very impressively thick bones, muscles, and skin."

"That… sounds like a Siegbarste- you fought a Siegbarste?!"

Nick chuckled at Monroe's scandalized tone, something that made seeing Nick like this somewhat easier. Monroe winced when Nick sucked in a breath of pain at the action.

"What, that give me some street cred?"

"Yeah, I think that would put you in the 'unkillable' status. How on Earth did you ever survive that- you do damage?"

"Uh, a couple shots from a sniper rifle damn near point blank, poured boiling water on him and set him on fire so… I think so?"

"Yeah, that puts you firmly into the 'unkillable and dangerous' status."

"He's after Hank."

"Your partner, why?"

"He put him in prison."

"Oh, yeah that'll do it." Monroe winced. "These guys carry grudges to the grave, and usually they make sure it's yours."

"I have to stop him."

"How? I mean, from the sound of it, you put up one hell of a fight, but I don't think you can do anything. Hell, most people can't do anything. Unless that rifle had bullets laced with Siegbarste gift, he isn't dead."

"Siegbarste gift?"

"Yeah, gift is German for poison– I always found it weird as a kid on Christmas –and there's a specific kind for Siegbarste. Honestly, if you had some then it would be more valuable selling it than using it, it's so rare. Pretty sure it only grows on the North side of trees just below the timber line, in a specific forest in a specific grove in Romania or something–"

"I think I have some."

"…Ok, you are your boss's favorite, because the meds they have you on are good."

"Is Siegbarste spelled S-i-e-g-b-a-r-s-t-e?"

"Yes?"

"Does it happen to be bright red, translucent and move like water?"

"…No way. There's no way."

"Whats it do?"

"It calcifies their bones," Monroe shifted around slightly, "makes them shatter from the inside out. The hard part is getting it in them in the first place."

Nick thought back to the closet full of weapons. There had to be something in there, right? Like a better sniper rifle, or a glorified, Siegbarste killing Smith & Wesson?

"I think there might be a way. There's a weapons closet, and a bottle of poison. I need you to get it for me."

Monroe raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to down and to the side. "Ok… he said somewhat tenuously."

"Please?"

How does a Grimm have better puppy eyes than the literal wolf?

Monroe looked around the trailer, awe filling his eyes as he stood at the entrance for what was probably too damn long. "Dad, I promise you, I am doing the right thing. I promise."

Monroe focused on his task, saving the gawking and geeking out for later. Sorting through the shelves of brightly colored liquid, a bright red bottle stuck out as much as a Christmas ornament on a fully decorated Christmas tree. Monroe popped the lid, giving into his more wolf like instincts and giving a sniff- Holy fuck shit god fuck why- 

He reared his head back violently, quickly putting the stopper back in and moving onto the large wardrobe. Of which was filled with cartoonish level medieval weaponry. Ok, fuck his lineage at this point, this was awesome. Nothing that shot bullets though. But, there were 4 large cases in the back that looked like they could carry guns.

Monroe flicked open the large leather bound case, being greeted with an outrageously large shotgun and the pieces to go with it. Monroe assembled it slowly, admiring every little detail about this piece of history. And Nick said he hadn't spent much time here? Monroe was going to drag that Grimm down by the ear and explain every single historical and cultural significance to everything in here if he had to, just to get the man to appreciate this.

Monroe looked down the attached scope, a modern thing that zoomed in way too far and looked out of place with the rest of the gun. The ammo was large, and the actual bullet part of the bullet was larger than usual and, by the looks of it, had a hollow end.

Monroe feel along it, the end of the bullet had a cracked pattern engraved while the tip was solid and sharp. Made to lodge inside and explode like shrapnel, and spread the poison. A Grimm definitely made this. Or an American, who knows.

Monroe beamed as he dipped the bullet in the gift, small bubbles coming up as the liquid filled the gap. Rinse and repeat and you have two very large, very deadly bullets.

And now, he had Siegbarste to kill.

He was too old for this shit.

Nick was still on the phone with him, providing some needed company. How did he ever do this when he was younger? This was so nerve racking. Monroe felt like the slightest fumble would kill him where he stood.

The yelling between the two was like out of a cowboy movie. Monroe almost laughed as Hank avoided Stark's 'creative' attack by stepping 2 feet to the right. Though wasting half your ammo shooting at a car was pretty stupid. The sounds made his ears hurt, thank god for the shooting range quality earmuffs that Nick ordered him to get and bring.

Monroe loaded the gun, fumbling with his movements and looking up and down. Apparently, the half of his ammo Hank wasted was all of his ammo– was this idiot fighting a Siegbarste in a fist fight? Was he a kehr- well yes, yes he was, in fact, a kehrseite.

Monroe aimed down the scope, listening to Nick's voice.

"Alright, Monroe, listen to me. Focus on my voice and block out all other noise, ok? It's two moving objects, you need to hit one. Steady yourself and wait for the best opportunity. Preferably, when the person you trying not to hit is on the ground."

Monroe listened, and tried to drown everything out. Drown out the noise, the breathing, the cracking of Hank's fist on Oleg's too dense of a body. Waiting for Hank to get down and not get back up suddenly enough to get hit via misfire. Cause if Nick wasn't an Endezeichen Grimm so far, killing his partner would definitely make him one.

"Aim down the scope, account for recoil, take a breath, and fire."

Monroe aimed down the scope, tilted the gun up but still locked on even with the scope ("I'll explain the semantics later"), and took a breath.

"Oh, also, a gun that size can and will throw you back and onto your ass if you're not laying down."

Monroe fired, and was in fact thrown back by the force, falling onto his back. Monroe stared at the corpse as it froze mid air and, ew. But like, that's really awesome but he's still super glad he's super far away. Because holy shit, did that guy just explode with a snap, crackle, pop of his bones. Ok, maybe 2 bullets dipped in poison and one hollow shell of pure poison was too much.

But still. So cool.

And also time to get the ever loving fuck out of there.

So fucking cool.

"It's done."

"Why are you saying that like you're the assassin I hired to kill 'em. Hired hitmen was the reason this whole thing happened, 'roe."

Monroe firmly stomped at the feeling that nickname gave him, "Fair reaction. Hank is ok, covered in the blood and guts and bone fragments of his enemy, but ok."

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah. Shaken, my ears hurt, though not as much as they would have without the muffs."

"Good. Sorry for dragging you into this."

"I'm fine, don't worry. Say, is hospital food still as bad as I remember it being?"

Later that night, after both Hank and Renard had checked back and ensured no one would bother him again, Monroe came down with some stuff from a local bakery.

And, sometime during that night, Nick would think to himself that, yeah, maybe Monroe isn't all that dangerous.

Chapter Text

Lena hated museums. They always reminded her off unpleasant things that she would honestly like to keep her mind off of. But, every five years, she found herself returning.

"I hate it." The man standing next to her suddenly announced himself.

"Shame, I quite like it."

Lena walked away, hoping that it snuffed out any interest the man had. Unfortunately, men are assholes and can't take hints in either direction.

"This more your style?" the man followed close behind. Lena wanted to roll her eyes and hope her hat covered the view. Time for her tried and true man repellant: intelligent conversation with a woman. "This piece seems to employ exemplary use of color as a means of emotive expression. By avoiding a more literal transcription if human nature, it clearly comprises the basic tenets of fauvism."

"…really?"

Charming. Though, if he understood a lick of what she said, he’d likely get pissed off, so maybe that was for the best.

"Are you a painter?" he asked.

"Why?"

"I'm a collector." 

"What are you collecting tonight?"

"I was just thinking about leaving, actually. You wouldn't happen to grab a drink and keep talking, would you?" He shot a sly smile.

Oh men, thinking simple polite small talk would build enough trust, enough of a bond to extend an invitation. "Thank you, but no. I have to go." Lena gave a smile and turned on her heel. Hopefully rejection would be firm enough to get this guy off her ass.

Apparently, no. Then again, that wasn't surprising.

"Okay, I just have one question. What the hell is fauvism?"

He was getting aggressive now. This guy was probably wesen, something slimy. Lena considered more gentle rejection or being more stern, although either or would result in tonight ending the same way.

"You're a collector and you don't know?"

"Well, I collect what I'm attracted to."

Lena sighed, then turned away, "It's a style of Les Fauves, which is French for wild beast. It was used for more bold, fervish paint strokes which were simple and abstract. Much like a man trying to pick up a woman." Going for rude now.

"Well here I was trying to be abstract but I guess I wound up being pretty simple."

Lena considered her options. Well… he would work.

"All successful creative endeavors are simple."

"So I have a chance?"

Lena turned to face him, thinking this through a bit further.

"Your place."

This was a mistake, she needed to get out of here. He was a person, a normal guy. He didn't deserve this. He was a collector, he had friends, people who cared about him.

"I… I shouldn't stay." Lena stated softy, her voice catching in her throat a couple times. The guy, she didn't even know his name, wrapped his arms around Lena's waist. "You just need to relax, loosen up a little."

The teeth on her neck were sharp, too sharp. Lena sighed, then pulled the man's hands off of her body.

Well, she tried to.

The guy latched on tighter, picking her up and biting harder when Lena tried to struggle, He tossed her onto the couch, using her panic as a tool. Lena glanced up at him, Fuchsbau, because of fucking course he was. All the males were like that.

Lena flipped them onto the floor, pinning him by his shoulders. The way he looked at her made her skin itch, made her feel dirty. She would have no qualms with this, not anymore.

The fangs hurt when they come in, they always did. Then again, with the screaming and struggling below her, that thought felt insensitive. And- fucking ow, this asshole, did he just-?

This was fine. She just needed to get finished with this, and then she would be able to go back home.

She was fine.

"Ok, so, Wesen are the animal-human hybrids, which you haven't explained the rules of, and there's a worldwide community that keeps itself hidden. And Grimms, what I am, have a history of genocide that cemented us as a fairytale horror."

Nick strolled at his usual, faster than the average person pace. Monroe kept up, seeming content. The blutbad's mannerisms, the closer Nick observed, had subtle wolf like consistencies. Head tilted down whenever around new people, sniffing the air every so often, and turning at far away sounds. It was odd.

"Essentially."

Nick looked at Monroe with a confused expression. "I have so many questions, I don't even know where to start."

Monroe sat down on a vacated bench, "The most generic would be fine."

Nick sighed, pausing for a second. "How does- what makes a wesen different from humans? Or, ‘kehrseite’?"

Monroe leaned back, quite calm for what was probably a private conversation in a public place. "Like, in terms of evolution?" Nick nodded. "Our souls are different."

"…what"

"So kehrseite have human souls, right? Wesen have more animalistic souls, and our bodies compensate in our ability to transform between looking human and looking more feral."

"So magic."

"It's not magic, it's just," Monroe paused, "how things work. You can't call gravity magic, it just is."

"It's weird to think about. And you mean souls as in a definitive, real, tangible thing, right?"

"Yep. Every wesen kid learns about this, along with the concept of currency and country borders and every other basic concept of life that requires some baseline understanding of the world."

"You understand how batshit crazy you sound right now, right?" Nick raised an eyebrow.

"You think thats weird? Just wait til you get to the wesen that aren't just animals."

"What?"

Nick's confusion and any chance at an answer were cut short by his burner ringing. Of course the job called now of all times. Monroe raised an eyebrow, Nick giving a glare as he answered the phone.

"Burk–… what do you mean eaten by acid from the inside out?"

"You have fun with that, Nick."

Nick winced at the sight of the absolutely desecrated corpse. Rotted, half eaten and smelled like hell. Hank gave him a sympathetic nod. "Girlfriend found the body this morning coming back from an audition in L.A."

Nick crouched down, examining it and doing his best to ignore the stench. The human body certainly was a complicated machine, but in cases like this, it was hard to see it as anything but a slab of burnt meat. "How long has it been rotting here? The smell hasn't sunk in."

"Listen to this, he was last heard from yesterday night." Hank nodded when Nick looked back at him with unbelieving eyes. "Girlfriend called him last night at 8:00pm, he was at an art gallery."

Nick shook his head. This was a professional job, using something to make it rot this quickly. You’d think a gun or poison would suffice, but who is he to stiffle creativity?

"Found something." Nick looked up at the blond officer as she delicately pushed the corpse's head to the side, something peaking out from underneath. Curiously, Nick picked it up, char flaking on his hands.

A finger, bitten and broken off. "At least we'll get a clean print."

It moved.

Nick dropped it and stood up abruptly, yelping slightly. Hank chuckled under his breath, picking the thing back up and putting it in an evidence bag. "You wanna carry it or do you want me to give you the finger?"

Nick rolled his eyes, smiling against his will.

"Latroinsectotoxin, an amino acid typically found in black widow venom. Your vic had about 2 tons of it in his system." Harper handed some papers to Nick, who breezed through them, skimming the surface of the tox-screen knowing that Harper would tell him. In the corner of the page, there were some handwritten notes, most likely from their resident genius.

"You wrote that this acid paralyzes, but it doesn't melt."

"And that means your killer is using something else. Speaking of,"

Harper pointed out a rounded incision in the middle of the body's abdomen, "The insides were completely liquified, and then sucked out through the mouth. However, the cut seems to be a bite wound."

"What, they just stuck a vacuum in it and took all they could get? Why go through the trouble of biting?"

"I have no idea, that's your job." Harper gave him a look.

Nick rolled his eyes playfully, "Thanks Harper."

"Are we looking at a revenge killing?"

Hank and Nick walked alongside their Captain, relaying any information they had. "Victim doesn't have many ex's, though he did have a whole lot of cases against him. None ever stuck, but that doesn't mean he wasn't guilty. Girlfriend is clean, though, alibi's solid."

Hank noted, "Only thing missing was his Rolex, but we got the serial number from the insurance company. No hits anywhere."

"Any probable financial causes?"

"No debt, didn't seem to be a gambler."

Hank hummed, "Maybe stock market. Anybody look at our pension funds? Motive for homicide right there."

Wu interrupted their absolutely productive relay of information. "We got a hit on that finger. Homicide in Phoenix, 5 years ago. Same MO." The three nodded, and watched as Wu disappeared into the break room. What did he even do besides be convenient and ridiculously useful?

Nick dropped into his chair, the wheels rolling smoothly into their place at the desk, the detective quickly opening the case files with Hank and their Captain watching over his shoulder.

"Vics name was George Dixon, 25. No leads, all dead ends, and no other evidence. Body has all the same signs, mummification and all." Nick read off the screen, looking back up at Renard.

Hank leaned in forward, quoting, "'Body was found with high amounts of latroinsectotoxin, an enzyme found in spider venom'." Hank leaned back, frowning, "Why can't she just shoot these guys like normal? Less work for all parties involved."

Nick scoffed in an imitation of a laugh. "Some people don't like guns."

"And damn near everybody doesn't like spiders."

Procrastination: Not only a way of coping and putting off stuff you don't want to do, but a lifestyle.

A lifestyle that Monroe had taken Nick from by the ear.

This was revenge, wasn't it?

The two entered the dusty old trailer, the lights flickering on with difficultly. Monroe was absolutely beaming, but Nick couldn't help but look at the vast amounts of crumbling books and sigh at the amount of time this would take.

"There has to be some organization system, Nick."

"You don't know my aunt. She would put cups and pans together in the same cabinet because 'They never expect a frying pan to come from the top shelf'. I'll be lucky if they're color coded."

He could just ask Marie about whatever bizarre system she came up with, she'd be happy to explain (hopefully within 10-12 business days).

Monroe tapped on an almost completely dusted over carving in the wood of the shelves. Vaguely, barely legible, was the word 'Reptilia' above a shelf stacked with books and scrolls. Nick rolled his eyes at the 'I told you so' look the blutbad was giving him.

"Spiders would be under arachnida, right?" Nick looked up at the shelf above him, a fairly large collection of books compared to the rest of the trailer. Etched into the wood was the word 'Insecta'. You do have to start somewhere.

The two pulled out the first books, flipping through them to see if it was what they were looking for.

A scroll rolled out from inside the book Nick was holding, spreading itself out on the floor and revealing Japanese script and some very creepy drawings. Monroe whistled, leaning down next to Nick to read the blocky English translation.

"This sounds like what you're looking for," Monroe turned to the Detective, who nodded.

"Looking for wesen that bites people to melt their insides to drink it, so, most likely."

Monroe didn't say anything, buckling down to read the rest of the scroll. "Real work of beauty though, probably hundreds of years old."

Nick eyed the damn near crumbling leather and parchment, "Too old, I should rebind some of these."

"I don't trust you to do that alone."

"What are you, my babysitter?"

"If that's what it takes to keep you from destroying these historical artifacts."

How did they get here?

Lena looked at her mirror, finishing up her eyeliner. A perfect point, first try. The wig was secured on fine, some adjustments here or there and it would look authentic enough. Her 'date' would be expecting her soon, and she needed a love at first sight hypnosis. Luckily it was a man so it wouldn't be too hard.

She hissed, accidentally hitting her finger on the edge of the counter. It was healing but still hurt like hell. It would be better on a full stomach. Not that she would be full by tomorrow.

The wrinkles on her forehead taunted her, the skin over her knuckles just a little too bunched.

The kiddos would be sad, they made some close friends here. Sally would spring back up just fine, being so young, but she could tell that the emotional work was taking a toll on Hannah.

Fuck this. Fuck everything. They shouldn't have to do this. Why did she have to have two daughters? She doomed her own little girls to this hell for the rest of their lives.

Her life would already be stressful enough as it is without the wesen aspect of things.

Breathe. She could do this.

She had to do this.

Nick sighed, doing a once over one more time, knowing it was useless.

The fencing around his backyard was always something he prided himself on. Reinforced to high hell, took ages to build. Kept everything out, gave him privacy when he was in his backyard and lighting a bonfire for the 20th time that week.

He liked cooking shit over fire, sue him.

But, since he was javelin style punted into it a couple months ago, it had taken some damage. Not to mention that the bitch had nicked it (hah) at the top when jumping over.

Nick had wanted to replace the railings, but he needed a very specific type of screw to secure it and his usual place had been freshly out. Since he didn't trust big companies, he looked up any local hardware stores that might have it.

They said they did, but they were probably out.

"Lookin' for something?" An older man appeared beside him. Not in uniform, but Nick didn’t expect one in a place like this. 

"Yeah, do you carry any 64 gauge screws?"

"Oh yeah, we have 'em in storage. I'll get them out for ya."

Nick hummed, that was easy. The man called out from the backroom, sounding curious, “What’re you working on that needs 64 gauge? Haven’t brought these up front in months!”

Nick chuckled the appropriate amount, “Just fixing up the fence in the backyard. Never can be too secure, y’know?”

The man came back out with a box in hand. At the same time, another person walked in looking extremely pissed off. Feathers rippled across their features, a beak sharpening in front of their mouth. It only lasted a second.

A second too long.

There was a clattering as the attendant dropped the box, making knowing eye contact with the unknown patron. Quickly, the person by the door bolted, full on sprinting out and around the corner.

The attendant took a few shaky steps back, keeping his eyes on Nick as brown fur spread across his face. Terrified eyes glowed a light hazel. Oh, Nick hated this. But he couldn't do anything, it looked like the smallest movement and he would have a heart attack on the spot.

"I- we-" He stuttered, "we don't- we don't want any trouble, just-" and with that, they ran into the employee's only section. A loud clattering behind the door suggested he barricaded it a little too hastily.

They were that scared of a fairytale?

Nick sighed, feeling guilty and more than disturbed. Gingerly picking up the box and looking at the price tag, Nick left the cash (lucky he had any) on the counter next to a small note saying 'sorry'.

Monroe was going to hear about this :(

Lena jumped at the loud knocking at the door. She hadn't taken that long, had she?

Evidently, her sense of time was warped as the room service opened the door, freezing at the scene in front of her.

Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Shit.

She didn't have any other choice- and, hey, this makes it 3 out of 6 now.

Fuck

There were two bodies at the scene this time, both very hollow.

"You should've seen it man, creepy as hell." Hank shuddered as if to shake off the feeling of it. "The CCTV footage," Hank pulled it up as he spoke, "shows a girl identical to the one from the gallery, minus the blonde hair."

Hank sped it up, changing the camera they were focused on. Depicting the doorway, the hotel attendant peered in and then was yanked further into the dark room. It was far after the suspect and victim had first gone in, already the next morning.

"We don't think that the second killing was planned, which explains why there was much more struggle than anticipated. The 2nd vic's nails were bloodied, we're scanning for DNA now."

Renard stopped by their desks again, "Just got off the phone with the chief of police in Phoenix and Albuquerque." The man sat down next to them, "They linked the fingerprints to all of their crime scenes."

Nick's eyes widened, Hank had a similar expression. "'All of them'?"

Renard nodded, "There were a total of 6 murders at both locations, all done within a single week. All of them had an item of value taken, a ring, necklace, whatever they had on at the time."

"She's collecting trophies of her kills."

Renard nodded.

"There's an APB out on all items, but so far nothing has been reported." The Captain sighed, standing up, "We need to get ahead of this now. In order to do that, we need to know how she's selecting her victims."

Lena looked in her car's mirror, wiping off the lipstick from earlier that morning. It didn't come off completely, but it would be fine until she got home.

Slipping out of her car, she surveyed the large cooler and gym pack she needed to haul out to the soccer field.

"Hey doll, need a hand?" a deep voice drawled from behind her.

Lena spun around, then scoffed and smiled, giving Esme a light kiss. "You need to stop doing that." She picked up the gym bag and slung it around her shoulder.

Esme smiled, wrapping her arms around Lena's waist playfully. "Why? I ain't opposed to getting eaten."

Esme hauled up the very full cooler, hoisting it onto her shoulder and shutting the trunk. Distantly, there was a loud cheer, Hannah running over to them happily.

Hugging Esme and then Lena, Hannah joined them on their walk over. "Thank you guys, coach's water cooler broke and we we're all dying out here."

Lena smirked, "Glad to know we're the cool parents."

"Well, ‘cooler’ parents, get it?"

Lena and Hannah groaned in unison.

Monroe opened the door wearing an apron, and very bloody. "Hey, come on in. You caught me while I was making baddenwurst." No, not bloody, but pink-ish purple dye was all over his apron.

"What's baddenwurst?" Nick asked as he followed into the kitchen. Monroe's house, oddly enough, felt very fit for cooking. All wood countertops, cooking utensils on display in decorative cups. Maybe if he had an excuse, Nick could bake in here-

"It's a type of sausage, don't ask me what though, I don't even want to remember what my nana used to make it with." Monroe shook his head, "A friend of mine, Maple, used to make a vegetarian version back when I was still in the pack. I stole the recipe and I was feeling homesick. Want some?"

To be fair, it did look pretty good, even if the smell was confusing on so many different layers. "I don't think the stuff I wanna talk about is best over a meal." That meat looks pink, kinda of? What color is that.

"I have a strong stomach if you do."

Nick looked back at the fauve meat apprehensively, Monroe filling the silence with ranting. "Did you know that this shade of pink is actually made from madder root and sandal wood? Makes this beautiful shade of pink that is technically classified as red, also my favorite color because it pissed my parents off, and has a highly specific recipe to turn it into the dye in the first place. Has like twenty different types of roots and flowers-"

Nick caved with a huff, "Fine, sure, but don't blame me when you suddenly lose your appetite." Monroe smiled, grabbing one the wooden plates from the pantry.

"So what did you want to talk about?"

"Spider wesen."

"I should've asked before. I also should have guessed that."

Nick gave the man a look, Monroe chiming in with context. "The whole insectid part of the community is its… own little thing. Don't interact with 'em much, and I'm not a spider fan per say. I won't bother them if I see them inside during a storm, but otherwise? Wash them down the drain."

Nick listened to Monroe, tentatively taking a slice of the veggie substance and taking a bite. It tasted… good, actually. Like meat, but something else as a hind flavor? Not as bad as he was expecting, he'll be honest. Nick took another bite.

"We've had a really big case, buzz of the station. 6 kills in Albuquerque 10 years ago, 6 more in Phoenix 5 years ago, and 3 so far here in Portland. Same MO, all the insides were melted and then drunk through a bite wound."

Nick glanced down at his phone while taking another bite, "I'll spare you the images."

Monroe whistled, "Sounds like a Spinnetod. Nasty little buggers, but pretty sad in my opinion. Funny story, uh-" he stopped in his pressing, leaning on the counter in thought. "I had a friend way back when, her name was Charlotte, who was actually a Spinnetod. I might be able to set up an interview if she's still alive."

"Still alive?"

"You'll see."

"And that last shot? God dang! Where did you learn to kick like that, Hannah?" Esme laughed, Hannah smiling brightly.

"A friend of mine does taekwondo, taught me how to do a roundhouse kick. I didn't think I'd actually ever use it but, hey, it won us the game." Hannah blushed, looking a little bashful, "Even if it did look stupid."

Sally interrupted the teenagers pouting, "That looked awesome!" The S in her sentence slurred between her two missing front teeth. An unfortunate accident on her 3rd bike before it broke, again. At this rate, she's going to evolve to be a shark with how many teeth she's knocked out.

Hannah smiled at her sister, looking at Lena a little more somberly. "We missed you last night mom. It was movie night." Lena frowned, hurt welling in her eyes.

"I know, love, but on the bright-side, I got you guys something." Lena walked over to the kitchen, coming back with 3 small boxes. Sliding one to each member of the family, they all opened it with their individual styles and grace. Sally lacking in the latter completely.

"Woah!" Sally held up the necklace to the light, the stained glass casting a pastel rainbow. "It's so pretty!"

Hannah looked at the ring with barely contained excitement, trying to look unenthused, but with how her eldest collected rings like clockwork, Lena new it was the right gift.

Esme looked down at the golden watch with a smile, only tinted with the knowledge of where she got it. Looking up at her wife with a smile, Esme gave her a light kiss (Sally made a disgusted sound, looking away exaggeratedly), "Thank you, love."

The parking lot was crowded for a Wednesday night, yet another truck pulling in as they got to the door. "What is this place again?"

"A Klosterhause, it's a retirement home for wesen. When we get older, it gets harder to control the woge's, so we need special buildings ran purely by wesen and Kehrseite-schlich-kennen." Well that makes the truck with the princess stickers more depressing. "Keep the secret, keep the peace, you know? Not that Schneetmachers would have a problem with lack of peace."

"What?"

"Snowmakers- you know what, I'll explain later."

Monroe stopped by one of the doors, knocking on the open frame. "Hey Charlotte. You're looking… alive."

Charlotte gave a good natured pat on the hand, inviting the 2 in. "That's better than everyone else says to me. They act like I'm blind. Not that it will take much time for that."

Monroe stayed outside of the doorframe, keeping Nick behind him. "This is Nick, he's a detective and something" Monroe paused, trying to gauge the probable reaction, "else."

Monroe took a breath, tensing up his body and making Nick nervous. Was it going to be like this every time? Thinking back to the hardware store, probably.

"He's a Grimm."

Charlotte spun around, woging on instinct and glaring at Nick. Nick flinched back, not used to the giant mother fucking fangs protruding from the gums and giant black eyes that sucked out someone's soul.

Monroe held his hands up, body blocking Nick fully. "Don't worry. He's a sort of… new aged Grimm. He doesn't hurt wesen."

Charlotte woged again, glaring at the two of them with tired eyes. "It wouldn't matter either way. What could he do to me that time hasn't already done?"

Charlotte gestured to the sofas around a coffee table, taking a seat and taking a sip of coffee from a mug. It was nerve wracking but Nick's curiosity was getting the better of him. Sitting down across from her, he tried to keep his gaze from being too pitying or too harsh.

"I'm investigating a group of murders, and I believe they involve a Spinnetod." Nick tried cautiously, not wanting to get jumped. As it is, she was already tensed, a lack of self preservation the only reason they were allowed to stay.

Charlotte looked at Monroe with barely concealed disdain. "You're helping him?" she spat, her voice full of biting (hah) judgement.

Monroe gave her a look, "He's new at this, and he kind of stumbled into me. If I can prevent one wesen hunting monster, then I'll try."

Charlotte calmed down slightly, looking at Nick a bit differently. "I turned my back on who I was years ago, and that's why I'm here now." Her voice turned more professional. "What did the bodies look like?"

"Hollow and mummified, insides turned into paste."

"That's a Spinnetod alright, how many victims?"

Nick did some mental math, "15 dead over the past 15 years, 6 in one city 10 years ago, and other 6 5 years ago."

Charlotte looked confused, thinking for a moment before speaking, "We only need to kill 3 every 5 years. Either she's doing it for the thrill, or…" she paused, and from the vibe Nick was getting it was more for dramatic effect than anything else, "she's hunting for two."

Monroe was about to say something before Nick unknowingly cut him off, "You said that they need to kill?"

Charlotte nodded, turning the conversation much more eery, "Guess how old I am."

"Don't do that."

"I'm 26, Detective. And I look like this all because I refused to let my instincts dictate my life. I wanted to be better, be kind." Charlotte scoffed, "Look where that got me."

Charlotte looked back up, holding eye contact with Nick, "We're doomed to a life on the run before we're ever even born. But it doesn't matter how much we don't want to, how much tears are shed, we have to. Otherwise we'll die before we can even start to live."

The young woman took a breath, grounding herself. Nick could feel his heart pang, his opinion on the vic already shifting. "Did she take anything from the victims?" she asked softly.

Nick nodded, "Jewelry, watches."

Charlotte nodded and smiled, taking a sip out of the mug. "We're attracted to shiny objects, I don't know why."

Nick looked at Monroe, locking eyes and sharing similar expressions.

It was because of this that Nick didn't track Charlotte's eyes as they fell to the rope woven bracelet on his wrist, a single gleaming silver medalion in the middle.

It was because of this that Nick didn't respond in time when Charlotte woged and jumped at him.

Nick sucked in a breath, refusing to let out a cry and alert the staff. He maneuvered them around as much as he could with her fangs buried into his arm. "Close the door." Nick growled to Monroe, the man hesitantly obeying before helping Nick pry her off.

Nick managed to pry her jaws off of him, Monroe dragging her away and pinning her in place. Looking down to survey the wound, the punctures were oozing a black, bloody substance. The iron smell told him it was blood, but the pitch blackness absorbed every ounce of light in the room.

Fuck.

Nick looked up at Charlotte and Monroe to see that she had stopped struggling, instead her head was tilted down and hair curtained her face. With a few hesitant and jerky movements, Charlotte looked up at Nick.

The 26 year old looking young woman looked up at Nick.

Her teeth were stained with black as if she had just eaten charcoal, and her hair was mussed but she looked as young as she proclaimed. Long brown hair cascaded down her shoulders in apparently accelerated growth and there wasn't a wrinkle in sight.

"I'm-" she looked at the wound, stopping herself. "I didn't use venom."

What.

"What?" Monroe asked, letting go of Charlotte and rushing over to Nick to confirm that, no, that is black hellwater coming out of Nick's arm. Charlotte stuttered, "I stopped being able to produce venom ages ago. That was a dry bite- I don't know what happened-"

Nick looked back at his hand where Monroe had made another cut with his now claw like nails. "Ow, you dick," Nick hissed, not really knowing how else to respond.

But, sure enough, the black turned into crimson and now Nick was just bleeding.

What the fuck?

Nick was promptly dragged to Charlotte's kitchen. Don't ask him why, he tried to investigate and got shut down immediately. 

"This isn't going to poison me right?" Charlotte asked frantically. "I don't want to walk out of here thinking I'm free and then drop dead."

Monroe looked equally panicked, rifling through her cupboards and grabbing a vial of some silver powder Nick didn't recognize. "I don't know! We still need to find out if that was from him or you!" 

"What the fuck are we doing-?"

Grabbing a bowl from Charlotte's cupboard, Monroe piled in a small dune of the powder, creating a small dip in the center. "Watch it, that's expensive you know," Charlotte protested though it seemed from more of a place of shock that anything else. Monroe promptly ignored her, woging and making a small cut in the palm of his hand, crimson liquid dripping into the substance. The silver immediately turned from silver into a bright, shining gold, turning into a shiny liquid. 

Nick stared at the steam the reaction produced with some worry, "What the fuck- Monroe, what is this?"

"Ssshh, not now," was all he was given as Monroe pulled on Nick's hand, bringing it just above the bowl. Nick could feel the heat coming off from the surface, condensation sticking to his skin. Monroe gingerly made the same cut, squeezing while the blood dripped into the liquid. The minute it touched the surface, the blood turned into ink, burning into gold as it consumed every ounce of color. The porcelain of the bowl cracked right down the middle, shocked by the cold of the smoldering ashes now frozen to its surface.

"What the fuck-"

Charlotte blinked at the reaction, crushing the hot ice crystals between her fingers, the feeling stuck between embers and frostbite. "Blood of a Grimm, huh?"

Monroe shrugged, running a hand through his hair, relieved. "So it is just him. Guess his blood activates against wesen properties. Makes sense, given all the stories about it." 

"What the fuck are wesen properties?" Nick asked a little impatient and down right frustrated. Well warranted, given the situation.

"For the sake of time? Magic. Any of the scientifically impossible feats that wesen do on the daily. And it seems like…" Monroe took another glance at Charlotte, who looked very concerned for her part, "it fixed the mortification process."

"...I'm not going to die myself, right?" Nick asked tentatively. "I didn't, like, gain whatever Spinnetod's have where they age twice as fast?"

"I don't actually know." Monroe hummed long and low before sighing. He reached back up into the cupboards, gathering more bottles, "We should probably check for that."

"You have got to be kidding me-"

The two finally stepped out of the Klosterhause, the sky now darkened with only the street lamps to light the sidewalks. Charlotte's bickering with the staff audible right until they shut the door. Nick's arm was bandaged up, although somewhat sloppily. Thankfully, the blood soaking through was red instead of fucking black.

Monroe sighed as they walked back to his car in heavy tension. "Sorry for dragging you into all of that, you probably don't even know what that was."

"Nope," Nick popped the p in the word to hide the left over frustration. "Not a word of it."

"Listen, I know this must be really overwhelming from your perspective. I'll try to explain everything when I get the chance to, but it feels like every time I'm about to get done explaining something, you go and either disprove everything I know about that thing or get into some situation that takes priority over that-"

Nick put a hand on Monroe's shoulder, stopping him. "It's fine, Monroe, really. I trust your judgement by now." The Grimm smiled, "And thank you, really. You're going out of your way to help me with this, and even if it's to keep me from 'hunting wesen', it's more than you owe me."

The wolf looked off to the side, the two drifting into a semi-comfortable silence as they continued to walk back.

Nick walked into work the next afternoon feeling like he could handle anything.

"Don't bother sitting down. We just got a hit on the watch at Washington Elementary School."

Or not

"Excuse me?" Nick exclaimed, looking at Hank exasperatedly.

"It's gonna be a fun day." Hank smirked, throwing his jacket on and grabbing the keys.

The Principal guided them into her office, fishing something out of a file drawer. "Ben is one of our 5th graders, and took the watch home to show to his mom. She asked where he got it and he said he traded his old trainer bike for it."

The woman sat down, handing the watch to Nick. "She brought it down here, and it looked expensive enough that I was worried he stole it. I called the police, and here you are."

Hank hummed, "Who did he trade it to?"

"A 1st grader of ours, Sally Marcinko." She laughed, "The girl has her two front teeth knocked out because she fell head first off of the 3rd trainer bike her parents got her. It made sense."

The Principal got up and invited a little girl in. Auburn hair tied into little french braids and a hardened, neutral expression. This would be interesting.

Sally sat down on the bench against the back wall of the office, looking stubbornly at the floor. The Principal sighed, "You told Ben you got the watch from your mom."

The 1st grader vehemently shook her head. "I lied." Her tiny, high pitched voice was stern and a matter-of-factly.

Hank turned to the Principal, "Did you call her parents?" She shook her head, "I wanted to see what the police said first to avoid panic." Hank gestured for the Principal to follow him outside, no doubt telling her about the evidential aspects of the watch.

Nick took the time to sit down on the floor next to Sally. "You know your mom is going to get in trouble if you admit it's hers, don't you?" His tone was sincere, like he was talking to a coworker.

Sally looked from the floor up at Nick, then did the worlds smallest nod. Nick sighed, "I know how that feels. But, I think I know how to fix it. For everyone."

Esme Marcinko was marched out of the house in cuffs, and the building was warranted for search, the wife, Lena, looking none too pleased.

Hank looked over Nick's shoulder, "There's a bandage on her finger."

Nick sighed, hoping he could do some damage control. Or at the least, what he was planning would work out. Nick walked over, keeping his body language polite and unthreatening. Didn't really matter, when you're the officers raiding someone's home.

And it was a home. It hurt to rip it apart like this.

"Quick question if you don't mind me asking," Lena turned to Nick, "how'd you hurt your finger?"

Lena smiled falsely, "Not much of a story. I was yelling at someone over the phone while making dinner and mistook my finger for a carrot. My wife is a lawyer and I answer most of her calls for her. Lightens the load of her job."

Nick nodded, "That's kind of you. Do you mind if we see the cut?"

"Why-" Lena tilted her head, "-would you need to see that?"

"There was a severed finger found at the place where the watch was stolen, we just need to confirm."

Lena's eyebrows shot up, "The watch was stolen?"

Both detectives glanced at each other. Lena quickly explained, "I got it from an upscale pawnshop for 5 thousand. It was a gift to my wife. I didn't realize where it was from."

Hank butted into the conversation, "Was there anything else you got from there?"

Lena was going to answer before someone called out from upstairs, "I got the missing ring and necklace!"

The woman sighed. "That would be them. He pushed me to buy them as a set, I didn't question it." She slid the bandage off of her hand, a fully in tact finger in place with only a small incision scar below the knuckle. "I haven't gotten around to painting it yet."

Hank was interrogating Esme, who repeated the same story. Her wife gave it to her as a gift, and she didn't question where it came from. Renard and Nick watched from the observatory room.

"As far as an accomplice to murder and the murderer," Renard turned to Nick, "you got nothing."

Nick frowned, remaining silent and watching the interrogation. Hank left the room, looking defeated as soon as he passed through the door. Renard raised an eyebrow, "You don't look too upset about that."

Nick glanced at the Captain, then turned away again, not providing an answer. "I'm going to have a crack at her, can you go talk to Hank?"

The Captain gave a neutral and calculating look at Nick, the gears turning in his head. "Alright. Just so you know, the cameras in the interrogation room have been acting up."

Nick gave a glance. "I can hold my own if anything happens. And," Nick paused, "thank you."

Renard nodded, and walked over to Hank's desk, distracting him as Nick switched rooms.

Esme sighed, glaring at Nick as he sat down across from her. Nick took out his keys and uncuffed her, a show of trust for what he was about to say. He had a gun and a pocket knife (a personal preference for close quarters fighting and for convenience) in case things went awry.

"I know you and your wife are Spinnetods." Nick stated bluntly, looking down. The woman straightened, her hands jumping back off of the table. "So you know she's going to kill again? You know I have to kill again if she doesn't?" Esme's voice was shaky.

"Actually, I hoped you could help me on that front."

Esme only scoffed, "Why would I do that?"

Nick rolled up his sleeve, explaining what happened the day prior. "A friend of mine introduced me to a woman named Charlotte. She was 26 and refused to kill anyone. She was practically on deaths doorstep. She lost control and attacked us. Turns out the blood of a Grimm acts as a replacement for the 3 bodies worth of nutrients."

Nick unbandaged the bite mark, showing the little circles imbedded into his arm. "Lucky that she attacked me instead of the Blutbad I was with."

Esme woged again and jumped back dramatically, pressing her body against the wall, gaze fixed onto Nick as he slowly got up and threw away the bloodied cloth, pulling a roll of new wrap and gauze out of his pocket (pre-prepared) and sitting down.

"It's Sunday, and your kills started exactly a week ago. You're already visibly aging. You're in your early 30's, you won't survive to tomorrow. You can bite me to confirm what I'm saying."

There was a starved look to the woman's eyes, but she didn't move. "She hunts for both of us. I never had the strength to kill someone, to do what needed to be done. But it doesn't work like that. I always aged faster until it was over and done with."

Esme looked at Nick apprehensively, "Put your gun and knife on the floor on my side, then sit back down."

"Will you kill me if I do that?"

"What did I literally just say?"

"I don't know if you're lying or not."

"You just implied that you, a Grimm, was friends with a Blutbad. I'm thinking the same thing."

Nick huffed, slowly unsheathing his gun and hunting knife and placing them on the floor, then walking back. Esme looked more relaxed, even if that meant she still looked absolutely terrified. Nick stretched one arm far behind his back where his hand was visible on the other side of his body.

Esme sat down, and Nick extended his arm.

…

"This is weird."

"Tell me about it."

Quickly, like a starved man, Esme woged and bit down. Nick clenched his teeth together and winced, but he'd gone through worse than a bite. Even if it did still hurt like hell.

Blackened blood spilled onto the wooden table, and Esme pulled away, licking her lips. Her features shifted, wrinkles tightening back into young skin until she looked like she could pass for her mid twenties.

Nick winced again as he pulled his arm back, packing the wound with gauze and wrapping it tightly. He should get a napkin for the table, actually. "Your wife won't believe me if I extend the same offer. She's more experienced and a lot less trusting. But she knows you, and I need you to help me."

Esme, now looking much less angry with the whole situation and a lot more hopeful, nodded firmly. "Are you kidding? This is a miracle cure. None of us ever want to kill. This could change the lives of all of us." Her gaze turned more confused. "But why would you want that? You're a Grimm."

"Long story, but I'm human first, Grimm second. If that means I can spare a second to empathize with people and try and help, then so be it."

Esme paused, "…You're a weird one, you know that?"

"I've been told."

Her car was spotted at the port just as a yacht left for a cruise. Apparently it was a business meeting and important to Esme's job. It took a second to get Esme cleared in the first place but with Nick and Renard's green light and no good evidence, they got nothing.

So, Nick drove over on his motorcycle with Esme hitched for the ride.

"I'm a defense attorney, and I take every case I get hired for. For the particularly bad ones, child molesters, rapists, murderers, I do my job, get them cleared and hand them off to Lena to eat. They're never innocent or good people. It makes you feel less guilty."

Nick parked his bike, it would take some stealth work to get on the private fucking yacht (rich people) but it was possible. He wanted to laugh, "You ready to get the best mom lore?"

The guy she was with peered over the edge of the raft just long enough for Esme to get a good look. She cursed under her breath, "Shit, that's one of the ones that was actually cleared properly. I had my suspicions but they were proven wrong."

Without warning, Nick jumped behind the man, putting him in a headlock, "I'm a cop. Don't talk, don't move, I'm getting you off this boat."

The guy nodded, and Nick released him, letting him climb down the ladder and off the boat. Esme was already looking for her wife. "Why isn't your partner here?"

Nick shrugged, going down to the main cockpit. "There's no real evidence against you guys, there's no reason to go after you. He's accepted that I'll go past the usual lengths of the law to confirm innocence."

"That's totally not suspicious at all."

"He's a kehrseite, I can't really explain that 'oh, her finger grew back in a few days because she's part spider'."

"Fair."

Nick didn't mention that he had been less than conventional far before he found out he was a Grimm.

The cockpit was dark, and Esme called out Lena's name. Suddenly, Nick's phone buzzed in his pocket. "Hank?" Esme looked back at Nick. "The fingerprints on the body matches Lena?" Nick echoed, looking at Marcinko who looked panicked.

Nick shut the phone off and Esme turned to the ceiling. "Now! And don't use any venom!"

Nick was promptly tackled to the floor as Lena pounced on him, fangs piercing through his sleeves. She reeled back, wiping her mouth as her features shifted. Lena let out a startled laugh, "You weren't kidding."

Well, at least they were happy and not trying to kill a man. Nick stood up and rolled his eyes, climbing back out of the cockpit. "Sorry to interrupt but what's the alibi for the fingerprints?"

Esme and Lena both looked at Nick, climbing after him. "That's it? No anger that I literally just betrayed your trust?"

Nick shrugged, "I've had people literally sprint away from me the moment they realize what I am. I didn't expect any less." Some mild teamwork would have been fucking nice, though. "Again, whats the alibi?"

Esme and Lena looked at each other. "Well, there is one option but it would take some effort on your part.

"So, your Honor, how could there possibly be any way for that to be her finger? Regeneration of that speed is humanly impossible, and Lena wasn't even there that night in the first place. Due to the high profile nature of our name, it is quite possible that someone was trying to frame Mrs. Marcinko, more likely even. Even if it had been her finger at the crime scene, our family was in New York at the time of the Phoenix homicides and it would be impossible for her to commit those murders and be back in time for her next confirmed sighting."

It took a lot of arguing. A lot.

But, eventually, the verdict came back not guilty and the two made it to their daughter's soccer championship later that evening.

Monroe walked with Nick after the trial, offering some company.

"Even with the people they killed, you're fine with just… letting them walk away?" Monroe questioned softly, "I mean it's what I would do too, I'm not judging you or anything, but it just… doesn't seem your style."

"They weren't just fighting to survive, they were fighting to live." Nick looked at the 2 women meeting up with Sally's babysitter, getting ready to race to their daughter's match. Lena held Sally in her arms, fretting all the while. "They did their best to keep the peace they fought so hard for. Sacrificing public image, any chance at a normal life."

Nick turned away from the family, looking back in front of them as they walked. "I fight for moral justice. To do whats right. In the past few months, whats legal hasn't always been just and what would get someone the death sentence hasn't been wrong."

Silence lingered for a second, the sky getting a bit too cloudy to risk being outside.

"I'm glad that you're a Grimm, instead of someone else."

Nick imagined Hannah playing, wishing that her parents were there for her, only for them to show up in the final round. The celebration afterwards, despite the imminent rain. The two little girls that would grow up with the possibility to lead normal lives.

"So am I"

Chapter Text

Wasn't this a pretty sight?

Sad as hell though, all sarcasm aside.

"Mornin' fellas," the responding officer greeted them. "The vics are Ed and Lois Weller. Married 26 years, the husband just retired." The man looked down at the mutilated body strewn across the hallway, intestinal tract ripped open and splattered far across the living room. "Probably not what he had in mind."

"We got a lot of prints," they gestured to the labelled and marked sites, "even found a partial in the blood."

"Someone was feeling ambitious." Hank looked around the house while Nick crouched down to look at the body.

Hank winced, "My knees hurt just watching you do that."

Nick didn't make an expression or turn, "You're just old." Before Hank could bite back a comment, Nick noted, "These aren't made by blade. The cuts are too jagged and shallow. It looks like claws."

Nick's eyes caught something next to the body. A raw steak, some parts nawed out of it, but otherwise left alone. Hank tilted his head, "If it was an animal it wouldn't leave behind food."

The ranger didn't look at the detectives, filling out the base report with a bored look. "There's a trail of horse tracks outside if you want to get a look at those."

Hank and Nick started at the marked set, then followed the trail leading down into the forest. "This is private property and there isn't a stable on grounds." Hank jogged to keep up with Nick's pace. "A horse sure as hell didn't do all that."

"Someone riding a horse might've. Come on."

The tracks got more muddled, going back and forth both directions. Next to them were long, deep lines through the dirt. The two detectives shared a look.

So either someone had a rake dragging behind them or they took it upon themselves to carry out the assailant." Hank sighed, Nick once again kneeling down.

He shook his head, "There's five fingers in these marks, they were dragging a someone."

"Well that's one less murderer in the world."

"If they were doing anything they didn’t want to hide, they would've reported it to the police. Something's wrong."

"Never said there wasn't, I'm just sayin'."

Nick spotted something farther up ahead, buried deep under the softened soil. A silver… something. Most likely a part of a saddle that came off. Hank shrugged when Nick looked at him confused.

Hank started to double back to the cruiser, "Alright Nick, let's start the case of the week."

Hank plopped a stack of files on Nick's desk, "We got a hit on the prints. Dimitri Skontos. 3 priors for misdemeanor possession, served one year off a cocaine rap. They let him off on probation last month."

Nick didn't look up from the file, "Nothing more violent?"

Hank looked back at his turned off computer, "Drugs are a slippery slope, in case you didn't know that."

"Yeah, you've told me your tragic character backstory. Funny how the Captain has an eye for those." Nick set down the files, and turned to his own computer. "I got an APB on his car, what do you got?"

Hank had a smug 'I win' smirk on his face when Nick looked back. "His parole officer. Leo Taymor, waiting for us as we speak."

Nick huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, alright, you got that one."

"What did he do? He was on a good track, doing pretty well-"

Hank cut in, "We placed him at a murder."

Taymor's expression was surprised, more serious, "Oh hell… that wasn't what I was expecting to hear. Spare any details?"

Hank paused to let Nick speak, but his partner was instead watching Taymor like a suspect. Carefully and cautiously.

Hank continued the conversation, letting Nick do his thing. "A couple out in Forest Grove were torn apart and gutted."

Taymor didn't even say anything, just giving the detectives this look. "And you're sure it was Dimitri?"

"Thats what the bloody fingerprints say."

"Ugh, damn." Taymor busied himself with some papers while he continued. "He didn't go into prison bad. Only got worse in there and when he got out, he was struggling to adjust."

"So how did he get paroled?"

Taymor laughed slightly, "That's not my job."

Yeah, this guy was irritating, and Nick's neutral yet antagonizing gaze wasn't making it any better. Hank followed up, his tone growing impatient. "When was the last time Dimitri met with you?"

Taymor clicked his tongue, but paused to get the corresponding paperwork instead of just continuing like a normal human being. Ages later, "Actually…" more pausing, holy fuck, "he was a no-show this week. I gave him benefit of the doubt, which by the looks of it…"

The two detectives glared at him. "I shouldn't have done."

"Did Dimitri have a job? Part time or otherwise?"

"He worked for his uncle at the gym on eighth." There we go, a straight forward answer given in a timely manner.

Hank nodded, "I know it. We'll call you if we need anything else."

"You know," Nick paused by the doorway to listen, "It's too bad. Dimitri was hoping to be the next sugar ray."

Nick gave one last glare at the man before leaving.

The old gym wore its age, the paint cracking at the corners and the cement in dire need of a cleaning. As they approached the door, they could hear someone shouting instructions.

Nick paused, glancing to one of the side alleys and squinting at a truck parked there. Slightly dirtied, with several less than weathered princess stickers on the bumper. 

“Nick?” Hank called his attention back. 

The two walked in, making eye contact with the coach but waiting by the entrance for him to wrap up. 

"Gus Pappas?" Nick asked, the man nodding and walking over. "We understand that your nephew Dimitri Skontos worked here?"

The man nodded, crossing his arms. "Yeah, he's my sisters kid. What about him?"

"We need to confirm an alibi. A married couple was murdered last night and his prints were found at the scene of the crime." Hank stated bluntly, the man reeling back.

"Dimitri? No, he would never do that. I haven't heard from him in a couple weeks, but he wouldn't do anything like that." The man held his arms out in an open gesture, no indication he was lying.

Nick narrowed his eyes, "Being gone for weeks didn't worry you at all?"

The man scoffed, "Of course it does. But he's a grown man who can think for himself, I'm not going to fuss over him."

"And his mother?" Hank raised an eyebrow.

"She died about 4 years ago," his tone more somber. "Took a toll on him. Real mama's boy, that one. He's a good kid. He has a jagged past, but even then he never hurt anyone. Something like murder? He couldn't if he wanted to."

Hank hummed, "Anyone else here close to him?"

"Most of the guys here. We're a pretty tight knit group, we take care of each other. Bryan over there," the coach gestured to a young man doing curls in the mirror, "would be the most reliable. They're each others go-to."

Hank and the coach went off to his office to retrieve updated photos, Nick taking the time to go talk to Bryan. A pure black tattoo of a rhino on his upper arm, and fairly built. Sure enough, twin horns sprouted on his face as he began to lift a little faster.

"Lookin' good," Nick tried to strike up conversation naturally but somehow, he recognized him. Maybe they can see him when they're woged? Anyways, the guy looked freaked out, quickly putting down the weight and standing up.

Nick didn't step back (a stupid choice on his part), and held his hands up. "Relax, I'm a detective, I'm investigating a homicide. I don't want to start anything." The man heard none of that sentence as he held eye contact, "I could take you."

Nick stepped back a couple paces, putting his hands in his pockets. "I am not going to fight you. I have a double homicide with Dimitri Skontos's fingerprints at the scene. So far I've heard the same thing and I need to see if you know anything."

That apparently snapped him out of it, horns fading as his muscles unclenched. "Sorry. I just got a little worked up when I saw you, is all." And still a little worked up, given that the man is still standing and looking at Nick like he's a piece of meat.

"Sorry, you said Dimitri? Committing murder?" The man doubled back to the previous statement. At least he was half listening. "No way. He looks mean, but he's a total sweetheart. We haven't seen him for a couple weeks. Figured something personal came up."

Hank walked over, a picture in his hand. "We got a recent photo." Nick could see what they meant, he looked completely non-threatening, smiling happily out in the woods with his uncle and friends. So how the hell did this man murder someone? Or, who forced him to do it?

"We threw a party out on our usual running trail, celebrate Dimitri gettin' paroled." Bryan looked at the photo a little sadly. "Actually, last time we saw him, he told us he was going out for a run. Come on, I'll take you there. Last place seen and all that."

________________

The 3 got off of their respective vehicles, the cliffside providing a nice entrance to a lush forest with tall as hell trees. "Now this," Bryan gestured to the area around them, "is a good place to run. Fresh air, cold as hell, nobody around and the trail is evenly marked. "

They turned right, a leaf laid path clear ahead, large trees casting a shadow from above. "Usually do 10 miles, couple hours worth," Nick could see Hank grimacing at the mere words, "up and around travers peak. Really pretty lake if you take an off path."

Hank grimaced looking down the leaf trodden way, "We do have to check for any evidence if this was the last place he was found."

Nick didn't say anything, letting Hank dig his own grave.

"…I'll take the bill for the next 5 nights out and write the reports for the next week."

"Make it 2 weeks."

"Deal, 10 miles is actually crazy."

Nick shrugged off his navy blue leather jacket, passing it to Hank. "It's 40 degrees out, Nick." The younger detective only gave him a look. Bryan whistled, "Hell yeah, I can keep you on our usual path, there's a lotta forks in the trail."

Bryan looked Nick up and down, "If you can keep up, anyways. I bet I can beat Mr. Pretty in a race." Nick rolled his eyes, "Bet." Was it a stupid decision? Yes. Would he most likely survive any bullshit that came his way? Also yes. Worst case scenario, he had his gun and a hunting knife at his hip.

_______________

This fucker was not kidding when he was doubting their abilities. Bryan stayed at run at all times, never slowing down unless he was taking a sharp turn. He was also not kidding about forks in the road. Luckily, Nick was nothing if not endurance embodied.

Besides, it had been a while since he had a good run. Look at him doing something healthy for once.

Nick skid to a dramatic stop, catching Bryan's attention. There were horse tracks in the soil, a lot of 'em and some overlapping. Multiple horses all in a group. "Hey, how far is Forest Grove from here?"

"Uh," Bryan surveyed the area, "Like 2 miles from here at this point. Why?" Nick didn't answer, looking around and in between the trees. Nothing suspicious yet, but it the hairs on the back of his neck were high as hell and his gut was telling him to get out of there.

"Keep going, but jog a little slower." Nick judged the trees around them. Close to each other, thick pine and leaves and stable branches. Quickly, Nick scaled up one of them, "Tell me when you can't see me."

Bryan was looking at Nick like he was crazy and looked a little concerned. "Should I be concerned?" he called up after him. "No," Nick surveyed around one more time, seeing nothing, "But it's better safe than sorry."

They continued down the trail, going at a slower pace but nothing suspicious. Nick was good at climbing, experience from jumping rooftop to rooftop back in Brooklyn made it easier to translate that to trees when he moved to Portland. That and it just felt more natural to be up high.

They were a good 7 miles in when the ground started rumbling. Bryan, who had plugged in his headphones a while ago, didn't notice. Nick, who was on high alert the entire time, damn well noticed the giant heard of fuckers riding on horseback. Not exactly the picture perfect 4 horsemen, given it was just some white dudes who looked like they were from the south.

Nick gave them a second to gift them benefit of the doubt but then the lasso started waving and yeah, they're fucking kidnapping people. What the fuck?

Nick unholstered his gun, firing at the ground. The horse's all panicked, no longer listening to their rider. Bryan looked behind him for once and ducked into the brush and trees around them. A couple more shots and the horse's started sprinting back down the trail with no concern for the commands they were receiving.

Nick climbed back down, tracking down Bryan to where he was stationary, fear slowly turning to anger, "What the fuck was that?" Nick huffed, "If I had to guess? The same people we're after."

His phone rang at the same time, it was Hank. Lucky timing, but now Nick had to consider continuing down the trail or doubling back. Based off the direction Bryan was headed for, doubling back.

"I'm- sorry, a bloody ritualistic circle in an abandoned building where Dimitri's car was found?" Nick repeated out loud, Bryan giving him an eyebrow raise. "Yeah, I can top that fucking easily. I'm winning this one, meet you back at the station."

Nick hung up, turning to Bryan.

"You up for that race right about now?"

_________________________

It was a close one, but Bryan did win. Nick'll have to practice with sprinting long distances in forests. Not that he ever slowed down, but Bryan was just faster. Nonetheless, Bryan was brought in for questioning and to fill out a report of what the fuck just happened.

Hank had a bunch of pictures pulled up on his computer, visible from the entryway. Nick turned to Bryan, "You mind if I use this for bragging rights?" The man scoffed, "Not at all."

Hank looked back at Nick with another smug look, "Boom. Bloody. Ritualistic. Circle. How can you top that?"

"Uh, I play 'Almost Getting Kidnapped By A Group of Men On Horseback Who Were Using A Lasso To Kidnap People and Most Likely Influenced Dimitri In Some Way'."

Hank's eyebrows shot up to his forehead, "What?" Nick grabbed a blank incident report and one of his good pens, walking back to the entrance. "Yeah. Good thing horses don't like guns."

"Fine, you win that one. Damn, really?" Nick nodded and Hank sighed in disbelief. "I am not envious, you can keep that one, you earned it." Hank walked back to their desk while Nick handed the materials back to Bryan.

"Fill it out on your own time, keep the pen." Nick looked up at the man, who was now seemingly more angry than anything else, but otherwise fine. "You seem unfazed."

Bryan shook his head, "Did you know they were coming?" The look he gave Nick was hurt slightly, judging. Nick put his hands in his pockets, a habit for these kinds of conversations. "I knew that something dangerous was going to happen. But we were in the forest, and that could've been anything, if we encountered it at all."

Bryan scoffed with a small smirk, "You got like a spidey sense or somethin'?"

"Don't call it that."

_____________________

"So, latin scriptures, unknown symbols, medieval weapons and a suspect who outran you by a mile?" Nick summed everything up, Hank giving him a look. "Dimitri is a boxer and we found evidence of a fight. He could've gone there for some reason. It's close enough to the end of the trail Bryan showed us."

Nick hummed, "He was a boxer but wouldn't hurt someone for the sake of just hurting someone. Maybe a person from the matches dragged him into some deeper stuff. Illegal underground fighting rings don't exactly attract the best crowds."

Hank nodded, looking back at the images for a solid minute.

"Who the hell speaks latin anyways?"

Nick raised an eyebrow, leaning his chair to the side and back so Hank could get a perfect view of the Captain's office. "Right."

____________

"Prima hominis felicitas est scire mori, secunda mori cogi" Renard muttered, writing it down on a spare sheet of paper. Looking not so subtly over at the scratch, Renard was translating it to French and then English. Right under each word was the direct translation, and then below that was the grammatical construction of the full sentence 'Le premier bonheur de l'homme est de savoir mourir, le second est d'être forcé de mourir'.

Renard was doing the same process into English Nick smirked, "Having trouble there, Cap?" Renard gave his more professional equivalence of a glare which was closer to a deadpan. "Man's first happiness is to know how to die, his second is being forced to die."

Renard looked back at the photos. "What is this agin?"

"We believe it is a fighting ring. There was weapons and bloodstains, and Dimitri, our prime suspect, has blood across several parts of the scene." Hank informed in his usual, respectful way.

"There's a bunch of horse tracks in the forest leading to the building as well, and given the incident earlier today, we believe that not all the participants were willing. Not enough people joining to support or for the sake of doing harm, they're taking people by force."

"What incident earlier today?"

Hank chuckled, "I'll leave that one to you, Nick."

_________________

Leo was shoved against the wall roughly, groaning in the back of his throat, scowling as he listened to boots against pavement. "What your problem?!" Leo groaned, getting back up from where he had slumped against the floor.

Renard hoisted him up by the shoulder and shoved him against the wall again. "You're my problem. Your little blood sport has gotten out of hand."

Leo rolled his eyes, tilting his head back, "We had one escape and we caught him."

"After he killed two people."

"Not a perfect world."

Renard forced his temper down, "You fucked up. I had a list of names and were not to deviate from that list. Dimitri Skontos was not on that list." Taymor shrugged, entirely nonplussed with the situation, if a little irritated. "He was on my list."

Sean punched the man in his solar plexus, the wind knocking out of him in an instant. "I let you operate on my conditions, and only on my conditions. If you deviated from that, I would put an end to your operation."

Leo coughed, sucking in enough air to speak, "Gangbangers and meth addicts don't make good fighters." Taymor looked up at the man, "But the ones we find? Oh they are brilliant. He's won 6 fights in a row!"

"He was a man with family and a life."

"He's a man with exceptional fighting skills. He loves the taste of blood-"

"Because you forced it down his throat. It doesn't matter how much money you're making, you have 2 weeks to shut it down. Otherwise I'll take it down myself."

Renard had thought that was all that needed to be said. But the taunting from behind him beckoned for more.

"I don't know if this is your call anymore, princess. There's too much money on the line here. Times have changed, your highness. Royalty just ain't what it used to be."

Renard spun around, point a gun to the mans head. "Lucky for me, I'm only half. Royalty would have you drawn and quartered, now shut it down before I do something," the reflection of brilliant royal purple reflected in the other mans eyes, "less distinguished."

Renard put the gun down but didn't back up. "You pissed off my Grimm, and now he has eyes for your head." The man's eyes widened, the smirk finally wiped off his face. "There's only so long I can hold onto his leash."

Renard backed up fully. "2 weeks, no more people."

____________

Nick and Monroe were back in the trailer again, this time researching the records the trailer had on 'Lowen Games'. Well, Monroe was looking for the books. Nick was just listening to Monroe talk about it and getting all the information he needed from him.

"Oh they're brutal man. Generations of bitterness and rage. Imagine you're king of the jungle and then you get picked up and are forced to fight peasants in a gladiator ring?"

Nick raised an eyebrow, "You say that like they're actually lions." Monroe opened his mouth to say something and then shut it again. Weird, but whatever. Nick ignored it, "Could these fights be happening today?"

Monroe shrugged, looking at the books. "Fighting isn't unique to wesen, but its also not unique to just lowen either. If enough people joined, then sure." Monroe flipped through the pages, careful not to let the thick thread through the holes of the spine. They really needed to start rebinding these books.

"What if they were kidnapping wesen and forcing them to fight?"

Monroe scoffed, "I mean, hell, a hundred years ago, there was always some wesen disappearing from some hamlet. There's a lot more reasons for someone who get nabbed than just to fight. There's also a hell of a lot worse reasons, now that I think about it."

"If these fights were happening today, how would you find out about them?"

Monroe set the book down. "Stop treating me like I'm a search engine. There's only so much I know, and I quit that life ages ago." Nick gave him a look, the silence perforating in the small trailer. Monroe sagged his shoulders, rolling his eyes, "I do know a guy who knows a guy who is brothers with a guy who's like… marginally into the fighting thing. I could try and hook you up-"

Monroe's attention was caught with something else, the werewolf picking up one of the weapons Nick was inspecting. "Look at this monster." He waved around the wooden stick, watching the spiked ball spin back and forth. "Imagine getting clocked with one of these? That's gotta be a bell ringer."

___________

Monroe walked into the bar feeling like his old self, which was not good. It made his skin feel slimy, his saunter just a little too confident and predatory. He felt like an asshole all around, which he was about to be. The bartender pointed over to a table in the corner. Not that the bar was all too crowded.

The man looked up at Monroe silently, gesturing to his phone. Monroe ignored the signal to wait, putting his hands on the table. "Buddy of mine says you can find me some action."

"I'm on the phone," the old man stated, muttering apologies to the other end of the line. Monroe leaned closer and woged, a soft growl emanating from his throat. The mauzehertz flinched back, hanging up quickly. "Alright, alright. I got, uh, Pigskin, Hoops, got a line on a Greyhound five to three- 100% guaranteed return!"

Monroe leaned back, putting his hands in his pant pockets. A small trick Mason taught him to make him look bigger back when he was a cub. He sat down, slightly hunched just enough to make himself bigger but tower over the small man. "I don't bet on dogs. I'm looking for some fuckin real competition. More… dire circumstances."

The mauzehertz was still making himself smaller, his voice barely a murmur as he spoke, "what makes you think I have that kind of stuff?"

"Word is you track the hardcore stuff. And you wouldn't let me down," Monroe let his eyes gleam, "would you?"

The man scribbled down a place on a piece of scrap paper, ripping it out of the notepad he was using. "Be here by 6, and hope they choose you. You know how Lowen are. They're picky. But it's tonight."

Later on, Nick had to argue Monroe down from actually going to the fight. Even later, Monroe questioned why he wanted to go in the first place. This Grimm was not good for his health.

_________________

Renard called both detectives into his office. "Another one of Taymor's parolee's turned up missing with their car at the abandoned warehouse. He's connected to it." Captain looked at both of them sternly, "I need you to talk to Taymor again. Be careful how you handle this, he works for the Department of Corrections. Visit him at home, alright?"

Both detectives nodded, "Yes sir."

Nick smiled in that pretty way he did when he wanted something, looking at Hank. "You'll handle that, right? I did almost get kidnapped because of you."

Hank groaned tiredly, body slumping. Nick gave a small pat on the back, smile a little sharper.

__________________

Monroe drove over to the meeting spot, and Nick camped out about a quarter mile away with a pair of binoculars watching the scene, his motorcycle on standby in case something went wrong. 2 kidnappings was suspect enough, and Nick was going to risk Monroe getting tossed into something dangerous.

Slowly, a truck with a horse stable in the back pulled up and Nick's blood ran cold. Lo and behold, Monroe was hit upside the head (a very common thing that happened with no other ill side effects once the person woke up no matter how hard the blow was or the duration of their sleep) and dragged off in the truck.

Nick waited a second, some of the guys in the truck taking the keys off of Monroe and getting in his car. They took just a second longer as the truck sped away.

Speeding over there way too fast for comfort, Nick unholstered his gun, pointing it at the men. His bike's lights were bright enough to shine on his eyes as he leaned on the drivers side window, not that Nick new any significance of that. Pressing a gun against their head, Nick growled in an impression imitation of Monroe, "You're going to drive over to the ring, and you're going to leave the car around the back and if you want your family, friends and yourself to be left alone," Nick cocked the gun, "you'll leave it alone.

Now to go save Monroe from something that was entirely Nick's fault. Holy shit he owes him so much by now.

_________________

Nick was still driving when Hank called him. You gotta love modern helmets that take calls that totally aren't just a cheap plot device because the author's too lazy to explain how else Nick can take a call while driving, amiright?

"Nick, Taymor has a horse stable full off medieval weapons. The same markings on the walls of the warehouse are all over this thing. I'm sending pictures to the Captain now. Where are you?"

The faint rumbling over the call suggested Nick was driving, "Heading to the warehouse. You know, we probably should have had some cops stationed there overnight just in case, huh?"

Hank paused for a minute, a small defeated sigh made Nick laugh. Hank responded over the line, "I'll call for back up but it's going to take a while."

"How long?"

"A good half hour starting as soon as you hang up."

Nick hung up, and drove faster.

_________________

Nick lept off his bike, he could hear the yelling and the calling from outside the place. He shoved his way in, the announcer's calls roaring through the building despite no microphone. "Haec Lowen Turpis Eliti!"

Nick shuffled further to the center of the room, some people letting out yells of indignation. "Grata Ludos Leo, Hoc Vespere, Sanguinis Lavacro, Facies Maximus, Propugnator Dimitri!"

Nick could see the cage easily now, Monroe smack dab in the middle and a clear boxer opposing him. On the legal side of things, that was most definitely Leo Taymor as the announcer.

"Armo Sumo… Vestr-"

Nick fired into the air once, the room falling silent and eyes locking onto him. What the fuck was he planning here, backup was still like 25 minutes out. Still, Nick didn't want to risk Monroe dying.

Taymor addressed him first, "Detective! Lovely to have a fresh face in the arena! You know, it's custom to have a new fighter spectate at least one game before we toss 'em in." The man's voice was loud and booming, carrying well across the entire building. He's a lion, no shit.

"You have yourself outnumbered here, and the privilege of winning only belongs to the winner!" The people around them pulled guns and trained them on Nick, the detective not passing them so much as a glance.

"Really? So then fight me." Nick made sure to project his voice, making it at least audible. Nick stalked forward, "Come on, wouldn't that be entertaining? A Skalenzahne and a Lowen versus a Blutbad and a Grimm."

The several simultaneous woges were audible and the sound was distinctly unpleasant. Leo looked surprised, at the least, for a few moments, before his pride kicked in. He laughed, "Alright! That's what I'm talking about! Come on little Grimm, 2 v 2, let's go!"

The two walked into the match, the metal bars of the cage door rattling closed behind them. Nick bolted to Monroe's side, giving him a once over. "Dude, what the hell! You do not have to do this."

"And let you die?" Nick picked up a shield and a pike from the corner of the cage. "Sides, if they're anything like the animals, I got a couple ideas."

The two monsters on the other side were negotiating their own teamwork, since one of them was nearly braindead and the other was a prideful asshole, it was going to take a while. Nick flashed his dagger from his pocket, hiding it from the crowd.

"Crocodile's have very weak jaw muscles, stab this up their chin and it'll preoccupy them for a good minute until they get used to the pain. Lion's only weak points are their throats and eyes. I can climb, you can stab. I'll go over his head, you stab him in the throat with the pike when I drop it to you. You go after the crocodile first, I'm fast enough to dodge the Lowen."

Monroe did his best to remember that all, but making mental bullet points was hard when you were facing down an angry Lowen and an angry Skalenzahne. "Stab the jaw, catch the pike and go for the throat. Yeah that's fine. Question, what if none of that works?"

Nick shrugged, maneuvering them to be back to back. Nick faced the Skalenzahne, falling into a familiar mindset. Blood pumped through his veins, his heartbeat getting louder and louder in his ears."Improvise. Follow your instincts. I have back up on their way, so worst case scenario, we just survive until then."

Monroe nodded, and then noted in a single fast breath, (a little too breathless already) "Oh yeah, they hate each other, the Skalenzahne is stupid and his right hand is weak."

Nick turned back to Monroe for a second, locking eyes.

"I got your back if you got mine."

Something in Monroe's eyes flashed red when he said that, the man nodding and turning away while fur spread across his features.

"Vestri!"

oh shit, they're actually fighting

They were on the opposite sides of the person they were going after, the Lowen having its eyes trained on Monroe gave Nick an opening to strike him in the ribs with the shield.

Leo tanked it, the crack not even audible under the loud screams of excitement all around them.

Looking at the claws and teeth of the Lowen, and a small glance to the crocodile's mirrored attributes, Nick realized that if he got hit even once, he wouldn't block the next attack.

One hit and they're dead.

The Lowen was faster than expected, but Nick's advantage was being the fastest out of the four.

Leo locked on to him enough to pounce, Nick bashing the shield into the man's face but dropping it in the process.

Leo swiped at Nick with sharp claws and large movements. Nick was noticing that the man's skin was turning into hide all across his body, muscles bulging and… growing?

This wasn't going to end well if they kept going. They wouldn't survive.

Quickly, Nick jumped off of the metal bars tossing the pike to Monroe while Nick swung himself over the lions shoulder, and onto Dimitri's back? Uh oh, he did not see the positioning.

Based off the loud cheer and resounding scream, Monroe was successful. Now Nick needed to do his part.

Nick latched on, stepping on the larger mans hips as he- nope, his skin was way too tough to stab through. Lucky he was on his back huh?

While holding his jaw shut, Nick stabbed the man through the eye, quickly twisting out to stab the other one.

The Skontos threw him off, Nick landing on his feet well enough.

Two more people entered the ring.

What the fuck guys.

They woged, both reptilian and one of them with cobra like hood. Monroe thew his arms open in a 'wtf guys' manner and Nick would've felt similar if he wasn't locked in.

Nick passed his hunting knife to Monroe, and the scales on the other two didn't look all too impervious to sharp blades.

Nick locked onto the sickle that was by the snake's (he thought it was a snake) feet.

Nick ran forward, hitting the now very blind Dimitri where the snake was, then lunging back and around. Dimitri swung large claws at the snake who veered back but was still hit. Not fatally, but enough to make a weak point for blunter weapons.

Nick kicked the snake's lower back, shoving them into the middle while Monroe swung the flail he was admiring earlier into their side.

The snake let out a loud hiss of pain, the Cobra spinning back to look down Nick in the eyes.

Nick waited until it was about to strike with their own sword, then ducked behind Dimitri and crouched down again.

And clean off with his head. Nick tried not to gag as the crimson liquid sprayed literally everywhere and onto him especially.

Monroe gagged the cobra with Nick's knife, metal cutting at his tongue and getting caught behind fangs, tossing the pike back to Nick.

Nick tossed Monroe the sickle, watching as the man tilted the cobra's head up and aimed the blade at the cobra's throat-

Catching the pike one last time, Nick buried the weapon firmly into the snake's head, right through the mouth and through the brain stem in the center of the circle.

Police sirens cut through the victorious cheering, everyone scrambling for the exit.

Nick shook Monroe out of his frozen state, "Go. I'll meet you after, ok?" Monroe nodded and bolted, adrenaline not quite wearing off yet.

Nick finally focused on something other than surviving. The room smelled absolutely foul, and Nick's clothing was soaked to the core. He tried to wipe the sweat from his brow, but only came back with an even bloodier hand.

Hank rushed forward, most of the crowd already dispersed with people chasing after them. "Nick!" God, he sounded so worried. Nick hated when he sounded like that.

"Don't worry, none of it is mine."

"That's the only context I want to hear that in." Hank huffed, looking Nick up and down and then at the cage. The 4 dead bodies were mutilated, what seemed like such small wounds while they were woged were giant gashes and stabs now. The hits that looked like they did nothing would be cause for death if they had been in their human forms.

The cause for death was obvious for all parties involved. The Lion's throat was torn open, a large gaping hole in the middle so big you could see through. The crocodile's head rolling with its eyes missing, the body still squirting blood at the stem. The snake's entire skull looked caved in and the cobra's head was still attached by a thread, looking like you could tear it off with minimal force.

But they weren't animals anymore. They were people.

Leo had a necklace around his collar. It was a something from the Lion King.

Dimitri had a matching arm tattoo with a crocodile head on it, right where Bryan's rhino was.

The snake had blonde hair and one singular eye, only connected to the skull via a stretched out nerve, showed he had baby blues.

The cobra had dark brown hair, a ring on his finger and something written in cursive on the back of his hand.

Nick blinked up at Hank and Renard (when did he get here?), actually listening to them again. Well, no, he wasn't.

The three walked out of the large building, Nick remaining quiet (his mind was familiar static and white noise) while both of them fussed over what happened, not to go alone, and how the hell did you do that, and don't you dare pretend to be ok-

"Hey Cap? Can I get tomorrow off?"

Based on their expressions, this was much worse.

Nick still got it the next day off, though.

______________________

Nick made a mental note to clean his bike tomorrow, as well as a plethora of other things. The engine turned off as Nick pulled up the increasingly familiar driveway.

Monroe was on the porch, not doing much of anything besides leaning on his railing. Still covered head to toe in blood, some pieces of flesh were stuck underneath his nails but Monroe wasn't looking while picking at them.

Nick walked up the steps, and Monroe backed away from the rails, looking at Nick.

Monroe looked Nick up and down, then chuckled, "Rough night? You look like you just fought a lion."

Nick half scoffed in disbelief, that half scoff turned into stifled laughter, into just laughing. Nick gave a light shove, walking around to the backyard. "Come on, I'll hose you down. You have carpet in your living room anyways."

Chapter Text

Nick ended up staying at Monroe's place that night. Given, there was a moment of hesitance while in the backyard as they switched clothes and hosed down. But as Monroe gave Nick a pair of clothes to borrow for the night and opened up his guest room for him, Monroe's stare wasn't calculating, analytical, scared. 

(Nick readily ignored when Monroe was about to say something, spotting him in the glass reflection of one of the many clocks, and then stopped. Ignored the almost red glint in his eye when Nick came back from changing. Ignored the silent, deep inhale from right behind him, passing it off as going off to the kitchen to grab leftovers from the fridge.)

And, of course, Nick woke up at the crack of fucking dawn (it was as if simply being at Monroe's place forced him into the routine), feeling refreshed and also acutely aware of every sore muscle in his body. The beginning rays of sunlight shone through the window panes next to his bed, and the smell of coffee wafted through the cracked door.

Nick took a second to appreciate the warmness of the fluffy blankets that were cloaking him against the cool morning air, then looked at his phone. It was getting closer to winter by the day, and it was… 5:30 in the morning. His routine was pretty strict, huh? Actually, Nick new this well. He'd interrupted it with the clock thing a few months before. He'd just never experienced it. God, who woke up this early every single day? 

Nick padded downstairs, Monroe giving a silent head tilt up.

Friendship secured

Monroe passed Nick a mug, gesturing to the coffee maker, creamer and other, completely unlabelled glass bottles (?) that were still on the counter. Nick usually just got whatever the most caffeinated drink was from the coffee shop on the way to work and mix it with the surprisingly natural caffeine booster Marie used to make for him in highschool and university. It always tasted like shit, but it got him functional enough to get through the day. Shit, has he ever even had coffee just for the sake of enjoying it? Like once, when he took a sip from Marie's evening glass when he was 12.

Monroe sensed some hesitation, tilting his head and humming inquisitorially. Nick stared at the twenty different syrups lined against the back wall of the coffee section of the counter. How had he not noticed this? "I've always been a black coffee kinda person."

Monroe hummed more definitively, placing down his cup and taking one last sip, then spinning around all the bottles to display the handwritten labels. "Which one?" Holy shit, the morning voice was a surprise, fuck.

"Uh," flowers and fruits and spices, he'd never even had most of these- "Blueberries, I guess." Nick's own voice was scratchy, not used to speaking yet and all too dry. Monroe nodded and gave him an up and down, pouring a cup and grabbing a different creamer from the fridge? and a couple pumps of two different bottles by the wall.

Handing the cup to Nick, Monroe poured and then placed his own in the sink and walked off. Monroe did mention doing Pilates in the morning. Nick was more of just stretch kind of and go walk around until you feel fine. Yoga seemed like something you did alone, peace of mind and all that.

Nick sniffed the coffee, smelling some floral notes and spices. One sip and- huh. This was fuckin' amazing. Now he was craving sugar. Nick didn't trust his voice to project his voice without cracking, walking over and knocking on the wooden frame of the living room.

"Do you mind if I bake something?"

"No, but you'll have to figure out where everything is on your own. And the oven preheats slow.

Nick nodded. It was early morning, so nothing too sweet. Breakfast was never an option for Nick, he could never eat anything heavy after waking up. Monroe was no such person, having previously stated that he'll make 10 pancakes for each morning.

So filling breakfast foods. Nick went through the cabinets, checking what Monroe had. A whole lot of baking supplies. Makes sense given he's vegan. That limits the recipes to things that don't need eggs or real cows milk (Monroe had 4 variations of milk in his fridge).

Well, he could just make tons of small stuff. Pancakes had the same nutritional value as most of the pastries he was thinking of anyways. Now what to make…

___________

Monroe was hard to read on the best of days, so flavor profiles were going to be difficult to land on. Nick shuffled through the cabinets, taking note of what was used more often than others. Dried rose petals had 2 glass jars, one of which already running low. Not to mention that 'rose' was a flavor on both the syrup and a (what looked like) homemade bottle of creamer in the fridge. The pastry he got to bribe his way into Monroe's house back with the ziegevolk was a chocolate-pumpkin cookie and Nick still had Monroe's reaction fresh in his mind. 

What were some basics? Muffins, donuts (although munchkins would be more appropriate given the lack of materials). Monroe was German right? He'd mentioned his family was at the least. Marie had made this one German sweet, although Nick would have to look up the recipe. Krapfen, thats what it was. Nick shuffled through the cabinets a bit more, finding bread flour in the back of the pantry. Actually, most of the baking specific supplies were pretty buried. Must be more of a vegetables and uber healthy bougie pizza kinda guy. 

Nick found himself humming as he moved around the kitchen, committing everything to memory. The kitchen was cozy, the almost all wooden counters a light chestnut with the early morning dawn streaming through the window. 

The dough that needed to rise was made first while Nick made everything else in the meantime. The muffins and biscuits were cooling off on the rack an hour later, the bread dough doubled in size.

Half an hour later, the donut dough was ready to be shaped and fried. Nick just got the doughnuts plated when the Krapfen dough finished rising.

He started around 6 and it was around 8 now, Given Nick was washing dishes as he went along and hand drying them (to speed up the process of putting them away), it was completely finished by the time Monroe walked back into the kitchen.

"You've been busy." Monroe noted, his voice back to normal and his demeanor as calm as it usually is. Nick nodded, eating one of the muffins. "Take anything you want, I don't eat much in the mornings."

Monroe gave a sniff to the air, "What's baking?"

"Braided bread, it's cooling in the oven at this point."

Monroe's pupils dilated, "You made bread?"

"Among other things."

___________________________

For all the Captain bugged him about days off, actually taking one was so bad after all.

Chapter Text

Thom looked up from the saddle he was fixing, the horses outside neighing in distress. He grabbed his shotgun with a groan. He really needed to convince Eloise into getting better fencing, with how these animals kept getting in. He didn't have enough tomato juice if it was a skunk again.

Looking out into the small field, ducking in between the panicking horses was a silhouette of shadow, way too big to be any small animal.

"Get outta there!" Thom aimed at the shadow and fired into the darkness. It landed, as the creature let out a cry of pain (a wild, unknown animalistic cry) and scurried off. Investigating the damage, shit. Thom pulled his phone from his pocket, "Doc Silverton? It's Carson. I gotta horse that's been attacked."

The man got there soon enough, silver truck pulling into the ranch's drive way with a rumble. "Hey Doc, thanks for coming so quickly, I know it's the middle of the night."

He shrugged it off, satchel of tools by his waist. "Of course. What happened?" The two sped walk over to the stables while Thom filled him in, "Something was bothering the horses. I came outside and it was the size of a mountain lion or a bear or something, I fired at it but not before it did some damage."

The doctor rushed over, surveying the wounds on the horse's neck. "Definitely bite marks and scratches… deep too." He started shuffling through his bad, "I'll clean up the wounds, give her some antibiotics." With some curiosity, Silverton pretended it was his hand scratching at the horse. Nearly double the size. "You should get some better fencing."

Thom put threw his hands open, "That's what I've been saying! Not that it would've stopped that thing, it blew right through the fence." The doctor rose an eyebrow, gesturing for Thom to lead.

Sure enough, a whole section of the wooden cross fencing was blown out. "Snapped the railing right in half, and I just upgraded to good metal the other day." Silverton didn't listen, crouching down and looking at a… piece of hair? Not fur, that's for certain. Taking a bottle and forceps from his bag, Silverton stashed it.

"What are you gonna do with that?"

"DNA testing, it looks like hair not fur."

Thom raised an eyebrow.

Silverton changed his tone to more playfully defensive, standing up, "I've got connections."

Speaking of, there were human prints tracking through the mud up ahead. One of them bloody. "Oh no," Thom groaned, "I took a shot. I didn't think it was a person."

Thom started to follow the trail, the veterinarian staying back. "You sure that's a good idea?" Thom shrugged, "I got my gun on me." Silverton rolled his eyes, following behind belatedly. "Follow to the sides, that way any cops can get a clear trail."

"There's a shoe right where the tracks end." Thom got closer, Silverton flashing his light over near him. He picked it up- Holy shit!

Thom dropped it, exclaiming, "It's a godamned foot!" The doctor looked around, but that proved to be a bad decision, getting an eye full of a very much dead body.

Correction, bodies.

"Oh my god…" Silverton muttered under his breath, fumbling for his phone.

Nick switched to a different TV show for background noise, getting ready to shuffle around the furniture for the 3rd time this month. What? He was bored and it was 4 in the morning. What was he gonna do, go to sleep?

Nick's phone rang, and he made a confused look while answering. "Romeo? What's up?"

Alright so, definitely not what he wanted to hear.

"Alright, stay there and don't touch anything."

Nick got out to the scene first, backup on their way (mostly because Nick was speeding like hell at the description of animal looking attacks and human feet). "Hey guys, you both alright?"

Thom and Romeo nodded, leading the detective over to the gruesome site. Two bodies and a blood trail of the person who did it. It seemed like a cut and dry case, but nothing in Nick's life recently was that simple. Nick turned to Thom, "Do you have any floodlights?"

Thom nodded, "Handheld ones, but none of us would be tall enough to shine them properly."

Two minutes later and that whole section of the woods was lit up nice and bright. Just in time for backup to pull in too.

"Hey Nick?" Romeo called, holding up a small hand held camera that was still recording. Nick walked over to the site but was then distracted by… Nick listened closer, "Do you hear… crying?" The three all silenced, and yep, that was crying.

Nick walked deeper into the forest, the sound getting louder. Then he saw a leg from a curled up form tucked behind the trunk of a tree.

"Hey, you ok?" Nick asked, the person jumped. The person, a young woman with short hair and tear streaks stood up and caught sight of Nick's badge. "You got him, right?" Her voice was shaky and cracked as the tears started up again. "You- you got him. He can't hurt me anymore, right?"

Nick nodded, he could ask questions later when she was more collected. Right now, he needed to get her inside and not out in the woods, covered in her friends blood. Back up made their way over to the scene and Nick led the woman back into the ranch, Thom and Romeo helping him.

The woman went along with it, muttering things under her breath all the while. Nick could've sworn he caught the word 'Bigfoot' once or twice.

_______________

Hank reviewed the footage with the Captain back at the station, Nick tasked with writing the interview reports since he knew most of the witnesses.

"The victims were identified as David Gimlin and Michael Patterson. Both were 25 and self reported Cryptozoologists, which is the technical term for Cryptid Hunters." Hank didn't notice the wince in the corner of the Captain's eyes. "Witness said that they were attacked by Big Foot."

Renard paused the footage at a scene of a red flannel dragging something out of the ground. "Big Foot doesn't wear clothes. Call off Forest Services, this one is ours."

Nick came back around, holding copies of the reports. "The main witness is in the hospital sedated. Whatever she saw scared the shit of her. I'll circle back there tomorrow morning to see if she's calmed down by then."

Renard nodded, "Get Tech to enhance the image. We may get a possible I.D but it's unlikely. The footage is distorted enough to have the Press making a circus out of us. This stays in the house."

Nick's phone rang, it was Romeo again. "Hey Nick? Can you run a DNA check for me?"

"What for?"

"There was a piece of hair stuck on a fence post where the thing ran through it, it's not horse hair."

Nick sucked in a breath, "Yeah, I'll swing by to pick it up tomorrow. The whole stations going to be pretty busy today." Lord knows he couldn't lie to him, Romeo would call him out for so much as considering it.

Monroe sat up rim-rod straight in bed, a woge already prickling at the surface. He scented something, someone, in his territory.

Monroe listened to the soft growls downstairs, creeping down after it. He'd already reasoned that murder isn't really a relapse, it was the eating that made his instincts go wild. Monroe trailed the scent to his opened window, the usual precaution so he could scent someone on in his outside territory more easily.

A slight stumble behind the front door had boney claws already breaking through skin, ready to kill something.

The door creaked open, teeth growing sharper as the intruder grew closer-

Wait a second.

Monroe sniffed the air one more time. It was faint, barely there and hidden under layer upon layer of other peoples scent and the fresh sting of a kill. But the person under all of that wouldn't ever kill someone-

Monroe stood up, growling a bit louder. The intruder reeled back, more surprised than threatened or intimidating. The lime light of the night lamps shrouded some light onto his face, confirming who he was, even while woged.

"Larry?"

Monroe surveyed the man's form, sighing and dragging him to his couch. What was up with him? He was acting feral and not woging back. This was weird, and also this fucker was heavy and dragging him across his carpet was not an easy endeavor.

Giving him a once over, he took a slug to the thigh. That could not be comfortable. "I- not working.." Larry groaned out in the wesen type growl. "Yeah, I know, it's kinda hard to with a record-"

"Need- Get- out-" Larry spoke in hitched, pained breaths and not just from the bullet. He still wasn't retracting but was somewhat lucid. He needed help with this.

And Nick did owe him, like, big time

"Hey, whats up- woah" Nick spotted Larry on the couch. His expression was carefully neutral before he took a deep breath and placed a hand on Monroe's shoulder. "Monroe. I trust you so I'm going to ask before I do anything else. Why do you have a suspected murderer on your couch?"

Monroe's eyes widened, "Murderer?" He shook his head, "No, Larry is Weider like me, he wouldn't kill anyone." Nick looked at the bandaged wound, "Well then I think your friend lost the battle because we got camera footage, 2 dead bodies, and a girl raving about Big Foot killing her friends."

Monroe's expression turned more somber. "Even if that's true, we can't call the cops with him like this."

"Anyone can see him like this?" Monroe nodded. "That's why I didn't just call 911 for the bullet in his thigh. This stops happening after we fully mature, and I don't even know if the people that usually handle this problem would know how to do it on an adult."

"This is a normal thing that just happens?"

"To teenagers and children who go through it early, sure. Not adults." Monroe pulled back, "Listen, Larry is a good person and is the best person I know at controlling the urges, he's even seeing Brinkerhoff! Going out into the wounds and trying to kill 3 people? Something else is going on here.

Nick rewound the conversation, "Who's Brinkerhoff?"

"Konstantin Brinkerhoff, he's a therapist who specializes in identity issues and impulse control. It's a cover up for a wesen therapist that helps with those of us who want to go weider. Make peace with the wolf, and all that. Personally, I'm not big on therapy."

Monroe looked off to the side, expression falling grim. "Believe me, I know what I did wrong."

Nick's phone rang, interrupting the moment. "Burkhardt." Nick put the phone on speaker, not recognizing the number. "This is Claudia Harding with A.P. I'm calling about the killings of David Gimlin and Michael Patterson by what some people are describing as 'Big Foot'" Monroe and Nick shared an exhausted look.

"What can you tell us about the investigation-" "Talk to the Captain." Nick hung up.

They both glanced at the guy. This was going to be a problem.

Well, they got time to kill and he's probably going to be hungry when he wakes up sooooo

Nick made the 3rd batch of batter while Monroe came back into the kitchen. "He's stirring, so we should probably plate some of this." Nick nodded, grabbing a stack of, what, 7 pancakes? This should work.

The two rushed over to the living room, setting the plate on the coffee table (which was pushed against the wall and out of the way as a precaution) next to the leftover open medkit . Instead of waking up normally, Larry woke up with a scream caught in his throat. Literally, he was trying to claw at it too.

Nick panicked at the blood covering the mans hands, "Get him off the couch and hold him down." Monroe was going to question why but didn't, just hoisting the not-man to his knee's and holding his arms down with whatever strength he had while human.

Nick held Mackenzie's hair up, looking at the back of his neck. Right there, underneath a concerningly deep scratch, was a rectangular box just under the skin. "There's something under his skin, he's trying to claw it out."

Monroe struggled, "Then get it out before he does! This is a lot harder than it looks, you know." Nick unclasped the knife from his pocket, making a small incision against the flat side. As the skin pulled back, Nick could see plastic underneath the blood, with wiring and a blue liquid inside.

Larry cried out again, coming out more as a roar than a human cry of pain. Nick tried to be gentle as he enlarged the cut and pushed the box out of it. It came out with a small pop, but hung tightly from a wire connected to his… spinal chord? Fuck.

"Monroe, hold him as still as possible. The wires attached to his spine and I don't want to be the reason he spends the rest of his life in a wheelchair."

Monroe huffed and woged, holding the man as still as possible with all the struggling. This would be easier with scissors but they didn't have enough time to rush back to the kitchen to grab some. Angling the blade sort of away from the discs in his spine, the stubborn ass wire slowly cut away.

Nick caught the box, and Monroe let Larry go, the man immediately reaching for his neck. Monroe turned to Nick, "You should probably go wash that." Nick got the hint and turned back to the kitchen.

Larry stumbled back, folding onto the couch with tears streaking down his cheeks. "I… I didn't mean to. I tried to stop, but-" Monroe nodded, grabbing gauze from the medkit on the coffee table and pressing it against Larry's neck.

"Hey, I know. You wouldn't do something like that and, whatever that is, made you go wild. You're fine now." The Wildermann was quickly becoming more and more drousy as the adrenaline peak crashed, barely able to keep his eyes open.

"D-" Larry stuttered out, looking towards the window. Monroe kept his eyes locked onto his friend. "What?"

"Dogs…"

Monroe bolted up and yanked back the curtains, staring at the search dogs up the street. Picking up Nick's phone, he had several missed calls from Hank earlier that morning. "Nick! There's search dogs out here!"

The Grimm came back into the living room, eyes first glazing over the now human looking and very passed out Larry and then the window. "Shit, they're going to track him here."

"No they're not," Monroe laughed.

The three watched as the dogs started barking and doing circles around the police attending them, not wanting to move forward. "That's why I mark my territory. It's totally freaking them out." "It's freaking me out."

Monroe snapped his fingers, going back to the unconscious man and shrugging off his wool coat, trading it for flannel.

"There's no reason the chase has to end here, and Larry ain't going anywhere." Monroe smiled, his eyes gleaming ruby red in place of warm brown.

"Monroe," Nick took a deep breath in, "please tell me that you're not going to do what I think you're about to do. If they find Larry in your house-"

"They won't recognize him, he's human. They'll be suspicious of the wounds, but we can just say a hunting incident and we didn't want any legal trouble." Monroe went onto his back porch, looking out into the woods. "I'll lead them away from the woods and make sure they have no connection to us."

Monroe spotted the dogs through the backyard, they caught the scent of the jacket. "I'm not getting my house torched and getting chased out of town because of this." Monroe got ready to run, starting to climb over the back fencing and tugging off his shoes.

Nick caught him by the wrist, "Monroe!" The two looked at each other for a moment.

The detective sighed, "Don't let them catch you."

Monroe smirked, his teeth a little too sharp for comfort. "Please." The dogs barking got closer. "This isn't even a challenge."

With the Blutbad sprinting off at inhuman speeds, Nick could hear one of the officers almost right behind them bellow, "They got somethin'! Hey, let 'em run!"

Nick ducked back inside, not wanting to be seen here.

….

His and Monroe's cooking certainly wasn't going to waste.

Monroe had to be careful not to let the woge spread, but the longer he ran, the faster he ran, he could feel his body shifting more and more. The sounds of barking, the smell of wet dirt, and rain, the adrenaline of the hunt coursing through his veins. It felt like home again.

Maybe, in moderation, this wasn't so bad.

He should really Unfertig Woge sometime, but with Big Foot literally known for having human feet, paw prints the size of a human foot wouldn't be much help right now.

The dogs were far behind him, but the sounds of motorcycle engines rumbling through the forest weren't a good sign.

Monroe skid to a stop, the dogs getting poised to attack him. A loud roar bellowed through the forests, the engines, running and barking coming to a stop, silent under the sound. The dogs ran back to their owners, whining.

Vaguely, through the thick brush and brussel, Monroe could see Hank approaching him, gun in hand. Fuck that, he's getting out of here without a scar to tell the tale. Larry had enough for the both of them.

Monroe tackled Hank to the ground and knocked the gun out of his hand, roaring in his face again, then sprinted off.

Fuck

Well, Hank did run faster than every other cop there, he probably had enough of it in 'em to survive the process.

…Nick was going to be pissed.

Monroe got back to his house surprisingly fast, ditching the flannel and leaving the dogs to find it. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, chugging it. Nick and, surprisingly, Larry met him in the kitchen. "You ok? How'd it go?"

Larry gave Nick an odd look, but the two weren't fighting and Nick had no new wounds (at a first glance), so it couldn't have gone that bad. (Internally, Monroe cursed himself for leaving a Grimm and a wounded Weidermann alone together.) "I'm fine, but Hank saw me woged." Larry's eyes widened, but Nick seemed nonplussed, if a little worried for what his partner would think.

"A kehrseite saw you woge? Up close?" Larry echoed, his eyes frantic. "A police officer saw you woge?"

As if on cue, Nick's phone rang, the Grimm leaving the room. Monroe gave Larry a harsh look, but the Wildermann continued. "Does he know what that means, because he is acting very calm about his partner's mind potentially being fried."

Monroe shrugged, looking back at the doorway Nick left through. "I'll explain it as it goes. I've seen Hank, he's strong. He'll get through it with the right explanations," he winced, "Hopefully."

Nick came back into the room, leaning on the doorframe with his keys and motorcycle helmet in hand. "I'm going to go talk to Brinkerhoff, see if this is his work or something else."

The two wesen nodded, watching him leave.

"So," Larry looked at Monroe with a raised eyebrow, "a Grimm, huh?"

Nick leaned against the back wall, the applause ringing throughout the auditorium. People started to stand, people grabbing books for the man to sign.

The speech was nice, and good advice at a surface level. Nick wouldn't know but it seemed like a solid understanding and way of going about things, for both human issues and wesen.

Nick set the book down on the podium. "Who is this going out for?"

"Larry Mackenzie."

The two made eye contact with each other, the therapist's face falling flat. He turned to the book, quickly scribbling down an autograph. "A friend of his?"

"Investigating a homicide," Nick flashed a badge, the man's face draining of color at the sight of the gold, "I'll be speaking with you after you wrap this up."

Nick waited off to the side, considering so many different things at once. He hated therapists, they read into everything and Nick didn't want to have to think through every little movement he made and word he said just to avoid getting analyzed. It didn't help that it was always wrong.

"I heard rumors that one of your kind was around here, but one hears many rumors in a psychiatric practice." Wow, that was already astoundingly rude in subtext. 'Your kind'? Nick didn't even get the chance to respond, as Brinkerhoff continued. "You know you are hated and feared by wesen, it's interesting that you chose to join the police."

"I need to speak to you about Larry Mackenzie."

The redirect was ignored completely, "Does your partner know? Does anyone at your department?" This guy was bold about it too.

Nick kept his face neutral, his body language relaxed. "I'm sure you would love to pick my brain, but I'd rather talk about the reason why 2 people are sitting in a morgue right now instead of with their families."

Brinkerhoff didn't react, only looking Nick up and down, "Sorry Detective, it's in my nature to be inquisitive and this is such a rare opportunity." If only you knew, Brinkerhoff, if only you knew.

"We all have secrets doctor," Nick smiled then dropped it immediately, "let's talk about Larry's. How long have you been treating him?"

"I can't speak about specific patients, Detective, you know this."

"Right now, I'm not asking you as a Detective."

He paused, "Hostility posing as professionalism. Adaptive but ultimately isolating."

What part of that sentence is isolating in literally any way, shape, or form. "I could subpoena your records or get a search warrant for your office if you want to go the legal route. One way or the other."

Brinkerhoff sighed, "Mr. Mackenzie was dealing with the normal issues that most predator wesen deal with. We've been following through with twice-weekly cognitive therapy visits. Larry's been making great strides."

"And so I've heard." Nick hummed, "Do you have any drugs in your treatment plan?"

Brinkerhoff raised an eyebrow, the most powerful expression he's made the entire conversation. "Wesen prozac? Doesn't exist. Everybody wants an easy fix. Only way is the long way, I'm afraid."

Now does Nick confront him about the lying directly to his face, or does he wait it out and break into the man's office later. It would be beneficial, so that Brinkerhoff doesn't dispose of any evidence. Then again, he could make the man bring Nick into his office and get the evidence himself. There might be other patients.

"So you know nothing about the drugs that were implanted into Larry's neck?" Brinkerhoff's face rippled in a very unsettling way, looking like bugs were under his skin. It almost veered into an actual woge, but as the man looked at the still populated lobby, he pushed it back.

Nick tilted his head, face still blank. "Attached at the spine, good thing I'm a steady hand." Brinkerhoff said nothing.

Nick chuckled as if Brinkerhoff made a joke, leaning forward and planting a hand on his shoulder. "Let's take this to your office, yeah?" Nick growled out in a harsh tone.

Nick took a sample of the blue liquid, if only for his own curiosity. Nick also highly suspected that Brinkerhoff used the super fix-all serum on himself, but the man could deal with that on his own.

"How many patients have you treated with this? How many did you tell the risks?" Nick held the bottle in his hands, staring at both it and the man in front of him with mild disdain.

"Four people! And I told all of them!" Brinkerhoff snapped, woge coming to the surface. Nick pulled his gun from his holster, and the psychiatrist backed off, forcing himself to calm down. Although, he looked like a drug addict and Nick was holding back their usual fix.

Nick held the bottle up as an offering, "Names." "Larry Mackenzie, Alan Evercroft, Dan Murray, now let go of the bottle-"

Nick smirked, and let the bottle smash on the wooden flooring. The Wildermann woged and lunged, pinning Nick against the wall, shelves shaking from the force of it. Nick only looked down at the man with a blank stare, waiting for him to collect himself.

Brinkerhoff dropped him as if burned, taking several strides back. Sure enough, a couple deep breaths and a few steps back and Brinkerhoff was human again, if royally pissed. Although he couldn't meet Nick's eyes. "Now why would you do that-"

"Larry Mackenzie attacked 3 people a few nights ago, 2 dying. Me and a Blutbad had to hold him down and cut the device out of his neck because he was trying to tear it out with his bare hands." Nick stared Brinkerhoff down, "The drugs work, but they only work for so long."

Brinkerhoff's expression was blank, if undertoned with fear, but the hand feeling at the back of his neck was telling.

"I'm going to need the phone numbers and addresses of Evercroft and Murray. Depending on the timing, I can get to them to before they do anything stupid."

Brinkerhoff walked behind his desk, scratching down some words before ripping the paper off the pad and shoving it into Nick's hands. "Get out."

Nick left without another word. It looked like the guy needed some alone time, and he didn't exactly want to get attacked again.

Nick called Monroe again, his friend never turning up short. "Alan and Dan? Yeah, I've met them before. Swell guys, some real characters though."

"Great, I've got their addresses, a knife, some safety scissors and they've got a time bomb ticking down to the moment they go feral."

Monroe huffed, "you know, even though I was the one that first dragged you into this, this totally counts as another favor."

"We're still counting? I thought I just owed you as a default."

"I'll meet you there, Nick."

Monroe and Nick stepped up to the apartment nervously, adrenaline already pumping.

"They we're doing so good, I should've known that it was too good to be true." Monroe muttered on the way up, still rambling to no one in particular. Well, actually, he was talking to Nick now, wasn't he?

Nick scanned the room numbers, coming to a near run down the hallway and stopping when the digits became familiar. "You sure that some meditation and deep breaths won't work? Illegal drugs seem a little overkill."

Nick cut around the corner, Monroe about to respond when a wild howl of pure agony was audible from one of the rooms up ahead. The wailing turned into thumping and banging against the inside walls.

Nick ran ahead, not bothering to knock as he kicked the door down. The entire flat was in shambles, the shelves torn down and splintered onto the floor. The couch's stuffing was ripped up, toppled over completely. There was broken glass all over the kitchen floor. The overhead lights were broken, the only light coming from the rays slipping in between the cracks in the blinds.

In the center of the room was a crouched figure, the darkness obscuring the details. Nick can see just fine in the dark, better even. But with his vision not adjusted quite yet, the only thing he could see were two sunset orange eyes, glowing brightly.

Nick was unceremoniously pulled back by Monroe, who took the brunt of the oncoming attack. Who Nick assumed was Dan pinned Monroe to the floor, growling loudly. He was huge, nearly seven or eight feet tall with gangly limbs that seemed disproportionate to the rest of his body.

Nick watched in fascination as Monroe matched the change. The process was still so new and Nick found himself more curious than anything.

Fortunately, Nick was given all the time in the world to dwell on his thoughts as Dan backed off. Kind of.

The man bolted to the other side of the couch, landing on all fours and very slowly standing up, his posture still hunched over like a feral animal and eyes still radiant. Monroe shifted back, but remained crouching. Nick looked between the two and decided to mirror the action.

Nick slumped to the floor, crossing his legs as he sat next to Monroe. If it wasn't so dark, Nick would swear that Monroe was absolutely flabbergasted at something he did.

Dan crept closer, although the low rumbles indicated that he was still under the drugs influence. His movements were sluggish and uncoordinated, his legs seeming to drag him forward rather than walk. Monroe shifted slightly, moving his weight onto the balls of his feet as he held out a hand.

The dark room made it hard to see anything but silhouettes, but with an extremely hesitant pause, Murray came just a bit close

"Now!" Monroe lept on top of him, pinning Murray to the ground. Nick startled himself, grabbing the knife from his pocket and turning the flashlight on his phone on.

Dan thrashed like a wild animal, and fur spread across Monroe's features again as he struggled to hold him down still enough. Nick leaned his knee on the man's head trying to keep him as still as possible as he cut into the back of Dan's neck.

The plastic made itself down behind the beading blood, Nick carefully pushed against the sides of the box, earning a howl of pain. It came out with a slick pop and Nick severed the line at the wire, not pulling to much to make it taut enough.

Monroe let Dan go, the man jumping up and away from them both. Murray crouched low to the floor, and panted as he felt around the back of his neck. Slowly, the all too long limbs cracked back into place with sickening squelches and crunching of bone.

It was horrifying to look at, even with the lights off.

"How… how did you…?" Dan stuttered out, out of breath and sounding sick. Nick felt Murray's eyes turn to him, even though the bright glow was long since faded. He continued, lunging forward and grabbing Monroe by the shoulders. "You have to go, Brinkerhoff sold it to Larry and Alan-"

Monroe lightly pushed Dan's grip off his shoulders, holding his hands between his fingers. "I know, that's what we're going to fix."

Nick took that as a sign to go, glad for it. They didn't have much time and tracking down Alan in the first place was going to be a nightmare-

Nick's radio chirped to life, the static almost as loud as the voice (from the several times Nick had dropped it). "There have been sightings of a masked man walking around in a rampage attacking civillians in the Northwest section of Hyland."

At least they don't have to find him first.

There was a rave being hosted by students an abandoned theater, one of the more daring kids breaking into the blocked of building for the occasion. This, because of course it was, was hosted in the very section of the forest Alan wondered into. The large crowd making lots of noise, not to mention the irritating lights blaring from the windows. Any wild animal would be disturbed by it, including the eight foot tall legend that was in pain and scared of literally everything.

Nick got a slight peek at the man before he walked into the building. Alan, for the most part, looked human. Nothing like the hulking giant that Dan was a few moments prior to Nick getting the device out of his neck. Fur, a few facial features that were distinctly not human. But besides that, it just looked like a mask.

Nick sprinted inside, but Alan had already beaten his way through the plastic tables and crowd and had ducked into the auditorium to get away from the lights and the loud, overpowering rock music that had not been paused in the chaos.

Nick followed, seeing police lights against dim neon LED strips, and stopped at the look out of the grand, decaying and plant overtaken room.

It was semi-light from the few lights the kids had set up, but it was enough to see. Enough to see that Alan wasn't in the auditorium at all. Not on stage, there was a long trail of broken seats leading up to it and then the backstage door broken off at the rusted hinges-

In the back, up on the rusting and close to collapsing catwalk was a figure barely visible. It was stumbling back and forth, as if it was trying to throw itself against the walls and off the railings but didn't have the energy to do so.

Nick ran up, opting to scale the interior pipes and wiring that had been exposed from the side wall being torn down. It was rickety, unstable and one of the pipes broke off as he stood on it, but it got him up there faster than going backstage.

Nick pulled himself up with some difficulty, the old metal creaking worryingly. It wouldn't hold it they fought, let alone the struggle of getting Alan still enough to get the damn drug device out of him-

Alan locked onto Nick (who now noticed that the man was injured, what looked like a bullet wound in the calf) and tried to run, stumbled back, falling over near the other end and making the catwalk shake all that much more.

There were voices of cops, and military grade flashlights were spilling through the doors. They couldn't see him like this.

Nick ran up and pinned Evercroft to the ground, the Weidermann trying to get away and thrashing against him. This was so much harder without someone else doing most of the work, Nick couldn't even get Evercroft flipped over to look at his neck-

The metal attaching the right side screeched devolving into a loud groaned as it began to completely give out. Nick eyed the left supports, realizing that there was no way in hell that they were going to keep them up here for any longer.

Time seemed to slow as Nick looked around, searching for something to hold onto but nothing. Nothing besides rusted metal and a currently falling catwalk.

"Nick!"

Hank grabbed Nick by the wrist, falling hard onto his chest as he did. The catwalk collapsed onto the floor, Evercroft with it, crimson red seeping into the seats below. Hank huffed, staring at the man before hastily pulling Nick back up to what was left of the structure.

Hank bolted back to the bottom floor, sliding down the ladder nearly tripping over the broken backstage door. Nick followed, albeit much slower.

Hank skid to a stop, shining a flashlight at Evercroft's now very normal human body. Nick furrowed his brows, analyzing Hank's expression. His eyes were wide, looking almost angry as he searched for something.

Hank turned back to Nick, looking desperate. "You saw that, right? You saw it too?" Hank rasped out, his voice hoarse.

Nick paused, looking around at the other officers now patrolling the area and calling the body transportation team.

"Saw what?" Nick asked, although it didn't sound convincing even to himself. Hank didn't seem to notice, only staring at Evercroft like he was going to come back to life any moment.

Nick tugged on Hank's arm, "Come on, we have to go report all of this anyways." Hank started to walk back to the car, his feet crossing over from trying not to turn away. "Nick, I'm not crazy, he looked different, he changed."

"Let's get back to the station."

Renard looked up at the two, never standing up from his desk. "I'll contact the manufacturing company to see where and how they were made. For now, Brinkerhoff is in custody and going to trial for illegal drug use, human testing and everything else we could stick on him."

Nick kept his face neutral, but some of his nervousness slipped into his voice as he asked, "And his patients?"

Renard flipped through the report one more time, "Given the drugs in question were not professional nor tested, it is not their fault and as long as Brinkerhoff doesn't try to drag them down with him, they should be fine."

Renard looked at Hank, who had been awfully quiet since he got back and was staring off into nothing. Renard made silence eye contact with Nick, raising an eyebrow. Nick's gut only sunk further as he only shrugged and looked to the side.

"I'll call you if I need more information. Good work today, you did good, both of you."

Nick mustered up a smile, but his eyes didn't crinkle and his voice couldn't go above a small whisper, "Thank you, sir."

Hank remained silent as he walked out the door of the Captain's office, and as he went home that night.

Monroe sighed, sitting with Larry and Dan at a dingy old diner that was worn with familiarity. Although the topic of discussion was anything but familiar.

"You're friends with a Grimm?"

"Yep."

"I just saw a Grimm?"

"Yep"

"You brought a Grimm to my apartment?"

"Yep"

"And he didn't kill me?"

"Yep"

"And he was actually the one to get Brinkerhoff's drug pump out of my neck?"

"Yep."

Larry shrugged through a mouthful of pasta, "He seemed pretty chill when I talked to him."

Dan could only shiver, putting his head in his hands. "You talked to him? A Grimm and a Weidermann and you two just… had full length conversation, Just chatted."

Larry nodded, and tilted his hand back and forth with a hum. "Some minor threats, but thats just a given."

Monroe sighed a barely audible, 'oh my god' under his breath as he turned to the waiter. Larry leaned into Dan's ear and quickly whispered, "Just the good old shovel talk."

Dan's eyes widened as he coughed on his drink, Monroe giving him a funny look. "You don't think?" he coughed out, Larry only leaning back and resting his arms on the back of the booth seats. "Have I ever been wrong when I call something like this?"

Monroe rolled his eyes, "Ok, what are you two talking about? I stop listening for 2 seconds and this is what happens." Dan only shook his head, going back to his (well deserved) rare steak with a neutral expression. Larry only smirked with a straw between his lips.

"So," Larry changed the topic, "how on Earth did you meet a Grimm and not die?"

Monroe glared at the evasion but chuckled lightly anyways, "Funny story about that actually…"

Monroe paid the tab and left, leaving the two to reminisce over their shared trauma or something like that.

Dan watched as the Blutbad left, leaning out of the booth slightly to wait until he left the building and waiting for the grumble of an engine to fully leave the parking lot. Monroe not catching the first whisper was lucky, and they both knew their friend well enough by now.

Well enough to know his type too.

"Here," Larry fished into his wallet, "I bet you 20 bucks that they get together by spring."

Dan rolled his eyes, putting 2 forties and a ten on the table. "They'll be crushing on each other by then, sure, but knowing Eddie? Knowing his type? No way in hell am I taking a losing bet like that."

Chapter Text

Nick had parked a couple miles down, walking the rest of the way.

Monroe had told him to meet him by a specific marker in the forest; An old decaying statue that remained vague and blurry in the back of Nick's memory. He was light on any cargo, Monroe said he had gone to the trailer and carried some of the weapons out there himself.

Given how nervous the wolf was about taking anything out of that trailer, Nick was on edge walking into the woods.

It was quiet, always was now. It was eery, never stopped being eery since it first started. The silence was no doubt a tell that he had entered the forest, alerting Monroe for whatever he was planning to do out here.

It was extremely early in the morning, still dark out and the coldest it would be that day. Given that winter is hot (or rather cold) on their heels, it made the two layers Nick wore obsolete.

Nick kept his footsteps as quiet as possible, taking slow and cautious movements as he listened to the air around him. He couldn't hear anything but his own heart pounding louder and louder in his chest, adrenaline already pumping in anticipation. It only grew worse as Nick felt eyes on his back.

One small snap of a twig breaking behind him.

Nick didn't have any time to turn around as Monroe tackled him to the floor, sharp nails digging into his jacket and locking them together. The two tumbled, their momentum carrying them into a spin. Nick dug his shoes into the moistened soil, stopping them both (with him on top, might he add).

Monroe was woged, marking one of the few times Nick had seen him in his more wolfish form. Not that he got much time to ogle, as Monroe was human again in an instant. Nick scoffed a laugh, sitting up. "Good morning to you too. Looking for a bit of Grimm to pair with your breakfast?”

“It’s a dangerous world out there, man. You want to survive, you have to be ready for anything.” Monroe did his best to shrug in their position. The position that Nick was just now acknowledging.

Nick stood up, doing his best not to make it anymore awkward than it already was. “Yeah, yeah, now what’d you bring out here?”

Monroe gladly jumped up, taking a leather bound duffle bag down from a tree branch a few paces away. Guns, a crossbow, a bow and arrow (“170lbs draw weight, Nick, it’s pretty strong”), a wooden bat with metal diamonds spotting it (“a kanaboe, you uncultured swine”), three different swords, all in their sheaths, and a morningstar.

Monroe gave a half glare as Nick made a joke about the Lowen ring, doing his best to hide the smirk at the corners of his mouth.

Still, the sense of someone watching his back didn’t go away.

Nick and Monroe walked back to their respective vehicles, now covered in the blood and guts of various fruits. The smell of sugar and citrus covered the smell of sweat and (some minor) blood.

“Shit, are you ok?” Nick dropped the sword to the ground, rushing over to where Monroe was sitting. He was running a hand over his neck, getting blood over his fingers in the process.

“I’m fine, it was a good hit.” Monroe’s voice was low, his eyes gleaming for just a moment. “Nothing vital” the ‘but close to it’ was left unsaid.

Nick frowned, looking through the side pockets of the duffel. Knowing Monroe (for a whole season and a half now), he was bound to be prepared for injuries out here- called it.

Nick ripped open the alcohol wipe with his teeth, tilting Monroe’s head up and pressing down the cloth.

“Jesus, that’s like right next to your carotid artery, fuck.” Nick winced, feeling Monroe’s pulse thrumming under his hand. The sentiment must have sunk in because the wolf’s heart rate skyrocketed.

Nick grabbed his helmet, about to get ready to head back to the station to see what he’d no doubt missed. About to when he saw a very, very familiar white truck with princess stickers on the bumper 30 yards away.

“Holy shit, I fucking knew it!” Monroe jumped as Nick stormed over, huffing when he found it empty. Monroe raised an eyebrow as the detective snapped a picture of the license plate.

“Can I ask why you’re mad at some dad taking his daughter out hunting?” Monroe deadpanned, looking unimpressed.

“Yeah that’s what I thought when we just got out of Charlotte’s apartment. And again when I had to visit this stupid gym full of wesen and fucking however many times at the station, this fuck as been stalking me!”

This was enough for Monroe to frown more seriously, if not by much. "You're a Grimm, go threaten him or something, that's quite literally your job."

Before Nick could respond in kind, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered, Hank texting him to get his ass down to another scene. "We have another case, something pretty gnarly."

Monroe shrugged, pulling his keys from his pocket, "Tell me the details after."

"About the case or the truck?"

"Both"

Hank was just getting out of his car when Nick pulled up, kicking his bike's stand up and jogging over. Hank gave him a judging once over, looking not so subtly at the various colorful stains painting Nick's figure.

Hank raised an eyebrow, "Where have you been?" Nick's pants had grass stains on the knees, and were torn in some places. A similar story for his jacket, although Nick tried to dust off some of the dirt and soil out of the crevices. Nick shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, "Out."

"'Out'?" Hank parroted, "What do you mean 'out'? You're more of a workaholic than I am, what are you doing on a Wednesday morning?" Nick promptly ignored the question, turning to Wu who started to fill them in.

"Vic is one Robert Grosszahn, pretty mafia-esque so if you wanted an entertaining morning…" Wu led them both to a body drowned in a cement mixer, head still submerged, "you got one."

Wu flipped through the notepad, ripping a page out and handing it to Hank. "9-1-1 call didn't give us a name but they saw the whole thing go down." Nick looked over, the paper having the name, address and number of one Arnold Roserot. "Went ahead and tracked them down for you. You love me, I know."

Nick smiled, patting Wu on the shoulder as he walked over to the victim's car, "Damn right we do."

The wallet was on the seat, already rifled through to find the ID. Nick rolled his sleeves over his hand, finding the phone conveniently unlocked and opened to calendar.

"S.B - 9:30" Nick read aloud, turning to Hank who had an evidence bag already opened.

Hank raised an eyebrow, "Pm or am?"

Nick dropped the phone into the bag, grabbing his keys and pulling up the address on his gps, "doesn't say."

The address led to a trailer out in the middle of the woods, already putting them both on edge. Rosarot wasn't listed as living with anyone, and a man living out in the woods by himself wasn't the best set up to barge into asking about a murder.

Hank did the honors, banging on the door in the cop way he always did. He only got one in before the door opened of its own accord, not only unlocked but unclosed. Nick hopped up the steps, "someone left in a hurry."

A completely dark hallway, no lights left on. Sunshine spilled through the open blinds, lighting up the very cluttered and vibrant living room. Nick idly tapped one of the strung up models, watching as it spun. Hank looked around much more apprehensively.

Nick picked up a picture off the wall. "Seemed like a fun guy," Hank looked mildly uncomfortable as he looked over Nick's shoulder.

Nick didn't take his eyes off of the picture as he muttered, "at least he had hobbies."

A fishing trip alongside two men who looked significantly older than Rosarot himself. Family friends, maybe? Nick tilted his head slightly, looking more closely at the shortest of the group. He looked… familiar in a way that he couldn't put his finger on. A way that made his skin crawl with no reasoning behind it.

Nick flipped it over, a small description scribbled on the back in not so perfect handwriting. 'Bud & John fishing trip'

"Nothing here," Hank brought Nick out of his thoughts. "Let's go check the vic's workplace. Maybe we'll have better luck?" Nick hummed along an affirmation, setting the picture back on the mantle.

As the two detectives left and shut the door behind them, the glass over the picture cracked from the sides. The long streaks split horizontally, stretching over the face of the man on the left. The wood frosted over from where it was held.

Grosszahn construction. The sign indicated that the victim was far more than just an employee. He was the figure head, and that alone opened so many more possible motives.

They were directed to Robert's assistant, a very nice, although timid, lady. "I mean, it was a stressful job, and he was having an uphill battle with the planning commission." She started choking up, her arms growing tighter around herself. "I knew him for ten years, and nothing warranted this kind of brutality."

The lady turned her head off to the side, fur spreading over her features for a moment. She collected herself again, though tears were welling against her eyes. "He was like a father to me. To everyone here really. I don't know why someone would do this…"

Nick made his tone softer as he continued, "What kind of battle with the commission?"

"Inspections, permits, code compliance. It never ends." Nick tilted his head ever so slightly. She was holding something back, probably something wesen related and Nick had no way of asking with Hank right beside him. He'll come back later.

"There was something scheduled in his phone for 9:30, someone with the initials S.B. Did you know anything about this?"

She shook her head, "No, and I know everything on his schedule."

She was lying, but Nick wasn't going to call her on it. Not now, when he had a clue to what that might entail.

The lady looked like she was going to add something on, but shut her mouth last minute. Hank turned to her, "Do the initials mean anything to you?"

She looked up at them, guilt painting her eyes. "No."

They both nodded and walked away, though Nick looked back over his shoulder at the woman one last time. He'd have to go and try to… convince her to tell him about whatever she was hiding. Not the easiest when they might bolt out the door at the mere sight of you.

Seriously, he ordered pizza the other day cause he didn't want to cook at 10pm, the guy woged and bolted before he could even pay. Nick had to go the place the next morning to pay what he owed, and even then the staff (because of course it was family owned) treated him like the grim (hah) reaper the entire time.

Hank turned from a light passing by conversation with another worker. "The head of commissions is Salvadore Butrell, wanna go see what he had against our guy?"

Nick raised an eyebrow, "Mr. S.B? How much you want to bet it was him who killed 'em."

Hank hummed, then shook his head, "I'll wait 'til after the questioning to take that bet."

Walking up to the office, and Nick was already on edge. The front desk woman had been on the phone when they walked in, woging into something that Nick most definitely did not want to deal with, yelling at whoever she was on the phone with. Fortunately, she hadn't seemed to notice Nick (he should really ask how they can tell in the first place) and led them both up without issue.

But with the way Monroe explained wesen ran businesses, that likely meant that Mr. Butrell would also be one of these. And in a one on one conversation, Nick couldn't predict how the man would react.

"I'm Detective Griffin, this is my partner Detective Burkhardt," Hank firmly introduced himself, sensing that Nick was tense since arriving.

Butrell welcomed them warmly, beckoning them to sit in the most lush, yet uncomfortable velvet chairs that were perched in front of the mans desk.

"I was really sorry to hear about what happened to Robert." The professional, bare basic sympathy face was down to a T, hints of emotion still held onto as he sat down. "How can I help?"

Maybe it's just all predatory wesen, but Nick felt his skin crawl just beneath the surface. He felt like he was being sized up at a meal whenever the man looked at him. Like the forest just went quiet and he was not the most dangerous thing in there.

Hank took the lead, letting Nick do his usual observation routine. "Just a couple of questions, you know how this goes. How well did you know Robert Grosszahn?"

"Oh, we've done a few projects over the years, just a lot of bridge work so far. Delightful to work with, such a hard worker, really down to Earth. I've never gone his house for dinner but we were familiar." The last sentenced was laced with a saddened smile, as if remembering.

Nick spoke up, trying not to sound too harsh, even if his tone came out more cold than he intended. "Where were you last night around 9:30?"

Salvadore looked to the side as if remembering, then locked back into eye contact with Nick as he answered. "Uh, the uh, Trip-Trap club down on Chauncey. Me and the boys, we have poker night there every Wednesday but we had to push it back a day cause of scheduling."

His expression shifted, a faux civilian worry that was all too smug to be genuine. "You don't think I did this, do you? I mean, I can call my friends if you need confirmations. I only got six or so, I hope you don't need more than that or I'll have to call up the bar staff." The last sentence was just dripping with arrogance.

One of his employee's came into the room, "Sorry to intrude but Johnson Construction is downstairs asking about permits for the highway."

"Tell 'em I'll be there in a few," Butrell waved him off before snapping his fingers in an apparent idea. "Actually, tell these Detectives where I was last night."

The man smirked, "Down at the club, taking all of our money."

An alibi perfectly down pat with people who might have known what Butrell was doing providing a cover story. Must have been a collective decision then. Either way, even if they didn't kill their victim, they were most definitely suspicious.

Nick only glared at the man a little longer, keeping a careful eye contact without ever breaking it, even as Hank got up to leave. "Sorry for being suspicious," Nick didn't bother to sugarcoat his voice, "but he had an appointment in his phone at 9:30. Had the initials S.B…"

This must've set him off, as he mutated into a creature near identical to the girl at the front. Wrinkled, leathery skin that had the texture of a lemon. Elongated, almost elf like ears. Razor sharp, jagged teeth. Beady eyes almost entirely dark, only a bright, vibrant orange ring around the pupil providing any color.

The man flinched, standing up abruptly. Hank turned around at the noise, and Salvadore cooled his expression. "Sorry I couldn't be more help, Detective," he didn't look back at Nick, keeping his eyes trained on Hank, hiding shaking hands behind his back.

Nick stood up, not quite smiling but definitely happier than before. "That's alright." Butrell followed him out, but kept somewhat of a distance. Right before Nick reached for the door, he spun around and placed a very firm grip on the mans shoulder, giving a sharp smile. "Thank you for your time, Salvadore."

Both wesen in front of him woged, and took several steps back. Nick left, hearing the door slam shut and lock behind him. Hank gave him a weird look, "what was that about?"

Nick wanted to laugh, but shoved it down into a smug smile. "Not a clue. Ready to take that bet?"

Hank narrowed his eyes, "I was going to given the airtight alibi, but now I'm not so sure."

Bud Wurstner and John Oblinger. The emergency contacts on Arnold's legal profile, and upon looking at a logged ID photo, the men in the photo they saw earlier. Nick wrote down the address on a notepad, and also took the time to look up the truck's license plate as well. Lo and behold, one Bud Wurstner.

But he'd get to him later, for now he had a witness to track down.

Pulling up a block down from the address, rain started pouring on the way over. The sticky note soaked through and pen ink smeared as Nick found the house number-

Parked in the driveway was a pearly white pickup truck, the bumper covered with children's princess stickers.

Two birds, one stone.

Nick walked up the steps, not noticing how frigid the air was becoming in the rain. He pounded on the wall next to the door, the screen over the glass door not providing a stable enough structure to do so.

John shouted something to the person in the house with him, opening the door while looking away. Upon looking at Nick, his eyes widened, color draining from his face.

A loud shattering of glass made Nick glance down, a beer bottle shattered and freezing over almost immediately over raw wooded floors. The noise was loud against the icy cold silence that encompassed the house, only making the eye contact that much more intense.

Despite the anger that was bubbling up in his chest, Nick couldn't help but crack a joke. "If you can't hold your liquor, you shouldn't be drinking."

It startled the man out of his frozen state, as he tried bolting into the other room. Nick lunged forward and caught him by the back of his collar, pulling him back and settling his grip over the arteries in his neck. Nick didn't even have to think about imitating Monroe as he bit out, "Walk," in a low voice.

Now, Nick didn't know this because 1. He couldn't see himself and 2. Because Monroe had never seen him angry enough to tell him what it looked like. Unfortunately, Bud Wurstner had the treat of facing down a Grimm in the middle of a safe space.

A Grimm. Blackened eyes that held no kindness or humanity, animalistic or otherwise. The same darkness crackling down its cheeks in jagged tears marring his skin like ink flowing through his veins, seeping through and staining flesh. Jacket near frozen over with frost, making a white coating over the ends of the leather and the metal buttons, nipping at raven black hair that could not be that dark naturally.

A Grimm, an ageless hunter from fairytales that were as relentless as they were monstrous, said to persist after fires, bullets, axes, and drowning. A Grimm with a hand over his best friends throat, his prey already caught and helpless.

Nick shoved the man forward, John crashing to the ground but glad to be away from the Grimm.

Bud started stumbling out apologies, tripping over every other word like he always did. "I- I'm married- I have three kids." His body was shaking, because he knew there was no way he was getting out of this alive.

"You started this, didn't you?" It's voice was monotone, if underlain with cool fury.

"No! No, well, yes, I did-" Bud wanted to hit himself upside the head. "I didn't wan- I didn't mean anything by it! I told- I mentioned it to someone, to my friends and they just, they didn't believe me-! I didn't know how else to prove that- that you were-" Bud stopped himself, as if saying it would make the thing attack. "You have a lovely mate, very brave of the both of you-"

The Grimm's gaze narrowed, the darkness only spreading further down its neck as it seethed, "Excuse me?"

John, thank the lord, interjected. "Please don't kill us, we'll leave you alone from now on-"

The Grimm cut him off, taking several strides back from them both. "I am not killing anyone."

The reassurance felt empty, like a false comfort only meant to lead them into a sense of security. Just a bait hung over their heads so that they might walk into the fire on their own.

"But," the Grimm continued, "if I see anyone, and I mean anyone, so much as look at the person you saw me with today because you told them about me?" The Grimm was taller than Bud by a margin, towering over him and feeling more and more like a predator the closer he got.

The air around him felt freezing, as if he was trapped in the middle of a snow storm. "You said you had kids right? Two little girls, 5 and 7. One boy, he's turning 12 this month right?"

The Grimm leaned down, and the only thing Bud could focus on with the biting cold and the fact that he was going to die here. "I have killed creatures that you've only ever seen in your nightmares, and their begging made them look even more pathetic than you."

The Grimm took a few steps back, and as it rubbed its eyes in an all too human way, the darkness was gone and the room was warming up once again. "Unfortunately, that's not all I'm here for. The fact that you were the ones stalking me was pure coincidence."

The Grimm, now fully human looking, shifted its weight onto one leg, and arms tucked into its pockets. "Arnold Rosarot, you're friends with him." It wasn't a question, but they both nodded along anyway.

The Grimm walked over to the sofas, pointing at the one against the wall, "Sit." Bud and John barely glanced at each other before obliging, looking anywhere other than the disguised slaughterer sitting across from them.

Bud spoke up, a kind of protectiveness surging forward. "He didn't do anything, did he? He's a good kid, he wouldn't do anything to warrant-"

"No," the Grimm cut him off and true relief washed over Bud. "However, he is a witness to murder. And while I have no qualms with getting justice outside of the system, I do try to do it the," it paused, seeming the most human it had all night, "proper way first."

The Grimm reached into its pockets, pulling out a notepad and flipping to a certain page, flipping it around to show them both.

Bud veered back on instinct, a very graphic and disturbingly accurate drawing of a Hasslich. John had a similar reaction.

The Grimm watched them both, setting the notebook down on the table between them. "This was the thing that murdered Robert Grosszahn, drowned in a cement mixer. I cannot prove this in court without Rosarot's testimony."

John and Bud shared a glance, John staying deathly silent (Bud would too if a Grimm had grabbed him by the neck). Bud tried to speak, "We… if Arnold comes- forward then the, the Hasslichen will kill him. Even if the actual m-murderer gets arrested, what if one of his buddies wants to get revenge? He'll kill Arnold, or one of us, or tens of us. We can't just risk something like that."

Bud started rambling, looking pointedly at the floor in an attempt to trick himself into thinking he was talking to anything other than death personified. The silence only stretched on, and Bud hesitantly glanced up, half expecting to see a sword or executionary axe being sharpened.

Instead, the Grimm only looked sympathetic. It was odd, even with the entirely human features. "I am aware of the risks, and I can only make the promise that if one of you is hurt, the perpetrator will be brought to justice." The man stood up, startling both John and Bud, even if it wasn't all that sudden.

"Either way, it is your choice. Talk it over, decide whats best." It scribbled down something on the notepad, then roughly tore out the paper and set it on the table.

"Call me if you need me, and while I won't hurt anyone because you decided not to come forward," it turned its back on them both, walking to the door, "I really hope you do the right thing."

It turned around at the end of the hallway, looking over its shoulder, its voice almost genuine, "Sorry for scaring the shit outta you."

Monroe laughed for a good while after Nick told him what happened. A long, long while. Not in the actually funny, Nick just cracked a really good pun and Monroe couldn't help but laugh, but in the dark and morbid, you just did something really scary without realizing the extent of it.

Eventually, Monroe would explain that not only is showing up to a wesen's home one of the most disturbing, gut wrenching things he could have done, but a signature Grimm move.

It was wesen's den, their home, the place they felt the safest and most at ease. While some people obviously wouldn't give a shit if they were hunting down someone, it was definitely bad taste for a predator to track someone there to kill them. Quite literally the Grimm Reaper knocking at your bedroom door.

Second, going for the neck is, no shit, a very animalistic thing to do. And after seeing a Grimm and a Blutbad out in the woods together, it would have sparked some pretty horrific ideas of their potential fates. Blutbaden had a specific way of killing prey, that being hunting them down for the adrenaline and going for the arteries.

Grimms, typically, provided quick and humane ends. Like a butcher bringing the newest lamb to the slaughterhouse. But Grimms were always regarded as smart, and if one had their sights on you, then they were an eventuality, not a predator.

"That's where you get the name Grimm from. The rest of your life is Grimm because you know that your time is shortened to whenever it arrives on your doorstep. Your death is no longer a natural part of the cycle, it's going to be ripped from you and there is nothing you can do to stop it. You can't enjoy life anymore because you're too busy wondering when the axe is gonna come down on your head."

Monroe handed Nick a beer as he came back into the living room, noticing his companion was getting a little creeped out. "Y'all were terrifying. Even back then, you were only myth. Though, we do make some wicked fairytales."

Nick took the beer, leaning back slightly as Monroe sat next to him. "Yeah, but how many of those fairytales were something that one of my ancestors did? How many lives is my bloodline responsible for ruining?"

Monroe looked over at him, heaving a sigh. "Don't worry about it, Nick. Trust me, I know what that feels like. Like you have to spend the rest of your life making it up to the world, trying to rectify those actions. Your own, or the ones of those before you."

Nick stayed quiet, just relaxing into the warm atmosphere of the room, of the company he was with.

Nick left out the detail about Bud calling Monroe his 'mate', not wanting to get into the connotations of that just yet. For similar reasons, he also left out just how geared towards Monroe his threat was. He did, however, tell Monroe the threat itself.

"I know I was coaching you on how to be scary and all, but if that's one of your first tries?" Monroe scoffed, "I'm starting to think I was a special case."

Nick gave him a playful glare, then continued.

Monroe looked put off as Nick told him about what happened, if somewhat impressed. Somewhere along, he interjected.

Breaking into someone's den, threatening them in said den, then forcing them to sit down as if they were invited in and like they were part of that safe space. "It's creepy just thinking about it, your space being violated like that? 10/10 Nick, nice to know I'm a fantastic teacher."

Monroe just laughed harder when Nick begrudgingly told him about the exit. Monroe then mocked him in twenty different ways for genuinely apologizing about the whole ordeal while leaving. The high pitched, very childish repetition of 'sowwy fow scawing you' while looking dramatically at the floor only made Nick get more flustered.

"Relax, relax, it's a joke. Knowing Eisenbeiber, they probably thought whatever the hell you did was fuckin' terrifying." A smile broke across his features, not able to be held back, "Even if you probably sounded like a scolded puppy while doing it."

Arnold Rosarot and John Oblinger were currently sat in their basement, boarding up every window in the house, bolting every entrance the house had, and laying out Home Alone type traps.

"Guys, this feels a little dramatic-"

"Dramatic?!" They two exclaimed, John marching over to Bud with wide eyes as he shoved a hammer and nails into his arms. "A Grimm just broke into my house, Bud! A Grimm! Forget us getting picked off by a Hasslich, they might as well be Mausenhertz compared to a Grimm!"

"A Grimm who's being mentored by a Blutbad"! Arnold interjected, locking a chain around the back door and locking it tight.

Bud huffed, "Exactly! So if you come forward and get that Hasslich put in jail, then the Grimm will protect you!"

"A Grimm will protect us?" Arnold repeated hysterically, laughing like a mad man. Given he hadn't slept in several nights, there were likely more factors going into this than just having a Grimm knock on your door. "You're going to take the word of a Grimm? Might as well cut your own head off, gift it to that thing why don't you?!"

Bud put down the hammer and nails. "I just don't think-"

John interrupted him, "Yeah, you don't! You were so caught up in trying to win a stupid bet that you painted targets on all of our heads! Everyone we know, everyone we love, everyone we've ever talked to, Bud! What, are you going to adopt the Grimm? This isn't one of those troubled teens at the lodge, be realistic for once!"

Bud's eyes widened, "Exactly!"
 
John veered back, raising an eyebrow, "Really?"

"The lodge! We should bring this decision to the lodge so they can decide. We all have a say in this right? It should be a collective decision." Bud pleaded, Arnold and John looking at each other with frightened looks.

"That… yeah that sounds like a good idea…" John admitted.

The three paused, taking a deep breath, calming down, and taking a look around themselves.

"So uh… how do we get out of here?"

"A Grimm?" Edgar echoed, incredulous. The 3 nodded, nearly speaking over each other trying to recount the story. Edgar silenced all of them almost immediately. "So, not only is the Grimm Bud told us about real," they nodded, "but he wanted Arnold to come forward and testify against the Hasslich that killed Robert." They nodded again.

Edgar pressed his palms against his nose, closing his eyes for a few, long, moments. "You know what," he sat back abruptly, sounding hysterical, "if you can get that Grimm down here and attest that he will protect us from whatever the Hasslichen can and will do, I'll put it to a vote."

The 3 nodded, said their thanks and apologies in their uniquely Eisenbeiber way, and left the mans office.

"Well, I think that went pretty well! Now all we need to do is call the Grimm, and get him to come down," Bud was already pulling his phone from his pocket and getting the number from his wallet-

Both John and Arnold had a finger pressed to the tip of their noses, a silent 'not-it' on their tongues. They both gave nervous and apologetic grins.

Bud rolled his eyes, hesitantly punching the number into his phone. You know what, he'd met a predator wesen before that was a pretty alright guy. With the whole Weirder movement going around, wesen had the possibility to change and he believed whole heartedly in the concept. Seeing how the Grimm acted back in the forest, Bud was willing to risk it and call the Grimm.

(He ignored the small voice in his mind asking if he was willing to risk his head on this.)

The phone rung a few times before the 'man' answered, although the line stayed quiet. "Mr. Detective Burkhardt," Bud was already scolding himself, "uhm, you said to call if we needed you for anything, right?"

There was a pause and a distant laugh on the other end, "Don't call me by my last name, Nick is fine, and I did. What do you need me for?"

"Well, you see, us Eisenbeiber do things as a collective. If there's a decision that impacts all of us, we put it to a vote. So, y'know, we brought it up to the head of the vote organizer person, Edgar, and now I'm pretty sure he didn't believe us when we told him you were willing to protect us and all that-"

There was a quiet voice on the other end, barely audible, that scoffed, "I wonder why."

"-so we were wondering if you could come down and just repeat it to the lodge. It's ok if you're too busy and all that, we could totally work out a time, I hope I'm not interrupting anything with your Blutbad friend by calling by the way, but it would really help us in convincing him to hold the vote in the first place-"

"Bud, it's fine, I can come down. When can you have me by?"

The three made looks to each other, all varying in 'wow, I didn't expect that to work or be that easy'. "Uh, tomorrow night at 9pm would be fine. It's the old power plant at the Bull Run dam, I can meet you by the entrance, it's basically a maze down there– Not that I think you wouldn't be able to navigate it on your own, I'm sure you have great navigation skills-"

"I'll be there, don't worry about it." The line was cut off before Bud had time to say a goodbye, which was probably for the better.

"Well," Bud looked back at the 2, saying nothing for a while as silence permeated between them.

"We should probably go tell Edgar and get the meeting put on the roster." "Yeah, yeah, that would be great-" "Yeah, we should probably go back in-"

Nick pulled up to the not so empty parking lot near the mill. No wonder this place stayed here for so long, all the construction companies consisted if Eisenbeiber (though that felt like a stereotype).

Nick spotted a figure in a shadowy alley jogging over to him.

It was raining, and not wanting to get his hair wet tonight, Nick kept on his helmet as Bud led him through that alley and down the steps.

“Thanks for coming, I know there’s a lot of better things you could be doing right now, not that I don’t want you here. Just- wanted to say thank you for taking the time with us and all that-“

Nick gave Bud a firm pat on the back, a silent way of saying both ‘you’re fine’ and getting the man to stop his ranting all in one.

The two jogged into the large underground basement, a narrow room between two buildings with lanterns lighting up the area.

There were dozens, maybe just over a hundred people all gathered in the main lobby. On a stage was John and a person Nick didn’t recognize. The organizer, he supposed.

They all locked onto them both at once, keeping a healthy distance back. Bud faced the organizer, gesturing to Nick. “This is the Grimm that I told you about. Meet Nicholas Burkhardt.”

Nick took this time to take off his helmet, running a gloved hand through his hair. “Thank you for having me.”

The organizer, Edgar, woged as if testing, then flinching back when he got the response he was looking for. Edgar stayed looking not at Nick as he addressed the situation.

“We’ve been having a tough time deciding what to do here, if you had any… arguments you’d like to make, Mr. Burkhardt.”

Nick took this as an opportunity to get to the front of the crowd. And while the mass of people was probably Arnold’s safest bet for staying out of sight, it didn’t do much when Nick already knew what he looked like. (The young man was also suspect as hell, wearing a hood over his face and standing in the back in such a way it actually separated him from the crowd.)

Nick stood in front, but didn't get on the stage. No need to mess with the power balance any more than he already has. "First, I'd like to state that no matter what decision you all come to, I will not retaliate. I can always handle this in the…" what did Monroe call it, "old fashioned way and face the consequences myself. This is your choice, and only yours."

God, public speaking, this sucked. Then again, he didn't have a choice other than to take a breath, remember his days in highschool debate and keep speaking. "If this man isn't brought down by testimony, and rightful incarceration, then others like him will live to continue the cycle. They think you’re weak, that you have no way to stand up to them. You can use this prove them wrong."

Nick gave a slight pause, trying to put emphasis on this.

He asked Monroe about all this earlier, back when he first got the call to come down.

"I'm surprised they asked you, but thats about as brave as they're gonna get." Monroe took a sip of his beer while Nick only further questioned him.

"But why?" Nick asked, almost exasperated by that point, "They're people, they have the power to lock this fucker up for life, why not use it?"

Monroe shrugged, "It's the way it's always been. Trolls man the bridge, the eisenbeiber make them in the first place to keep themselves safe. If you don't, then you pay the price. Circle of life, and all that."

"But they're not animals. They can fight, either through the justice system or physically, unless being wesen dictates your strength too." Monroe gave a tilt of his hand, seeming nonplussed about this still.

"And it's your job to convince them of that tonight, now, so good luck with that." Monroe noticed Nick's silent frustration, frowning in that guilty way. "It's just how it is, every wesen accepts that sooner or later. It's what your raised on, it's what you live by and it's probably the thing that kills you. We all fight it and at some point we all give up."

Monroe leaned back into the couch, his arms swung around the couch's spine in a way that just barely touched Nick's back. "Not much of a warm welcome, is it?" 

"You are not powerless here. You have all the cards right now, and if you play them right, it'll end with the Hasslichen hesitating the next time they want to push someone around just because they can."

"But what if they don't?" a women from the front spoke up. She was shaking and her voice was fragile, but she spoke up. "If they know one of us were the ones who brought them down, they'll want revenge. I don't want my children to be their target."

Nick kept his tone cool, neutral and an attempt at comforting. "They already know about me, and they were terrified. With me behind the witness, they would either back down completely or go after me. Not you, not your family and not the people you know."

Nick backed up against the stage, hands hooked in his pockets. "Things won't change if you don't do anything, and change has to start somewhere. Where is up to you."

There was a slight murmur through the crowd, before Edgar spoke up. "All in favor of the witness coming forward?"

There were a few scattered hands, more than Nick expected with his lack luster speech for a catalyst, but still far less than majority.

"Nick!"

Nick turned around slightly, the voice barely audible over the pouring rain. Bud was at the bottom of the stairs, looking thoroughly guilty.

"I'm sorry, I really thought this was the chance to change things. It's just that, bravery, it really isn't in our nature."

"I don't know Bud," Nick leaned against the wall replacing the railing, not meeting the mans eyes. "Even after you knew what I was, you followed me. You went into the woods with a Blutbad and a Grimm, that sounds like the definition of bravery around here."

Nick gave a small smile, "People are diverse, and you're a good man. Thank you for trying." With that, he continued up the stairs, slipping his helmet on again.

Renard was irritated that morning, though Nick couldn't figure out why for the life of him. The only answer he got was something about 'overseas business coming to shore' which was brilliantly vague and ominous and exactly on brand for their Captain. Still, the man was especially concerned about Nick's whereabouts now and it was a special kind of annoying.

But, still on a cold case that Nick knew was going nowhere, he needed to find another way to solve it.

Yet, going out and killing a man that very well may be innocent felt… wrong. Maybe get Arnold to just tell him? Off the record and then-

But even then, would he have the resolve to do something like that? (Why wouldn't he? It wouldn't even make top 10 of the most morally questionable things he's done)

Then he glanced to his left, and found two familiar faces right by the entrance. "I'll be over in just a sec," Nick turned from Hank who nodded, and walked over to John and Bud.

Bud and John glanced at each other, "We've been doing some talking." John jumped in, "A lot of talking." Bud quickly added on, "so much talking, we could tell you how much talking we've been doing-"

From behind them, Arnold walked into view with a subverted gaze but with his body held strong. "I'm Arnold Rosarot and I think I'm ready to help."

Well, one call to a very suspicious sounding Salvadore, then a very Grimm based threat, then ignoring a very Grimm based threat by immediately telling Renard (whatever he could without blowing cover) and getting police backup to the club.

One very bloodied and bruised and identified Salvadore later, they got the guy. Butrell off to lock up, in police custody until then. Still, the man looked so damn smug about something. A weird kind of delirious pride when getting arrested, and Nick had pinpricks crawling up his spine without an end, or source, in sight.

But for now, they had to get Arnold back to the lodge (which would no doubt be unhappy with his overriding of their decision).

And now Nick was being followed.

The three ran down to the lodge, heavy metal doors that Nick didn't even know existed swinging and locking shut. Now, he needed to see what he was-

A slight schlink almost silent in the dark of the night, coming from right behind him. Nick spun around, faced with a man- I'm sorry, is that a fucking scythe?

Another schlink from behind him again.

Nick ducked, cool metal slicing through air right above him. In one swift motion, the scythe came back down on his head, forcing Nick to dodge further towards the other one.

The man in front of him raised his scythe into the air, the shadows on the wall showing the one behind him doing the same–they're both going for the legs. Spinning into a flip, because Nick does not have the vertical to just jump that, he needed a long ranged weapon now.

God, scythes? Really? Is this why Marie had him train specifically against scythes instead of literally any other weapon. Hindsights really a bitch, huh.

Anyways, that pipe right there is the size of a baseball bat and hanging on by a thread so yoink-

Or rather clang, as Nick swung it around to block the next slice to his person. Hook it, trap it, bring him closer, aim for the nose and thats one on the floor for a hot second.

Bitchass #2, block the swing and, rough, that has got to hurt. Then again, Nick hasn't ever been hit in the head by a metal pipe so what does he know? One kick to the solar plexus, should have the wind knocked out of him now. Why aren't they woged, doesn't that give you an advantage in a fight-? Another swing to the stomach.

Other one's back up–spin once, spin twice, spin three times, this has been going on for a while- oh fuck he dropped his only weapon.

Hollow out your back and fucking move, thats a foot long knife on a stick swinging at you. Fuck, there's a wall- oh, the other guy is still there? Alright, now duck-

And that is a severed head on the floor, along with a very pissed off scythe wielding murderer that is now woged.

Nick backed up against the storage tank, looking around for any weapon to stop the oncoming blow and– yeah a scythe would work.

Nick grabbed the handle, angling the best he could and off with his-

Legs?

Fuck, he missed.

These were ludicrously sharp scythes if he could just cut through skin, flesh and bone like that.

Nick stood up shakily, watching as the guy bled out. It would take a couple minutes, especially since it was below the hip. He should probably get his gun and finish him off. Probably.

He looked at the carnage, blood looking black in the moonlight. Two highly professional and likely wesen (because what self respecting gun for hire would use a scythe, this isn't a movie-) dead bodies on the floor of an abandoned power plant with nearly no real witnesses to attest that he was attacked.

He should call Monroe.

By his standards, Monroe was having a good day.

He had full access to a hundred year old library and medieval weapons, along with the means to use them. And he had a perfectly good reason not courting at all (because that would be absurd, they're just friends) to bring Nick out to the woods and hunt.

Play hunt, which in his opinion was unequivocally better.

It was a safe, nice and relaxed way to get his blood pumping again. After years of suppressing every single urge that came even close to that, it was a godsend. Then again, everything about Nick tended to follow that trend.

He ignored the soft, sweet flesh of the watermelon that Nick shot into with perfect accuracy. He ignored how bloody and red it was and how it was literally covering Nick's person. He ignored how well Nick fought with a sword and just how exhilarating it was fighting him.

He ignored how much his heart rate jumped when Nick so casually tilted his head up, patching up the small wound (like any good teammate would) so fucking gently and looking so godamned guilty over a minor injury to the monster he should be killing-

His panic was overshadowed by the prospect that they were being watched, but Monroe accepted the fact that he would face the consequences of having Nick around a long, long time ago. Nick seemed especially pissed about it, though, in a way Monroe just hadn't seen before.

Nick stopped by later in the day, updating him on the case. Brutal, but Nick's day job was an entertaining distraction from his repetitive normality. Nick also told him that he had found the person that was stalking them, which took Monroe off guard.

Then he found out they were Eisenbeiber, and all foreboding fear of consequences went out the window. He told Nick as such. Nonetheless, Monroe was so happy he kept Nick around because listening to the exploits of a Grimm who had no idea what the fuck he was doing was hilarious (if a bit haunting at times).

Seriously, who the fuck apologizes for being scary to the people they just threatened?

Nick, apparently. Nick who questioned the Hierarchy with fervor that should never come from the one sitting comfortably at the top of it. Monroe himself never questioned it, never felt the need to because he wasn't prey. But in this context, looking from the other side of the glass, it was pretty daunting.

And Nick had never been in the glass box (or triangle, rather) before, and for the past months, he's been on either side of the glass more than Monroe had ever even thought about it in the first place. Given this was the person who had saved the lives of, how many was it now, 9? wesen that he shouldn't even think twice about. The person who Monroe had only ever seen kill in self defense, and believed in the pure kind of justice.

A Grimm, and he had more empathy for prey wesen than Monroe ever did.

(He tried not to think about how heavy the guilt weighed)

Nick had called him just a couple of hours before, excitedly telling him that the guy did end up coming forward with his testimony. Monroe had been surprised, of course he was, it was literally an Eisenbeiber sticking it to a Hasslichen.

And now it was late into the night, and Nick was calling again. He expected a small update, a final bow on a case where the bad guy gets locked away and the little guys are on top of the world.

So when he hears about two dead reapers (not that Nick knows what they are because of course he doesn't), he should probably be way more surprised than he was.

Nick was perched on top of… some kind of machinery, the soft noises of Tetris coming from his phone. Below him are, yep, two dead fucking reapers. And Nick is playing Tetris. Just sitting there. Playing mother fucking Tetris. 

Monroe never even considered the possibility of reapers coming after Nick. Reapers were for problem Grimms, the kind that you hear from word of mouth. The kind that take out hundreds, hell, fucking thousands in silence and make themselves a threat enough for the Council to select the sacrificial wolf to go try to kill them. Because Reapers were the best of the best.

The only ones who had a shot at taking out a Grimm.

And there's two of them.

And Nick is playing Tetris.

Nick must have got it from Marie because no way in hell was Monroe's 'training's good enough to kill two reapers.

"You killed two reapers." Monroe breathed, staring at the corpse's in pure disbelief.

"What are reapers?" Nick asked, sliding down from the large machine. So innocent, wide eyed and curious (maybe Monroe was over-exaggerating, but that feels warranted. This was the thing that took out two reapers). 

Monroe took a breath, holding his nose between his hands as he tried to avoid… whatever was coming on. "Reapers, Nick," Monroe gave him a hard look, "are assassins that specialize in killing Grimms."

Nick looked back at the corpses with little to no recognition for the threat they were, sounding more like Monroe just gave him the answer to his daily fuckin' crossword puzzle. "Ooh, ok."

Monroe is giving up, he's done. No way in hell is this fucker going to ever understand the sheer cultural significance of his every action. He gives up.

Nick hummed, "Ok cool, are they just going to keep coming after me until I'm dead, or?"

"Yeah, that's how it works."

"I should send them a message."

Alright, now he sounded more Grimm like. (Not nearly enough but maybe he's just special like that.) "Well, when it comes to sending these guys messages?" Monroe picked up a scythe from the legless reaper (he's not even gonna ask), passively reading the inscription along the bloodied blade."Two heads are better than one."

Now Monroe fucking knows that Grimm did not just flinch-

Ok, so they needed to 1. Hide the bodies, 2. Find a way to preserve the heads until they can find a suitable way to mail the package to their commissioner and 3. They need to find where said commissioner operates from.

The last one was fixed because Monroe knows a guy who knows a guy who knew a guy who's brother's with a guy-, you get the idea. (Nick, of course, mocked Monroe about this because "of fucking course you know a guy who knows a guy who knew a guy who's brothers with a guy- " "Shut up")

The first one would be a problem but one easily solved by taking the time to break a lot of concrete, dig a 6ft hole and then cover it with some of said broken concrete (because who would suspect a dead body when the next people in here would be construction?)

The second was more pressing, because they needed ice and fast.

"Do you think they'd have some?" Nick asked aloud, looking down the way the 3 Eisenbeiber went. "They say 'The Lodge' like it's some gathering place, someone must have like… a freezer box we could borrow, they seem the type."

Monroe wanted to object walking into an Eisenbeiber safe place to ask for a portable cooler to keep 2 severed heads in, but hey, who was he to object to such a well thought out, sure to go well plan?

Nick would have to go alone, though, being the one to know them and all that and Monroe totally has to move the bodies and weapons to a more secure part of the abandoned facility and all that, so you're on your own, Nick, sorry about that but you'll do just fine, he's sure.

Nick traveled through narrow halls and down a very narrow staircase, not knowing exactly where he was going but having a vague idea. He stopped on a rock laid path between soft soil, the stage like voting area to his far left.

To his right was a very thick cloth draped over a metal bar, stairs visible from underneath said cloth. Well, no going back now.

Nick pulled back the curtain, stepping underneath it and stopping just in front of it.

Using the most efficient approximation of words, what laid in front of them was a fantasy, underground farmers market. Kind of.

Stalls with fruits and vegetables and pastries and crafts and books all on top of broken concrete used as stepping stone paths over lush grass. It looked like an auditorium in a basement, with several windows in the corners of the roof letting moonlight into the area. Not that the several lanterns didn't do the job of lighting up the place.

It wasn't quite busy per say, mostly young adults enjoying the late night atmosphere. Although with the 3 faces Nick recognized all in a circle of clearly fretting Eisenbeiber, some had stayed to greet them into the Lodge once the coast was clear.

Bud was the first to see him, Nick just getting to the bottom of the stairs as he looked around. The man rushed over, seeming to check over Nick's person. "I'm fine, Bud, I dealt with them."

"With who? You know, we could've stayed back to help you, if they gave you any trouble. Are you hurt, at all? I don't want to assume that blood is yours, but if you are, we have everything down here-"

"Actually, do you guys have coolers of any kind? Just a portable case to refrigerate stuff?" Nick asked, still looking around but more subtly now. Bud snapped his fingers, waving Nick over into the middle of the room as he continued talking. 

"Now what happened up there? They were following us from the station and that means they had to have known some information about you first in order to know where you were going to be and, given you're a Grimm and all, that couldn't mean anything good."

Nick blinked a few times to process the question, "Yeah, it wasn't anything too bad. Two guys tried to fight me, they lost. I had to call over Monroe, the Blutbad you saw me with, to deal with the aftermath. " 

Bud went into an off room of sorts, pulling out a drink cooler and leaving the room right after. "God, that sounds horrible. I don't think I could live like that, fighting for your life every other day. Of course, it's probably no problem for you, I mean obviously, it only took you around 45 minutes to deal with them and then you probably waited for your friend to get there- Are you both friends? I know I called him your mate and you got pretty upset about that-"

Bud went into another off room, this time filled with about 10 different fridges and freezers. He grabbed a kind of scooper tool, just an extremely big one, filling the cooler in like 5 pours. 

"I wasn't upset, I was just surprised that that was the conclusion you jumped to." Nick knew his tone was neutral, but he'd spent a whole lot of mental energy that day, alright? Seriously, he has got to stop with these one day cases, they were draining. He might actually sleep after this. 

Cool, he has a cooler now. Not that Bud actually gave it to him, "We have a wheel chair ramp in the back, you don't have to haul this thing back up the stairs." Surprisingly, listening to another person speak is nice when you're five seconds from mentally checking out. 

The two got to the abandoned power plant again, Nick now knowing of 15 other entrances to the lodge with the offer to come back down anytime if he needed a little pick me up or anything of the sort. 

Monroe looked somewhat surprised to see Bud next to him, but rolled with it well enough. Still, Nick was just glad that Monroe actually knew what to do in these situations, he'd be so lost if he didn't.

Monroe hollowed out two sections, carefully placing the two heads inside them. The bodies were both next to an already started hole that Monroe had been digging. Wasn't homicide fun? Wesencide, rather, since they weren't human. Actually, if homicide is the murder of another being like you, would this count as homicide? What the hell did Grimms qualify as anyways?

Bud mildly winced at the two very dead bodies, but then noticed the all too big blood pile in the middle of the room. "I'll get cleaning supplies, you'll need those, right?"

God, Nick needed to go the fuck to bed. 

Monroe placed the last piece of rubble over the area, making it seem well and naturally vandalized. They gave each other a tired smile, both exhausted to the bone and ready to fucking leave-

The ride back was fun. Nick just gave the keys to Bud and told him to find someone he trusted even remotely that knew how to ride a motorcycle and bring it somewhere not the scene of a crime. Covered up or not, it's good to be safe and Nick was in no condition to drive something as finicky as his bike right now. So, he went with Monroe.

It was nice, the half hour drive back to the Blutbad's house. It was well into the early hours of the morning, marking a full 24 hours since this shit began. Now instead of creeping through a forest, he was leaning on the inner console listening to a playlist mixing hundred year old classical orchestra and Frank Sinatra.

He should stop crashing at Monroe's house. He already started picking up on the type of shows Nick likes to watch and the guest room is a little too lived in for polite company. 

Then again, Nick also knows Monroe's favorite cello pieces now, and the brand of coffee he buys. 

'Just how things are'

What utter bullshit.

Nick came into work the next day and was overwhelmed with the immediate smell of food.

He walked over to Hank, who was snacking on a croissant with a green tinted chocolate glaze over the top of it. "Did we have a potluck or something? Why is there," Nick glanced at everyone eating something, the door to the break room wide open, "literally mountains of food." 

Hank barked out a laugh, pulling Nick into the break room. Mountains was not an understatement. Baskets of fruits of all kinds from apples to oranges to lemons to plums. There were entire platters of different baked goods, and too many pie tins to count. Baguettes, sourdough's with intricate designs. Stacks of jars with jams and jellies and everything in between. Hank grabbed a half moon, mini apricot pie and handed it to Nick. "You tell me man, this was all credited to you. People have been coming in all day."

As if on cue, Wu came in with another platter of beignets, all perfectly stacked and dusted with powdered sugar. The sergeant set it down on the last bit of remaining counter space with a heave. "Nick, I know you were gone doing something mysterious all day, but what the hell did you do to warrant this?"

Nick blinked, stammering, "I just did my job."

Chapter Text

Hank rubbed his eyes, the lights of morning too damn bright and too damn chaotic for any reasonable person to function. This morning was already starting off with the Portland flare, and his missing partner was another headache that he did not want to deal with. Then again, the longer he couldn't find Nick, the longer he didn't have to work the case.

Hank knocked on Renard's door, the Captain as composed as he always was. He was scribbling something down in a several inch thick binder, the feather on the quill waving back and forth almost erratically.

Hank scoffed, "I can't believe you still use that." Renard only shrugged, taking a long drink out of the nondescript coffee cup postured on a gaudy coaster.

Back when Nick was still new, he was paired with Hank. Very quickly, he was treated to Nick's uncanny ability of, for lack of better words, seeing what other people couldn't. Whether it be that Harper from labs was feeling upset and you should bring her a coffee along with the case, or if a suspect was just a little too tense. He just saw these things, and acted accordingly.

Come October that year, right around Renard's birthday, Nick had a couple notes about the Captain's behavior and ticks that could possibly contribute to a good birthday gift.

How Sean would stutter on some words, switching sentences for other language's grammatical structure when he was tired. How his accent shifted into something Russian on late nights at the precinct. His last name, and its relation to some Prince off in Europe. Down to the British english vocabulary, not that the accent gave anything British. Finally, come the 21st of that month, Nick had gotten a classically French royalty quill and inkwell for their Captain.

He had gotten Hank an original issue of an old comic book that was discontinued in the early 90's. Still couldn't remember when he had told Nick about it, or if he had at all.

Renard gave half a smirk, continuing to write. "If you're looking for Nick, he's not with me." Hank frowned. If he wasn't with their Captain, then he was either at home asleep (unlikely, he slept the day before) or somewhere else. The latter wouldn't usually be a problem, but he hadn't answered his phone. Not even the burner he kept on him at all times (Hank stopped questioning it, for his own sanity's sake).

"What do you need him for?" Renard set the paper to the side, sliding another in its place. "A homicide, as usual." Hank shifted his weight and put his hands in his pockets. "Some girl on a train got one helluvan allergic reaction. Harper's still asleep by now, and if I wake her up she'll bite my head off."

"Who died?" the 'man' asked passively, dipping the quill in the ink once more. Hank shrugged, trying to remember. "Some lawyer woman…." Hank hummed sharply, remembering, "Serena Dunbrook, that's her name."

The paper tore with an audible rip.

The metal handle bent slightly under the grasp, a circular indent where the 'man's thumb was placed. Sean looked up at Hank for the first time during that conversation, skin rippling just under the surface, "what?"

Hank winced. This would be a high profile case then. He knew that the girl worked for a very high end law firm, but if the Captain had this kind of reaction to just her name, then it would be so much more work than Hank initially thought. The Captain shot up from his seat. Now, Hank was not a small man by any meaning of the word, but their Captain still towered over him. Especially now, as you could tell he was pissed off underneath the stoic façade.

"And your certain this was foul play?" Renard asked, his voice seething just under the surface. Hank nodded, keeping still, "Yes sir." Renard took a deep breath, striding out of his office in a way that made everyone in the precinct freeze and look over. Swiftly, he swiped the report from Hank's desk, reading it over.

Almost immediately after he had opened it, he shut it again. "Go find Nick, and find the person responsible for this." Hank wanted to ask if he should put the other detectives on the case too, but he didn't want to risk anything. Renard was a reasonable man, and a good boss. It was more likely that Hank would get a normal response from him, no matter the tension. But Hank had made that mistake before, and wasn't planning on making it again. He simply nodded, and watched as the Captain stalked out of the building.

Almost running into Nick, who side stepped him abruptly. Nick waited for the door to close and a little bit longer, walking over to Hank and sensing the atmosphere of the room. Nick sat down next to Hank nervously, eyes flickering back to the door, "I take it I missed something important. What happened?"

"Not a clue," Hank followed his partner's gaze, swivel chair spun around to face the door. "Just told him the name of our vic and he stormed out." Nick gingerly took the file off of Hank's desk. Nothing conclusive yet, since they hadn't given a visit to Harper. Hank glanced at the clock. It's nearly 9am now, she should be on her way over to the lab.

"Serena Dunbrook. From the law firm, right?" Nick looked up for a moment. "She's a lawyer, sure, but she's not high profile enough to warrant that kind of attention." Nick flipped through the pictures of the body, stopping at the close up of the puncture wound on her neck. The detective squinted, and not in the 'I can't see' way, but in the 'I think I know what this is' way.

"Do you know what it is?" Hank asked, Nick shook his head and put the file down.

"Not enough to get out of calling Harper. Come on, she's probably in by now." Nick grabbed Hank's jacket and tossed it to him. "Why didn't you call her earlier?"

Hank raised an eyebrow, "and face the beast myself? I was waiting on you to do that." Speaking of…. "Hey where were you this morning? Usually you're the first to early cases like this."

Nick shrugged off the question and the interrogation look his partner gave him. "What, a guy can't sleep two nights in a row anymore?"

"Not you, you can't." Hank left it there, waiting to see if Nick would continue. When he didn't, Hank added it to the mental collection of things that Nick was hiding from him. But pressing him wouldn't do any good, especially when he needed his partner to get this case done with as fast as possible.

Nick reached up to touch the top of the doorway as they walked out. An odd habit that one would usually kick by the time they got out of middle school and graduated, but who was Hank to judge. The stretch pulled up the jacket slightly, loose sleeve rolling down.

A thin line of dark red down his inner forearm, barely visible for a hairs breadth before cloth covered it once more. Hank frowned, noted it, and decided that he would question Nick after the case. It wouldn't do any good to through Nick off his game and piss off Renard more than he needed to.

Harper marched into the morgue, french doors swinging open with a dramatic rebound. She didn't even glance at the side table as she swiped up the clipboard, handing it to Nick. "Cause of death: Anaphylactic Shock."

The three approached the body, puffed up features decayed and discolored now. "Mode: Apitoxin" Harper glanced up at the two, testing.

"As in bee venom?"

"Gold star," Harper, as always, reached into her drawer and deadass pulled out a sticker sheet. She peeled one off and stuck it on the lapel of Nick's jacket. "I sent a sample to a local apiarist for further analysis."

"That's a beekeeper," Hank chirped in. "You're not the only person who knows some fun facts."

Nick fully faced Hank, staring him down. "Uh huh, and I'm sure that yours are a gonna be a real buzz."

Hank groaned, taking the gold star and putting it on like a bandaid. Nick shrugged, "Hey, don't get tired now. We got however long this case is gonna bee for these jokes." Nick ignored Hank's ensuing suffering, turning to Harper instead. "Now let's pretend it wasn't a bee sting."

Harper pulled the glove over her hand. "Should I get another sticker ready?" She looked over the body, tilting the woman's head to the side and shining a light over the mark. "It's definitely a puncture wound, but I couldn't tell you what made it. I've never seen a needle gauge this big.

"Although," Harper took the report from Nick, and flipped to a certain page, "it would have to be one big needle." She handed it back to Nick, the toxicology report highlighted. "I found close to 50 milligrams of apitoxin in her system. One bee has about .1, give or take."

"That would make it a bee the size of Lebron James." Hank looked over Nick's shoulder, then back at Harper. The woman scoffed, "More like the big three combined."

Nick rolled his eyes. "Ok, sports fans. So, Serena Dunbrook gets on a Portland street car, people erupt into spontaneous dance…" Nick looked to Hank to continue. "And our opportunistic killer takes advantage of the chaos and injects her with bee venom. Weird, but," the three all looked at each other, "we've seen worse."

"You'd have to bee pretty creative to come up with that though." Both Harper and Hank glared at Nick, who ignored them.

Wu was going over the CCTV footage with Nick and Hank. The crowd seems normal, but tense, waiting for something. Then it's as if the music starts from somewhere, and everyone starts the familiar movements to the YMCA. The woman is obviously confused, not having gotten the memo. It continues like that before she falls out of view of the camera, never coming back into frame. It might be possible that there was some kind of message sent out by the killer, trapping their target into a chaotic and obscured position. Having everyone there knowingly involved seems highly unlikely.

Nick wants to mock himself. 'Unlikely', as if anything has been normal lately. Hey, wouldn't this be some kind of bee wesen? How would that even work physically? Wouldn't the killer die along with her if the same rules apply? Or is it different, and the stingers aren't connected to any major organ system?

Nick snaps out of his musings, Renard strolling in from the side door, just visible from Nick's peripherals. His shoulders are too tight, his hands are curled into fists around his jacket, and his expression is just a bit too pinched to be normal frustration.

Nick turned to Wu, "Get this on the news for us. Anyone who was on that street car that wasn't involved should come forward." Both Wu and Hank huffed. Large witness pools were always a nightmare to deal with, the precinct crowded and stuffy.

Renard didn't bother to walk over to them, just projecting his voice as he ordered, "I want you're full attention on the street car death, all right? We don't need the city scared to use transportation." It was a shit excuse and an even worse cover up, but no one else had the balls or the patience to bring it up. Well, that wasn't necessarily true, but no one wanted to argue with the Captain when he was pissed off. "Now, Harrison Berman, the head of the victim's law firm, he's upset and he's angry. We're going to deal with this as soon as possible."

Nick and Hank stood up, getting ready to interrogate any people at the vic's law firm that might have some ill will against her. The Captain paused by the door, features somewhat softening at the two. "You're sure it wasn't a random killing?"

Hank and Nick shook their heads no in unison. "Alright, just let me know if you need anything." The Captain's pointed look as he walked away made sure that they both knew it. Nick and Hank watched their Captain once again leave the precinct to go god knows where, then each let out a deep sigh of relief.

"Everybody loved Serena," the head admonished, "you couldn't meet that girl and not fall for her charms." The man poured a glass of whiskey that probably cost more money than either Nick or Hank will ever see in their lives. The girl sitting on the couch, a pretty redhead, spoke up, "Top of her class at law school. I was a year beneath her, and she kind of took me under her wing."

Nick hummed in sympathy, voice soft, "Was Serena working on anything that could've motivated this? A particular case, a belligerent client, anything?"

The man remained standing, nursing his glass as he leaned on his desk and looked pointedly at the floor. "Not that I remember, or, was made aware of anyways. If there had been, she would've kept it to herself. She's had problems with clients in the past, but she always found a way to mend the situation without outside help." The man took a sip of his scotch, looking up at the two detectives as he did. "I'll bring you her casework, just in case you need it. I'll messenger it over, whatever you need."

"Was there anything going on with her personal life? Exes, bad familial connections?" Hank suggested. The girl shook her head, trying to force her expression into cool professionally but failing. "No, she wasn't ready to settle down yet and she and her mother are very close." The girl sobbed, pressing a hand against her mouth as she tried to contain herself. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, gaining a glossy sheen. "She was really happy with who she was."

Nick nodded curtly, "Thank you for your time. I wish you both the best."

They were both about to leave when the man spoke up again, now sitting at his desk with his head in his hand. "Tell me that you'll find the animal who did this."

Nick swallowed thickly, forcing down the upturn in the corner of his mouth and he thanked luck that he was faced away from the man. Lowly, he turned back and swore, "Don't worry, justice is going to sting hard."

Hank shut the door almost abruptly as they turned to leave. Nick tried to stifle his giggles as Hank rolled his eyes. "You're a fuckin' asshole, you know that?" Hank said with a grin. Nick nodded, have laughing as he wheezed out, "Sorry, did that one sting?" Hank only rumbled deep in his throat, trying not to give in with a reaction. "Alright, now onto plan B(ee)."

Hank groaned, making the people in the lobby turn their heads at them as they left. Nick's phone dinged, and he only laughed harder as he read the first message. Hank rubbed his face, "Don't… don't you dare- if you make another bee pun, so help me good-"

"Harper's Bee-man just buzzed me."

"God damn you, Nick."

The area the guy worked in was scenic. All natural, and all of the flowers and plant life were wildflowers with some other local greenery, contained in a greenhouse and blooming through the cold whether. The smell of flowers was overpowered by the sugar of honey and pollen. Hank started sneezing the second he got out of the car, already submitting to his fate.

The two walked up to the disorganized rows of hives, right where the man had texted Nick to meet. Hank looked distinctly uncomfortable, staying a ways back from any of the hives. "What makes a guy wanna work every day in such a dangerous environment?"

"Portland murders losing their flare already?" Nick leaned forward to peer through the layers of wood and twine, looking at the honeycombs. He should really pick up some more honey from the store. The nice one from that middle eastern grocery store that had the honeycombs in the box with it, yeah, that would be nice. And it'll give him the opportunity to be that much more insufferable to his coworkers. In his musings, a bee landed on the hand he had placed on the head of the hive. Hank jumped back with an audible start. Nick just made sure not to move too abruptly as he leaned back and off of the structure.

"The Queen," a voice behind them spoke up. The beekeeper that Harper connected them with scooped up the bee in his hands, lacking in all beekeeping suit and gear, "she likes you, Detective." The man walked her back over to the clear window box that made up the top of a hive. "Don't be fooled, she is fiercely protective. It's unlike her to show herself out in the open like this."

"So, Mr. Spinella-"

"Professor Spinella*"

"Professor Spinella," Nick amended, not missing a beat in conversation, "were you able to analyze the apitoxin that we sent over?" Nick watched as the man went from hive to hive with a clipboard, checking off some kind of boxed checklist for each one in rapid speed. "We know you're a bit of a busy bee."

Spinella looked up at Nick with a blank face, and Hank met him back with a mixture of 'I am so sorry' and 'This is what I've had to deal with and what I have to deal with'. Spinella ignored the pun entirely, moving on, "I did and the results were quite interesting." Spinella set down the clipboard and took the rubber band off of one of the honeycomb layers, lifting it out of the hive and inspecting it. "None of the toxin was synthetic."

Hank's eyes widened, and not just from the news as when Spinella raised the honeycomb, several bees flew out and started flying in circles around Spinella. Hank took several paces back, then continued, "You mean someone harvested 50 milligrams of actual bee venom?"

Spinella lowered the comb back inside, "Apparently so. And usually I would be able to tell you where the bee venom came from, since such an amount would need to be shipped in from a large bee farm. Bee toxin can be measured by the ratio of the different chemicals in its makeup and identify the geo-regional origins. And yours, my friends, is nothing short of a mystery."

Spinella abruptly stopped, flipping the stack of papers on the clipboard down and returning to the station in the middle of the rows where they started. "The apitoxin you provided me with has traces of phospholipase which simply doesn't have an origin." Something from the workbench in the back buzzed and the Professor quickly excused himself to go check.

Hank shook his head in disbelief. "So someone took the toxin out of, what, 500 bees and then added a chemical to make tracking it impossible?" He huffed, "This is a whole lot of sophistication for a murder using bees as a weapon." Nick only shrugged, staying out as Hank started to inch down the path back to the car. "You saw how the Captain reacted. This is probably way more serious than we know."

Hank turned back to Nick, seeing the distance between them. "You coming?"

Nick shook his head, "Let me bee a nerd and ask a few more questions."

Hank sighed, raising his hands in defeat. "Hive it your way."

"Hah ha!" Nick yelled in victory as his partner rolled his eyes and walked away to the comfort of their car.

"If you're wondering if I had something to do with it, I don't have the kind of equipment needed to do something like that." Spinella snuck up behind Nick, continuing with his many, many duties. "And I was at Portland's beekeeping convention this morning."

Nick raised an eyebrow with a casual smile, "Crowded convention?" Spinella tilted his head all too genuinely, "Well, there's 12 of us so, depends on your point of view."

Nick grinned a little sharper, trying to be more cool and actually intimidating in his approach this time. He needs to be able to tell Monroe this story without blushing over it and Monroe bullying him about his techniques. "Yes, it really does. And as it so happens, I have a very… specific outlook on certain things. Seeing things other people can't."

The air became much more hostile, the sun starting to set somewhere in the almost winter sky. The light went from golden rays to harsh orange, only making Nick's figure darker as the sun's light streaked around him. "Like how any other beekeeper would have been stung by now with how you were handling them. but you knew they wouldn't sting you. You didn't even wear gloves."

Spinella narrowed his eyes at Nick, his features rippling in a dead giveaway to what he was. Who else would choose this life? Any human would be chased out, the position taken by the ones who relate just a little too much to their workers. The ones who find home in this type of work, far deeper and more primal than any human could ever manage for themselves.

Spinella backed up considerably, suspicious but not wanting to believe what Nick was saying. Because if what the detective was saying was true, than that would mean he was…. well, you know. And that would be downright impossible.

"I didn't do anything, I swear it." Spinella grabbed firmly at the wood of his workbench, the stingers starting to prod against his coat, ready to defend himself. He knew realistically that the… thing in front of him wasn't a Grimm, but the fables were becoming more and more familiar now, ringing as an echo in his ears. Something, something in the back of his mind was saying not to find out. To tell it all it needed to know and then run for his life. Because then maybe, just maybe, it would leave him alone.

"No, but you know a whole lot of people who might know something. So, tell me…" it reached past him, leather icy cold and chilling the air, grabbing a pencil and a blank paper off of his clipboard, "do you know why Serena Dunbrook was killed on that tram?"

Spinella couldn't do anything but stand there frozen. It felt like the very venom in his stingers were icing over, planting him in place. The bees were all retreating into their hives, buzzing loudly in their crowded safety. He stayed quiet, half because he needed to and have because he had no choice but to.

"Professor." Spinella snapped up to stare the thing down, woging at last as the changes surged to the surface. But oh, that was nothing but a mistake. There was nothing in that gaze but pain, death and nightmares. Wilting flowers and barren fields. Long, dead winters with nothing to feed on. Dying larvae and intruders in the places he needs to defend. But he had no swarm to attack with, no one to surround and overheat the attacker, to overwhelm and pick apart the threat. All he had was the cold darkness he had brought unto himself.

"Melissa Wincroft. This is her work. That's all I know." Spinella bit out in short sentences, words buzzing with the wrong type of vocal cords in this form. But he couldn't bring himself to change back, to make himself vulnerable when it was so clear that he had been found, and he would be hunted if he did and he needed to run and warn the hive-

"Thank you, Professor. This helps me." The cold retreated, the still winter air feeling like magma in comparison. "I thank you for your time." The man turned away and started walking back to the partner that had seemed all too afraid of his kind, his true kind, not to long ago. He should have noticed, the way one of them didn't flinch at the Queen presenting herself to him, giving a clear warning.

Spinella sunk down against his workbench, heart going a thousand miles per second as he shifted back.

Nick got into the car, Hank only glancing at him as he got off his phone. "That took a while. Get anything?" Nick frowned, waiting a second before shaking his head. "Nothing worthwhile."

Nick set who would interview the suspect pool and who would look over the files to a game of rock paper scissors. And because Hank always, always chooses paper first, Nick won. So, he left the precinct to presumably set down at some coffee shop for some nice quality reading of several years worth of cases that had nothing to do with their suspect or case.

If Nick was actually going to read the legal files.

Don't get him wrong, he was going to, but first he wanted to see if the trailer had anything. It was much less of a monster since Monroe had uncovered the organization system of the damn thing, letting Nick easily find the book on-

"Mellifers" Nick read aloud, scanning the rest of the page. "This wesen is rooted with bees. Their bodies produce venom glands and stingers along the limbs, proving fatal to anyone stung. They have a control over the insects, able to influence them, but not completely command them. Providing a large portion of honey will prevent one from getting swarmed. Similar to the insect, they will amass in hives, spinning a close and connected web of people. Note that it is unwise to slaughter them completely, as they are the only known natural enemy of Hexenbiester."

Nick frowned at the unfamiliar word, and inspected the following page. It was eerily similar to the thing he saw on the first day he became a Grimm. He should do some more research into it. "Mellifers prove extremely useful, providing sufficient warning and the means to kill Hexenbiester. The only other way to identify them is the mark under their tongue which remains visible in both morphed and none morphed forms. The danger of Hexenbieste far outweigh the danger of Mellifers, so it is advised to leave them alive."

Nick's phone rang, jarring him. "Hey Nick, sorry to call, but can you come over? We are absolutely swamped and we need someone to crack because this is going nowhere." Nick smirked at his partner, already getting ready to leave. "Losing your touch?" Hank only scoffed, audible over the phone, "I could do just fine with enough time, but the Captain's calling you over."

"I'll be right there." Nick said, grabbing a jar of honey on his way out.

"I got the same invite that everyone else did. Thought I'd go have some fun, I wasn't doing anything else that morning."

Nick groaned and leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. "Sorry, it just sounds like we have an echo in here cause I just keep hearing the same thing over and over again." Nick eyed the phone. The guy had been nervously checking it every so often, even leaving it on the desk instead of putting it back into his pocket each time. "Can I see the message?"

The guy tensed up, stuttering. "Uh, I got some pretty sensitive stuff on there, if you don't mind." Nick ignored how dumb that statement was, given that he could just pull up that specific line of DM's. He moved on. "Alright, then let's talk about the victim."

"So Serena Dunbrook got on the streetcar around the same time as you, right? She's a pretty girl. She stood right behind you. You know, did you smell her perfume?" Nick's eyes narrowed, "Did it turn you on when she rubbed against you?"

The guy leaned back and shook his head, muttering a laughing 'No' under his breath. Nick didn't let up, balancing the line of hard accusation and casual conversation. "Hey, come on, Doug, we have you on camera."

The guy shook his head further, "No, I was on the other side of the train-"

Nick cut him off, jumping at the stumble in continuity. "Really? Cause in an earlier testimony you said you didn't see her at all, so which is it, Doug?" Nick let it simmer, only leaning forward further. He spoke soft and low, "Come on, let me see the phone. Unless you have something to hide-" Nick made a slow reach for it, only for the guy to surge forward and hold it down to the table.

His skin started to ripple and change color, light tan fading into a dark, almost grotesque purple. Stingers protruded from several points in his arm with no pattern to it, looking like a cactus of some kind. Nick looked at it and then back up at the man, who gave no recognition to knowing what Nick was or if Nick had seen anything.

The two were startled by knocking on the door. Hank looked at Nick through the small window of the questioning room, beckoning him out with a jerk of the head. Nick gave one more look to the suspect who eyed him cautiously as Nick left the room.

Hank pulled Nick out, saying something about the message itself going nowhere. Nick half listened, looking at the suspect in the interrogation room through a mirror conveniently placed from across the room. It was placed in such a way that it faced the man sitting in the first chair in the lobby, with the mirror behind it. Doug woged in the questioning room, and the man in the first chair made eye contact, woging back. Unfortunately, the man in the first chair definitely spotted Nick as he abruptly stood up and walked hastily to the bathroom.

"-You get something off this Doug Shellow guy?"

"I think I'm going to. Let him go."

They were following the man on Nick's motorcycle a few blocks back. They planted a tracker on the guys car as Nick pretended to leave for the day, walking around back as Hank let the guy go. The two followed the signal to an abandoned paper mill, not the least conspicuous place to go after a police interrogation.

"This is an odd place to go," Hank noted while getting off the bike and slipping off the spare helmet, "it's called Primrose papers. Ring any bells from the case files?"

Nick shook his head, "Nope." He should get around to actually reading those, shouldn't he?

The two walked up, half whispering and half not bothering to. "You know anything about it?"

"Nothing really. Just one of the names you pick up on. Old family business, been here forever."

"You mean bee-sness?"

Hank lightly punched Nick's arm, "you really think that Doug Shellow and John Coleman know each other?"

"Pretty sure. I'm just hoping letting them go pays off."

The two entered the building much more silently, crouching behind large shelves and sneaking towards the voices echoing off the empty walls. The old rusted equipment stank of potential danger and would be OSHA violations, maybe even before it got abandoned. Not the safest place to be sneaking around in the dark.

The two stopped, looking between a couple of shelving units and seeing John and Doug talking to each other, along with one more woman that neither recognized. Nick was willing to bet that this was one Melissa Wincroft. Not that they could get a very good look at the woman, as a small bee landed on the tangled wiring in front of them.

That and a couple thousand more. Nick was careful not to move, not even when startled by Hank's sudden flaring, trying to see which direction the woman scurried off in. She ran deeper into the facility, taking a sharp right into a small and dim hallway.

Nick grabbed Hank's arm, chasing after her and getting the jar of honey from his jacket. Hank looked like he was about to throttle Nick for dragging him further into the building. Nick looked at him and smashed the jar on the ground. The bees all swarmed over it, drinking up the sugary and unprocessed goodness. Hank tilted his head for a moment before being tugged on by Nick.

The two sprinted off into the hallways, chasing after the woman once again. The loud buzzing only became more distant as they continued. The sound of high heels clicked against the concrete and steel, snagging on the grated stairs as she bolted. Hank followed after her on the stairs while Nick started scaling the all too fragile infrastructure.

The two caught up pretty fast, as it is a pain in the ass to run in heels on a good day. Let alone when you're pushing, what, 50? The woman looked behind her to see how close they were, running into a sharp piece of rebar exposed from the concrete as she did so. Her jacket snagged on it and she panicked as they closed in.

Hank glanced at Nick, seeing how far he was when one of the other men ran up and tackled him to the ground. Nick's eyes fell from the woman's hurried escape to his partner. One sting and he would be dead, Epipen or not.

Nick drew his knife from his holder, a gunshot at this range would do more harm than good. Fortunately, the man bolted the second Nick got close, dashing back into the shadows. Nick looked at Hank scanning for any abnormalities. "Are you ok, did you get stung?"

Hank looked at Nick oddly, "What, from him?" Nick was about to respond yes before he bit his tongue on the matter. Hank stood up with a hand from Nick, scratching at the stings he did receive from the bees earlier. "You could've kept going after her, I would've managed."

Nick shrugged it off, "He could've had a weapon on him. I didn't want to chance it." Hank only raised an eyebrow and moved on from the subject. Nick looked at Hank's forearms, covered head to toe in red welts, some still having the stinger in. "Come on, we can pick up the case after I get those stingers out."

The two went back to Nick's place and put on National Geographic, about bees too, because it felt appropriate. Nick grabbed 2 beers from the fridge and started picking out the stingers, along with applying an ointment that his uncle gave him when he was little and stupid.

"How you doing, Hank?" Nick bottled the rest of the serum, putting it back in the cabinets.

"I could be worse. I hate aphids and beetles now, but I'm feeling better." Hank stretched his arms out, resisting the urge to scratch at his skin. The red, swelled up bumps were already receding, red fading just as fast. Hank hummed sharply, and muttered under his breath. "One hell of a miracle cure…"

Nick nodded, "I got it from my uncle. My aunt hated bees and wasps and would either swat at them or toss some of her throwing knives at 'em. Didn't have good enough aim most of the time."

The two walked to the door, Hank already about to scratch at the remaining marks. Nick pushed the man's hands down, "You're going to go home and rest. We all know how you get without your beauty sleep anyways."

Hank scoffed indignantly, but wasn't given the chance to speak as Nick continued to push him to his car. "I got the rest of this, trust me."

Hank rolled his eyes. "Just try not to get caught. I don't want to get called in tomorrow and see you in the holding cell while the Captain has to bail you out."

"Hasn't happened yet," Nick admonished.

"Yeah, the fact that there's a 'yet' in that sentence is the problem."

Nick hopped up the steps and rapped on the door lightly, barely making any noise. By now he knew that Monroe probably heard him the minute his bike pulled onto the street. As if on cue, Monroe opened the door, still fully dressed despite the moderately late hour. Nick smiled that stupid dumb smile that told Monroe that he was going to get dragged into something not-so-legal and not-so-safe.

"Where are we going this time?"

The two crept through the same hallway, both traversing between the pipes and rebar without much difficulty, even in the dark lighting. Nick paused in a small, barely but still more well lit area, keeping his steps and breathing quiet. Monroe sniffed the air slightly, turning his head as if listening.

Monroe nodded, speaking at normal volume, "No ones here." Nick let out a breath, then resumed walking at a normal pace, looking for anything incriminating. Monroe looked around with mild interest, "Mellifers, huh? What got you in with them?"

"Murder." Nick answered flatly and with an upbeat tone as if that was a totally normal answer.

Monroe only raised an eyebrow. "Murder? Really?" Nick nodded. "Just surprised. Not really their schtick. Not that they couldn't, their venom is crazy potent. But they're still more pacifists, they only really fight when threatened."

Nick nodded, quickly scaling a side shelf unit to scan over the ruin. "There was note in the corner of their book saying that they were 'useful enough to leave alone'. It also said that they also 'manage the ecotone'.? "

Monroe looked surprised at the first part, muttering 'really?' under his breath in a way that Nick could only see him mouthing it. He shrugged it off, "That's just fancy mumbo-jumbo for saying that they're gossips. A wesen community switchboard, though most of them have moved online by now. If a Mellifer was the one to send out the message, then something is going on that's less than legal."

Nick hummed, "Me and Hank did get attacked by a swarm of bees earlier. We we're following two mellifers that were witnesses from the tram. They stopped here and met up with a woman but we lost her." Nick cut himself off by going up the stairs where they were stopped. Stuck on the same piece of rebar was the girls jacket, torn and discarded.

Monroe followed behind slowly. "And? I don't know everything about everything, Nick."

Nick unhooked the girls jacket and walked back over to the wolf. "I know. I need you to track where she's gone. If we find a motive, we can predict her next moves. I doubt they're going to stop here and if I can see who they're going for next, I can intercept them or find a pattern before they kill the next victim."

Monroe was unhappy as he took the jacket, but reluctantly did get the scent before passing it back to Nick. "Little Timmy's stuck in the well and you need Lassie to come find him, huh? You really know how to butter up a guy for a favor." It was said in a joking tone, and Monroe was already tracking down the scent as he started teasing.

"I got a bottle of '78 Bordeaux in my trunk for after this?" Nick followed after Monroe happily. The man perked up, and gave an accepting tilt of the head. "Now, you said that Mellifers deliver messages. What's the message when they murder and innocent woman?"

Monroe only shrugged, "Maybe she wasn't innocent. Mellifers only have one natural enemy-"

"Hexenbiests."

"Look at you hitting the books," Monroe chided, leading them up some very precarious and rickety stairs. Monroe stopped for a moment, "She's been up here a lot, the scent is undeniable."

Nick raised an eyebrow, "That sure?"

Monroe gave him a weird look, "No, her perfume, it's called undeniable." The clockmaker didn't wait, almost bolting into a small room that was much more well kept than anything else in the entire building. Sound, and maintained, even with the decades of abandonment.

Nick hurried up his pace, "Monroe, wait up-"

Monroe almost cut him off, "Don't you dare say heel."

Nick was going to refute that, but given that was something he would totally do, he gave up on it. The two entered the well lit office, the light bulb pouring fluorescent light across the strewn papers on the table and desks. Monroe continued to explore, finding the places where the scent lingered the most. Nick started to shuffle through the papers, looking over them quickly for anything useful.

"Well, this will take a while. We could crack open some bordeaux while we wait…?" Monroe glanced at Nick, who had picked up a file and was reading much more in depth. "Her name is Melissa Wincroft."

Monroe frowned, "what, did you use your Grimm powers to telepath it out of the air?"

"No, I read it off an envelope." Nick grabbed said envelope and tossed it to Monroe, who only mocked him under his breath. "Melissa Wincroft, owner and CEO. She must've run this place when it was still in business. This is probably her office, and was before getting shut down. Would explain why the scents so strong."

Monroe gave a sharp sigh, "cheater." He paused, crossing his arms like a child as he spun the slowly chair back and forth. "Well I sniffed her out."

Nick didn't look up from the papers, "Good boy."

Monroe glared up a Nick with a mixed expression that he couldn't quite decipher. Nick only smiled.

The two walked up to the mansion, the large hedges lining the pathway up. Giant roman pillars supported the upper balcony, though one of then was chipped at the side. The porch was dusty, spiderwebs in the corner and the metal lining of the wooden bench off to the side was rusting. One of the windows was broken, probably from some stupid kid or vandal. It was surprising that no one had graffiti-ed it so far, rich neighborhood or not.

The two went around back, the backdoor easy to picklock. The inside was worse, and Monroe tilted his head confusedly when sniffing the air. "It smells like lemons and bananas, but I can tell from where."

The inside was dark, not that it was a problem. It was eery, like they were walking into a haunted house. It was far, far more deteriorated on the inside than out. The wooden railing on the stairs was rotted, moisture sitting in the air and making it near stagnant. How long was she gone? And if this place wasn't completely abandoned, how long did she live like this waiting?

The two continued into the main foyer, crunching with every step. Hundreds upon thousands of dead bees covered the floor, the wooden tile not visible from a surface level look. The floor had puddles of clumps of bees stuck together, bound by some kind of molasses like material.

"If this was a horror movie, this is the part where the sidekick dies." Monroe muttered under his breath, looking around the house with the same disgust and vague interest Nick did. He looked back to Nick to see him going up the stairs to the 2nd floor of the murder house.

Monroe resigned to his fate and followed, checking around corners and on alert. If Nick cared any less for his friend, he would've akined him to a guard dog.

Nick could a right, and saw the trapdoor and the ladder up to the attic open and already extended. The spiderwebs and dust around where the legs touched the floor told him that it had been extended for a very long time. A sickly, golden yellow liquid dripped down the side, crystalized solid. Nick looked up for a moment, and then started climbing.

"Oh, we're going up to the spooky attic, because that's a wonderful idea and exactly how horror movies start-" Monroe half scolded as Nick continued up. Unfortunately, caring about Nick's safety meant that Monroe followed up after him.

Nick winced, some kind of liquid dripping down from the ceiling falling on him. It was yellow, and had a thick and sugary texture. "Honey," Nick felt it between his fingers. Not the worst thing to get on you, actually. Large hive like structures hung down from the ceilings, double their size and nearly their height. They were solid, and were streaked with red-ish pink. There had to have been over 25 around the room.

"I think it's about time for that Bordeaux."

Nick is a responsible drinker, and most definitely wasn't hung over when he called in the house.

"Nick, I get you do weird shit when you're bored, but how in the hell did you find this?" Hank looked around the now well lit attic and the literal hundreds of pounds of honey and beeswax. Nick only smiled, and handed a tox report. "It matches the profile of the apitoxin in Serena's system. Clears the beekeepers and makes Melissa Wincroft our primary."

"And as for how," Nick looked around the honeycombs, making a face when he saw one of them had larvae, "it was all in the legal files. Shellow, Coleman, the mill, the girl we saw, our vic. Everything's connected." Hank rolled his eyes, "You could've called me."

"Hey, doctor told you to rest" Nick chided, and Hank made the motion for Nick to continue with the information about the case.

"A messy class-action lawsuit years ago, nearing a decade. Serena Dunbrook was the lawyer representing America-mill in a hostile takeover of Primrose Paper. The employees tried to fight it – they lost." Nick summarized, and Hank nodded along, "and Shellow and Coleman were employees with -" "Melissa as their boss," Nick finished off.

"The Wincroft family had the company for over a century, and she had the most to lose. She lost the company and faded away in a homebody, neighbors stopped seeing her leave her house. She was planning for this for years to come." Nick and Hank looked around the environment. 10 years in a house, with little to no recorded leaving? It would drive anyone crazy.

Someone else entered the room, one of the newer officers. "Detectives?" The two turned to the man. "Sergeant Wu called you in. There's been another flash mob murder."

Wu met them at the curb, walking them into the now soured scenic area in the park. He seemed lightly amused, but was dead serious. Which, given the crouched figure in a suit over the body, meant that the Captain was on this and he was not happy.

"Death by Hokey Pokey this time. Whole new flash mob, all new people but the UNIs snagged them back to the precinct. Victim was doing pilates when it started, and we got an eye in the sky, whole thing on tape. And I warn you in advance, the Captain's a bit prickly right now." Wu damn near rapped as he chucked the information at them at mach 5.

To the average person, their Captain seemed a bit annoyed, but no more than that. It was from the years of working with him that Nick and Hank knew just from looking that Renard was seething. The man stood up, looming over them as the giant brick wall that he was. "Tell me that you have a lead on this."

Nick nodded, "Melissa Wincroft. We have motive and a hive of bees in her house that match the chemical profile of the toxin used. Camilla was on the case against Primrose with Serena with another girl, if she's dead than there's a good bet that the other woman is going to be next."

The Captain nodded, fury dimmed only slightly. "Call them into custody and find Wincroft."

Nick nodded and turned sharply, grabbing his radio. "Call in a unit to Berman, Rautport, and Associates, and take an Attorney into protective custody. Her name's Adalind Schade."

They walked into the Captain's office energized and ready to take this fucker down, like always at the end of just about every case they solved. But every thought Nick had ever had and would have went quiet the second that he saw the way that his Captain looked at the woman that claimed to be Adalind Schade.

Séan gave that look to Nick, to Hank, to Wu, to the officers he trusted and cared about and has known for years. But it was soured, it was rotted with a kind of disturbance that made it grotesque. The kind of sickly affection that eats away at you like writhing maggots and rot. It was the way he looked at the picture of his mother, the look he got when someone mentions the vague stereotypical concept of a father in conversation. The kind of look when he uses one of the skills that no police Captain should have, the ones he can't tell anyone where he got them from.

He knew her.

And he was protecting her.

His Captain was saying something but Nick honest to god couldn't understand a word, English sounding like a foreign language, incomprehensible. The woman seemed to have the same reaction, her eyes widening much, much more than someone with her experience in watching ones expression should.

The blonde stepped forward, following Hank out of the office and Nick took several paces away from her to let her by, putting himself as far away from her as possible. Renard looked at him oddly as Adalind sped away, her heels all too quickly tapping against the linoleum floors.

"Hey Nick-"

"Take me off the case." Nick ordered, tone firmly commanding in a way that rarely left his lips.

Renard's glare darkened, as if he hadn't expected something to go as it was. "Why would I do that? Is something wrong-"

"You know her. I don't know how, I don't know from where and I have no fucking clue why. She's important to you in some way, so take me off the case. Take me off the case because if I go ahead with this, then I’ll kill her myself." Nick took a breath, staring his Captain down. He trusted him, but did he trust him more than his instincts?

Of course he did.

"I trust you, Sean. I trust your judgement, even if you won't share whatever plan you keep her for. I trust you, so if you need her alive and you think that keeping her alive is the best course of action for everyone involved," Nick slowed done and emphasized every word, "take me of the case."

Renard looked at his best detective and was silent for a moment.

"Hank will handle the rest of it. Take the day off."

Nick nodded and went to leave. He stopped himself, hanging on the doorframe. "Don't make me regret this."

When Nick looked back at his Captain, he couldn't bring himself to feel any doubt.

Even if Sean looked like he did.

Nick pulled up to Monroe's house again, the wolf already leaning on the porch railing. He had heard him from just a little too far away to not have been listening for it. Monroe gave Nick a weird look as they went inside. The coffee pot was on, Nick could smell it from the living room, despite it being mid day.

"You're here earlier than I thought you would be," Monroe commented, watching Nick from the doorway as he grabbed two mugs from the cupboards.

"Aww," Nick dodged the silent question, "you were waiting for me?"

Monroe rolled his eyes, grabbing the familiar floral flavored coffee and setting it down on the table. "Not like I have anything else to do at—" Monroe checked one of the twenty clocks in the room— "9 o' clock in the morning."

Nick's eyes widened, "It's that early? Thought it was the afternoon by now."

"If it was the afternoon, I would be at a commission."

"Really? I didn't know you were bus-ee today."

Monroe huffed, ignoring the extremely bad pun with a question. "Why do you use so many damn puns? I'm starting to think its genetic at this point, like a Grimm power you got from your ancestors, because the number you manage to make in a day is honestly magical." 

Nick laughed but it trailed off into a much more somber smile. "I guess that's kind of true. My aunt would make a joke every other sentence whenever she took me in, trying to get me to laugh."

"Wasn't a happy kid, I take it?" 

"I guess you could say that."

Chapter Text

Nick was at home when he got the feeling to go over to Monroe's house.

He couldn't say why, per se. Monroe had even specifically said that this commission might take long enough that he'd get home well into the morning. Nick didn't have any particular questions (even simple ones, since Monroe had forbade texting anything about it) or a case to ask about. He'd been over that morning, right after the Mellifer case, so any recreational visits would make him come off as clingy.

But he couldn't shake the feeling. And usually, that wasn't exactly a good thing. Nick shook his head and decided to go with it, the notions Monroe would have about him be damned.

Monroe was sitting on his couch reflecting about his life decisions over the last six months. He chewed against the bitter burdock, the chunk of the root refusing to break up between his teeth. It tasted even worse than he remembered, but he hadn't needed it for damn near 7 years now.

Monroe didn't know what to think, that first day. What every wesen would, he supposed. His dad's bedtime story's nightmare standing up on that hill, straight out of the book. Up high, just close enough to see the darkness in his eyes, the promise of what was to come.

But it didn't attack him, no no no, it called in backup. Because it was a police officer. Because of course it would be in this day and age. And even then, it didn't speak to him. Just watched him from afar, as if it was a hunter stalking his prey, gun in hand and just waiting for the right time to aim down his sights.

The people there had explained that it thought Monroe was involved in the missing child case going on. Apologized when they couldn't find anything, said that the detective had a keen eye for this type of thing but seemed to have fumbled.

But even then, they treated him like the perpetrator, down to the last moment where they finally left. Like they knew it would get him eventually.

Now Monroe knew that it was because Nick really did have that 6th (or 7th now, actually) sense for danger, and it was only his powers sudden development that got to him.

But right then, all he could think was about how many wesen it had done this too. Tracked them down using its abilities, and tied them to their pasts. Or even framing them for crimes they didn’t commit just to get the chance to off them. And manipulating Kehrseite law while doing it, wiping its hands clean, Monroe was disgusted.

If hadn't been so terrified, he would have been.

Monroe didn't feel like prey often, but right now he empathized with just about every prey wesen out there, feeling a kind of kinship that he never had before. Because while the hierarchy might put him pretty high, they were all defenseless against Grimms. Funny how he was only having this epiphany in his last few days on Earth.

The following night, when he felt eyes watching him, he thought he was going to die. Feeling like someone was right behind him but finding no one there. It was like having a hand wrapped around your throat, only to fade into smoke when you try to pry it off. He caught the scent by his window, only half surprised that he couldn't hear the footsteps of the Grimm moving.

He decided that he was going out on his own terms. If he was going to die here, he was going to do it his way. Not like how his parent's would've, not like how a wesen would have. He's spent too damn long giving into those impulses.

"And as he sat there, petrified, he realized one thing. Why he hadn't seen him creeping up behind. It was because Grimms smell like wesen. But it's only as you're on deaths doorstep that you realize the difference. They don't smell like wesen. You think they do. It's the same scent, the same notes, and your brain will try to trick you and say that it's the same. But you know that it's just not."

Monroe thought the scent outside had been one of the birds. There were dozens of nests in the trees lining his house. He knows because he keeps the robin eggs he finds, keeps the shells.

But as stared down at the Grimm made of smoke and freezing breath on a winters day, he knew exactly what the books meant.

Because the thing in front of him looked like a wesen.

But that thing was not wesen.

Monroe tried to backtrack, staring into those abyssal eyes. Tried to save himself, beg for his life, told Death to have a beer and come inside.

And the punchline was that death listened.

It was only when they got inside, into Monroe's den and into the bright lighting, that the adrenaline started to die down. It was in the bright lighting that the darkness faded, turning into crystal blues. His pulse raced still, but now he could see the confusion and… fear. Because the Grimm, the soulless Grimm Reaper itself, looked scared of him.

It was such a familiar look, one he got from the prey he hunted, that it calmed him. He fell back into the mindset he did while hunting, while trying to avoid the terrified gaze of the seelenguter he had run into at the supermarket. He stopped thinking of the Grimm as a Grimm, but as something else. Something more manageable. Someone he could test and fuck around with.

Looking back, if Nick had been anyone else at the time, one of them would be dead right now.

But the detective wasn't just any Grimm, he was a baby Grimm. One who fuck all about anything. It took a moment and some prodding to realize just how new he was, even if it cleared that up pretty quick with asking what the hell Monroe was talking about. Y'know, like a kehrseite would.

So Monroe treated him like a Kehrseite. Because thinking you have a Kehrseite in your house is a lot easier than coming to the realization that you're having a chat with a Grimm. Even easier when that Grimm proclaims that it doesn't care whether or not the person it's looking for is human or not, it cares about justice and saving a little girl from a fate worse than death. It was so easy, in fact, that Monroe actually agreed to help him.

Why the hell he let fucker in the next time was beyond him, even now.

Maybe it was his instinct’s lack of screaming. Maybe it was because he still smelled wesen on him. Maybe it was the bag of pastries from his favorite shop. Maybe it was the overwhelming sense of responsibility to prevent another rampaging monster killing wesen by the thousands.

It didn’t matter, Monroe gave him some information (he found a ziegevolk which Monroe couldn't bring himself to disagree with killing, when he heard what the guy did), he could argue that he didn't want to lose his head over something so inconsequential. A weak argument, he knew it, but he was trying to rationalize the impossible here.

Then the Grimm called him up and asked him to watch the back of another Grimm.

And this one was far from new and probably far from innocent. All he could think of was how fucking insane this situation was. His mind was going a thousand miles per hour of how he got in this situation, why this fucker thought this was a good idea and who the hell this woman had pissed off that she would need protection and did Monroe really want to get into that mess?

But then he said that he trusted him. It was probably bullshit but he said it earnestly and his heartbeat stayed steady. And, god, he fucking blanked.

A Grimm trusted him.

He trusted him.

And so he agreed. Like an idiot.

Monroe paced around that bed enough to bore into the linoleum beneath his feet. If the nurses had been any less desensitized, then they would've been giving him weird looks and probably asking what he was doing there. The Grimm that put him in this position called again, making Monroe wonder why he was worried when it said that the Ziegevolk was a frog-eater.

But that call ended all too soon, and he was back to pacing. He paced and seriously considered things he hadn't thought of doing in years. All he could think of was raging fire and a mangled corpse hanging from the rafters and horrible stories and the disappointed look on his parents faces-

And then her eyes opened. They weren't full of darkness, or malice. She looked at him with more understanding than his own mother had. She lifted a shaky hand and cupped his face and looked at him with a knowing gaze full of kindness, and told him that he was 'one of the good ones.'

And ok, so yeah, he ripped a guys arm off and cried some whenever he got home, sue him, alright?

Given, he also invited the detective over and chatted with him about how the case went. But in his defense, how could someone not be curious about the escapades of a Grimm? Even between all his excuses for not going straight to some reapers or even just banning the Grimm from coming back (because now he knew that the Grimm wouldn't kill him if he did), he didn't truly trust him. Not really.

And the feeling was mutual, as far as he was concerned. It trusted Monroe to protect this woman, which was crazy enough, but he wouldn't trust him to watch his own back. (But Monroe trusted him enough to let him into his clock-room, which frankly should have been the first sign).

Monroe was passively concerned when this psycho got into a fight with a Siegbarste and lived. It proved that being a Grimm really meant you were well and truly built different. But he knew that didn't extend to him, so he knew he was putting himself at risk when he agreed to go kill a Siegbarste.

On the other hand, he was going to a trailer full of honest to god, authentic Grimm books and get his hands on a Grimm owned and created weaponry and poison. He felt almost dirty walking into that trailer and loading those bullets, but see the reasoning above one more time because holy shit he was in a Grimm's archive of history.

He's killed far more innocent people for far, far less, so whats a mercenary Siegbarste added to a ledger already doused in red?

Monroe is pretty sure, looking back on it, that he started thinking of Nick as Nick whenever he saw how he treated the Spinnetod case. Because they were killers, in every definition of the word. Monroe felt bad for them the moment the Grimm told him about them because he was sure that it would kill them. Technically, he was right for doing so, but they were killing to survive.

And it seemed Nick shared that sentiment. And also uncovered a miracle cure for Spinnetods? Monroe thought it was dead the moment it got jumped by Charlotte. But no, Charlotte looked 25 again and the detective was wholly confused. To be fair, so was Monroe, but he also had over 28 years of experience with the wesen world's nonsense.

They had stood outside that courthouse and watched those two women hurry out with their little girl, and Monroe saw that smile firsthand. Monroe knew that Burkhardt was a person, despite the whole Grimm thing, but only then did it really click what kind of person this guy was. He was a good person, and probably far better than Monroe ever expected.

That's probably where the attachment started. He didn't trust Nick with his life, but he didn't trust anyone like that anymore.

Until Nick met him in the ring, and fought with him, back to back.

Monroe hadn't truly fought anyone in years until he met Nick. Hadn't killed anyone for far, far longer than that. He thought he didn't have the taste for it anymore, and would be disgusted with himself if he did.

But Monroe went home feeling strong, and strangely protective. No bloodlust or adrenaline rush afterwards dragging him near the forest. It led him outside with Nick and inviting him in to stay the night. It was so domestic and Monroe had no idea how to feel about it.

Fucks sake, Nick made him breakfast in the morning in his kitchen, with food from his pantry.

This new found trust, new but nowhere near fragile, led Monroe to call Nick when Larry broke in. In any other case, calling in a Grimm to come look after a defenseless Wildermann was asking for trouble. But it wasn't even the fact that Monroe had no one else, it was the fact that Nick was the first person he thought of. And of course, Nick pulled through, doing better than Monroe ever thought he could.

Going against your lineage and abstaining from it was one thing, but actively working against it? It was the most Nick thing that Monroe could ever think of. His aunt must have been one hell of a woman to raise that man.

And it was Monroe's willingness to protect Nick that gave him the idea to indulge, just a little, in his more primal instincts. He hadn't been out in the forest in ages, he thought that he would lose control if he did. But now he knew that wasn't true. He was protecting others (protecting Nick), and he could do this—he knew he could.

Even if he majorly screwed up and might have doomed Nick's partner to insanity.

Monroe didn't tell Nick what that meant, because he was terrified that Nick would realize just how much of a monster Monroe truly was.

This was the universe punishing him for it, isn't it?

God, Monroe would do it a thousand times over as long as he got to keep Nick around.

They were so much closer than Monroe ever thought they could be, and Monroe hadn't had a connection like this since Angelina and Hap. Since he had a pack.

But this wasn't pack, it was different. It wasn't vulgar, and ruthless and cruel and wrong. It was right, it was fighting for justice, to help, to save. It cleansed his mindset, let him out into the woods again with no hunt to sour it.

And sure, inviting someone into the woods to fight is technically a Blutbad courting method, but don't make it sound like that. They're friends, and this Grimm knows next to nothing about wesen weaknesses and obviously this is for training purposes only, of course. Hell, Nick said he preferred a crossbow over a bow and arrow. (Monroe ignored the literature nerd in him commenting that crossbows were meant for Blutbaden specifically).

And god, Nick was driving him crazy. Pinning him to the ground and seeing no problem with just staying there on top of him. Then again with the narrow miss at taking off his damn head.

Nick had immediately rushed over, went through Monroe's bag, and took Monroe's supplies and, fuck, tilted his head up and put his hand around Monroe's throat. And Monroe had let him, frozen there, trying to ignore how his heart was pounding in his chest so hard, it was about to break a rib. It was nothing. They were friends, and anyone would be nervous when a Grimm has their hand around your throat, friend or not.

Of course.

This was only proven further when Nick nervously told him about his first solo mission against the stalkers. He stumbled through a description of Eisenbeiber, which was worrying, given how talkative they are. Something in the back of Monroe's mind worried about word getting to the wrong people, but it was drowned out by laughter when Nick admitted that he had apologized to the very people he was threatening.

He had also made them sit down like pets, which was just hilarious in and of its own right.

The day got a whole less funny when Nick called and described two reapers. And sure, Monroe panicked and asked the in the fuck happened, of course he did. His friend could've gotten killed for christ's sake! He hadn't thought Nick was enough of a problem to warrant getting not one but two reapers put on his ass, but apparently the Butrell guy had some connections.

Not that it mattered any, given Nick took them both out in a reported 45 minutes.

Monroe rolled the root between his teeth, the flavor intensifying.

He hid a body for Nick.

Two.

He didn't think twice when he broke into an abandoned warehouse. Just glared and ignored the butterflies when Nick called him a good boy.

How far was he willing to go for him?

A familiar rumble down the road, and a well known scent walking up the stairs. Now he wasn't above visiting more than once a day.

Monroe grabbed the ice pack as he limped to the door. Nick's eyes widened almost comically when he opened the door, looking at Monroe concerned. "Shit, Monroe, what happened?"

Monroe couldn't help but smirk, opening the door further. "Funny you should ask," Monroe led Nick further into the living room, "you did."

He spit out the sucked dry burdock, throwing it away and grabbing another from his cabinet, leaving the remains on the dirtied cutting board on his counter.

"You know how I said that we don't mess with the status quo?" Nick nodded, giving gut wrenching puppy eyes while he stayed quiet. "There's a reason for that. Some people don't like it, but break it, and…"

Monroe grabbed a folded up piece of loose leaf, a crude sketch of what was left on his car. Nick could draw far better than Monroe could. "There's people who uphold those rules, and they do not take kindly to perpetrators."

Nick was quiet still, but Monroe watched as anger flashed behind his eyes, followed by guilt and firey resolve. He hesitated, almost stuttered when he actually said something. "-… I’ll leave you alone. I won't go to you for help, I'l leave you alone-"

"Fuck that." Monroe walked over to his fridge, taking out one of the nicer brews. Nick had gotten him a case, a new favorite, even if it wasn't something he'd ever had before. "I'm not running." Monroe set the two on the table, sliding one to Nick. "You ask me for all the help you need."

Monroe flicked open the lid on his, cap barely bloodied with claws extended. "Next time, we'll be ready."

Nick took the beer off the counter, smirking with a chuckle, and raised his glass against Monroe's with a soft clink.

"Thank you so much for coming over, you two! Normally, we're able to do it all on our own, but the boys that usually help us out with the heavy lifting are out studying for their winter finals and you know how it is before Christmas." Bud followed Nick around, gently pointing at the places he needed Nick to set down the loads of wooden planks.

"Yeah, it's no problem, Bud. It's nice to be back down here." Nick looked around the still being constructed branch of the lodge. Straight up Tolkien shit, seriously. "It's cool to see."

Bud smiled, "And we welcome you here anytime. Both of you." Nick huffed and followed Bud's gaze to the other side of the room.

Monroe was much, much stronger than Nick was. The Blutbad was carrying what had to be over a hundred pounds of metal beams and pipes, gripping the rope handle of one and perching the other on his shoulder. Despite the cold weather, it was warm enough down here to warrant taking off the flannel shirt and tying it around his waist, white tank top underneath.

Nick cleared his throat abruptly and looked back to Bud, "Anything else you guys need help with?"

Bud gave Nick a look, but shook his head. "Nothing other than repaying you boys for your work. And believe me, Penelope's butterscotch pie is well worth the wait."

Nick frowned slightly, "Bud, you don't have to give us anything, really-"

Bud cut him off, "No way, you put in all this effort, let us give you something in return."

Nick pointedly didn't look at Monroe as they got back inside, instead looking around at the framed section of the lodge still under construction. They had scaffolding up and down the walls they had already built, and Nick knew they were sturdy given schematics that the Eisenbeiber had excitedly shown off to him.

Nick scaled up surprisingly fast, the incremental steps making it like a ladder. It was nice, especially when Nick had to balance a plate of pie going up.

Nick perched up on a landing within the scaffold, sitting back and enjoying the winter air biting at his nose. It wouldn't snow very much, but the city would definitely be coated in white here pretty soon. The detective glanced back down, looking at Monroe.

The wolf was getting practically tackled by some of the smaller kids who were just ecstatic to meet a Blutbad with no risk of getting eaten. One of them was using his arm as a swing, lifted off the ground. He was trying to make sure the other two didn't fall as the hung onto his back and shoulder. You could see how nervous he was, it was obvious with how careful he was being.

"Hey there, stranger."

Nick turned to the voice behind him, seeing a vaguely familiar face. Penelope, he was pretty sure. She had a thick, sickly sweet Southern accent that stuck out in Portland. How the hell did she even get up here-

She sat down next to Nick, looking down at the group below. She didn't say anything for a moment, only following Nick's gaze and watching.

"You know, I was so nervous around Bud when we first met." Nick turned to the woman, not saying anything as she continued. "We were both young and stupid, not even taking any of the same classes. We only ever saw each other in the halls, and I was already swoon from the day I first saw him. I could never even approach him without getting butterflies, I was so nervous."

She smiled, "It took about 2 years for our friends to finally get fed up with our beatin' around the bush 'fore they finally forced us to talk to each other."

Monroe wobbled as one of the kids nearly fell, grabbing onto their ankle at the last moment and looking terrified. The kid just laugh as Monroe set them down, Nick seeing the mouthing of the words 'again!'.

"Turns out he had been crushing over me for a whole lot longer than I was, but he was just too scared to make a move."

Nick finally tore his eyes away from Monroe, looking at the woman confusedly.

Penelope only hummed, standing up from the platform. "Food for thought."

########

Sometimes, Nick really hated his job.

Between the jokes they cracked at the corpses of monsters and the cases where someone got themselves their own due justice, they had cases like this.

Cases where it was nothing but bloodied crime scene photos and shaking children sitting in a room surrounded by strangers. Watching the parents fall to the floor as you tell them their pride and joy is gone. Cases where all that's left is a couple of bodies and a flipped over car, only one survivor but never for long.

And cases like this where there's no one to save, too much paperwork and too many damn photos to look at. One rich dick asshole who would no doubt get off scott-free and a mother who would grieve for the rest of her life, plagued by putting trust in the wrong person for far too long.

Hank rubbed his eyes and shot to his feet, muttering something about coffee refills from the break room. Nick only nodded, and continued to look through the case files. The markings and bruises on the kid, all photographed. The mottled discoloration on skin too pale to still have a pulse. Not that these were gathered by the police, no, the man took these himself once the kid stopped moving.

Hank set down the coffee cup blankly, Nick grasping around the hot to the touch cardboard, but making no move to actually drink it. The forensic photos they did take were of heavily decayed and actively damaged and defiled remains. The eyes were taken out, and there were punched out gaps into the nerves and brain behind it. The blood pooling was inconsistent, suggesting they had been moved around a lot after death.

Nick's eyes narrowed at the screen, hand holding onto the cup tighter. He tried to ignore the fact that blood pooling happened half an hour after death, becoming permanent later than that.

Most the skin around the lower body was completely peeled off, becoming too easily torn after decomposition set in. There would have been abrasions around the wrist and neck if there had been skin there at all. The internal flesh of the lower body was completely decomposed, far, far more than any natural decay.

How long had he kept her down there? The mother reported that she had gone on a middle school trip to perform a town over. It was the richer side of town, a nice school, so it would be an overnight trip. The mom said that the man reported the girl had gone to school before the mother had woken up, so any time that night before. They only found out because the shed had attracted animals, and so many scratching at the wooden door drew the attention of a ranger.

If he had gone alone, he would be dead. Luckily, he called in police before, suspecting a murder. Smart, given that he was loaded to the nines in anticipation. Not that the numbers helped any.

And this fucker was going to get off with a slap on the wrist all because he could afford a good lawyer. He deserved a fate worse than death and he would probably move on to do this to other people. It was so unfair. He needed to be put into the ground, to experience every second of agony that he put this girl through-

Nick looked down, startled. He tugged at his hand, which was stuck(?) to the coffee cup, which was stuck to the desk. He pulled once, twice and it came off with shards of broken ice chipping off and falling to the floor, melting into the wood. Nick switched hands, hissing slightly as he unstuck his hand from the cardboard. There was frost over the entirety of the cup, and it continued in a circle around where it was on his desk.

Hank looked at Nick oddly as he placed the cup down again and pretended nothing was wrong. Not the usual 'what the fuck' look that most people would give in this situation, but an intense kind of suspicion that he only ever shot to criminals who just gave themselves away. The tension between the two only intensified, the atmosphere suddenly as frozen over as the coffee.

"I forgot to tell you boys, the coffee machines broken." Their Captain's voice startled both of them, Hank jumping just as much as Nick did. Renard grabbed Nick's cup, subtly brushing away the snow from the desk as he did so. In the other instant, he grabbed Hank's. "I'll get you both another cup, and when you finish it, go take a break." The man gave them a pointed look, no different from his usual when they overworked cases like this.

Hank nodded, and gave one last look to Nick, who stayed quiet about the situation.

When Nick went back to the paperwork, his hands were clammy and he found himself glancing at his partner.

He'll be fine.

Chapter Text

He was exhausted.

He wiped away the sweat from his brow, rubbing his eyes blearily. The sharp bite of the alcohol burn as it slid down his throat, refreshing as it was painful. He should've been tired, he'd been doing this for hours now. But instead, his veins felt like they were on fire in all the right ways. Like he was on a hunt. For what? He didn't know. No direction or focus, just the burn. He slipped the cigarette back between his lips, the smoke filling his lungs as he grabbed onto the heavy dumb bell.

"Here we go. Pop it in." The man on the screen shook the dumb bell back and forth, the bright colors eye catching from a mile away. "When it gets hard, push harder. Let the weight do what it does."

The fire cackled through Hap's veins again, and he let the weight do its thing. It just so happened that the dumb bell had a little too many schnapps and lost control of its strength. Happens to the best of us, right?

Hap sighed, slightly dreading fixing the window with money he didn't have. Actually, Hap thought as he went out into the yard, he should call up that guy from the bar. How about that? IKEA furniture but for repairs? All the tools, the materials and your own little set of instructions so you don't have to deal with another person. This could be gre-

The ground beneath him shook and heat enveloped his back. Hap slowly turned around, looking at his den. Or, what was left of it, rather.

Aww man :(

The sun rose pretty quickly, not that it hadn't been early. What can he say? He was a night owl. Liked looking at the moon, everyone does. Seeing all of his stuff torched was kinda a downer though.

The Detectives walking with him (one of them smelt familiar, but Hap couldn't think of where for the life of him) were asking questions a mile a minute, real mean about it too. And Hap gets that this is their job, and he is really trying to focus, but also that is his iron butterfly! Just melted and wobbly and ruined now.

The familiar one spoke up, "Mr. Lasser, we have a lot of people out here investigating the explosion. If you were involved in any kind of bomb making, you should tell us now before we start considering more intentional possibilities." He seemed like a chill guy, just exuded that calming aura, you feeling him? His partner was more prickly though. Looked swell if you got to know him but for now? Oh, that side eye was crazy. But nothing he hadn't gotten before.

"Bomb making? Me? I wouldn't know how to do any of that." Seriously, he'd seen some of that on TV before, and it was way out of his league. Sure, he did technically have a degree in rocket science and had worked at NASA for a couple years, but that passion fizzled out and whats life without passion? Still, the carnage was getting to him. The implication that he would do something so risky against his own den? It wasn't nice.

"My entire life was in there." Hap startled abruptly, taking a sharp breath and groaning, "Awww, my brother's baseball card collection! He would freak out if he were here."

The jaded one raised an eyebrow, "Shouldn't he be happy you're alive?"

Hap shook his head, unpleasant memories bubbling up. "He would be if he were here, but he didn't make it out."

"Of what?"

"Same thing happened to him last month, 'xcept he didn't make it out of his doublewide." Hap shrugged his shoulder slightly. "He is so dead."

Nick was having a good day, alright? He was having a brilliant day. He got some rest, he had stayed over at Monroe's the night before and crashed in the guest bedroom (Nick ignored the fact that he always slept better at the wolf's house than his own). And then their case this morning was easy. Arson investigation. Nick honestly thought it would be something dumb, like leaving the stove on next to a gas canister that he left the top off of.

Then he said that the same thing happened to his brother, which landed him firmly in their territory. Not that he wasn't unpleasant to be around, the (wolf)man was actually really entertaining.

The man sat on the edge of Nick's desk, not that it bothered him any. Despite his size, the wood held his weight as he kicked his feet back and forth. "That's why they call me Hap. It's cause I'm such a happy guy. Everyone likes me, even the guys I owe money to."

Really entertaining.

Nick didn't even raise an eyebrow. "Could you give us a list?"

"Sure, uh-" Lasser hopped down, pacing back and forth with a bounce in each step. "Uhm, Jimmy Damon, I'm in with him about like 3k? It's a bar thing. Not a bar tab, I'm good about paying those, it was for a bar that I opened. It was a great idea, that's why he backed me. You had your own bar right at your table" Lasser got more and more enthusiastic in his explanation up until the last word, and then deflated like a balloon. "We lost our shirts."

"Uhm, then there's Sammy Runyon! Old buddy of mine from my university days, he was super into baking. I thought, hey, you like baking and I like eating and crepes are the new pancakes. Or at least they would've been. I'm in with him a couple grand too."

Nick glanced over at Hank who was in a mixture of disbelief and calm what-the-actual-fuck-is-with-some-people mood. The detective tapped his pen on the clipboard, "Your brother on the hook with any of these guys too?"

Lasser shook his head solemnly, turning much more somber and genuine. "No, no. Rolf was a really good guy, he was in the military and just an upstanding citizen. I don't know why anyone would go after him. I sure understand why someone would sneak a pipe bomb into my mailbox, but Rolf? No way."

Nick was about to follow up with procedure when an officer (not quite new, his name was Jack, Nick remembered the odd look he gave him while Nick made his morning 'coffee') spoke up behind them. "Sorry, but this guy says he's here to pick up your vic?"

The man walked away, revealing the man standing behind hi-

Monroe knew this guy?

Didn't know every Blutbad in the area Nick's ass.

Hap perked up like a puppy, bounding over, "My main man Monroe!" Monroe must know him, because the way he curled up his body and allowed himself to be picked up and spun told of familiarity. Hap set the clockmaker down on his feet all too gently, looking like he hung the moon and was moving onto the stars everyday. "It's great to see you, man." Monroe only nodded, hands firmly set into his pockets as he avoided Nick's eyes. 

Hank tilted his head, "isn't that the clock guy from the Sweet Dreams case? That's his friend?"

Nick shook his head disbelievingly, the confusion in his voice truthful for once. "Apparently."

Hank raised a concerned eyebrow, "You want me to take this one?"

Nick hummed, then shook his head, standing up. "No, go find our arson investigator, I got this."

Nick approached Monroe who looked half embarrassed, half affectionately exasperated now, going through the motions of a long forgotten dude-bro handshake that Nick was shocked that Monroe still, or at any point, knew. Hap was practically bouncing, "Told you he would come, detective. I've screwed up a lotta friendships-" Hap hooked his arm around Monroe's neck, beaming "-but this ain't one of 'em."

Nick gave Monroe a look.

Monroe hummed, and spoke with a hushed tone as if he didn't want other people to hear him, sliding Hap's arm off him. "Hap and I are old pack-mates, he and his siblings went with me when I left."

Oh so they knew knew each other.

"Have to honor the bond and all. Am I cleared to take him?"

Nick nodded, turning to Hap. "Yeah, you can go, but make sure to lay low for a couple days, just 'til we figure out what we have going on here." Nick turned to Monroe with a more serious look. Twisting work and personal life was always messy, and for the most part they'd been able to keep it off the record but this would be much more difficult. Nick leaned closer, holding Monroe's shoulder and meeting his eyes, "Can you keep an eye on him for a couple days?"

Hap blinked in surprise, although nonplussed. "Woah, you guys know each other?" The wolf squinted at Monroe cautiously, "You didn't get arrested, did you?"

Monroe rolled his eyes, making the subtle squeeze he gave to Nick's hand as he pulled away. "No, I did not get arrested. You know I'm too smart for that by now."

Hank came back with the reports from the brother's case and the word from their arson specialist. There was apparently no connections that would make it a company or equipment issue, but also nothing to suggest foul play.

"There was a propane leak right next to an old rusty breaker. There was a spark, there goes the roof. The brother had a rat infestation, and they chewed through some power cords. Frayed cord right next to a nicked propane line, not a good combination." Hank recited the information in his usual bored paraphrasing.

Nick frowned, "rat infestation?"

Hank nodded, "A severe one, apparently."

"Didn't he say that his brother was in the military? Doubt anyone with that kind of uniformity would let it get that bad without doing something either stupid or very stupid."

"Maybe he was gone, and the house didn't have anyone watching it."

"He would've had someone watching it. Either that or a security system with some kind of camera setup."

"Not every guy in the military has that kind of paranoia," Hank half joked. "I'll pull up the files nonetheless."

Monroe walked through the house, both to give Hap a tour and to take note of which clocks to move to the workroom for the foreseeable future. "I shower at 7:15 every morning after pilates, so don't run any water at that time, I like full pressure." Hap spotted some of the cookies Nick had made last time he came over, lifting the lid to the tupperware without actually sealing it after.

Monroe sighed, closing it fully. "The sofa pulls out into a bed, my rooms upstairs. The bathrooms right here," Monroe knocked on the corresponding door. He had to get his spare mattress topper from the hallway closet. It felt wrong letting him in the actual 'guest' bedroom. Not much of a guest bedroom anymore, then, huh?

Monroe pulled some clothes from the laundry room, clothes from a relationship long past that were big on him and would probably fit Hap normally. His Brown hoodie would probably fit him too. "Here's some clothes for the meantime, I'll take you shopping when we make sure you're not about to get shot down."

"You went to Brown?" Hap looked over the hoodie, feeling the soft texture between his too sharp of nails.

Monroe shrugged, "Grad school. Nothing like you've done." Monroe was about to say something else, when he heard the silent hinge of his perfect clocks being-

"Don't touch my clocks," Monroe whipped around, his voice taking an edge that Hap knew all too well. The man smiled, "You really went with the clock thing, huh?" Hap looked around the wall full of tick-tick-ticking wooden masterpieces. "Maple would love what you've made here."

Monroe let his lips tinge upwards before continuing into the kitchen again, making a loop. "I finish breakfast by 8:30, and I would be happy to make you something if you wake up early enough for it." Monroe starkly ignored the soft 'intruder alert' that probably came from Hap picking up the robot figurine off his clock mantle. To be fair, it was originally his. "Also, Nick, the officer you saw, might pop in sometimes so don't get spooked." 

Hap nodded, looking through the kitchen cabinets. "You wouldn't happen to have any schnapps, would you?"

Monroe took a deep breath in, turning around.

"And what about dinner?" If Hap was Unfertig woged right now, his tail would be wagging. "I know this one pork delivery place that if it takes longer than 20 minutes, it's free!"

Monroe thinks that if he smells schnapps and pork together again, he can and will vomit. "Pork and schnapps? Really? Dude…"

Hap's demeanor shifted into something more serious. "Look, bro. I know this is super inconvenient for you, and how much I'm imposing here. So, if you want me to leave, just say 'Hap, dude, we've shared some times, but this is my space,'" Hap's voice cracked slightly, starting to shake in that way that always made Monroe's heart hurt and instincts flare up. "'and you're not welcome in it.'"

Monroe sighed, heavily and in a way that Hap had heard thousands of times by then. "You'll always be welcome here, Hap. Just- cut back on the meat, alright? Eat it outside, because if I so much as catch a whiff of pork again, I think I will actually be sick."

Hap beamed, bouncing back to his cheery self, "That's fair."

Nick pulled up to Monroe's house with a plan to A. Check in on the vic and B. To make sure that Monroe wasn't about to need help hiding a body, because the dynamic the two of them held could go one of two ways, and either one involved grabbing a shovel.

Both of those plans were scrapped when he felt pinpricks on the back of his neck walking up to Monroe's porch. A soft patter of steps, a pair of predatory eyes on his back- he's going to get tackled isn't he?

A figure lunged at him, pulling him back and onto the grass, pinned beneath them. They paused for a second when they landed, giving Nick the time he needed to throw this woman off of him and get some well needed distance. He took the knife out of its holster, and he was fighting a ginger, so he was genetically predetermined to win.

"A Grimm?" The woman's crimson eyes flared all that much brighter, blood dripping onto the grass as her bones sharpened through her fingertips, hardening into razor sharp claws. Her gaze held a concerningly even mix of fear and excitement. "Oh~, this will be fun-"

Luckily, Monroe and Hap were between then before anything else happened. Hap grabbed the woman by the collar of her (admittedly, really nice) leather jacket. Monroe stood in front of Nick, back to the familiar detective. One hand braced Nick's shoulder, the other outstretched to the auburn haired fucktard that still looked ready to pounce any second.

"Angelina, back up. If you're going to fight, let's not make it in the middle of white suburbia with dozens of witnesses." Monroe's argument worked, if futile, given the total of 4 people out here. It was late evening, after all. It wasn't a perfect new moon, but it was close enough to it. No one would see much.

"Nick, you're not helping."

3 blutbaden and a Grimm walk into a weider's den.

They're still waiting on the punchline.

Nick is planted firmly behind Monroe, Hap is forever comfortable in these situations and is sitting down watching the drama, and Angelina, as Nick now learns, was pacing back and forth between the dining room and living room.

"He's killed more of our ancestors than I can count, how can you know him? How can you face your back to him?"

"Oh so I'm fucking immortal and killed your great grandpappy, uhuh, perfect logic there." Nick bit back, Monroe glaring at him lightly. Nick's hackles raised slightly higher, "She's probably older than I am! Killed your ancestors, my ass."

Monroe didn't get the window to make Nick shut up (not that he would have), as Hap tilted his head. "What are we talking about?"

"He's a Grimm."

"No he's not, Grimms aren't real. Monroe, tell her she's wrong."

"…She's not."

"He's a Grimm?" Hap's tone turned startlingly hostile, and Nick didn't want to have to fight 2 people that could benchpress him as a warmup. Luckily, that hostility immediately dissipated into confusion and wonder. "And a cop? Is that even legal?"

"No clue and question, who the fuck is this Jaime Newman knock off and why did she decide I was going to be her dinner tonight?"

"I was protecting my brother, you sociopathic fuck."

Hap chirped in, smiley and air-headed, "And your boyfriend."

"Ex." Monroe cut in, glancing back to see a very, very judging look from Nick. "Don't look at me like that, it was a long time ago."

"I know but…" Nick looked back at Angelina. "Really?"

"Okay, you know what, this is- this is fucking insane. Three blutbaden alone in a room with one Grimm and we're, what, just standing around fuckin' talking? We should either be running or grabbing scythes."

Monroe was about to defuse the situation, only to get cut off by Nick doing the exact opposite. "I don't know if you know this, given this is the first I've ever fuckin' heard of you, but he doesn't hunt down and kill people for fun anymore. Or is this some kind of wesen thing? Breaking into someone's den and immediately attacking people, not giving two shits about who could be hurt?"

Angelina paused for a second.

Two.

Then lunged, Hap bolting up from his seat and Monroe stuck between pushing Nick back and making sure he was blocking Angelina from reaching him. Hap's insistent, "Woah, woah, calm down-" mixed with Monroe's pleas of "Let's not let this get out of hand again, I just had the carpet cleaned-" yelling over Angelina's snarling made for a chaotic scene.

Angelina huffed and pushed Monroe away from her, claws tearing at his sweater and her violent glare held on him too long for comfort. Nick took a step forward, placing himself slightly in front of Monroe know and glaring down Angelina. Not that she looked very human, fur rippling over her face and making her look like the next antagonist of a feature flick.

Eventually, Angelina shifted back, her chin tilted down and body language nothing but hostile as she backed away a few steps. Hap looked down at Nick, nothing but awe (well, with a healthy tinge of horror) in his voice, "wow." Hap leaned in slightly, but given that the marshmallow of a blutbad had nothing but positive body language, Nick's hackles only lowered as he was inspected. "You're an actual Grimm. I'm livin' a piece of history here, bro."

Monroe nudged Nick back slightly, who listened and put in some distance before continuing with the original police standard questions to clear all the other routes and establish alibis. He told as much to Hap, and also looking at Angelina to try and keep the level of peace before they started to blow up at each other again.

"Your brother Rolf had a life insurance policy, who's the beneficiary?"

"Don't answer him >:["

">:/"

Hap gave Angelina a look, "It's his job, they'd ask me about it sooner or later. I got the money when Rolf died."

"I need a drink."

"And if you die, who does it go to?"

"Me, so what?"

"So, where were you the night your brother died?"

Evidently, Angelina took that very personally and as an accusation, lunging for Nick again. Monroe's "This is not getting any better" overlapped with Nick's much louder and longer, "I am establishing fucking alibis woman, I am not accusing you of jackshit, calm the fuck down."

"The night my Rolf died, I was in New Orleans… visiting an old friend."

"Does this old friend have a name?"

Angelina hesitated, looking like she wasn't going to say anything. Nick sighed, and while he didn't drop his guard, he did drop the tone (Partially. Kind of. A little it. Maybe)

"I don't know you and frankly I couldn't give two shits about the drama you're tangled up in but Monroe trusts you and that is all I need. I am not trying to accuse you, I am getting you an alibi. Crimes are almost always about money, and you are going to be the first person they'll question if it's determined to be a homicide. Getting a firm alibi now will clear you so they don't come knocking later."

"…Adam Haupfmen." Angelina stated firmly, though it seemed like it pained her to admit. Monroe's disapproving tilt of the head and Hap's scolding, "Angelinaaa" meant that it was someone not good (?). "He's a butcher in the french quarter. His numbers in the book, now I am going to go have that drink."

Hap breathed slightly, raising a glass to Monroe. "I’ma- I'm gonna go top this off."

The minute Hap turned the other way, Nick started walking to the door. Monroe followed after him, going as far as to meet him on his porch, closing the door behind them.

Nick whipped around, dropping to a whisper, "Do you trust her?"

Monroe paused. "With her brother? Yes. With you and your morals? God no. Listen, Nick, she's come a long way but their branch of the pack were some of the most bloodlust driven people I have ever known. Even if she is nothing like the monsters her parents were, she is not going down without a fight if she thinks your a danger to him."

Nick's eyes softened. "Just keep an eye on Hap, ok? Don't let him out of the house and call me over if you go somewhere, alright?"

Monroe nodded, lingering all too close. "Alright."

They paused for a second.

Nick turned, listening to the door open and shut. He didn't need to look into the window to know that they were only arguing further. She seemed like the temperamental type, and Nick had never been more grateful for whatever the hell about him scared them so bad because there was no way in hell Nick was going to win in a fight against her and her brother.

Nick glanced at the bike that was parked by the tree. It was a harley, because of course it fucking was.

A harley with a license plate…

No, he'll solve this one as himself, not as a cop.

Angelina laid the quilt over Hap, tucking it in around the edges as the man snored softly. Monroe leaned back on the kitchen island, watching her. The redhead spun around, taking the bottle of gin off the mantle where she left it. The way she carried herself never lost its predatory style, even so long after leaving the pack they grew up in.

How long did Monroe walk the same way? How many wesen neighbors glanced at him nervously as he went out to get his mail, recognizing him for what he was. How long had they been right?

Angelina took a swig of the bottle, the smell lingering on her breath behind so many other things. "Tell me you don't miss it."

Monroe nearly whined, "I don't miss being out of control." They'd had this conversation over and over, and they had never gotten anywhere. Angelina was appalled that he had denied his nature so viscerally. More often than not, that argument meant she cut her trip to Portland short, barging out into whatever other situationship she had to run off to.

"I am not out of control," she countered with a bite to her words. "I could've killed that Grimm."

"Hap had to hold you back so you wouldn't do something stupid."

Angelina rolled her eyes. "Oh, but you didn't hold him back, you didn't have to. You have him on a tight leash, don't you?" Her words were a mixture of incredulous and mocking, she started to fiddle with the lapels on Monroe's overcoat. "You could never have done that with me. Not without forcing me down, first."

Monroe took her hand, and gently pried it off. He could not go down this road again. He was in a good place. It was December, he would be decorating soon. Nick mentioned his aunt and uncle never really did anything special for Christmas, either not having the time or just not bothering to do anything but gifts. Said he loves those houses that go all out, and wishes he could see the inside. And damnit, Monroe wanted to make his den pretty for him, wanted to see his reaction to all the stupid shit he'd collected.

He can't risk ruining that for this. This life that he left behind so long ago. And if never running out in the woods again and feeling that rush of wind, the adrenaline spike of the hunt meant that he could keep this life? He had done far better with far less incentive for far longer.

Angelina slid her hand from the lapels to the back of Monroe's neck, barely pressing. It was a cheap trick, but it worked nonetheless. "I came here to protect my brother. Now… there's some other things too." Angelina looked up at him with those stupid olive green eyes staring into his soul, red intertwining. The glow, the stupid fucking glow, something that he would never, ever have with Nick. Something so miniscule. Something so important and so very, very powerful.

Angelina took some of the alcohol in her mouth, keeping it there as she kissed him. She pushed back slightly, trying to get him further against the island. He pushed back in response, almost on auto-pilot, running on instinct. She smiled, teeth catching on his lips as they sharpened.

She bolted, laughing as she ran out the door. Monroe followed, watching in disbelief as she ran her fingers through her hair until her human ears shifted up into a much more canine shape.

"Come on, you wanna let go a little? Chase me." Her mouth turned up in the corners, promising a million things at once. "If you can still run."

Monroe grabbed his phone off the kitchen counter, texting Nick with such a fervor that it was probably unintelligible.

Nick trusted him.

(But was this really him?)

Nick got the text and nearly had a stroke reading it. He must have been in a hurry, Monroe never leaves that many spelling mistakes.

Nick scowled at his screen.

He did offer.

Nick went over before sunrise, having spent the night finishing up going over Hank's report of the bee case. He should've done it before, just to touch base and see what happened, but he didn't really need (want) to. Not the best thing to set the mood for the day.

The front door was locked, and y'know, Nick should really ask for an extra key sometime. Would that be imposing? He hadn't read the book on Blutbaden yet but he could guess that wolves were protective of their den. With all the stuff they've done together, exchanging keys was kind of a step down. (It felt like a step up by leaps and bounds, just like Nick's heart rate when he thought about it)

He went through the kitchen window.

The sofa was pulled out into a bed, and just about every blanket in the house that wasn't up in the guest bedroom was piled onto it, making a very obvious guest.

He already knew that Monroe wasn't here. Coffee wasn't made, the pilate equipment hadn't been moved at all. Nick went upstairs to retrieve a hoodie he left, checking the shower, which was dry as a bone.

Nick pulled the sweater over his head, ignoring the obvious. The longer he ignored it, the longer he could go without accepting the fact that Monroe and, most likely Angelina, spent the night somewhere not here (together). This was dumb. Of course his best friend was entitled to godamned relationships every once in a while. He was just concerned over the quality of said relationship is all. The boiling emotion that he couldn't recognize still simmered under his skin.

Stress cooking it is.

Nick saw some light shuffling out of the corner of his eye, flipping the pan while glancing over. It was 8:30. They should've been back by now. It's fine, this is fine. They're fine.

He's fine, Hap was cool with him the night prior. He seemed cool when they met, was cool when he almost fought his sister. It's fine.

Hap was bolted up right, looking at Nick as if he was expecting someone else. Nick caught his eye, but didn't quite know what to do about it or why the wolf was so quiet. Nick glanced to the side slightly, finding that the intense 1000 yard look did not let up.

Then he snapped out of his stupor, glancing at the pan Nick was still holding. "Are those chocolate pancakes?" Hap got up startlingly quickly, bouncing over to Nick and looking over his shoulder, standing a whole lot closer than Nick would normally allow for strangers. "I didn't know Monroe still ate those. Barely tolerated 'em when we were little, they were too rich."

Nick hummed, plating the stack of over a dozen and sliding it to Hap. "Y'now, I did think it was a little out of character for him to like these."

Nick couldn't stomach anything more than coffee in the mornings most days, just taking some cereal out of the pantry. and then coming to sit next to Hap on the couch.

Normally, when people have a mutual friend but don't know each other and are then left alone together, the silence turns into an awkward silence. But Hap had enough perpetual cheer to not allow such a thing to happen. He did continue with some questions that held much more weight than Nick fully understood.

"I thought you smelled familiar, when you showed up to the dome. Then I walked in here and like, I knew that someone else was over here a lot, but it was only when you showed up that it clicked that you were the one that was over here a lot." Hap continued through eating the absurd tower, keeping his tone light when there was definitely more to this.

Nick tilted his head, waiting for whatever Hap was going to say next to try and figure out the angle. He noticed, sighing, and pausing in his words. "What I mean to say is that Angelina normally is a lot more friendly than how she was last night."

Nick gave a shifty glance, "…really?"

Hap short scoffed, "Well, no, but she isn't that level of hostile. Even with the whole Grimm thing, she would've kept her composure a lot more. She was probably just upset about the whole…" Hap made a vague gesture to Monroe's house, then to Nick's person, then the direction of out, where Monroe presumably was. "thing."

Nick ignored whatever that implication was, folding his hands into the pockets of the hoodie. "If you're trying to get me off her back, then I'm not going to arrest her for anything else she may have done. I would say 'I'm not a cop' but," Nick let it trail off, Hap chuckling. "Not to mention that Monroe would be pissed if I dragged her down to the station."

"Speaking of, how did that happen? I mean you seem really cool for a Grimm and Monroe is just about the most pacifist a Blutbad can get but you two together? What kind of mess did he pull himself into to make that happen?"

Nick put the coffee down, and sitting up straighter. "Funny story about that," Nick felt his face heat up, "it was actually the mess that I pulled him into."

"And she just lunges out of her chair at me, apparently this," Nick pushed up his sleeve to show Hap the leather bracelet, silver medallion gleaming in the morning sunlight, "set her off. I don't think I ever want to meet any sort of insectid wesen again because she was terrifying."

"Dude, its a Spinnetod! I would've been out of there ages ago, you're braver than I am."

Before they could continue, there was a knock at the door. It was sharp, loud, and shook the wall in a familiar rattle. "24/7 pork delivery!" Someone shouted from the door, muffled. Hap smiled, already up and walking to the door. Nick didn't bother getting up, basking in the positive energy of being able to talk to someone about all this. Of course it wasn't quite the reprieve of 'fucking monsters?!' but it did hold a mirror of 'fucking Spinnetods?!' that told of how batshit crazy Nick's life was. Marie tended to be say 'yep, sounds like Tuesday' because that was her Tuesday.

His hairs started standing on end.

A shiver crept up his back, everything freezing around him as something clicked. That was a police knock. The one that was followed by 'Portland PD, open up!', not a delivery driver. Monroe hated pork, he wouldn't tolerate ordering it to the house. Nick's eyes darted to the Hap, who was already opening the door.

But it was too late, 3 shots landing firmly into Hap's chest, blood splattering through and splashing onto the wooded stairs. The loud ping of a silencer rang out, not that any neighbors would know it was a gunshot.

Nick caught himself on the stairs, time still seeming to move in slow motion as he looked at the doorway, glaring at the man who would dare to-

Late 50's, greying hair, overweight, and a pig. In both ways.

Time seemed to resume as he bolted away, down the street and ducking into the space between the houses. Something wanted to chase after him, to catch him and drag him back here and pay for having the godamned nerve. But Nick didn't, crouching down next to Hap and calling an ambulance over.

Nick sunk down onto the floor next to the bed. They had stopped the bleeding, got the shattered bone and bullet fragments out. Hap was snoozing, but it had taken a while. He was starving the entire time, but you're not supposed to eat before surgery. Nick had spent most of his own energy arguing with the doctor's to put it all on his insurance and put the bill on him, that way he could get actual drugs pumping through Hap's veins instead of cheap painkillers. Not to mention the whole problem of a hospital bill on a guy who just lost his house and was waist deep in debt? Fuck no, Nick's worked enough overtime and has the energy to argue.

Had.

Nick blinked up at the ceiling, finding animals in the shape of the texture. Bird here, wolf there, fox over-yonder.

He knew who the guy looked like, knew his voice. It wouldn't be hard to track him down, and put him down like he tried to do with Hap. Why was he even this protective, he just met this guy!

He's Monroe's.

And anything that was Monroe's was his.

Would Monroe even want that to happen? Nick didn't even know where he was, fucking around with Angelina. Who knows, maybe they already broke Monroe's peace streak and killed someone. Something, in their eyes.

He wanted to cut this fuckers head off and give it to Monroe in a silver wrapped present, tied with a blood red bow.

Nick always tried to look at things objectively, just like Marie taught. If someone incurred another's wrath, then they had every right to go after them. Knowing Angelina, knowing Monroe's past, and knowing Hap grew up with them… it was likely that they did something to incur said wrath. Who is he kidding, 'likely', they did. He know they did.

But could he kill them for Monroe despite that?

Would that make him any better than Them?

Angelina and Monroe burst through the hospital doors, not that either Nick or Hap had the energy to actually look over at them. Nick didn't even turn his head, staying where he was looking at the ceiling but Hap's bedside.

"What did you do?!" Angelina screamed, grabbing Nick by the lapels of his bloodstained leather jacket. Nick registered blankly that she and Monroe were blood stained too. Hap coughed slightly, voice firm and strong when he ordered, "Angelina, put him down."

Angelina dropped Nick almost immediately, pushing him to the side and rushing to Hap's side. The Grimm didn't give much reaction, but it had been a while, the sun setting over the horizon ages ago, not that it meant much in winter. Monroe looked at Nick, who leaned on the other side of the bed as Angelina interrogated her brother with less hostility.

Nick had never seen him look so guilty.

"Angelina, he helped me. Some guy came to the door, there was no way to know that it would be a danger to me. Nick hauled my ass to the ambulance and to the hospital. It's not his fault." Hap's cheer was still there in the back, but most of his jovial tone was forced out by hours of surgery.

Angelina huffed, and held the wolf in a tight hug for a few moments. She pulled away looking teary eyed, trying to shove it down and keep it in. Like she had learned to do it without ever being taught. (Nick knew all too well what that was like)

Monroe grabbed onto Hap's hand, holding it tight. Then he broke down, folding like a house of cards, apologizing over and over and over. Hap held onto him however much he could while still practically immobile, looking like they'd done this before.

Angelina turned to Nick, pulling him out of his head. "Thank you, Burkhardt." The murderer looked like she was going to say something else, as if those 3 words weren't already strangled out of her. "My brother means everything to me," she prefaced, voice jagged and cracking. "I-… I owe you my life," the sister admitted quietly.

"Keep it." Nick's voice was hoarse from disuse. "He'll need you, so stick around for a while, yeah?"

Angelina nodded, walking back over to Hap as Monroe pulled away.

Monroe wrung the cloth out, tinted water draining out of it as he kept wiping down the wooden tiles over and over. They were going to run out of cleaner at this point. He didn't care.

Monroe was furious. Monroe was guilty. Monroe should have been here.

He should've been here.

He should be out hunting the bastard who did this.

Nick came in, shutting the backdoor behind him. Monroe could hear him clear out his own bucket, the smell of rabbit's blood clear across the kitchen into the foyer. Or maybe he was making that up. He scrubbed himself worse than these floors when he got home, feeling disgusting. Not that he deserved any less.

"It's clean, Monroe." Nick stated, standing just behind where Monroe was crouched.

"No it's not."

Nick was quiet, but then knelt down next to him. Nick grabbed another rag from the bucket, one of the rougher ones, and wrung it out, scrubbing at the floor. The silence continued, the clocks tick tick ticking down. It was almost 10 at night. They'd been at this for hours. Angelina stayed at the hospital, unwilling to leave her brother. (She broke down after Nick had left just out of earshot)

The blood soaked into the wood, into every crevice and into the wood itself, swelling like doors in high humidity. The rag got bloodier and bloodier, the red never seeming to stop no matter how much Monroe scrubbed at the floors. At the floors, at the wood.

No matter how much he scrubbed at his hands, under his nails, at his tongue. Scrubbed at his clothes, at the walls, at the gravestones. Tossed around the picture frames, drank away the memories, ignored the urges. Tried to calm down, did his best, was his kindest, picked off his nails, broke off his claws. The red flowed and flowed and flowed, no matter how much he scrubbed, scrubbed scrubbed. No matter how he cleaned the blood, ate the body, buried the bones.

The blood didn't come out.

His hands stayed dirtied.

His nails held the blood underneath them.

His tongue held the taste.

His clothes remained stained.

The stone started crumbling.

The memories stayed just as loud.

The urges got louder.

His nails grew back.

The bone pierced again.

The red flowed, and flowed, and flowed and it didn't matter how much he cleaned and cleaned and cleaned and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, because the red would stay on him, never his own and never clean. No matter what was saved, what wasn't, what was slaughtered as retribution for his failings. There was just more red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red

"Do you want him dead?" Nick asked.

Monroe stopped scrubbing, looking at Nick. "Of course I do, but I can't kill him. I… I can't."

Nick helped Monroe onto his feet, leading him into the upstairs bathroom, the one off of Monroe's bedroom. The Grimm grabbed some of the gauze and wrap from underneath the sink. He led them both over to Monroe's bed

Nick pressed some of the padding against the palm of Monroe's hand, cloth wrap slowly and gently winding. Nick tied it off with one of the stupid safety pins he had bought a while ago with dumb little moons on them because he thought it was funny. It was padded well enough, none of the blood soaking through. Nick set down the wrap, pushing the gauze container to the side. Nick refilled it a few days prior, wanting to be stocked up on everything.

Softly, almost hesitating, Nick pulled Monroe by his arm, pulling him into a hug. The wolf still didn't say anything, just holding tighter and tucking his head into the crook of Nick's neck. He ignored the cracked nails, the broken claws, the insistent need to scrub finally fading just a little bit. For the first time in a long, long while,

He felt clean.

Messages:@[email protected]

-If I were to kill someone for another person, would that make me like Them?

                                                                                                                                             I don't think so. I did the same for your uncle.-

-Someone tried to kill part of his pack

                                                                                                                                                                                                      He has a pack?-

-Whoever left with him.                                                                                                                                                          

                                                                                                                                                         Are you doing this because you care for him?-

-Of course 

                                                                                                                                                               Then no, you would be nothing like her-

Orson opened the door to his office and was blasted with freezing air. The window in the corner of his office was open, the curtain billowing in the cold night air. He sighed, walking over and closing it. The room was freezing, he'll have to bring in the space heater tomorrow morning. He grabbed the files from his desk, the address of one Angelina Lasser. If the plan didn't go quite as planned, then he'll have her die knowing that her brother was next. Die, knowing that a Bauerschwein that managed to kill 3 Blutbaden.

He picked up the picture frame on his desk, a photo from when he and his brothers were kids. Scruffy hair, beaming at the camera with rain brought mud still caking their shoes and pants. Andy was still missing his two front teeth, not that that changed his smile any. He was doing this for them. It didn't matter what he lost, it didn't matter what happened, he would do this for them. Orson looked at the corner of the wood, frost slowly creeping over. Winters getting colder every year, huh.

Orson went home, clock blaring 12:57. Soon. Soon, he'll go out and kill that monster that slaughtered his family. For now, he needed to lose his nerves. The more anxious he was, the less accurate his aim will be. And going against Blutbaden? Your first shot was the only one you had.

He drew a bath, adding in the potting soil and milk powder in the same way his mother would, a dash of lavender salt for the smell. A mud bath would be the perfect thing to let him relax. He sunk in slowly, warm relaxing mixture covering every sense. He could do this. He would do this and he would do this for them. It didn't matter that… it saw him as he was leaving. It wouldn't have appreciated its kill being stolen, but he doubted that it would come after him. Hell, maybe it would even finish them off for him if things went awry.

Hunted by a Grimm or put in a jail cell for the rest of his life, he was doing this for them. To wash the smell of blood away, mixed in with what the cops said was pig's blood. God he could still smell it, feel the cold air as he had walked into the crime scene that first time.

Cold. Blood.

No, that was-

Peter sat up, rising out of his bath as the mud slid off of his body. He looked over to his door, still closed and not a thing out of place. Except what was lying in his sink. Peter's heart sunk, nearly falling as he stumbled out of his bath. It was freezing, the space heater in the corner of the room stopped working.

Sitting in his bathroom sink was a decapitated pigs head, the blood pooling in the bowl of the sink as it drained. Sitting in the middle of the bowl, right at the drain, were 3 bullets. They were obviously fragmented, the small bits of metal bent and painstakingly put back together to form what looked similar to a bullet with no casing.

Peter ran into his living room, the scent of something was there but he couldn't figure out what it was for the life of him. He knew his targets scents, however long it took to figure them out. Even that stupid clockmaker that it had greeted like an old friend, he knew his scent. He knew what Blutbaden smelled like.

But this wasn't Blutbaden.

What else would be after him? What else had decided that his actions were so heinous that they would do this? Peter stepped out into the foyer, looking around to see if anything was out of place. His blood ran cold as he looked down his hallway.

Every light was on, illuminating the whole house, making sure he would see this.

The body of a pig was butchered and strewn across his hallway floor, the blood streaked down making a debauchery of a red carpet. The guts and organs were dragged, the bones cracked and broken. The hide, the skin of the damn thing was left as a shower mat at the foot of the bathroom door. And on the wall across from him was the remains of the body, headless, split down the spine and hung.

Peter didn't think.

He just ran.

He sprinted out through his backdoor, the forest the only place he could think of that he would get any kind of advantage. The moment he reached the tree line, the light his house cast went out. He looked behind him, seeing a figure slowly walk out of his house and shut the door behind him.

Behind it.

The forest was dark. The new moon provided no mercy for him, only hiding the roots and plants and branches that slowed him down. He looked behind him frantically, but there was no one there. He couldn't even hear the steps of crunching leaves behind him. Or maybe he just couldn't hear over his own frantic heart.

His human feet started to get torn up between the weeds and sharp plants. His body tried to shift into hooves, the familiar cracking of bone, structure shifting into a suiform shape. The pain didn't even register, fear consuming every inch of his mind.

He started to slow, his body cramping as his limits were reached. A twisting root seemed to have it out for him, tripping him and sending him to the floor. The rain softened dirt gave no reprieve, hands digging as he tried to stand up.

Something landed behind him, the very soil that he was grasping onto froze beneath him. The figure stood looming over him, eyes as dark as the forest it had corrupted and drawn him into. Peter knew that it wasn't his prey wesen nature that kept him frozen there, paralyzed with fear. No, he knew that if anyone, anything else, had been in his place, they would've froze all the same.

The figure slowly walked closer, coming to stand directly on his chest. It held something in its handsclawstalons, raising it to Peter's head.

And the man was slaughtered, just like the pig he was.

A knock rapped at the door, but the 3 knew who it was before he even made it up the steps. Monroe opened the door, eyeing the present in Nick's hands incredulously. "I was wondering when I would see you. Where have you been?"

Nick followed Monroe inside, looking at the several boxes shoved into the corners of every room. "I was just preparing something, it took a while. I know it's not Christmas yet, but I couldn't really wait." The TV was flipped to the News Station, absently.

 The 2 walked into the kitchen, where Hap and Angelina were gathered by the kitchen island. The two wolves reeled back, Angelina only mildly biting when she asked, "Jesus Christ, what made you drown the box in perfume?"

"It would ruin the surprise." Nick slid the box across the island to the 3. Monroe raised an eyebrow at the red ribbon tying it together. Angelina and Hap leaned in at both of his sides as he untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. 

In a bed of ice was a nearly pristine head, an apple stuffed between its teeth. 

"You actually-" Monroe cut himself off, eyes turning a crimson red, but something told Nick that the passion behind his eyes wasn't hostile. 

Before they could give any other reaction, the TV was audible between their silence. "...we've gotten reports that a local police officer was found murdered in the forest early this morning, and the details are pretty graphic. The victim was hung upside down wounded similar to how butchers slaughter pigs. Additional investigation found that the entrails and body of a pig was found at the victims house. We are bringing active updates on the situation, some people believing that this may be a political message..." the reporter continued, droning on about possible statements about todays society. 

"I was just going to drop by, in case I was interrupting anything." Nick said, the 3 looked from the door to the living room back to him. 

Surprisingly, Angelina spoke up. "You're fine." The redhead reached into the fridge, passing the detective a beer. "Hap was telling me something about you getting attacked by a Spinnetod?" 

Chapter Text

"Hap could always stay at my place, if you want the house back to yourself."

Monroe turned to Nick, not sure if he should focus on the offer or on the fact he said 'the house' instead of 'your house'. Monroe looked up at the crosswalk light, glaring at the white lined red. "You don't have to do that, he can be a lot."

Nick shrugged, walking along the ice painted sidewalk. "I'm at your place more than mine anyway, might as well, right?"

The two walked through the city. Monroe had to pick up some extra stuff from some shops and Nick didn't have anything else to do that afternoon. Not that it looked it, the sky was cloudy and on the brink of snowing more, not an ounce of sunlight bleeding through. Even if it did, the snow's reflection would be blinding.

Nick shivered slightly despite the 3 layers under his leather jacket. Monroe was doing fine, not even flinching at a particularly strong gust of wind. The wolf perked up, gesturing over to the shop. "Fair warning, it is a wesen shop. Just look around if he woges, kay?"

Nick tilted his head, "Why would that help anything?"

Monroe sighed as he was already opening the door, resigning to, "I'll tell you later."

The man at the desk looked nice, a beard and a maroon sweater vest leaning more on the red side. He greeted them kindly, looking at Monroe more speculatively than a normal shopkeep would. Monroe walked up to the counter, "Hey, mind if I see your more exotic spices?"

On cue, Nick turned his head to survey the shop more closely. Seemed like the average hippie shit, alternative medicine, anti-vaccination type of deal. There was a rug on the floor with some forest-y patterns, and the wooden shelves were professionally carved.

"Haven't had a blutbad come in here in a while." The shopkeep lead them both to a different part of the store with a smile, passing through an unlabelled door. "Sorry about the vest."

Nick gave Monroe a questioning look at this. "I'll also explain that later."

The room opened up into a room even larger than the front part of the store. It had some weird stuff too, but Nick's eye was caught on the elaborate incense waterfall with bright blue smoke drifting down. Vines were crawling up the shelving units and blooming with brightly colored flowers.

Monroe ignored all of this, looking over one of the larger glass cases. "I'll be up in front if you need me," the shopkeep called out, returning to his spot.

Nick looked over the case, most of the bottles and mason jars labelled in German. "I know you said this was a wesen shop, but damn."

Monroe didn't glance up, but then again, why would he? This was getting godamned groceries for him, all of the whimsical aspects of it would have worn off ages ago. Even if the things he was grabbing were too colorful to be normal- "Does that say fucking pixie dust?"

Monroe chuckled, giving 2 jars for Nick to hold and tucking 4 bottles into his arms. The two walked back into the front casually, no one having entered. "I forget how weird this is to you. This must be some place from Harry Potter from your perspective, huh?"

They gave the items to the man to ring them up, who looked at Nick oddly. "Kehrseite-Schlich-Kennen?" he asked, both Nick and Monroe tensing up at the comment. "Something like that."

Monroe swiped the bag off the counter, paying in cash. The clerk didn't even ask cash or card. Must be normal here, then. Better not to have this kind of stuff on digital records. The two walked out with Nick more confused than before.

"Alright, now's later."

Monroe paused, clearly trying to think of how to word the next few sentences. "Ok, do you know how people identify how you're a Grimm?" He lowered his voice on the last word, even with the closest people around them being a good couple yards away. Nick shook his head.

"That makes sense, I suppose. Whenever you see us woge at all, your eyes go black. Like, straight out of a bad horror movie, bat outta hell pitch black"

"…That's it?"

Monroe frowned, starting to get fidgety. "It's not that simple. God, this is going to sound really weird. What I'm about to tell you is important. Really, really important. As in it affects most of our daily lives and such, got it?"

"Got it?" Nick affirmed, only a slight questioning tone on his tongue.

"Our ability to woge comes from our soul, right? Well, our souls give off color depending on which kind of wesen we are. Mine is red, Wildermenn and Fuchsbau are orange and yellow, Bauerschwein are a shade of pink, so on so forth." Monroe paused, like he was telling a secret that didn't belong to him. "When we woge, our eyes go black and our irises glow the same color as our soul, I'm sure you've noticed."

"Oh, like when your eyes flash red sometimes?" Monroe nodded. "Ok, but Charlotte's eyes were black too, why am I different?"

"Spinnetods, and other insects, do have color in their eyes. They have a shine to them like spiders, or the iridescent lines of the smaller, billions of eyes they have. You don't have that. It's just dark, like how my eyes are without the color."

"Like how yours would be," Nick paused, his tone of voice dropping to something more somber, "…without a soul."

Monroe nodded more solemnly this time. "Yeah. That's why you're so terrifying just to look at. It gives off this uncanny valley type of effect, and it's really disturbing. Didn't think I could really get used to it back when we started talking."

"That explains a couple things. Is that why Angelina didn't fight me?"

"Oh, you don't know the half of it. Yeah, it was a scene out of a storybook watching you two." And no, Monroe did not start blushing remembering Nick pull Monroe behind him, it was just cold out. He's a Blutbad, god damn it, he's better than this.

Nick paused for a second. "So why wasn't Hap intimidated by it?"

"I don't know man, it's Hap."

Speaking of Hap, he started crashing at Nick's place the following day. It was a little nerve wracking, having someone come into his house. He hadn't even had Monroe over. Even when he came to get the shotgun, he just went into the backyard to look through the trailer. It settled into routine fairly quickly though, bringing Nick back to the days of having a roommate. Not that Romeo was very particular.

Nor did Romeo turn into a giant wolf.

Nick paused in the doorway, looking over at the couch and not knowing what to think. Cause what else did you really do when there was an honest to god wolf sprawled across your couch?

"Hey…Hap?" Nick greeted cautiously, the wolf perked up, tail wagging and beating against the couch excitedly. It hopped off the couch, brushing its head against Nick's hand and taking one of the grocery bags between his teeth. Nick lightly shook his head in muted amazement, following the wolf into his kitchen.

Hap did even have to hop up to put the bag on the counter, just standing on its hind legs to reach. God damn, wolves were fucking huge. Quickly, it scampered upstairs into what Nick guessed was the guest room. Hap came downstairs a moment later, slightly bashful.

"Sorry man, I should've warned you."

"At this point, I don't think I can be phased anymore." Nick smiled, starting to put away groceries like nothing had happened. "I assume that's just a different kind of woge?"

"A vollständig woge, yeah." Hap paused for a second, nervously laughing. "God, sorry man, that must have been something for you to come home to."

Nick only laughed along, "No, you're fine. Are you alright, though? That looks like it would hurt like a bitch going back and forth."

"It stops hurting after the 2nd time, even then its nothing to whine about."

Nick chuckled, "Nice."

Monroe led Nick up the stairs, far more excited than Nick had ever seen him. "Just be careful where you step, there's fake snow and glitter all over the floors now."

Nick nodded, walking in with Monroe trailing behind nervously.

It was Santa's work shop in there, holy shit.

There were garland and lights over every window, above the door, going up the stairs and hung above the archway into the kitchen and across rafters, all different colors and textures. There were 2 separate trees, one by the fireplace and one in the living room. The couch had christmas themed throw pillows and blankets, and the tree by the fireplace had more personalized ornaments on it. The fireplace had a different painting sitting above it, bundles of fake snow sitting on the mantle, and 3 separate stockings with glitterpen names written across them.

There were two tables set up by the mirror, a small train set sitting atop one and a mini carousel with mini people in mini houses on the other. Even the twenty million clocks had different hands, candy canes and icicles now telling the time behind painted-on frosted glass. There must have been hundreds of boxes stacked in the corner of the room, shamefully hidden with a blanket of garland and tinsel and glitter.

Monroe passed Nick, going behind the table with the train set and pushing a button that Nick couldn't see. There was a small little 'choo-choo!' and the train started to rumble across the tracks, running around in a small circle with steam exiting the top. In its small glass cargo containers was water and glitter and glued down figurines, making for tiny snow globes.

Nick came to stand next to Monroe, looking at the parts of the house he had seen so far. "I don't think I've seen this many Christmas decorations… ever," Nick said almost reverently. "I-just," Nick paused, positively astounded, "jesus fucking christ."

Nick crouched down to look at the tiny little carousel, reindeer spinning around on the bottom layer with elves riding them, houses sitting on the perimeter of the table. The tiny people were glued down to their porches, or leaning out of their windows and there was a tiny little one tripping with its tiny basket of tiny little pieces of bread going everywhere. You could be looking around for a solid 2 hours and still not notice everything in the room.

"You should see Hap, he actually wears a Santa suit this time of year." Monroe joked, Nick completely oblivious to how nervously Monroe was watching him.

Nick smiled, "A Blutbad as Santa, huh?"

"Hey, he's no Gefreiren Geber, but he's pretty good." Monroe ventured into the kitchen, which was its own little wonderland. All of the utensils had been swapped out for candied designs, and the cupboards had been wrapped in actual gift wrap and the handles were replaced with gold painted ones. There was another little track going around the circumference of the kitchen island, a set of reindeers and a sleigh hanging from it like a rollercoaster ride as it went up and down and around.

Nick looked back at Monroe for a moment. "Wait, so, Santa is…?"

Monroe shrugged a nod, "I mean think about it. Who else could live up there?"

"Huh," Nick hummed, leaning on the counter and noticing that the fridge had also been gift wrapped, a piece of ribbon circling the two heavy handles. There were still a substantial amount of boxes in the corner of the kitchen, still filled to the brim with lights, lights, lights and more lights.

"What're those for?" Nick gestured to the blackout backup plan. Monroe handed Nick a cup of eggnog, smelling delightfully similar to the one that Nick's uncle would make. (Is that why Nick could never recreate it? A wesen ingredient he couldn't get?) Suddenly, Monroe's eyes were as red as his stockings and he was deathly serious.

"Those are for outside. Normally, I'm the most decorated house on the block, and The Christmas House™. But a new couple moved in down the road and they also go big for Christmas every year, and they beat me last year because they decorated the tops of their trees too. I have to out do them this year."

Nick sipped at the eggnog calmly. "Why didn't you? You seem like the kind of person to scale your roof to decorate."

Monroe looked like he was half way towards growling, "Because I am absolute shit at climbing trees. I can get on my roof with a ladder, but when it's trees? Can't do it anymore."

Nick hummed as if this was a completely normal thing to be so compelled about. "I can go get that done for you."

"Really?" Monroe asked, looking at Nick as if he was the man to save his youngest child from a monster.

"Yeah sure, why not?"

Nick grabbed one end of the lights, holding it between his teeth as he hoisted himself up with general ease. Monroe's tree was like prime climbing real estate, why was he struggling with this? ("Wolves can't climb trees, Nick." "They can if they want to." "Well, werewolves can't climb trees.")

To go the extra mile, Nick started to weave and twist together the bright blue lights to look like a snowflake. He could add some of the icicle's later, and then the tree on the other side could be a snowman. Or, if Nick didn't feel like sleeping tonight, he could make the massive oak tree in the backyard look like a snowman and have the one in front look like a candy cane or something else. That oak was massive, peaking from the fenced backyard pretty clearly and standing taller than the house itself. Would lights even be visible from there? He did have the package Hank and Sean got him, but that's a bit overkill-

Nick backed up, checking his word for revisions when a car pulled up. "Hey!" the girl in the drivers seat called out. "Might as well stop early, wouldn't want you dirtying up your clearance wrack jeans for nothing." The woman in the passenger leaned over, "Tell your pet dog that we're knocking this one out of the park, he might wanna run after it."

Before Nick could respond with the witty comeback he totally had prepared guys, trust, the two drove off, laughing their heads off with Chappell Roan playing loudly enough to hear as they pulled into their house down the road.

Oh absolutely not.

"Hey Nick- woah." Hank stopped in his tracks, looking only mildly surprised before he just sighed and leaned against his desk and settled in to watch him. The detective was ruffling through his notebooks and sketchbooks in his desk drawers with the fervor of a man starved. "Can I ask why you're looking through your archives?"

"Because I had these Christmas lights that you and Cap gave me a couple years ago to mock me about my lack of doing anything for Christmas and now I need them because they would go really well with this thing I'm planning, and I cannot remember where I put them for the life of me-"

"You left them in your coffee cabinet, didn't you?" Hank suggested. "You said you were going to put them away later, never did, Renard told you to put them away sometime in March, you shoved them into your coffee cabinet."

Nick shut his drawers and bolted into the break room at mach 5, startling the 2 officers in there getting coffee and nearly crashing into Wu again as he skidded to a stop. Wu looked at Nick sort through his twenty cans of 5 hour energy vials, red bulls, monsters and cheap instant coffee, and then looked at Hank with an eyebrow raised.

"Don't ask me, man, I don't have a fuckin' clue."

"When do we ever?" Wu remarked back, looking at the non-descript package of Christmas lights. "Since when do you decorate for Christmas?"

Nick ruffled through the package, grabbing the crumpled note that had the length, wattage and lumens count. "Since these two lesbians down the street dared to challenged me."

Wu raised an eyebrow, pouring his overly fancy, overly complicated espresso into a glass with oat-milk. "So you're using the 50,000 lumen Christmas lights that Captain Not-America and token diversity Watson bought you as a joke? Are those even legal?"

Nick read the message and texted someone like he was texting an assassin. "God I hope not."

Hank bristled, "Hey, why am I the Watson here?"

Wu deadpanned, "Because no one is as special as Sherlock as Nick."

Nick stifled a laugh, paused, then bristled himself. Turning to Wu with an indignant "Hey!" Then his phone dinged, and he bolted out of the precinct as soon as he had come in. Renard sidestepped the Detective, giving Wu and Hank a questioning look as he walked in.

"Since when does Nick decorate for Christmas?" Sean asked, going for the European imported black tea he kept at the top shelf that no one else was tall enough to comfortably reach.

Hank sighed, "I was hoping you could tell me."

Wu mixed in some powdered sugar into his drink before grabbing the handheld milk frother out of one of the drawers. "Could have something to do with the hallmark side character he keeps hanging out with."

Both Renard and Hank glanced back at Wu with a curious look. Wu rolled his eyes in exasperation. "The clockmaker? Only suspect Nick has ever fucked up with, and the person he went to for the consult with the watch from Mr. Ogre? Seriously, did neither of you pick up on this? I didn't think Hank would know, but with how you stalk him," Wu looked up at Sean, "I thought you would."

Sean gave an unamused eyebrow raise. "How do you know of him if I don't?"

"It's my superpower, I just do." Wu swiped his coffee flavored milkshake off the counter, leaving with a spin and a faux cheers.

Hank grabbed the Russian brand instant coffee from the cabinet Nick had claimed as his, and then grabbed one of the energy drinks that were labelled in too bright of font. Renard side eyed the spritz of the can as Hank opened it, mixing it with the 8 spoon fulls of chemical riddled coffee grounds.

Hank held up the cup, "Want some?"

Renard turned away as if burned, shielding his cup away from his Detective. "I can't handle normal coffee, I think I'll pass on water from the lakes of hell. At least Nick sweetens his."

Hank chuckled, taking a sip with a look of happiness on his face, like he was enjoying it.

Renard got ready to leave, pausing in his walk to the doorway. "What do you need to be awake for, I haven't put you on any priority cases and those files on your desk are handwritten."

Hank shook his head, looking guilty and hiding it unsuccessfully. "Just some personal research, nothing to worry about."

Renard paused, giving Hank a look that said he didn't completely buy it. "Tell me if you need anything, ok?"

"Ok."

"And I mean anything, Hank."

"…Okay."

"You Vollständig woged in front of him?!"

"You Vollständig woged in front of him?!"

Both Angelina and Monroe whipped around and shouting at the same time. Hap would've laughed if the matter was any different.

"I didn't hear or smell him coming up! Besides, he seemed fine with the whole thing, didn't freak out or-" Hap defended himself uselessly.

Angelina reeled in on her brother, snapping, "Hap, that is a Grimm that you were in front of. Even if Nick isn't like every other Grimm in the world, that is our trump card. That is the thing we go to if the Codex goes to shit, and it is one of the only things we can go to. If he tells anyone about this, even in passing-"

"Oh come on, both of you!" Hap insisted. "Things aren't like that anymore, there are more of us now. Even then, I don't think that Grimms would use that as a hunting spree anymore. Hell, whens the last time you heard about a Grimm? The last big Grimm threat were the Kesslers and they were wiped out decades ago by the Council. Things are changing and I don't think we should hide this from him!"

Monroe remained quiet, not having anything to argue back because it technically was a sound argument. Angelina looked to him with the same thought, seeing if he had any arguments about it. Monroe ran a hand through his hair, "You have a point, it's just- Christ, you Vollständig woged in front of a Grimm!"

"And you're practically courting him!" Hap retorted.

"I am not courting Nick, come on." Monroe shot a glare at Hap. Angelina gave a shrug, grabbing more eggnog from the fridge.

"I mean… you kind of are." Angelina took the glare in stride, leaning on the opened fridge door, a habit she never quite kicked no matter how many times someone yelled at her for it when they were little. "The play hunts, the decorations, the feud you have with Miss Pillow Princess and her wife down the street."

Monroe wasn't happy about the topic change, feeling like the previously mentioned deserved much more attention than Monroe's non existent thing with Nick. "You're looking too far into it. I don't even know if Nick likes men-"

Both Hap and Angelina deadpanned and raised an eyebrow.

"-Even if he does," Monroe leaned on the kitchen island, "it's not like he'd be interested in me of all people. I mean have you seen his Captain?"

"Yeah, not like he bakes you stuff all the time and has a room here or has his scent here stronger than yours." Hap grabbed a butterscotch cookie from the tin Nick had left from when he was here, biting into it for emphasis. "Totally not."

Monroe threw up his hands, "I don't know why I bother."

"Hey, pass me one, they're actually really good."

"If you both finish those an hour after he leaves, I'm kicking you both out."

"And you're possessive too! I don’t know why you doubt us."

"…Shut the fuck up."

":3"

The four spent Christmas night over at Monroe's house, basking in the warmth of the fireplace.

Or they were, now they were outside plugging in the giant snowman that Nick had weaved into Monroe's oak tree.

"Where the hell did you find these things?" Angelina questioned, inspecting one of the bulbs a bit more closely. "The watts count had too many zeroes to be safe or legal."

Nick plugged in the 2 extension cords and moved to the outdoor outlet. "Ah, but that's the good thing about being a cop. If anyone complains, I can bribe the officer that comes over with taking their shifts."

"Corruption at its finest." Angelina looked up at the tree with Monroe and Hap. Nick grabbed sunglasses from the hem of his shirt, sliding them over his eyes and then looking away.

"I would cover your eyes for this," Nick warned, the 3 waving it off. "3, 2, 1-"

All 3 Blutbaden let out a yelp that sounded too much like a dog's howl, flinching back and covering their eyes. In their defense, so did Nick and he was looking away from the damn thing.

It hurt to look at directly, and it also hurt to look at anywhere with snow, so they retreated to the front yard to (attempt to) look at the finished product. Waving at them was a giant snowman, hat, scarf, carrot nose and all waving back at them. Well, if you could stand to look at it for more than 2 seconds, it would be waving. It lit up the street like a floodlight and a little bit over, spilling light onto the road well enough to spot the imperfections in the asphalt. Nick had to look directly at the other houses to notice that their lights had flipped on.

Paired with the rest of the colorful lights, they could've powered a fucking office building with this shit.

Monroe and Nick stood next to each other, looking back at the meager lights and blow up figures from the house across the road. "Suck it, Brenda."

"On the bright side," Hap joked, "if I close my eyes, I can actually see what it's supposed to be." Monroe and Angelina groaned, Nick laughing along. Monroe shook his head, "I could deal with one, but two is too much."

Angelina ribbed Monroe in the side, "Everything about this is a bit much, are you seeing this shit?"

Nick waved her off, "Please, it's not like we're causing a power outage-"

The lights abruptly cut out, going from middle of the afternoon to complete darkness.

"Ah shit"

Chapter Text

"Damnit, I know this place. I bought my engagement ring from this guy."

"Ring 1, 2 or 3?"

The two met with Wu, who, naturally, was walking backwards into the building. Everyone behind him moved out of the way as if rehearsed, two of the officers holding up the tape for Wu to duck under without even looking back. "They came through the front after he'd closed for the night, body's in the vault," Wu caught them up, stepping over the broken glass and the fallen 'We're Closed!' sign, broken and splintered on the floor.

"Who's the vic?" Hank asked, although he already knew the answer.

"Samuel Bertram. Must've thought he would be safe in the safe." Wu brought them both to the outside of the vault door, the hinges drilled and blown off with professional technique. "The computer in the back has also been wiped, so don't expect any security feed."

The three looked down at the body, bits of glass shot into skin and the blood already drying. He was older, the blast must have killed him on impact. Then again, no medical support probably didn't help. "So we're talking something professional," Hank commented, "Great."

Nick shrugged, "I wouldn't mind something more uniform, honestly. Get a break from some of the weirder shit we've been seeing lately." The detective crouched down in front of the body, looking it over and then around it. Most of the inventory was stolen, but it wasn't based off of value.

One of the shelves in the corner, a glass case, was completely cleared. More specifically, there was a foam case of empty, circular indents. Nick spotted something gold behind the man's body, hidden between him and the wall.

Nick held the blood streaked box in his hand, popping the lid and finding it empty. In the center was the same foam set with the circular indentations, also empty.

Hank looked over Nick's shoulder, "Sam was a big time numismatic. Collected coins, was obsessed with 'em." Hank held the box in his hands, a kind of residue on the black foam, creating a texture between the latex of Hank's glove. Some of the jewelry was still left, but not a single coin was left behind. "Why these guys would want coins specifically instead of the jewelry, I have no clue."

Nick looked at the body one last time, then turned around to leave. "So, we have a dead jeweler, suspect and/or suspects who are after coins... and absolutely nothing else." Nick signaled for the coroners to take the body back to the lab. Maybe Parker would give them something to work with.

Hank, Nick and Wu stopped outside the shop, making their first guess theories and making bets on some stupid shit that would likely never happen. "No, no, no, it's gotta be some historical shit. Like godamn Nazi coins or whatever." Hank rolled his eyes, "Nazi coins? Really Wu? That's what you're putting your money on?" "I'm as likely to lose money as I am to make it, with the stuff you're coming up with."

Nick laughed, but caught himself halfway. He turned around, looking for the source of whatever was making his skin crawl. Almost immediately, he locked eyes with a passerby who was intently watching the scene. It wasn't uncommon, civillians passing by and being nosy. But it was 4 in the morning and no one else was around. Hell, they didn't even have their police lights on to avoid disturbing the nearby apartments, the only thing illuminating the area was their headlights.

The guy turned around the second Nick noticed him, walking away with a fervor of a man caught. It was just barely light enough to see the reflection the window change into something darker, something with an orange tinted red glow around the eyes.

Would following be smart or stupid?

Nick turned on his heels, following after the man at a faster than healthy pace.

Let's shoot for an even mixture of both.

Nick looked around the corner, stopping in the shade it provided from the streetlight. The man passed under a streetlight, highlighting some baseline features (dark hair, longer than usual, muscled, 6'0, 6'1?) and getting into a car with a New York license plate, the numbers too obscured to make out.

"I thought that the blast would've killed him," Parker said, back facing the two detectives, "Fatal concussion or a pierced lung, the works. But instead, his system completely shut down."

"Heart attack?"

Parker grabbed a tray, bringing it over to a hinged lamp and flicking it on. "Poison."

The two detectives walked over. Golden coins that had an unnatural sheen to them, stamped with the head of a lion. Parker hummed, "Found them in his stomach. Guess he really wanted to take them to the grave." Parker pulled off her gloves, "Flipsides interesting."

Hank reeled back, "Oh god damn it." There was a little too much anger in Hank's voice as he walked away for a moment, only to spin back. Nick laughed at him, looking over the coins again. "Nazi coins, man."

Parker raised an eyebrow with a smirk, "Lost another bet, Hank?" The man nodded solemnly. "Well, it gets weirder than that. The vic's brain and all of the blood vessels around his stomach and heart were inflamed far past normal. Gold doesn't get that kind of allergic reaction, but tox report isn't back yet, I'll call you when it comes in-"

Parker froze, staring intensely as Hank gathered the coins into an evidence bag. "…What are you doing?"

Hank gave her a look, "Going to put these in the evidence locker?"

"I- I think I should hang on to those until the toxicology report returns, we don't know what it could be laced with, you could be spreading pathogens-"

"Harper," Nick reasoned, pulling his ringing phone out of his pocket, "we're putting them into their box in evidence, not shaving them over pasta. Burkhardt…. yeah, we'll be right over."

Nick turned to Hank, "Hey, you can leave 'em here, we tracked down Marquesa's car to a safe house. We'll pick 'em up on our way back."

Hank frowned a little too seriously, "I can keep them on me."

Nick didn't look up from the autopsy report on paper, looking over the numbers, "Take them to a suspect? That's a bit risky, no?"

Hank's frown deepened as he shot a hostile look over at Nick. "I'm capable of keeping a few coins safe, Nicholas."

Nick looked up from the papers, setting them down on the counter. "…Ok, take 'em, your ass on the line if they get stolen," Nick tried to joke, keeping his tone light and friendly.

It didn't do much to lighten the mood.

Nick jogged over to the police cruiser parked down the road from the house in question. It would be best to get whatever intel they had. Faulty gas leak, abandoned house, if there had been gunfire, if there were multiple people in there.

Nick didn't get two feet from the window before Hank tugged back on the back of Nick's collar, barking, "Come on, Nick, let's go."

Nick frowned, fully ready to confront Hank about his acting fucking weird after they wrapped this up. Nick ran to catch up to Hank, whisper shouting, "You feeling alright?"

Hank didn't even glance at him, "Never better."

"So you're the Blackbird, ey?" Soledad put his arms up, already knowing the man was out of reach for a counter. "I should've expected you would be on this. Getting the coins for yourself or for your boss?"

"You don't need to know that, and I need to know where the coins are."

Soledad growled out, "I don't fucking know. I thought these two dingbats had them, but I assume you already checked their bodies."

There was silence behind him, permeating. Soledad turned around slowly, then back to the living room in front of him. There the man stood, looking through the window to the front yard. "Cops," he stated calmly. "You must have thought you would be out by now."

Soledad bolted, the back door left open.

They broke into the house, the living room well lit as a man stood in the middle of the room, far from any furniture with his hands in the air. Nick almost stopped Hank, he could've too. Could have stopped Hank from practically tackling the man, pressing him up against the wall and delivering several blows. Could have stopped Hank from shoving the man to the floor all too roughly.

But Nick knew better than that.

He was taught better than that.

Nick lightly nudged Hank away from the suspect, gingerly leading the man to his feet and cuffing him. The man whirled around, eyes shining a bright vivid blue. Blue enough that Nick felt himself pause for a second, the vibrancy shining out with a call no other glow had before. It was reminiscent of the way he saw Monroe's in those few moments where he saw red, the same echo of familiarity but now there was so, so much more history behind it.

The two broke the eye contact, saying nothing. One of the officers, Brenner, came into the room. "There was another one, ran out back."

Hank whirled around, striding towards him, "What happened?"

"He was fast- I- I've never seen someone run like that before, couldn't even get a good look at him-"

"No, you lost him, don't make excuses," Hank snapped, the officer looking at Nick with a lost expression. "Hank-" Nick tried, only to be cut off. Hank started walking to the back door, "God, do I have to do every little fucking thing-"

Nick stood up, putting a hand on Hank's shoulder, speaking in a soft tone. "Hank," the Lieutenant spun around, expression only softening when he looked back at Nick, "we've got a crime scene here, he's gone, let him go." Nick turned to Brenner, "Go get a coroner up here, and watch your back, the guy may come back to get anything he left here."

Brenner nodded, living the safe house all too eagerly. "Crime scene, what crime scene?" Hank questioned the minute that Brenner was out of earshot. Nick gestured to the two bodies on the floor and the piles and piles of stolen coins between them both.

Hank said nothing, just storming back to the car.

The 'suspect' looked at Nick with a raised eyebrow, "And that's the Hank you've been telling us about?"

Nick huffed, leading them both outside, "He's having an off day."

They got the man into an interrogation room with little fanfare, making no move to say anything to either detective on the car ride over. Nick laid a hand on Hank's arm as they walked away, not even realizing he was doing so, it was such a normal thing for them. "Let's get these coins into evidence-"

Nick only noticed as Hank grabbed his arm and shoved it away so harshly it made him flinch. Hank stood his ground, getting ready to go back into the interrogation room, "Yeah I got it, first I wanna break that fuckin' guy."

Before Hank could move into the room, Renard swooped in. "Just got a prelim on the jewelry store, I want you both to fill me in at my office." Hank let go of the door handle to the interrogation room with too much hesitation, looking unrighteously upset as they walked over to the Captain's office. Nick could see the looks Hank was getting from the other officers. Mostly concerned, and Brenner looked at Hank with an expression of slight betrayal.

Nick looked back at the suspect, giving a mutual nod before turning away.

"Nick manages to get a clear license plate from a car speeding off into the night because he's good like that. We run it down, track back to the hideout these guys were using." Hank stood leaning on his front leg, using his arms to motion much more animatedly than he typically would.

Nick turned to Renard, "Cap, there were these coins-"

"I got it, man, let me have this," Hank interrupted, giving Nick a sharp look. Nick only raised his hands up in defeat, shrugging his shoulders at the questioning look Renard gave him. "I see the suspect, and I take him down. Two bodies on the floor, all the loot from the shop right there next to 'em, only one got away cause someone-"

"Hey, slow down, I want to hear more about these coins." Renard stood, leaning on the front of his desk and looking between Nick and Hank.

"I got them." Hank stated, a proud smile like he was telling his older brother about a game he just won. "I'm gonna put 'em into evidence."

Nick rolled his eyes, "They're some historic pieces, collector memorabilia. Probably worth a lot to the right people, that's why they were after them. We'll look into a number here in a second."

Renard nodded, then looked to Hank, "Can I see them?"

"Why?" Hank's look turned more hostile, questioning. "They're safe."

God, Hank was acting weird. If it was something he believed in, he'd defy the Captain, but never like this over something so nonconsequential. Nick turned to Hank, trying to quell the situation. "He'll probably know the actual history behind them, where they're made and all that. Aren't you curious at all? You did lose 50 bucks on 'em."

Hank sighed, making an 'oh, alright' motion with his head before he took coins from his pocket. Nick raised an eyebrow, watching as they clattered onto Renard's desk with a chime. "You took them out of the evidence bag?"

Hank rolled his eyes as the two gathered around for story time, "Parker was being paranoid, they're not gonna kill me."

The three looked down at them, each taking one in their hand like a hands on lesson plan the teacher assigned for that day. Renard mulled it over, looking at it very intently. "We figured they were from the 40's, given the they're, well, of a distinct era," Nick commented.

"Not necessarily." Renard held it up to the light of his lamp, grabbing a pencil from one of his holders. "The swastika dates back all the way to antiquity. In buddhism and hinduism, it used to be a symbol primarily of good luck." Renard scribbled down the graphite, watching as it refused to appear at first. "For the Chinese, it represented eternity. The lion on the back is the Nemean Lion, the one Herakles fought as part of his 12 tasks. A symbol of eternal prosperity and of a ferocious beast on one coin."

The graphite turned bright purple against the gold with enough effort, though Renard quickly erased it with the back of the pencil. It came off easily enough, but the rubber started to burn. "Quite the find you two made, how'd you get them?"

Hank was looking at his own, flipping it between his fingers. "The jeweler swallowed them. Rather die than have them taken, and I can't think of something more relatable."

Renard raised an eyebrow and implied a smile, "Well don't go chopping by my head off, cause I want to look at them some more. I'll drop them by evidence when I can."

Hank froze, standing up straight for once and reminding Nick that he was shorter than both Renard and Hank, if not by much. The pitch in his voice dropped, "Sir, you think that's the best decision? Keeping prime evidence in your office for some personal interest is unprofessional, you of all people should know to give them to me to-"

"Hank." Renard stated flatly, "The other officers are looking at you like you're more of a suspect than he is, and Brenner came into my office shaken because you were being far, far more violent than you ever have been. It was enough of a concern to bring it to me."

Sean sighed, putting a firm hand on Hank's shoulder, and this time the man didn't shake it off. "You're a good man. So go home, get some rest, and then come back tomorrow. If you feel the same way, you can handle them for the rest of the case. Nick will interview the suspect tonight."

Hank was still glaring, but he didn't say anything as he walked out. Nick gave a nod, and lingered a little longer. "Keep an eye on him, Nick. I don't like losing Detectives and especially not like this."

Nick gave a soft, 'Yes sir,' and walked out, catching up to Hank with some effort. The man was still obviously fuming, getting his stuff together with ferocity lacing his every movement.

"Hey Hank?"

"What?"

"…Have a good night, ok?"

Nick opened the door to the interrogation room, the lights only half on and most of the room shrouded in darkness. At once, vibrant pair of lights lit up, gleaming with years of shared past and far too many memories echoing behind the waves of blue shine.

Instead of hands cupping his face, it was talons, but the comfort it carried was all the same. It was nice, Nick supposed, to have someone not shy away like every other wesen that met him. Though, he was probably used to it now, being married to Marie for so long.

The man smiled, a light trill in his voice as he tucked a stray hair behind Nick's ear, "Hello again, Nickie."

Nick smiled sweetly, every outside worry melting away like he was back at the old apartment coming home from school. "Hey Uncle Chim, long time no see."

"Come sit," Chim pulled up a seat as if Nick was visiting and they weren't sitting in a police interrogation room, "I trust you have this off the record, we have much to discuss."

Nick's smile turned into a smirk, knowing full well of where this would go. "I don't think this is the best time, there's a lot I need to know."

Chim met the sly grin with a glint in his eye and nothing more. "As do I. Go ahead."

"Why are you after the coins? Or was it the men you were hunting?"

"No, it was the coins. I assume you don't know what they are, or else you wouldn't be asking." Nick expected the man to continue, but he didn't. Instead, he clicked his tongue and looked at Nick with familiar mischief. "Tell me about the Blutbad."

Nick rolled his eyes, holding his head in his hands as he let out a groan. "Marie told you about him, didn't she?"

Chim laughed, "Of course she did, it's all you've been telling her about! Not to mention certain parallels…" he trailed off. Nick looked to the side, starkly ignoring the obvious reference to Marie and Chim's own bond.

"His name is Monroe, but you know that by now." Nick paused, trying to think of something he could trade, coming up empty. Nick sighed, too much flustered heat behind it, "If Marie told you everything, then what do you want me to say?"

Chim hummed, "Everything. I assume I'll be knowing him quite closely here in a few years, might as well start now."

"I know you, you probably found out his life inside and out the minute I mentioned him."

"Maybe, but someone's life on paper tells me nothing about them other than what I'm supposed to think."

"Ok, then tell me about the coins."

Chim sighed, but relented. "The Coins of Zakynthos, harvested by a Greek island that shared its namesake. They're ages old, and highly sought after for two specific qualities. One, is that they are highly addictive. They call to you, right down to the soul, and you'll do anything to keep them.

"The second, is that they give this… aura to wesen that claim them. Infections with dreams of greatness, altered slightly to each person's own beliefs. It gave them charisma, control, over those around them. Of course, this made most of the figures of power we know today. From Tiberius, to Caligula, to Nero, right up until the man who decided to parade the better half of their mark to the whole world, claiming it to his regime."

Chim paused for a second, mostly for dramatic effect. "We know how that story goes. After the end of World War 2, the chance of devastating effects far outweighed the possibility of noble, pure hearted greatness. So, those who can't be influenced by the coins took them and hid them from the world."

Nick blinked, taking in the information. "You've been tracking them for Marie, haven't you?"

Chim nodded, tilting his head, "Who has them now?"

"My Captain, Séan Renard."

Chim made an expression, taking a deep sigh. Nick sat up on alert, "What, what's wrong?"

"I hope this Captain of yours is as noble as you say, because there is only two ways this can end. Either he releases the coins into your custody one way or another, or he falls to their hands." Chim looked at Nick with far more weight in his eyes, "Nicholas, every second someone spends with them is a coin toss, and there's only so much time before luck runs out."

Chim leaned back, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Now, tell me more about this Monroe character."

"Aaaand they ate a baby, because of course they did." Monroe looked up from the page, gesturing at the very graphic rendition of the event. "Told you, Schakals are assholes, what else do you need?" Monroe grimaced at the page. "Didn't have to draw it though, just a footnote would've sufficed."

Monroe continued skipping through the pages from where he was sat on the couch. Nick was taking the time to repaint the labels on all of the shelves, you know, so he could actually read them. "What are they, jackals?"

"Close enough, yeah."

"So like an off brand coyote. Can't I just use a dogwhistle, put 'em through hell?"

"If you do, do not use it around me. I hate those things, they make my ears ring for days after. Put them through hell is not an exaggeration."

"I will keep that in mind. What about Steinadlers?" Nick asked, the word unfamiliar on his tongue.

"Oh, uh, they're pretty cool, I guess. They're birds, obviously. Their souls are blue-"

"Phthalo."

"What?"

"They're phthalo blue."

"Ok, didn't take you for a color nerd. You ran into one?"

"I know one."

"Anyone I should worry about?"

"Not unless I bring you home to meet my parents."

"Noted. They're real noble types, associated with the military a lot. Generals, warriors, stuff like that, honorable. There's probably a passage on them somewhere…" Monroe stood up, Nick pointing him to the not yet painted but obviously carved avian section.

Silence filled the room like cotton, only disturbed by the sound of pages flipping and the carving of wood. Monroe sat back down, at the desk this time, and flipped the light on. He hummed sharply, "This ones pretty recent, well, compared to the other ones anyway."

Nick set down the tools, looking over Monroe's shoulder as he propped himself on the back of the chair as the wolf read aloud.

"'I came across a Steinadler while I was on my most recent escapade. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and kehrseiter military operatives were hot on my metaphorical tail. This one caught me by surprise, most likely due to their being wesen. I was physically incapacitated a short while prior, and not in a position to fight. In a last fit of desperation, I tried to reason with the man.'"

Monroe stopped, his voice catching in his throat as Nick leaned on him instead of the chair, nuzzling into his hair with his arms draped across Monroe's front. Monroe didn't say anything about it, afraid it would make Nick stop, so he just continued reading.

"'To my surprise, he listened, though he might have been in shock being face to face with a Grimm. I explained my goals, and the lives that were counting on them despite the lack of moral ethicality of how it must be done.'" Monroe paused in his reading, blinking at the text and letting himself fall into the comforting academic fascination of what they were reading.

"'Even more shocking, he vowed to join me on the spot, discarding his uniform and declaring loyalty, if just to my mission and not to myself. Apparently, nobility in the eyes of others pales in comparison to the desecration of personal values. I suspect we'll have a falling out before we complete the mission, and know we'll have one after but for now, I find myself enjoying company after working in solitude for so long. Even if said company is far different than those I've had in the past. Though, considering where I come from, that might be for the best.'"

The two stared down at the pages, the drawing far less professional than those before it, erring to the side of domesticity. It was a man facing away from the artist, holding a guitar in their hands while sitting on a windowsill. The window was drawn out, along with the reflection it mirrored, bright cerulean eyes the only thing colored on the page.

"Huh, maybe we're not the first wesen/Grimm duo then," Nick commented in a soft voice, not needing to speak very loudly from where he was.

"Guess not."

Nick walked into work that morning, pleasantly surprised to see Hank talking to a much happier looking Brenner. Nick smiled, and waited by their desks, looking over the new files that weren't there before.

Hank walked over, looking thoroughly calmed and thoroughly humbled.

"How you feeling?"

Hank sighed, "Guilty. I'm sorry, Nick, I don't know what was up with me last night."

Nick shrugged it off, holding a hand on Hank's shoulder now that he knew it wouldn't be meant with hostility. "We all have those days, Hank, just glad to have you back. Now," Nick gestured to everything on their desks, "what's all this?"

"I.D's for the 3 suspects we don't have in custody. The one that got away is Soledad Marquesa, the two bodies we found were Ian Hans and some Flynn Rider knock-off." Hank grabbed a hotel keycard from the desk, "Got this off of Kolt, apparently we missed it when we first apprehended him."

"Surprised you didn't knock it out of his pockets." Nick was met with silence. "Too soon?"

Hank sighed, this time with a smile, "No, no, I deserve that. I got the warrant to the hotel, I was waiting on you."

"Then what're we still still doing here?"

"Thanks, if we need anything else, we'll let you know." Nick smiled at the manager, who left them to their own devices.

Nick paused, feeling a minute crunch under his feet as he stepped into the room. He glanced down at the so non-personalized doormat that it could be mistaken for hotel standard. He'll have to replace that when they leave.

Hank flipped on the lights, showing a very clean and almost untouched hotel room. It wasn't anything special, no suite or other additions asked for at the front desk.

Nick looked at the door barricade bar that was left by the hallway closet, and noted that there was a similar type of bar on the windowsill, keeping it shut by force.

Hank went searching through the hotel room, almost hesitant to give his usual commentary. While Nick certainly wouldn't have minded the usual banter, it did give him the room to focus on the smaller details that Chim would normally have set up in case of this exact situation.

There were several uniforms of different kinds in the closet, everything from the hotel's own employee's, to stereotypically standard janitorial staff, to pilots, to a rookie police uniform and an extraordinarily expensive suit straight from men in black.

Nick pulled a suitcase from a false back under the bathroom sink, one that was all too easy to pull out. Because of course he would have a portable false backing whenever he goes undercover.

Nick set the suitcase on the bed, shuffling through the clothes and basic weaponry to find another hidden compartment. Hank looked back to Nick and the film wheel canister he was holding, "Whoever this guy is, he's professional, I don't think he's just moving drugs."

Nick opened up the canister, revealing an honest to god actual wheel of film. Nick and Hank looked at each other for a moment. Hank grabbed the manila folder that fell out with the canister, lightly shaking out the contents and handing one over to Nick.

The two held the yellowed, decades old parchment in their latex covered hands. "Nationalsocialistiche - Deutsche Arbeiterpartei. Berlin, de 13, Januar 1943." Literally, it was only a few decades away from a century. "Why would he be carrying a copy in both German and English?"

Hank raised his eyebrows, "These are orders from the OSS. I knew this guy was professional, I didn't think he was working against the C.I.A level professional." The man sat on the couch to begin reading, Nick going back over the apartment for anything they missed.

"'This letter will serve as background information relevant to the discovery of the Imperial coins by the 101st Airborne at the Kehlstein Haus, April 1945. Ten coins were thought to exist, 3 in a lead lined box were discovered here. They're being relocated to allied headquarters under guard to be placed in a vault.

"Emission spectro chemical analysis has revealed the coins are made of pure gold, and are laced with arsenic, mercury and a substance yet to be identified. Because of their toxicity and mysterious…" Hank trailed off for a moment, almost mumbling the next to words and speeding through the rest of the line. "addictive properties, under no circumstances are the coins to… be… handled-'" Hank sunk into the couch with impossible weight. "Now they tell me."

Nick looked back at Hank with knowing concern, weighing his words carefully. "I don't think poison has that kind of effects. How'd it feel handling some ancient cursed artifact?"

Hank didn't brighten back up, somber. "It was weird, I was a man on fire. It felt like I was… I was all pumped up with adrenaline and high on it. Felt like I was on the top of the world."

Nick nodded, then snapped his head up, turning to Hank with a sense of urgency on his features. "The Captain took the coins."

Hank stood up, returning the look. "He said he was gonna take 'em to evidence. I just hope he was stronger than me and actually did." As if on cue, Hank's phone rang. The man set it on speaker.

"Hey, get your asses back to the precinct." Wu's voice cut through the silent room, along with a lot of chatter in the background. "Captain's calling a mandatory meeting."

The two detectives exchanged a look, thanking Wu and shutting off the phone. Nick grabbed the evidence bag, rushing the suitcase back under the sink and locking the wall in place. Hank only looked at him slightly weird as he grabbed a cracker from the kitchen cabinet and slid it under the doormat.

"Get this stuff back to the precinct, I'm going to go try and talk some sense into Renard." Nick grabbed his keys and phone, jumping over through the doorframe and catching himself on it. "And don't break the cracker, either, or he'll know we've been here. I know your knees are getting creaky, but try."

"Yeah, have fun with the Captain. You'll have the best luck outta all of us."

Nick's tires screeched to a stop against the pavement, the apartment building towering over him like a haunted castle would in movies, only lacking the dark colors and the lightning bolt in the clouded night sky.

The employees didn't bat an eye when Nick bolted pass the front desk, rushing straight to the elevators, only wishing monotone greetings. The elevator didn't seem to go fast enough, taking ages to get up to his Captain's penthouse. Nick could hear his own breathing, feel the blood pulsing through every nerve in his body. He glanced at his reflection through the perfectly shined metal, calming himself. He needed to play this right.

The elevator doors opened, and Nick only took the bare minimum step to get out of the elevator. If he could, he would've frozen in place.

Everything was clean. The kitchen counters were barren and wiped down to a shine. Nick could bet there wasn't even anything in the dishwasher. The couch had 4 throw pillows, two larger, two smaller expertly placed. The coffee table had a neat decorative circular plate in the middle, a full and previously untouched candle flickering with heat.

The lamps and doorknobs lacked any haphazardly thrown clothes. The TV remote was placed dutifully on the mantle. Hell, even the fireplace had a stack of wood neatly sat next to it and the ashes nowhere to be found.

The apartment was empty, a soft humming of an old familiar lullaby echoed from the bedroom. Nick tiptoed over to the opened door, afraid that even a creak against the too clean of wood onto the freshly vacuumed carpet would have his Captain spiraling.

Renard was stood up straight in front of his dresser mirror. Once upon a time, Nick akined it to a teenage girl’s vanity. Messy, make-up and care products strewn across the surface with various related stains next to the smudged holsters. There used to be so many sticky notes around the borders, they were overlapping to the point of unintelligibility.

All of that was gone now. The mirror was shining, barren of any personality, anything to tell Nick that someone lived here. There weren't any clothing piles in the corner of the room, no cups or books or wrappers or stray something on the bedside tables. No half open drawers, no lights left on, no forgotten about ties or rings or bracelets or clips or-

The fucking bed was made.

2 sets of pillows, a monochrome gray comforter folded at the top with white bed sheets pulled over them. The 5 fluffy throw blankets all rolled up and placed in a basket that Nick honestly thought was a clothes hamper.

"Nick? What are you doing here? I know I said that the meeting was mandatory, but showing up this early is a little much, no?" Renard spoke with a familiar up tone in his voice, one he only ever let show when it was just Nick and Hank around.

Nick took a few strides forward, looking at Renard like a stranger. Or, maybe a family dog suddenly hostile would be a better analogy. He was wearing the full uniform, badges and ribbons and name tag proudly displayed even under the full length tan trench coat. There was a layer of make-up over the scars on his chin, and he drew over the one that cuts through his eyebrow.

Nick couldn't bring himself to smile. "Hey Séan. How are you feeling?"

"I've never felt better."

"You cleaned up around here. That's new."

"It was about time. I got home and forgot how I could ever live like that." Renard's voice was cool now, monotone. Like how he talks to the rookies, or someone he needs something from.

Nick shrugged, chiding himself for feeling like he was in danger here. Nick paused, looking at the man's reflection in the mirror with concern edging his face. "Just wasn't expecting this from you. Said that it made you feel like you're at your dad's house again."

Renard turned to him, full bodied too, like he was an intruder coming into his house. "What are you doing here, Nick?"

"Came to check on you," he replied. "Thought you didn't buy into the whole speech bullshit. Actions speak louder than words and no one's done more than you."

Renard's eyes softened, glancing back at himself in the mirror. "Thank you, but I know I can do more. It's what I owe.”

Nick huffed, crossing his arms and holding them on his hips. He was feeling awfully like a vexed girlfriend right now, and he didn't know how what to do about it. He reached up, taking off the hat and lightly running his hand through Séan's hair. "Lose the hat, makes you look like you have a stick up your ass. Or at least one that's bigger than usual."

Séan smiled, a sweeter one like it was their third night in a row going over some dead end case and they were both coming back here for the night, even if it was only to share a cup of coffee and watch shitty movies. He started back to the elevator, heavy boots thudding all too loudly at the floor, almost falling into a march.

"Good luck out there, Anastasia."

Nick looked back at the too clean of the penthouse. Carefully, he made himself the most complicated cup of coffee he could manage, using every dish possible and leaving them either in the sink or on the counters next to the sink. Grabbing two of the spare blankets and shoving half the pillows onto the floor, he flopped down onto the couch, staunchly ignoring the coasters he should be resting his drink on.

Séan's apartment was always a mess.

His office at the precinct was neat, organized, and wholly alien to him as a person. Of course, Séan did look like the kind of guy that would have this kind of perfectionist apartment, where every small thing was so carefully placed that you were scared to actually live there. But no. In fact, Séan despised homes like that.

His mother's house was the exact opposite, Nick recalled the one night the man described his childhood home after one too many drinks. Wooden everything, racks of dried herbs and the fridge covered in drawings, handcrafted blankets. Nothing sterilized like this, but a home. Of course, Séan couldn't recreate that in a penthouse in downtown Portland as much as he wanted to. But he made this place his own in those small ways. The way his couch and bed were always a nest of pillows and blankets, the sticky note reminders everywhere, the constantly used kitchen where there was no use in actually putting away dishes. A mess, but a place that was obviously lived in.

A home.

Nick hummed, looking at the clock. He set down the cup on the coffee table, half full. Time to see how this'll go.

Hank and Nick watched the swarm of reporters feast on their Captain's words. They'd been thirsting after some kind of personality from their Captain for ages now. Séan always was that reclusive type, only letting those close to him see anything.

It was nice, Nick thought as he looked into the firey look of justice that Séan always had under lock and key, for people to finally see what he and Hank did. How much he cared, especially after every comment from rookies or shitty reporters that commented on how cold or even heartless he seemed to be. Nick never understood what they meant. From the minute they first met, Nick knew that there was a layer of compassion behind him.

"Christ, he's really leaning into it," Hank leaned towards Nick, something approaching a smile lingering on the corners of his lips.

Nick shrugged, "I dunno, it's nice. Tell all those reporters to suck it."

Hank gave a silent agreement, looking back to the flashing lights and the heated words that had so much behind them, so much that only some people would ever hear.

"I'm gonna go grab a drink, we've been here for a while and we're probably not even close to done," Hank walked into the break room, Nick nodding as he went. Nick gave a smile to Séan, knowing that he would see it no matter what he was focussed on.

Nick gave a quick knock on the bathroom door out of force of habit, even when there was no response from inside.

Nick froze in the door way, looking at the incapacitated and almost naked body on the floor. Nick flagged over Wu, the man jogging over at a leisurely pace. "Hey Nick whats- Oh my god!-"

Nick nearly smacked him over the head, pulling him into the room before he could get any louder. "Listen to me, someone has an officers uniform. I need you to get him out of here discretely. We don't know if this guy is armed, and we do not need a scene with every single reporter in Portland right here." Wu nodded, taking out his phone and calling someone.

Nick left the bathroom, rushing over to Hank. There were a few other people, even some civillians with attending officers grabbing them water or something similar. Nick pulled Hank closer, whispering lowly, "We have an intruder wearing our uniform. Look for him, no confrontation, no scene."

Hank nodded, handing a cup of coffee to Nick as he rolled his shoulders slightly. "Anyway to tell the Captain?"

Nick shook his head. "Normally I would, we have plans for this, but he's being affected by the coins. I don't trust him not to do something stupid."

The Captain left with all the fanfare in the world, opting to take a back route to his car. Hank nodded to Nick, leaving him to trail Séan while he handled things at the precinct. Nick kept his distance, keeping to the shade as he followed. If only the parking garage had rafters or something overhead, get the literal drop on this fucker.

Just like that, something illuminated every other stride under the occasional overhead light. It gradually got closer and closer, their footsteps impossibly quiet. In a blink, Nick glanced down, eyes meeting paws in place of shoes. What? Woges didn't have that much of a shift, and he wasn't fully shifted down into animal form either.

The thing raised a weapon in its hands. Nick grabbed the dog whistle from his pocket and blowed into it hard, hoping it was making some sort of noise. The man dropped the object, metal clattering against the floor as his hands instinctively went to his ears. Séan whipped around, looking for the source of whatever was putting the man on his knees.

Nick considered going a couple paces back, acting like he just found the body and was coming to warn him about Marquesa. But Séan wouldn't buy that, he would know Nick did something. Hell, it's Séan, he probably knew Nick was a Grimm by now anyway. If not, then he deserved to know.

Part of Nick wondered what kind of wesen he was anyway.

Nick stepped out into the light, "Hey Cap, found Marquesa, I see."

The man finally lowered his hands from his ears, looking up at Nick with nothing but unadulterated fear in his eyes. The man tried to scurry away from him and maintain sight at the same time, ending up just backing into one of the pillars holding up the parking garage.

"It wasn't me! It was the Blackbird! He's after the coins, he just told me to-"

"Stop talking."

The man stopped, thankfully, and Nick glanced back at Séan for some kind of reaction. Séan looked at him too, a curious gaze in his eyes. They both said nothing, silence permeating as they treaded uncharted waters.

Séan looked at Nick with a look of defeat, fishing 3 shiny coins from his breast pocket and handing them over. Nick held them in his hands, looking at whatever design was visible under the dim light, and felt nothing. Nick flipped them one time, catching it in one hand.

Nick rolled his eyes, hoisting up Marquesa and holding him by the now prevalent scruff.

"If anyone asks, Blackbird took 'em."

Séan nodded curtly, walking back to his car.

Nick started marching Soledad back to the precinct, looking down at the coins while he did. "You know, I really don't see the appeal. Then again I don't have a soul to call to, huh?"

Nick walked back into the precinct, Marquesa now human and looking no less terrified. Most of the precinct was empty now, everyone out front with the ambulance. Séan would shrug it off as an allergic reaction or a diabetic emergency or something similar, spin it around in their favor like always.

Nick was alone as he passed by his Uncle's holding cell, and was the first to find it almost empty. Nick had Marquesa sit down as he read the note.

"You know the Blackbird?"

Nick barely glanced at him, dead faced, "Why do they call him Blackbird?"

Marquesa looked at Nick for a second, trying to guess his intentions, gather if this was a test or a rhetorical question.

"C-Because he's the Steinadler that works with the Jeweled Grimm."

Nick hummed in a moderately, bordering on mockingly surprised tone. "'The Jeweled Grimm', huh? That's what they call her? Wonder if I'll get a nickname. Something to look forward to."

"…Do you know them?"

Nick clicked his tongue, walking away. "You know, you probably pissed off half this department just going after Parker. But going after our Captain? When I say good luck in here, it's not because I want you to be safe, it's because you'll need it."

Chim smiled as he walked into an open breeze and a whistle in his hotel room. "Glad to see you again one more time before I leave."

Nick nodded, grabbing the screeching kettle off the stove and coming to join his uncle at the coffee table. Nick sat down on the floor in front of the couch, shuffling the water of the first brew and warming the other cups with it. "You needed to tell me something, so?"

Chim set up the barricade and locked the door before sitting down next to Nick. "I wish it wasn't so heavy, I assume you are keeping the coins and I didn't want to give you something else with it. So many items of great value at once, and they lose their significance."

"I could give you the coins if you want them."

"No, I would only be worse off and you are more than capable. What I want you to have is this."

Chim grabbed the necklace cord around his neck, fishing it from under his shirt. Hanging loosely on the chain was a folded up key, carved with green accents. Chim unclipped it from his neck and placed it into Nick's hands, folding Nick's over his own.

"This is of monumental importance. Your aunt and I have spent our entire lives defending this, and I wish I could spare you the burden of protecting it. But we are getting old, and the books of our oldest tricks are being studied, and I'm being scouted far too much for comfort.

"This is an artifact of your ancestors, of when Grimms were first born, and there is a secret the first of your kind has planted into these keys. We don't know what that secret is, but millions of lives have been spent sought after it. We hope, that if the right people have all 7, then that secret will benefit us. But that day is far, far away. For now, I need you to swear to protect this not just with your life, but with the lives of those before you."

Nick looked at the key, folding it once, twice, running the pad of his thumb over the intricate grooves and scratches of the metal. He hung it around his neck, the weight of the key sitting above his heart and feeling just as vital to his survival. Like a puzzle piece being snapped in place, the one that leads to the puzzle being completed. 

"I swear."

"That's all I ask of you."

Nick got back to the trailer, feeling both lighter and heavier than he ever had before. The lights flickered on in a daunting fashion. It felt impossible as he set down the grocery bag on one of the counters. He pulled the notebook, and the pens and pencils he bought.

Nick flipped open the book, sitting at the desk and flipping on the lamp. 

Where to begin.

In the beginning he supposed.

The first entry Nick made in his Book was about his first wesen. The first monster he ever conquered. Adjacent to the entry that Nick wrote (in pencil), was a picture of Monroe, absorbed in one of the Grimm books. He wasn't woged, completely human but in the dim lighting, the red light from his eyes shone onto the pages, the only color in the black and white illustration.

Chapter Text

Renard felt his back being watched far before Adalind walked up to him, the dread of having to see her again level with excited anticipation. A poison that you just can't stop drinking, even as you begin to choke.

Renard tried to focus on the painting in front of him, the past it held with him and his family. Of course would pick this place to meet again. She always likes watching him squirm. The soft glint of misery in his eyes always did seem to get her off. That should have been the only red flag he needed.

"Do you think she's prettier than me?" her voice sounded like scratching, an itch that you kept scratching until you drew blood and then past that.

"Yes."

Adalind looked back at him with a sweet smile as she dung her too sharp of acrylic nails into his hand. Renard tried not to react, even as blood seeped down his fingertips and onto the carpet of the museum floorings. "That may be a personal bias, though. We owned this painting before the revolution, though I'm sure you already knew that. Half this damned museum is our old belongings."

Renard took his hand back gingerly, knowing better than to tend to it while Adalind was still here (he's still healing from the old scars she ripped open in their last impromptu meeting). "How are things going with my Detective?"

"Your detective? You're sounding rather possessive there," Adalind cooed, twiddling her finger around Séan's tie. He ignored how his hear rate jumped with her hand so close to his neck. He should be used to this by now, and not jumping like a frightened willyhara at every movement, damnit. Adalind gave a yank on the tie, pulling them into the direction of the other paintings as her tone shifted into annoyance. "They're not. He's far more noble than I'm used to. He 'doesn't want to take advantage of me' or something," Adalind rolled her eyes.

She turned her neck to look at him, teeth almost barred in a sneer, "You really do know how to pick them, Princess."

The two stopped in front of a statue, roman in origin. It was half broken, the head completely missing as the stone crumbled around that area. "Fortunately, I know how to make myself irresistible, granted you brought me what I asked for~?"

Renard reached into his pocket, handing over the blood vial. Adalind's nails chimed against the crystal glass, the almost blackened red liquid capturing her attention like a cat watching a bird on a windowsill. "Tell me again why I'm not getting a vial of the Grimm's blood? It would be much simpler for me to just entrance him."

"You're not going after Nick," Séan stated, overly firm and far too harsh. He was quickly reminded of this by Adalind reaching into his sleeves and ripping dangerously close to his arteries. Renard grasped onto that arm, the blood soaking through his shirt but luckily not his trench coat as he looked back at Adalind. "He already despises you. At this point, I'm not sure a zaubertrank would even work on him."

Adalind let go with an overly exaggerated huff, "Fine. You're going to have to let him go at some point, Séan." She looked up at him with innocent eyes and a mocking smirk, "What, you think they'll let the half bastard child keep the Grimm? No, they'll want him as their own little pet. You would love that, wouldn't you, seeing him on a leash at your brothers feet?"

Renard didn't say anything, just glancing down with a pained look. She frowned, and rolled her eyes. "Stop being so dramatic. This will all pay off when we get the key."

Privately, Séan reconsidered if his family's validation was even worth this anymore.

It was snowing.

The sky was still dark with the morning, and Portland didn't really have many streetlights, something about the people in charge of fixing them not wanting to, dragging their feet. It was a bright night anyway, a full moon illuminating the streets liberally. It was freezing too, snow caking the sidewalks and some light furries lingering on the asphalt.

Renard called Nick to the scene personally. He was leaning on the glass windows of the building waiting for him. There weren't any other cars, just a sign saying closed and Renard's car parked near the entrance. It was early morning, the sunrise half an hour away, so there weren't many civillians either. Nick tugged off his helmet, looking around nervously. This had happened a couple times before, and they hadn't been the best cases, all high profile.

But the wesen spice shop? Really?

Séan opened his eyes as Nick approached, the engine dying alerting him to Nick's presence. He had this kind of distant look in his eye. Not unusual, he'd had it before coming into work, he got over it eventually. He stood up a little let straight than normal, a soft smile gracing his features upon seeing him.

"Hey Séan, long night?" Nick tried to greet casually, seeing his Captain's off demeanor.

"You could say that. This just happens to be the cherry on top." Renard let them into the shop, not even needing to gesture to the shop-keeps corpse on the ground. Nick crouched down, slipping gloves on as an afterthought. "Have you looked around yourself, yet?"

"Not enough to know anything."

Nick nodded, noting his thoughts out loud. "Gunpowder residue on the shirt, he was shot at close range." Nick tilted his head, reaching for the tweezers in his pocket. He picked out the something that was resting on the man's tongue, pulling out a solid chunk of human flesh. Nick scoffed out a laugh, "took 'fighting tooth and nail' too literally."

Séan chuckled too easily, then walked over to the secret door, pushing it open easily. "Come on, the cellar's damaged too."

The two stepped down the all too creaky stairs, the place straight out of a bad horror movie scene. There were crates and boxes, all unlabelled and most of them ripped, torn, broken and strewn across the floor. It continued further down, right up to a specific cardboard box with several smaller, lead lined boxes filling it.

Some were taken, the rest left in one peace, and overall undamaged. Nick grabbed one of the boxes, cracking it open. Inside were several vials of some kind of power, clumping inside of the bottle containing it.

From beside him, Séan breathed a sigh of relief. "It was a normal robbery, not an assassination then."

Nick raised an eyebrow, "You were worried about that?"

Séan just nodded, leading them back out, "The Calvert family is involved in some pretty high politics, his father especially, but he himself was also known throughout the community as the local apothecary and a little more. I'll need to get another one set up so there isn't any rivalries between other stores trying to replace this one."

The two stopped in the front of the store, Renard heaving another sigh. "I'll call in one of the wesen coroners down here, can you call the next of kin? And try to keep this on the down low, there's a reason I didn't call in anyone else." Nick nodded, but didn't make any move to leave.

"You alright, man?" Nick asked, far more concerned than when he first arrived.

Renard only smiled darkly, "I wish I could give you a positive answer."

Nick stood up, took a couple paces towards the man, and pulled him into a hug.

It wasn't the best scene, hugging over the corpse of a man who was shot dead a few hours ago, but it was poetic in a sense if he really thought about it.

Séan sunk into the embrace, tucking his head into the crook of Nick's neck, the tension seeping from his body. Nick only hummed, holding him tighter. "If your relatives are bothering you again, I'm not above murder if you're not above treason-"

Séan pulled away laughing, "It's not that. It's fine, Nick, nothing to worry about."

Neither of them were too sure about that.

The phone rang for a couple seconds before a woman picked up, "Hello?"

"Is this Rosalee Calvert?"

"Yes?"

"This is Detective Burkhardt of the Portland Police Department. You have a brother, Fredrick Calvert?"

"…Yes?"

The woman showed up a little over an hour later, auburn hair and a thick green scarf that had a detailed hem of flowers and small animals. Nick caught her in the front, bringing her into the Captain's office. Sometimes he wishes he didn't have to get involved in the whole wesen world existing thing because the top secret sneaking around was getting exhausting.

Renard greeted the woman with a nod (he was firmly against handshakes), beckoning her to sit across from him. "We're sorry you had to come down here in these circumstances."

She refused, remaining standing by the door. "Who killed him?"

"We don't know y-"

"What do you know?" the woman snapped, the exhaustion in her eyes shifting into anger.

Renard shrugged it off as always, "He was killed in an apparent robbery. He was able to set off the security alarm so we don't know if they got what they were after or not."

The Captain took a breath, "Your brother was the local apothecary, as I'm sure you know, and it seems like it was purely for that reason he was attacked. Based on the damages, we don't think it was an assassination, so you shouldn't have to worry about your person but we recommend having some police escort for the time being until we are completely sure."

She didn't seem affected by the words at all, "I just want to bury him, close up his shop, and go home, so what do I have to do to get that done?"

Renard gestured to Nick, "We're done with the physical investigation, however Burkhardt will have to go with you if you want to go to the shop."

The shop was dim, the afternoon sky clouded over. It seemed so dead and haunted inside, the complete opposite to how it was the last time he had come here. The woman looked around, eyes lingering on the blood stains marring the rugs. Nick paused by the doorway, "That may not be your brothers, he went down fighting."

The woman smiled, "That sounds like Freddy." The grief overtook her features, fur sprouting across her face into something somewhat resembling a fox with bright, amber yellow eyes looking down into the carpet. Nick tried to look away from her, staring at the desk and the wall behind it but it wasn't enough as she startled, bolting up.

Nick raised his hands, "I didn't hurt your brother and I'm not going to hurt you," he stated moving until he was on the other side of the room and giving her more than adequate space to bolt to the door. Nick kept his eyes on the ground with the occasional glance up, remembering Monroe's advice of being 'submissive' and 'prey-ish' and all that. It seems a bit stupid, but what does he know?

The woman woged again, looking Nick down with the ferocious glare that came from loss. "Why should I believe you? You're probably just waiting for me to turn my back or go into the cellar."

Nick sighed, not really having an answer to that one. "Listen, I need to call someone over, he's a Blutbad. Not the best but he's wesen."

"Already have some poor soul under your beck and call?"

"It-" Nick let it go, wanting to defend himself but knowing it was futile. "I just need help finding out what happened here. I have no clue what's in that basement and the significance of it, and I doubt you have any interest in helping me."

Calvert kept an eye on Nick as he pulled out his phone, moving to the other room for some semblance of privacy as he called Monroe.

Fucking christ

Monroe got there a few minutes later, Rosalee opening the door from where she refused to move from the exit. Fair, but like paranoid much? Even the Eisenbeiber were less flighty than this. Monroe looked at Calvert oddly upon entrance, then acknowledged the situation she and Nick were in.

The woman woged, fox like features meeting wolf like ones for a moment. Nick once again turned away, like he was watching a movie with his aunt and uncle and a sex scene just came on. Real interesting popcorn ceiling and all that. The two broke eye contact with an audible shift.

Calvert looked between Monroe and Nick again as the wolf came to his side, seeing how they were completely relaxed next to each other. Nick turned on his heel and sped walked into the other room and into the cellar, feeling like he was being put under a microscope.

The two got to the somewhat lit basement, passing through the maze of cardboard and shelves. Nick released the breath he'd been holding, looking to Monroe who gave him a look of sympathy. "What are you investigating this time that has her so pissed at you?"

Nick led them to the one tampered with box, shrugging, "Well, the death of the shopkeep from here. That was his sister-"

"Oh shit, you have a Calvert pissed at you? Dude, I really hope you have some other favors to cash in."

Nick gave Monroe a look to stop talking, picking up one of the vials out of the box and handing it to him. "Yeah, I know, the Captain has me on this specifically. I just want to find out what happened so she can get home, so can you tell me what this is?"

Monroe brought the powder to the light, the dark green substance clumping together like brown sugar. "Looks a little like J but I wouldn't know for sure."

"'J'?"

"Jade, it's a type of wesen drug made out of a type of sea sponge. It's just poison to humans but to wesen it's one hell of a painkiller." Monroe paused, but not in the excited interruption way.

"Here's a fun wesen culture fact," Monroe said sarcastically, "a lot of people fall into addiction cause the painkillers we use for wesen specific injuries is usually this, and it's both addictive and extremely easy to buy. There's no legitimate way to buy this kind of stuff so it's insanely easy to get as a street drug."

Calvert came down the stairs, staying firmly by them. Her eyes were still firmly glowing yellow. "Did you find something?"

Nick turned to her without moving his body to face her, "Did you know if your brother supplied J?"

She bristled, "Does it matter? It's legal."

"If your brother did use it, then it's probable that someone would have robbed him for it."

She didn't respond, still looking between Monroe and Nick with an analytical scrutinization. In a low voice, she admitted, "I have no clue what he has here. Whatever any other apothecary would, I suppose, but we never talked about his business."

Nick nodded, shuffling towards the stairs to leave. As if on cue, Calvert quickly side stepped him, keeping her distance (if not as much as before) as the two left.

This would be a dumb long case.

Rosalee was looking through the boxes her brother kept stored in the back of the shop, familiarizing herself with what they were and how to distribute them properly. Mountains of memories flooded back of working in her parents apothecary alongside her siblings. Watching her mom and dad struggle through whatever crazy thing was happening across the world and mixing things together to help fix it. The number of stories they had alone was something any wesen would die for (literally).

It left a bittersweet pang in her heart. Freddy had been set on this being his future since he was a kid, mentored by their father since he had his first woge. She remembered when he bought the place, he had flown her and DeEtta out to see it, help decorate.

The rugs she had chosen that day was bloodied now.

It would be nice, she supposed, running this place again. She would have to refresh herself on all the ins and outs of this practice, of this world. She had almost completely isolated herself from this side of her since going clean. Easier to fit in amongst humans to forget her instincts, the temptations that came with them.

She sniffed the air, the sharp tang of J and the musk of Skalengeck sharp on her nose. The thudding and glass crashing from upstairs didn't help their case either.

The thudding quickly reached the stairs, a pair of men ('men', they were younger than her) rushing to the crates of Jade, tearing through it like rabid animals. She slipped behind one of the shelves, looking to see where another exit was.

A loud ringtone interrupted her thoughts, the intruder pausing in their search as well. "Shut that shit off, it's making my ears hurt."

"It's not mine."

Rosalee checked her pockets, angling the glow of the screen away as she silenced the scam call. No, no, they went silent they definitely heard it. Fuck. She looked to the staircase again, trying to creep towards it.

A loud hissing from a gap in the bookshelf startled her, the skalengeck woged and bracing against the metal arms of the shelf.

Rosalee flinched, sprinting towards the stairs because no way in hell was she dying to two Jade addicted skalengecks and like hell she was going back to prison over killing their sorry asses.

She bounded up the steps, catching herself on her hands when something grabbed her leg. The man stuck his tongue out at her, slithering and tasting the air around her.

She grabbed the switchblade from her pocket, stabbing it into the guys hand. He pulled back, screaming as his partner clamored up the steps after her. She ran to the back exit, pulling over the large wooden board that Freddy had luckily installed.

The two started banging on it, the old weathered wood already splintering under the force of two wesen in full woge.

She bolted, sprinting to her car where it was parked around front. Behind her, she heard the door break down. Of course they wouldn't have the common sense to just go the other way around.

She sped off, nearly losing control of the vehicle as she swerved. The adrenaline rush came down slow, the woge fading from her features as she drove to her brother's house. She should call that Detective.

Fucking christ

She sat on the couch at her brother's house, dialing the Grimm's number. Closer to danger, farther from harm, right? This was stupid.

"Hey, it's Rosalee," she started before he could say anything, "two guys just broke into the shop to try and steal the Jade."

"I- oh my god, are you ok?"

"Yeah, it's- I'm good. I'm at my brothers house, I'll be safe here."

"Do you think you could identify them?"

"If I saw them again? Yes."

"Alright, I'll be right over."

The station was empty, the lights dimmed around them in the late night. Even the Captain had gone home by then, leaving just the two of them alone as they went down a list of suspects. She locked onto two in particular with a nasty track record of breaking and entering, robbery, drug abuse, battery and assault, the works. It would make sense.

"How do you do this?"

"Well, we start with addresses, then if that turns up nothing we see if there's anyone who knew them-"

"I mean-" she looked around as if to check there was no one lurking in the shadows "how do you do this with being both a cop and…" she trailed off. Nick looked at her for a moment before glueing his eyes back to the computer screen.

"I was working here years before the whole Grimm thing manifested. It isn't hard to be unprejudiced when I only found out about…" Nick widely gestured in a vague motion "this a few months ago."

Calvert's eyes widened, "You're-" she took a breath, "You didn't know anything about wesen before your powers manifested?"

Nick shook his head, "Not a thing. Thank god the first wesen I actual met was Monroe, I would either be dead or put in a mental hospital if it had been anyone else."

"So he's been… just, teaching you about this? Training you?"

Nick frowned, leaning away from her. "Not training, just telling me how to navigate this all without getting either murdered or turning into, well, a Grimm." He glanced back at her, but the look she was giving him was boring holes into his apparently non-existent soul. (He was still trying to process what that meant)

"The people you work with," she continued lowly, "they don't know?"

"My Captain does, no clue what he is but I know he's wesen. Outside of that?" Nick looked at the various desks. "Probably, but I couldn't tell them if I needed to."

"I don't envy you," she stated quietly. "Living two lives, especially ones as complicated as this. I only assume you checked into mine?" Her voice was laced with the same suspicion, even if it was levied somewhat.

"Next of kin are almost always the first suspects but nothing that I would jduge you over. You seem like a good person." Silence lingered between them for a moment, a second of solace. "I'll send over an officer to make sure they don't try anything."

Nick's hand was stopped where he reached for the work phone. She looked at him, right in the eyes as he pulled away. "How about you and your partner?" she asked. "I don't trust anyone not like me to survive the hit."

Nick nodded, "We'll be right over."

He had Monroe knock while he scouted out the area. He hadn't been in this specific part of town before, and better to be safe than sorry. Of course, they both startled when he climbed through an opened window. Maybe not the best course of action.

Calvert looked at Nick for a moment and the bag he brought, watching as he set it down at Monroe's feet and pulled some kind of metal bar from the duffel bag. Nick set up the door barricade, the pressure against the door making an audible click. She didn't make a move as he also put bars along the windowsills, making them impossible to open.

"Nick, they're skalengecks, I'll probably be able to smell them from a mile away."

Nick glanced out the window for a moment. "It's not just them I'm worried about." He returned to Monroe, Calvert leaning on the wall next to the stairs.

"Sure you'll be ok sharing the couch?"

"It's fine," Nick pulled out a notebook from his bag and a pen and pencil. "I don't need to sleep tonight."

She looked like she was going to say something about that, but paused, shrugged, and went upstairs.

Monroe's eyes followed her as she went, waiting for her to return to her bedroom. "She seems nice."

"For someone who's only in town because her brother died?" Nick looked up from his notebook, "She's a saint." Monroe turned off most of the lights, adjusting to the baseline scent of the house. The house of Fredrick Calvert. Christ. He laid down on the couch, looking over Nick's shoulder at what he was doing.

The left side of the page was already written and inked in much prettier cursive than he thought Nick was capable of. On the right side was a rough sketch of 3 figures, a dickfellig, a skalenzahne and a familiar lowen. Monroe noted, with equal parts amusement and affection, that while the lowen and skalenzahne were hostile, the dickfellig had a smug smile, even while woged.

"You're making your own Grimm book?" Monroe asked, voice soft in the serene silence of the house. Nick nodded, flipping to a couple pages back. "Figured it was about time, y'know? I have more than enough drama in my life to make an entertaining story."

Monroe looked at the page Nick stopped on. A rather long entry on the left side, and 2 faces on the side. A much smaller depiction that was much more a dignified doodle of a Hasslich, and 2 portraits of Bud, one woged and one not. He was smiling, wide and content, proud in both. His eyes were glowing in the human depiction The entry no doubt was retelling the events of that day, if leaving out some details. Or not, Nick had no clue what to filter or not.

Monroe tilted his head, "What's the first entry?"

Nick gave an inaudible sigh, and flipped to the first couple of pages. Monroe's eyes widened, staring down at the drawing. He reached a hand out, fingers brushing over the parchment the book was made out of. His eyes traced over the words, a fuzzy feeling filling his chest. Adoration leaked through the professional wording in a prominent way, impossible to miss.

"It's stupid," Nick admitted softly, "it's hardly a real Grimm book-"

"It's real," Monroe cut him off, "it's just yours."

"Captain!"

Séan turned around, Wu holding a cookie in one hand and passing him papers with the other. "I would go to Hank and Nick but neither of them are here today. We found the car of one of the perps from the Spice Shop case. Tracked it to an abandoned warehouse, popular place for squatters. Don't know who you want to put on it-"

"I'll go." Séan grabbed his jacket off the wrack in his office, as he turned back to Wu. "Unless you want to go with me?"

The Sergeant shrugged, "Yeah, fuck it, I don't have anything going on this morning."

"Really? I would say you've made far too much use of the fire extinguisher for it to be an uninteresting morning."

"Uninteresting by our standards, Cap. Nick and Hank aren't the only ones you made a coin toss to hire."

"It'll be sad to see this place go." Monroe set down one of the heavy boxes, glass bottles inside clinking mutedly with the paper wrapping. "Not many places to go nowadays."

Calvert smiled sadly, "It's not an easy business to run."

Nick wrapped up another box, passing it to Monroe. The wolf looked back to her, "You were in the business?"

Calvert nodded, grabbing another crate of bottles off of the shelves. "My parents were apothecaries after my dad retired, my mom long before then." She handed the bottles off to Nick, who grabbed another sheet of parchment to wrap them in. "Me and my siblings all learned the basics and then some, but Freddy was the one really interested in the practice."

"Sounds like an… educational childhood."

The conversation was interrupted by the bell on the door ringing loudly, the 3 turning to the new comer. "Sorry, we're closed- Oh my god, what the hell." Calvert jumped back, looking at the body the man was carrying.

"Cap?" Nick asked, rushing up to the two. Wu was limp in his arms, boils running up and down his face, looking painful. "What the fuck happened to Wu."

Séan turned to Rosalee, "Ingested a zaubertrank meant for someone else, by the looks of it." Both Nick and Monroe shared a look of pure cluelessness, but Calvert panicked, leading the Captain and Wu to the backroom. He set Wu down on the bed, Calvert looking over his face with a calculating look.

"What's a zaubertrank?" Nick asked, more aimed towards Renard but if Calvert answered, that'd be fine too.

"It's, essentially, a love potion," Renard explained. "Creates an extremely strong emotional connection in the person it's meant for. If someone else consumes it," he gestured down at Wu. "This is the result."

Calvert snapped her head up, rummaging through one of the higher cabinets and getting a large wooden bowl and a mortar and pestle. "Monroe, there's a vial of keim extract on the lower shelf behind you, grab it for me." He nodded, crouching down and filing through the several bottles that were positioned on the shelf.

Calvert kept sorting through the cabinets by her, pulling out several powders, roots, and salt like rocks. "There's a bottle of etwas on the immediate right hand side going into storage. There's also a block of aufhören and a couple dried sprigs of Übersetzen," she looked up at the Captain, "can you get them?"

Renard nodded, leaving the backroom to go track down the order. Calvert pushed a mortar and pestle into Nick's hands, something resembling charcoal in it. "Crush this for me, the finer the better." She turned from him again, pulling her hair back into a pony tail and rolling her sleeves up as she pulled down a bunsen burner from the cabinets.

Renard came back with an amethyst like rock, a vial of something light blue in color and with the consistency of olive oil, and a bundle of what looked like thyme dyed black. Calvert snatched them as soon as they reached the table, putting the etwas over the flame with a pair of tongs she produced out of nowhere.

Monroe came back with a vile of something yellow-ish, but she didn't grab it at all. Instead, she handed the leaves over to Monroe along with a knife. "Cut those as fine as you can, he's drinking this so try to make it bearable," she instructed. Nick eyed the bubbling blue etwas as Calvert poured it into the bowl. "He's drinking this?"

"He better." Rosalee took a cup filled with shaved off pieces from the aufhören, mixing it in a separate bowl with the vial Monroe retrieved. Monroe's eyes widened as she dumped the bottle, "All of it?"

Renard and Calvert turned to him in unison, "Yes."

She grabbed the Übersetzen and the charcoal from Nick, pouring the now brown sugar consistency smaller bowl's contents into the larger one. She mixed the other two objects together with some kind of whisk that Nick's only ever seen used for matcha. Calvert sighed, struggling, "Could one of you get-"

Renard handed her a glass of water he got from the tap, which she took gratefully, adding enough to get it back into a mostly liquid form. The end result was mildly thick, foamy, dark blue liquid that smelled like thyme.

In that moment. Wu took the time to graciously sit up and start screaming his head off. Calvert grabbed the bowl, "Hold him down."

Nick pushed Wu down by his shoulders, swinging his legs around the cot to keep his arms pinned down and to keep him still enough for Renard to force his mouth open. Calvert didn't waste any time, using the thumb of one hand to push his tongue own and the other to pour the bowl.

Wu didn't stop screaming, as much as his movements were mollified, nothing but sheer terror in his eyes. Calvert grabbed a black cloth from the table, draping it over his face.

Renard sighed, turning to Calvert as if this was just another transaction, "How much do I owe you for this?"

She blinked, looking at him weirdly. "Nothing, it's- it's on the house, don't worry about it." She looked down at the now quiet and still police sergeant, then turned pace around a bit.

Nick took a breath, "Find anything?"

Renard nodded, "Found the place they were crashing, as well as a their saugendampf. Nearly had them, but they got away when Wu collapsed." Nick nodded, shrugging off the unfamiliar word. "I assume they'd be looking for more, but I haven't been keeping up with that scene well enough to know where they would go specifically."

Monroe scoffed, "Don't look at me."

The silence continued, both Nick and Monroe following Renard's intense look at Calvert. She remained silent for a moment, before giving in. "Yeah, I was hooked for seven years. My brother helped me get clean, that's why I moved to Seattle. If they're looking to score," she avoided looking any of them in the eye, but didn't look down at the floor either, "it'll be at an Island of Dreams."

Renard's stare softened, "I would need you to find a dealer to get a location. Would you be willing to do that?"

Calvert looked at him, "For my brother? Anything."

Renard nodded, turning to Wu and taking the veil off of his face. Some mild scabs where the boils once were, it would heal over. Casually, Renard picked Wu up again, looking to Nick, "Let's get him to his apartment first." The two started towards the door, talking to Calvert as they went. "Find the location to the trauminsel, don't go in yourselves."

Even while holding a grown man's limp body, Renard managed to hold the door slightly open long enough to make a dramatic exit. "We'll meet with you there."

Renard set Wu down on his bed, pushing back the covers and taking off his shoes, but no more than that.

"Is this really necessary?" Nick called from the kitchen where he was putting some takeout in the fridge with a stupid little royal purple sticky note that Renard keeps a stack of in his pockets. "Yes," Renard came back into the connected living room, "he'll be starving when he wakes up, and I'd rather not have him eat something he shouldn't in desperation."

"Yeah, alright," Nick agreed, checking his phone. "So what's the plan here? Or is it really just storm into a crackhouse and drag them out kicking and screaming?" 

Renard shook his head. "I have something in the car. It's something like an anesthesia, but it'll knock them out even with the drugs in their system. Do with that what you will."

Nick nodded, phone dinging. "That's Monroe, they found the place."

Renard nodded, leaving the apartment and locking it behind them both. They were a couple steps down the hallway when he spoke up, "So who's the Blutbad?"

Nick groaned, "God, you're worse than my aunt and uncle." Séan chuckled lowly, a smile spreading across his face.

"No, really," Séan glanced at Nick as they got into the elevator, "your scents are too mingled to be anything professional or recent. I'm not asking for details, I just need to know if he can be trusted."

Nick weighed his options. "Uh, ok, so he's kind of the first wesen I ever met." Renard raised an eyebrow. "I mean obviously, not the very, very first, but the first wesen I, y'know, spoke to after the whole Grimm thing. Uhm, he's cool, made sure I had morals, kept me from dying." Nick took a deep breath. "Remember the case with the Siegbarste? Where Hank faced off against him?"

Séan's eyes widened as he nodded hesitantly, "I do, why?"

The elevator stopped, the two walking out to Renard's undercover hide-a-body car. "He was the one to shoot the guy, cause I was, you know, out of commission."

"That's how you pulled that off?" Séan asked, surprised.

"What, you thought I snuck out of my hospital room, through the window mind you, to go try and kill a siegbarste that beat my ass a few hours prior?"

Renard made a face as he got into the drivers side.

Nick rolled his eyes, "Fine, ok, fair, but it wasn't me, that was Monroe."

"He went out and killed a siegbarste for you? You only met him…" Séan did the math inside his head, "2 weeks prior."

Nick nodded, looking sheepish. "To be fair, it was a strong first meeting."

"Good lord," Séan groaned, "any other cases he helped out in?" It was a sarcastic, and very much rhetorical question. A question that was not meant to be answered. Nick stayed quiet.

"Nick…" Renard's eyes narrowed as he drove them down the semi-busy streets of late night downtown Portland. "Did he help you on any other cases?"

"Oh would you look at that, we're here. Gosh, we should get going, yeah?" Nick jumped out of the car, not even waiting for Renard to come to a complete stop to park. Calvert and Monroe startled, looking between Nick and the exhausted looking Captain with questioning expressions.

"Alright, Cap can't go in cause he's the police Captain," Nick looked at Calvert,  "you'll probably kill them on the spot, Monroe, you and me, let's go." Nick grabbed the red cards from Calvert, grabbed Monroe's wrist and pulled them both away from the two before Renard could get a word out.

Monroe looked at Nick, "What was that all about?"

"Avoiding some very awkward questions."

Rosalee and Renard were delegated to waiting in the car as backup. Fortunately, because this was the 21st century, they could scroll on their phones like normal people to waste the time.

Unfortunately, their lives were not very normal.

"Burkhardt's bracelet," Calvert started off strong, even with her voice hesitating. "Does… does he know what that means?" The Captain remained quiet, a silent question. "He doesn't carry himself like someone with that kind of protection. Does he even know who you are?"

"Does he know me?" Renard echoed, "Almost. About the Romulus Medallion? No. He wears it for sentimental reasons, from what he told me."

Calvert breathed a sigh of both surprise and relief. "I thought he was going to kill me at first. Thought the Council was cutting some loose ends, and when I found out he was a Grimm-" she shivered. "Imagine my surprise when he invites a Blutbad over to help him investigate."

The silence returns for a split second as Renard hesitates on his response.

"When he was first hired, I had to keep all of my wesen officers away from him. Couldn't risk him getting told something and then losing it. Pain in the ass, but they figured out he was a kehrseite eventually." Renard sighed, leaning back against his seat. "How long that's going to last is up for debate."

Calvert laughed softly, and atmosphere shifting back down. "Is he the…" she cut herself off, not knowing if she even had the right to ask such a thing. "There's only so much one person can do that can earn them that kind of honor."

Renard looked out into the starless night sky. The city lights were far more colorful than the stars could ever be anyway. "Let's leave it there, shall we?"

Monroe took the cards from Nick, and walked up to the bouncer casually. Nick could see the sharpened ears of a woge, and then the bouncer waved them both on in. That was some very lax security, but hey, what does he know?

The entrance to the place opened up into a balcony overseeing several bright red tents. There were benches and tables around the perimeters of the room, several containers and devices laying on them. No security cameras, but one other bouncer at the top of the stairs. There were some waiters, numbers scarce, in some mostly black uniforms. There was a mild shine of a logo on the jackets, glistening as they moved between the tents and the tables. 

They took a step down. Monroe tried to sniff the air once, then had to stifle a cough. He shook his head, "I can't smell anyone in here, man. We'll have to look for them." 

Nick nodded, quickly checking each tent under the pretense of finding an open one or, as he hatched a plan, a specific one. Monroe followed behind Nick slowly, unsure of how they were going to do this. 

Nick stopped by one, closing the small flap entrance before they could notice. Quickly, he made his way towards the only hallway in the small building, signaling Monroe to go up and distract the guard. He made a 'Come on, really? Don't make me' face before relenting.

 One of two off rooms was a bathroom, and no, he was not checking that, and another seemed to be a locker room of sorts. To be fair, most of these people seemed extremely well put together, and everyone needs a hobby. The showers were likely to wipe off the smell, if the overly strong eucalyptus was anything to go by.

The other attendants didn't pay any mind to him as he walked in, looking at him for a moment and then shrugging it off. One of the showers were going, clothes left unattended. Quickly, he snatched the jacket off of the pile, shrugging it on over his already black shirt. He walked out, laying his own jacket on the supply boxes next to the tables.

Nick grabbed the materials, remembering how they were formatted when passing by some of the attendants, pulling the oil from his pocket and heavily spiking both the mouth piece of the smoking instrument and the drug itself. Hopefully their senses of smell would be shot because it smelled like fire in a distinct, undeniable way. 

He carried the tray over to the tent, seeing Monroe still talking to the guard casually. Nick pulled back the tent flap, smiling at the boys as he placed down the tray, picking up the mostly empty one. He didn't have to wait long, the silhouette's of their bodies dropping in the time it took to put the tray back on the table. 

Nick shrugged off the jackets, replacing it with his own blue leather one. He looked inside the tent, faking concern. He rushed back up the stairs, looking to Monroe and a very skeptical guard. 

"Hey, Josh and Clint are completely out of it. Help me haul their asses back to the car, will you?" Nick asked, not even glancing at the guard. Monroe nodded, looking ever so slightly smug as he followed Nick down. 

The two weren't completely out, but they were slumped over and hazy enough to not put up a fight. Nick dragged out the smaller one, swinging his arm over his shoulder as he muttered, "Man, you do not know when to stop."

Monroe chuckled, heaving the two up the stairs, ignoring their hushed ramblings. The two bouncers both inside and out let them pass uninterrupted, making this quite the successful operation.

Nick looked at Monroe, "Hey, we've never done a stealth mission before." 

Renard and Calvert met them half way. throwing the bodies in the back of his car. The Captain sighed, closing the trunk, "I found them in the back of an alley, passed out and brought them to the station, got that?" Nick nodded. Renard turned to Calvert, "Sorry for the interruption, Ms. Calvert, I'll let you get back to packing."

"Eh," she hummed, looking around at the colors pouring out of almost every window around them, "I was considering keeping it running, actually." She smiled, "Something about the Portland charm. If you two were willing to help me set up shop, that is?"

Well, Nick didn't have anything else to do that night.

Hank stared up at his ceiling. He would be pacing right now, but his legs near gave out on him after the 3rd hour he spent doing just that. All the lights are on. It's near 5 in the morning, and he hadn't slept a wink. He'd have to call off work the next day too. Hopefully Nick and Renard wouldn't be mad. 

Adalind.

That name was repeating in his head like a mantra. He thought he had gotten over that. She was pretty sure, she was blonde, but it was a brief interaction and Nick had almost hissed at her like an angry cat. He had no reason to be this... infatuated with her. 

But all he could think about were those beautiful ocean blues staring up at him, baring a basket of heartfelt and homemade baked goods. Payment, but she didn't owe a damn thing. 

It wasn't like him to get so distracted like this. He wasn't this bad in highschool, there's no reason he should be now. 

His phone rings, and he nearly falls over himself trying to get to his bedside table to answer it. "Hello?"

"Hey Hank, I just got my schedule for next week figured out. There's this one restaurant that just opened. I was wondering if you'd want to go with me, try it out."

"Yeah, of course, what time?" Hank sounded so stupid, like a teenager fumbling around with his first conversation with a girl since hitting puberty. He wants to hit himself over the head. 

"I would say 5 o' clock on Friday night? I can make the reservation, don't worry."

"Of course, I'll be there."

Adalind has a light breeze under her voice, a slight laugh. "Oh, believe me, I know you will."

Chapter Text

Séan opened the door to his penthouse, jacket draped across one arm, keys in the other. The lights were completely off, the hallway leading in shrouded in darkness.

Someone was here.

Séan sighed, putting down his keys and holding his pistol just under his jacket. Judging from the smell, it was something mammalian, vaguely canine. The only people able to get into his home undetected would be some kind of group of interest. It was either the Council, the Resistance, the Verrat, or some new comer, though that didn't seem likely.

"Grüß Gott," Renard greeted as he walked in, not even looking around for the intruder. "An stilus magis Latinus est?"

There was a chuckle from behind him, someone with a thick German accent. "You're good, I'll give you that. Most royals wouldn't have known I was here until I made myself known."

Renard gave a fake smile, draping his jacket over one of the chairs by his kitchen island. "Well, most of my family aren't the most familiar with these proceedings. However, if you let yourself into my home uninvited again, I will kill you."

The man raised his hands in faux surrender, a mark of overlapping diamonds inked onto the palm of his right hand. So it was the Verrat then. Renard should have expected, with all of the Resistance movement in Portland lately. What they were after specifically, he'd have to find out. "Allow me to introduce myself, dear Captain."

Renard resisted the urge to roll his eyes, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. "My name is Edgar Waltz. I'm after Ian Harmon."

"So this is Resistance matters?"

"Yes, well, the Resistance has been rather active lately, and you seem to be rather empathetic to their presence here."

Renard looked the man in the eyes, expression carefully neutral. "Apathetic," he corrected. "Empathetic would mean you would be dead before you got into the city."

Waltz smiled, the empty kind where everything is a joke when you have looked in the eyes of Death too many times to count. "To remain neutral is to side with the enemy, Captain. And the Verrat does not take kindly to those on enemy lines."

Waltz had his hands in his pockets, moving towards the elevator, face obscuring in the dark. "Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum."

"Apparently, the gunman crossed the street here, fired three times," Wu toured them the crime scene, gesturing at the damage. "Hence the broken car windows and the defacing of our friendly visitor greeting." They stopped over a small blood splatter, glass pieces stained. "Our best guess is that shot number three was the one that landed."

"So somebody got hit, have we checked local hospitals?" Hank asked, looking around at the familiar buzz of police investigation chatter.

"Yep, all turned back empty, so someone clearly has a reason for getting shot and it's one we probably won't like."

"Or they thought the bill would kill them," Nick remarked as he looked across the street where the shooter would be. "Not impossible in todays economy." Nick looked back to Wu. "Any descriptions?"

Wu pointed over to an idle civilian. "The bus driver says he was a witness, awaiting your arrival."

Hank and Nick nodded, making their way over while talking in slightly less than hushed voices. Hank sighed, "You think this is going to be another one of those weird cases?"

Nick shrugged, "With our luck, yeah. We're overdue for some bullshit, anyway."

The guy was nice enough for a bus driver in Portland, Oregon. "I didn't see the shooter, but I did see the guy who got off my bus." The man pulled a blue beanie from the dashboard. "I only saw anything cause I got off to try and give him his hat back but he took off running as soon as he got off. I got his bus ticket too, if that'll help ya any."

The man passed over both the blue beanie with some possible hair samples, and a bus ticket with a very British sounding name. "He had an accent too, but I don't think you need that to figure out he's not from here. That and he had this old pale green leather rucksack, you don't see those everyday and especially not in Portland."

Nick and Hank nodded, taking the ticket and looking it over. It was either a sloppy move from the victim or an alias, depending on how high profile this case will be.

Wu waved them over from where he had disappeared from their sides and zipped on over to the damaged cars. "Got a shell casing!" The Sergeant walked over with a plastic baggy, looking victorious. "Let's get ourselves a gun I.D."

Monroe looked at his phone, lowering the heat on the pan before he picked it up. She slid the call button on. "Rosalee? What's wrong-"

"Can you come to the Spice Shop?" Rosalee cut him off abruptly, sounding frantic.

Monroe blinked, and turned the stove off. "Yeah, sure, what happened?"

There was a grunt of exertion on the other side. "Uh- just the usual other world nonsense. I just need an extra pair of hands, think you can help?"

Monroe was already by the door, shrugging a jacket on. "Yeah, I'll be right over. Just hang tight."

Cool. Not like he was doing a favor for a Calvert or anything. Hopefully it wouldn't be like the stuff Nick gets him into, he's got enough on his plate as it is.

Nick and Hank both sighed when they got the call, and were thinking about lunch as they walked into the bar. It was the second boring case that day, and personally, Nick was still out of it from dodging Séan's questions.

Wu met them by the entrance, like always. "Single shot, killer came in with a plan."

Hank and Nick looked at the slumped body on the floor, single shot to the head. No doubt was robbing the place, quick cash, too high of a cost to care about. And-

Nick picked up a passport which was very, very obviously planted. Sure, the bartender could've swiped it and chucked it, but it wasn't even hidden under furniture. It was just… left. Right out in the open. Someone who could shoot a man in the head and walk out with no other fanfare wouldn't make a mistake like that.

Seriously, even for some random robber, it was right there.

Hank and Nick looked at each other, and then back at the passport with skeptical looks. Nick put the passport of on Ian Harmon on the bar ledge, bending down to grab another bullet. "9 millimeter again. How much do you want to bet it's the same guy?

"I hope it is," Hank muttered, exhaustion lacing his words. "I need something distracting today."

Nick nodded, bagging the bullet to compare. Speaking of which, analyzation should be back any minute now-

Hank smiled, pulling out his phone. He answered, putting Wu on speaker. "Hey, the gun got I.D'ed. It decided to be special, because it is not your average 9 millimeter. The makeups brass, manufactured by one Deutsche Waffen Munitions who makes Luger semi-automatic pistols. Place your guesses for the year it was made…"

"1945"

"1935"

"You're both wrong, 1902. Also ran Lester Cullum, not a single match literally anywhere. It's probably an alias. When you can literally choose a name, you think you would choose something more badass, but hey, what do I know?"

"Good work, Wu, you're great," Nick said, Hank hanging up the call. Nick stretched his arms behind his back. "So this is definitely more high profile then." The man looked up at the ceiling, hands clasped together. "Just one normal case. That's all I ask of you."

One of the officers standing guard outside walked in. "Hey, we got a possible witness out here."

Nick and Hank turned to each other, then held their hands up for rock-paper-scissors.

Nick lost.

Nick sighed, walking out of the shop and looking to the older man… who was carrying a green leather rucksack. Ok then.

"I saw a guy run across the street like he was in a hurry. I didn't think much of it, then the cops showed up here and- I heard the bartender was murdered?" The man just gave off bad vibes in waves. He also held his a's a little longer than any Portland local. "Did you arrest anybody yet?"

Nick shook his head, putting on his best customer service voice. "No yet, no." He pulled the passport from his pocket, showing the I.D. "Is this the man you saw?"

The man's eyes glowed around the iris, blue shifting to yellow tinted orange. He nodded firmly. "Yes, yes it is."

Nick nodded, smiled, and walked away.

Monroe walked into the shop, the first thing he gathered was the thick stench of iron and panic filling the air.

"Rosalee?" he called, expecting the worst.

"In the back!" Rosalee's voice responded, muffled behind walls. "I'm not the one hurt, don't worry!"

Monroe rushed over, looking apprehensively at the man bleeding out on the bed who was quiet and most likely sky high with pain meds. So this was the type of shit Nick would drag him into. Damn it, he could deal with one, but two? He was going to get gray hairs at this rate.

Rosalee pushed some medical supplies into his hands, pointing over to the sink on the other side of the room. "Wash your hands, up to the elbow, and sterilize these."

Monroe complied, talking to her as he moved. "This isn't another potion cure, is it?"

He could hear a soft smirk in Rosalee's voice. "No, this ones a bullet. Boring, I know."

Monroe walked over with the needed supplies, setting them down on a set out silver platter. "It's not boring, it's just something you go to the hospital for. Which we aren't doing why?"

Rosalee grabbed a pair of tweezers from the table, and adjusted the lamp to beam directly on a nasty bullet wound lodged in the side of this guys upper ribcage. "Uhh," her voice came out unsure, "ever heard of the Lauffer?"

Monroe's eyes widened, looking blankly between the two as he grabbed forceps to hold the wound open. "You mean the Resistance? You have a member of the Resistance bleeding out on your couch, and you called me?"

"You have morals. And no one would suspect you to be involved. Any surgeon I could call would give us up in a heartbeat for the right price." Rosalee picked around the wound as best she could without agitating it. The man gave a soft groan of pain as she did so. "Also, this is Ian Harmon," Rosalee corrected with a small voice, as if admitting to something she didn't want to.

Monroe looked at her like she had lost her mind. Which honestly, she may have, because why in the hell is she calling Monroe of all people to help her fix up the famous journalist and co-leader of the Resistance Ian Harmon?

"I already answered that," Rosalee stated flatly, adjusting the lamp again and getting a slight bit of blood on it while doing so.

"Look, if someone is really after this guy, the best thing to do would be to call Nick." Monroe ignored the penalizing look Rosalee gave him (though, he noted in his head, it was definitely not a 'no I'm not calling a Grimm' look). "I know you don't necessarily trust him, it took me a while to as well, but Nick is very, very capable. And when you might be going up against the Verrat? You'll need all the help you can get."

Rosalee sighed, taking out the tweezers with one shiny brass bullet held between the ends. She made a motion like she was going to run her hands through her hair, but remembered half way through that she couldn't.

"Fine," she relented, sinking into her spinning chair. "Go get the sutures out of that bag would you? We can call Nick after."

Ian was up and at 'em just a short time after. Wonders of wesen medicine, amiright?

"So, who is this Nick guy?" Ian asked, suspicion lacing every word. "If he is a good person, I hope you've warned him just how dangerous it is to help me."

Both Rosalee and Monroe let out a laugh of irony. "Believe me," Rosalee scoffed, "I don't think he would be worried about that."

"Actually, I don't think Nick knows what the Resistance is," Monroe stated soberly. Rosalee looked at him weirdly, "Really?"

Monroe nodded. "All the information he gets about the Wesen world is from me, and I haven't ever mentioned those groups of interest before. 'Course, I don't think it'd take much. He'd hear 'Government resistance group' and say 'sign me up'."

Ian raised his hands slightly in alarm. "Wait, he doesn't even know what the Resistance is? Are you bringing Kehrseite into this? Because a human, however skilled, will not win in a fight against a Hundjager."

Monroe turned back to Ian. Right. "Uh, he's not Kehrseite. He was for a little while, but he most definitely isn't now. Believe me, he is more than capable."

"What the hell wouldn't know what the Resistance is and win against the Verrat?!"

"Well, uh- listen, for what he is, he is a very kind person-"

"He's a Grimm."

Monroe turned to Rosalee for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon. "Oh ok, no sugar coating it or anything? This is kind of a let them down easy situation."

Monroe's statement was only emphasized with Ian's panicked amber glow. "Are you fucking with me right now, because this isn't funny-"

"Relax, he's a friend," Rosalee stated firmly. "He is nothing like the fairytales, and would probably help you without a second thought." The woman turned to Monroe with light hesitation crossing her features. "Hey, you said he was new, right? How new, because if he can't fight a Hundjager-"

"Pfft," Monroe laughed, "he took down two reapers and managed to kill a Siegbarste, he'll be fine."

"Seriously?"

"You're bringing a fucking Grimm here! He'll kill me on the spot! Are you serious-?!"

Ok, this conversation was not going well so far. The two turned back to Ian, silently agreeing to focus on him for the time being. "That's just a measure of what Nick's capable of, trust me, he's a good person-" Monroe tried, Rosalee muttered "too good" under her breath.

"A Grimm? A good person? Are you hearing yourself- they're not people, they're monsters! If he didn't kill me, he'd sell me to the royals!"

Rosalee cut him off, staring Ian down. "Listen to me, as improbable as it sounds, Burkhardt is a trustworthy person. Not only did he hunt down Freddy's killers, but he also came back and helped me too. With the shop, with Freddy's murder, everything. He protected me when he had no obligation to. For now, he's the best we've got."

Ian didn't look convinced, scoffing. "How much did you have to pay him to hunt the killers?"

"Not a dime."

"Listen, I know first hand how crazy this sounds, but he's saved my ass more times than I can count and has actively helped other people with no motive other than it was the right thing to do." Monroe looked at the Fuchsbau, who no doubt was still thinking of the stories his household had of Grimms. "I don't expect you to fully trust him, just let him help."

Ian threw his hands up in disbelieving resignation. "Alright, let's put my head on the chopping block."

Nick walked into the Spice shop, Monroe already waiting for him. The wolf perked up when he walked in, nudging him towards the back room. "Hey, you have the crossbow on you, right?"

Nick nodded, holding it up. "Yeah, with the yaltox, right?"

Monroe nodded. "Yeah, it's Hundjager after this guy. I'll fill you in here in a second, but first I wanna make sure you two are well acquainted. He's a bit jumpy."

Nick walked in, and locked eyes with Ian Harmon/Lester Cullum. The man froze as he did, staring at him warily. Calvert also tensed up from Nick's lack of reaction, staying by Ian/Lester's side.

Nick clicked his tongue once, and turned to Monroe. "If I had a nickel every time you were harboring a wounded via bullet fugitive and called me for help, I would have 2 nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's really weird that it's happened twice now." Nick shrugged off the weirdness again, he trusted Monroe by now. "Alright, what's going on?"

Monroe heaved a sigh of relief, gesturing to the man. "Nick, meet Ian Harmon. Ian, this is Nick, the Grimm."

"A pleasure," the man muttered, looking at Nick like he was a feral animal. "You said I was wanted?"

Nick nodded, "Yeah, there was a murder at a bar where your passport was planted. A little obvious for my tastes, but the evidence is still applicable in court." Nick rolled his shoulders slightly, not liking the tension in the room. "Who's trying to kill you?"

Ian sighed, losing some of the hesitance but not a lot of it. "Edgar Waltz, he's a member of the Verrat."

Nick nodded seriously, then turned to Monroe with a hand to the side of his mouth as he whisper shouted, "Who's the Verrat?"

Monroe didn't do the hand thing, but played along with the whisper shouting that Ian could obviously hear. "Uh- the people who keep the status quo, basically. He's-" Monroe tilted his head to Ian "-with the Resistance, which is exactly what it sounds like."

Nick made a small 'ah' and returned to the conversation, once again completely serious. Rosalee had a small smile as she rolled her eyes, and Nick successfully wrangled a bemused eyebrow raise from Harmon. "What brings you here of all places?"

Ian sighed, looking at Rosalee. "Freddy had some papers stored for me, a new identity just in case. We've been trying to find them, but by the looks of it, I'll need some brand new which means staying in one place." The man treaded closer to Nick as one would a stray cat. "Listen, I know that doing this goes against a lot of rules, and probably some that you don't want to break, but I need to get out of here. Please."

Nick tilted his head. "You say that like I have a reason not to help you. If you're working for the betterment of people, why wouldn't I help?"

"Well, you're a Grimm, and I'm a member of the Resistance." Ian sucked in a breath, "You don't know what that means, though, do you?"

Nick looked to Monroe, who did not look excited to explain this bit. "Yeah, ok, quick history lesson. The Verrat work for the Seven Families, royalty, who obviously benefit from oppressing people. The Resistance has been working against them for quite literally thousands of years."

The wolf shifted slightly, looking to both Rosalee and Ian who gave sympathetic glances. "Grimms only appeared, truly appeared, a few centuries ago, and they started out by working for the Families. A lot of them still do, which is why you being a Grimm might be a little… nerve wracking for someone in the Resistance."

Nick rubbed a hand down his face. "Yeah, yeah ok, so the same shit I always get, that's fine." The Grimm stood up, "I know where to get some papers, give like- a day." He looked to Rosalee and Monroe, "Can you guys keep him safe until I get those?"

The two nodded firmly. "Ok, I'll be as fast as I can. Just stay here, stay out of sight," Nick stepped behind the front desk, leaving the crossbow on the shelf just under. "And please don't die."

Nick walked into Renard's office, finding the man staring at some papers he was supposed to be reading.

"Есть свободная минутка?" Nick greeted. Renard didn't look surprised, simply pushing whatever he was attending to to the side and focusing on Nick.

"Another one of those conversations I take it?" Renard asked, responding with the language in kind.

"Yeah, sorry to bother you. You know anyone who can forge some clean passports?" Nick asked openly. His Captain had done this before, but this time, it seemed like he knew who this was for.

Séan sighed, long and deep, leaning back in his chair to far he could look through the window behind him. "This for Ian Harmon, I take it?" 

"You know about him?"

"Waltz came to my apartment the other night, threatening me to either help him or stay out of his way."

"He threatened you?"

"Barely, but I responded neutrally anyways. Can't without the Verrat thinking I'm with the Resistance. And being as closely tied to the Royal side of things? Couldn't risk it. I'm sure you have that handled, though." Séan leaned forward again, ruffling through some papers in his drawers. "Here, his name is Reginald. Ian's ID is in evidence, take it with you. And do try to play this at two angles. The more open the options, the better."

"They don't know I'm helping?"

"They don't think you know about me. Keep it that way, if you could."

"I mean, do I?"

"Do you what?"

"Know about you."

Séan looked at Nick, long and hard and with too many shared emotions. "More than you should. I'll explain everything eventually. Just- trust me. Just for now."

Nick took the papers, an address and nothing more. He'd burn it after, like always. The detective laughed, a mix of mirthful and mirthless. "It was funny. He was so hesitant to trust me cause he thought I'd run to a Royal, rat him out."

The two didn't say anything for a long moment, testing the waters well trodden by then. Séan only smiled, "By my family's standards, wesen can't be Royal." 

Nick gave a small nod, something settling in his chest. He was about to leave, back turned. "Be careful, Nick. Please."

Nick was halfway to the address when his phone rang. Unknown number. He picked up, already knowing who it was probably going to end up being.

"Hello Detective," a thick German accent came through the other line. Renard must have set something up, then. Play along, act your part. The man continued, "Let me introduce myself-"

"Edgar Waltz. I'm aware."

"So your Royal did tell you. Brilliant. You are aware of the terms entailed by a Freidenredein, yes?"

Nick stored the word for later, but nodded along anyways. "I am."

"Fantastic, let's say… Union Station, in 10 minutes. Does that work for you?"

"Sure. How will I know you?"

"Please, you don't have to undersell yourself with me, Ritter."

The line ended as soon as it started, leaving Nick creeped out. He sounded so cheery for someone in this business. Of course, he'd take that over dark and brooding any day but still, it made Nick antsy.

Time to call his Wesen Dictionary

"Are you always this animated?" Ian asked, looking at Monroe over his shoulder. Monroe rolled his eyes.

"You're kind of throwing me off my routine. Usually, throwing me off my routine means some movement, not waiting around in one place until something interesting happens." Monroe stretched his arms for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

"You care about this Grimm quite a lot, don't you?" Ian tried quietly. He sounded bone deep tired, Monroe would be too, but curious. Not really curious, more like dumb founded confusion, but same difference.

"Of course I do, he's my friend. I know you don't like him, but you've only ever been in the same room with him for less than five minutes."

"I don't dislike him, it's just-" Ian gestured wildly in front of him, well, as much as he could with a sling on one arm "-he's a Grimm! I've only run into a Grimm one time before and it was an actual nightmare! Nearly died, and I only survived because it was 25 against 1."

Monroe looked back at the Fuchsbau. "Wait, do the Royals still use Grimms? I thought they severed that connection years ago."

Ian groaned. "I- I shouldn't be telling you this, but fuck it, you're friends with a Grimm, this might be useful to you." The Fuchsbau moved from the dining room and settled on the couch like this was a therapy session. "From what we've been uncovering, Grimm's only listened to the Royals because they had to. Some kind of bond, probably a soul bond. How you do that without a soul in the first place, I don't know but that's besides the point."

Monroe sat on the floor, stretching as he listened to the man continue on. And he thought his own life was crazy. Hey, if they had the time, they should compare stories-

Ian continued, "At some point, Grimm's figured out how to sever that bond, and most of them ran. It's just that Royals can still call on that bond if they get their hands on one. No clue what they do to them, but it makes them into these…" Ian opened his eyes wide, gesturing vaguely in remembrance, "mindless monsters- It was the most horrifying thing I've ever seen. Thought that was what Grimms were like until Burkhardt walked in."

"Is that why you were so scared of him?" Monroe sat up, looking at Harmon. He looked haunted, traumatized down to the core.

Ian nodded. "It's stupid in hindsight, but that's all I could imagine." Ian sat back against the couch, staring up at the popcorn ceiling blankly. "Just… I wonder what they did to it, in that case. What brought it to that point."

Monroe scoffed, "I wonder what Grimm's were like before the whole murder thing, actually. Hey you know stuff I wouldn't. Are there any records of Grimm's before the Royals started using them as assassins?"

Ian was about to answer when Monroe's phone rang. The Blutbad chuckled, muttering, "Speak of the devil." Monroe paused once, listening. "Wait, hold on-"

Monroe tilted the phone to his shoulder, turning to Ian. "You ever heard of a Freidenreden? Or Freidenroden, Nick's German skills are abysmal-"

Ian didn't care for Monroe's attempt at levity, bolting upright and rushing over to to the phone. "Wait, what? Put him on speaker." Monroe obliged, barely getting a word of notice out before Ian was frantically asking, "Who asked you about a Freidenreden?"

"Waltz called me," was the response they got. "asked to meet with me. I don't think he knows I'm helping you, but I would like to know what I just agreed to."

"It's a truce, a white flag meeting." Ian sounded scared, but Nick would be too in his place. "You both come unarmed, and you both walk away of your own volition for at least 10 paces. But, as soon as that meeting ends, it's fair game, so watch your back."

Monroe frowned, looking at the phone skeptically even if it would provide no effect. "You can't be thinking of meeting this guy unarmed-"

"He will honor it. Though, armed only means conventional weaponry. Blades, and whatever else you have at your disposal will not count."

Nick sighed on the other end, a background noise cutting off as his engine cut. "Alright, I'll call after and tell you how it goes." The Grimm took one more deep breath in before hanging up. "Wish me luck."

Nick was leaned against a wall, pointedly not looking at the figure approaching him from his left.

"Detective Burkhardt," the man greeted. "Thank you for your punctuality. Sorry for the short notice," Waltz smirked, low and content. Slowly, the man took his hands out of his pockets. There wasn't an outline of any weapons, but that wasn't entirely telling either.

The deep rooted fear most wesen had for Grimms was present in Waltz, but it was dulled. He lingered closer to Nick than Monroe used to dare to, and was far more open in speaking to him. Hell, he was still smiling, if tinged with discomfort.

"Renard didn't tell me about you initially. Only figured to warn me about interrupting your hunt a few moments ago." Waltz looked at Nick the way one would look at a particularly effective attack dog. "I'm simply here to ask that once your done, you bring the body to me. I need something to send my employers, after all."

Nick looked at the man blankly. "And why would I do that?"

Waltz didn't lose his smile, but definitely grew sharper in his demeanor. "You're a rather passionate being for a Grimm, and I take it you aren't keen to more people like the bartender dropping dead, yes?"

Waltz smiled at Nick's dark look, giving him a hesitant pat on the shoulder as he began to walk by, "Pleasure to work with you, Ritter."

Nick walked into the shop when it was already dark outside. It was a vintage camera shop, filled with both photography and the devices used to capture it. The man looked startled, cautious. Nick walked in a little further, glancing at the photography on the walls. Children's faces, artist renditions.

He shouldn't get this man caught up in this. It was too dangerous.

Nick's mind flickered back to the picture of a beaten and bruised Monroe. The sketch of the red scythe painted on his car. 'Status Quo'. It was worth it. Besides, when had he ever given into the risk of something being dangerous?

"Can I help you?" the man greeted, no doubt code lying underneath the common phrase.

"A friend sent me."

"And who would that be?"

"Freddy."

The man's face turned serious, closing the distance in a way a stranger hadn't done since Nick's Grimm abilities manifested. The man leaned in, "What do you want?"

"A passport," Nick dug through his pocket, pulling out the ID.

The man reared away from it in recognition. He shook his head, glancing to the side and through the door, checking. "I- I can't do that-"

Nick wanted to plead, a man like this would give into empathy sooner or later. But he was looking at the pictures behind Nick. A little too much for comfort. Nick tilted his head, playing into the more carnal side he didn't really possess. "You can't, or you won't?"

The man had tears well up in his eyes. For a moment, fur spread across his face. Not an Eisenbeiber, but not something Nick had seen before. He stumbled back, hitting the wall rather quickly. Nick took a step forward.

The man all but entirely broke down. "Please, I swear I haven't given any papers to anyone! No one has come in asking for him yet! I'd call you if anyone did, I told you-!"

So Waltz already got to him. Figures. He'd have to get the papers some other way. Go back to Renard for another source, if not just scrounge up his own. Or hey, maybe get Séan back into the practice. He knew how to forge papers, but from what he told Nick. Hadn't done it in literal years, though, hadn't needed to.

Nick lent out a hand to the shaking man. He stared at it for a moment, unsure of something so simple. Out of probable fear, he took it, Nick hauling him to his feet in a moment. Nick gave one curt nod, and then left without another word.

He made sure he wasn't being followed, taking a ride on his bike as he called Monroe

"Nick," Monroe picked up, "you're on speaker, got anything?"

Nick sighed angrily. "No, Waltz got to my source before me. No doubt he's done so to almost everyone like him nearby."

There were a few sighs of frustration on the other end. Nick shared the sentiment. "Don't get too mad, I know a guy, one that is literally impossible to compromise like that. It'll take a bit longer than planned, but don't worry about it."

Ian's voice spoke up, sounding like it was a distance away. "So what are you calling us for?"

"I'm telling you that anyone who would make those papers for Freddy has probably ratted out the Spice Shop's front by now, and you should get the hell out of there."

There were a few curses, some more loud and explicit than others. "What?"

Ian, presumably, let out a soft growl. "Rosalee thought of that. We're at Freddy's old place, she's there alone."

Rosalee was restocking shelves in anticipation. She needed to move, but with nothing to do but wait, there wasn't much to get to.

The bell on the front door jingled. Normally, she would just insist they're closed, but at the moment, she needed something, anything, to do.

"Sorry for coming in so late," the man apologized, "I just didn't know where else to go."

Rosalee smiled, focussing on the man as a much needed distraction. "What can I help you with?"

The man smiled, reaching into a pale green rucksack and pulling out a gun, muffler already affixed to the muzzle. His smile didn't waiver once as he leveled the barrel to Rosalee's eyes. "Finding Ian Harmon, if you could. Please and thank you."

Waltz glanced at the watch on his wrist, using the tip of his gun to push up his sleeve. "You may think I am a monster," the man didn't comment on the time, "but what I am is necessary.

"No society can survive without order, and in their pursuit of justice, the Resistance will always fall to revenge. The oppressed will always become the oppressors. People like Mr. Harmon only feed the festering rot that is eating away at our world." Waltz looked at her, eyes boring into her own. "You don't understand a word I've been saying,"

Rosalee hummed in something like a laugh, but her expression didn't change. "Sorry, I wasn't listening."

The car slid to a stop on the rain slicked asphalt. Ian made a move to unlock his seat belt, Monroe pushing him back down by the shoulder. "No, no no, you're staying here."

Ian huffed, "This is my fight, I've already caused you and Rosalee more than enough trouble-"

"If he see's you, you will die. He doesn't know who I am, we can use that."

"He could kill you-"

"Yeah, I know. But we're not risking anything until we know how Rosalee's doing. If he hasn't killed her already-" Monroe caught a glimpse of himself in the reflect of his car window, brilliant crimson shining back at him. His hand paused on the handle to the door, denting the metal.

"He brought her into this to get to me," Ian advised softly. "Do not let it get to you."

A loud motorcycle pulled up beside them. Ian and Monroe both rushed out of the car, meeting the rain soaked Grimm. The detective tore of fhis helmet, leaving in Monroe's backseat. "I have a plan."

"You do?"

"You both stay out here, I go in alone."

"No, you don't know Waltz-" Ian objected almost immediately as the word's left his lips.

Nick shook his head, "I know him better than you think I do. He doesn't know my connection to you all-"

"So what does that get us-"

"Time."

Waltz hopped down from the counters, looking at his watch one final time. "Well, it seems your fuchsbau hero is a coward! But what's new?" He smiled, raising the gun to Rosalee's head with little other comment.

The door slammed open, the bell breaking off and falling to the floor, dented but not broken. Nick stood in the doorway, expression apathetically blank.

Both wesen flinched, staring at the Grimm with barely disguised fear. Even Waltz looked disconcerted, Nick noted smugly.

"Ian Harmon, as you requested." Nick resisted the urge to gesture to Calvert. "Now let her go, she's innocent."

Waltz pointed the gun at Rosalee once more, flicking it down to the carpet. "On the floor, now." The hundjager's attention returned to Nick, eyeing the onyx tipped handsclawstalons warily. He took several paces back, putting his back to the wall. "Alright, where is he?"

Before Nick could try and think of an answer, he whipped around at the door, retreating to the second entrance to the back room. Just a moment later, Monroe walked in, looking pissed.

Nick whipped around to Waltz, glaring, "Who the fuck is he?"

Waltz had his gun trained on Monroe now, who was looking between Waltz and Nick looking horrified. "What the hell- you have a Grimm here?!" Monroe shouted to Waltz, putting a healthy distance between him and Nick like a scared prey.

(Monroe's flinch away from the Grimm was genuine. Nick standing in the doorway, half shrouded in darkness and smelling like snow. None of them were woged, and yet those black soulless voids were still boring into him. The rain tracks him and Nick tracked in were sparkling under the lights, reflecting. It wasn't hard to fake being scared of him, because in the moment, he kind of was.)

Waltz's pistol followed Monroe, but he was distracted keeping an eye on Nick. Waltz was nervous, his teeth baring ask he barked out questions. "Who are you, what are you doing here?"

Monroe didn't hold his arms up (most Blutbad were arrogant enough not to), instead turning on Waltz with nervous indignation. "I'm the guy you called! I have Ian-" Monroe pointed to his car, figure slumped in the backseat. Waltz's eyes looked to Nick with some suspicion.

Nick bristled however much he thought he should, hackles raising while still remaining emotionless. "You're going to believe a Fuchsbau?"

Monroe frowned but couldn't meet its eye, "Who are you calling a Fuchsbau?"

Waltz turned on Rosalee, gun remaining aimed at Monroe's head. "Who did you call?"

Rosalee looked up at Waltz with a sharp grin, her hands behind her back. "I didn't call a Fuchsbau," Rosalee smirked once more, before taking the crossbow from behind her back, a poison laced arrow shooting straight through the hand holding the gun.

The Hundjager veered back woging, stumbling into something very cold and decidedly not a wall. He didn't have time to look at the monster he had run into, screaming as hands latched around his throat, clawingscratchingtearing and forcing him to the ground like a feral dog.

Cold, all he could feel around him was cold. Waltz's ears were ringing as he hit the floor, something pressing down on the scruff of his neck, keeping him there. Waltz turned around, looking up a the nightmare holding him down, taking a crossbow and reloading it slowly.

If the Grimm had let him up and told him to run, Waltz wouldn't have been able to. An immovable weight pressed him against the wood, the skills of a killer submissive as he lay there. Waltz could do nothing as he watched the Grimm stretch the string back around another bolt.

Then everything was black.

Nick sighed as he stepped off the man, setting the crossbow back down on the counter. Hopefully the shot not going through and through would limit the amount of blood they had to clean after this. Then again, the scratches around the man's neck weren't reassuring.

He looked to Monroe and Rosalee, and regretted doing so. Monroe grimaced and Calvert fully flinched away, a woge rippling under the surface.

"Christ, it can't be that bad," Nick complained to the two, hiking Waltz's body over his shoulder.

"It is," Rosalee steered clear of Nick as he walked the man out, "it really, really is."

Ian still leaned against the front of Monroe's car, startling so bad he might as well have jumped clear over the hood. Nick huffed, "Care to open the door for me?"

Ian slowly crept back over, holding the car door open to the saran wrapped backseat. Nick pulled back after shuffling with the body some more, and opened the trunk. 

Ian stood to the side, looking like he was about to run for the hills at the slightest move of aggression. Rosalee was by his side, looking at Nick with the same kind of caution. Monroe was leaned by the window of the car, no doubt waiting for it to click to the other two.

Nick sighed, "I'm not going to hurt you, give me a second."

Nick hauled out a dulled amber colored backpack, reaching in and pulling out some papers for demonstration. He held them out to Ian, flipping through and showing off the forgery and the man's new name. "Passport, I.D, drivers license."

Nick stuffed the two back into the bag and held out a wad of cash. "500 bucks in various currency," Nick put it back into the bag, and held it out to Ian. "and other various shit you'll need."

Ian took the bag, the strap hanging in his grasp loosely. "You're- you're letting me go?" The man sounded positively dumbfounded, looking around as if searching for a camera or a gun. "Just like that?"

Nick shrugged, moving under a streetlamp as his more human features returned. "Of course. Why wouldn't I? You haven't done anything."

"But- but I'm wesen- I'm a leader of the Resistance for fucks sake! You're supposed to be killing me right now." Ian glanced once at the bag again, then at Nick.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a Grimm and all that. Anyways, there's car keys in there too. Silver Camaro around the corner, you'll probably miss it."

Ian shuffled with the bag, finding the keys in one of the front pockets. He'd no doubt search the thing for trackers, and Nick himself wasn't sure if Renard had planted any. But for now, Ian only looked back at Rosalee, pulling her into a tight hug. 

With one thankful nod back at Nick, Ian left.

Monroe, Rosalee, and Nick were gathered around the fireplace in Rosalee's (Freddy's) house, hot cups of tea and coffee sitting by them. Nick was curled around the arm of the couch, sipping at a cup of sbiten and absorbing the warmth of the room.

Rosalee and Monroe both looked completely exhausted, sinking further into the cushions with every passing moment. It was just passed midnight by then, it wasn't too late to get some sleep but none of them felt ready to go to bed.

"But how-" Rosalee paused. "It was barely cold outside, not enough for snow. Or is that some Grimm ability I don't know about?"

Both Monroe and Nick shrugged. "I don't really know. It's happened before, the ice thing, froze a cup of coffee solid. It might be connected to emotion, I was pretty pissed both times it happened."

Monroe couldn't add anything, "Don't look at me. First time I've ever seen that nightmare fuel."

Nick huffed half with exasperation and half with affection. "It got mildly cold and it was dark, so what?"

Rosalee and Monroe both cringed in remembrance. Monroe put a hand to his head for a moment. "It wasn't just that, Nick, it spread farther than that."

Rosalee nodded in agreement, gripping her mug of tea. "I swore you had claws for a second there."

"I thought they were talons, honestly."

"It wasn't even just that either-," Rosalee sat up a little bit straighter "-you had something running down your face too. Like your skin was covered in ink seeping through your veins, but on the surface?"

Nick looked at the Fuchsbau from where he was immobile, laying down and sipping out of a clear cup with small pink flowers painted around the rims. 

Rosalee sank back down, "Ok, well, you did look scary then."

Monroe chuckled. "One hell of a woge, you guys have."

The room paused at that, the phrase out of place. Rosalee was the first to voice it. "Can Grimms woge?"

Nick stretched, and shifted around so he was leaning into Monroe's side. "Well, by the looks of it, this one sure can."

Chapter Text

Séan walked back out to his car, dress shoes clicking against the concrete. He flipped through his keychain, several charms clinking against even more keys (most of which he knew the purpose of).

Maybe that's why he didn't disarm the man within the first second.

A muzzle pressed against the back of his neck. Woolsey's voice was familiar, if stinging. The man reached forward, taking the gun from Séan's hip. "My apologies, sir. I was told to use force if necessary, and knowing you," Séan turned around to face the man who did, for his credit, look rather guilty, "I found it necessary."

"Your cousin would like to speak to you," Woolsey needlessly added as they got into the car, Séan driving, of course.

Séan turned the key in the ignition, holding onto the steering wheel with an almost limp grip. "Couldn't send a car for me like a normal person?"

"To be fair, last time he did that, you didn't respond all that well."

"I was provoked."

"They offered you a drive, so you tore off their hands?"

"…So maybe you are warranted—"

The two pulled into a mostly empty car garage at the very edge of the city. If he was murdered out here, it would be rather easy to make sure his killers were never caught. It was a good move; Séan would've chosen this place too.

Aaron was lying down on the roof of his too expensive car. So he wasn't planning on killing Séan, at least hoping not to. Then again, Séan's family wasn't one for inconspicuousness or intelligence. The man sat up, sliding off the hood. "Comment vas-tu?"

Séan raised his hands slightly, not having to look behind him to know Woolsey had a gun trained at his head. "I was doing just fine 'til I had a gun pressed to the back of my neck by a man I've known for nearly 20 years."

"It's nothing personal, sir."

Woolsey was right. It was a worker for the royal family. He had no other choice than to listen. "I know, but I'm taking it that way."

"No hard feelings, sir, your privilege."

Aaron smiled, standing prim and proper in that distinct way Séan's relatives always did. "Sorry for the blunt force, cousin, but I couldn't take the risk of you refusing my invitation. I have very little time here, and your antics would take too long."

"Just passing through and decided to stop by then? I'm hurt; you couldn't even dedicate a trip to come talk to me." Séan's voice was pure monotone, and he didn't bother to change it. "What do you want?" There were many things Aaron could be here for. Most of them Séan really hoped they didn't know about, and the other few would have him dead by now.

"Not just me, cousin, the family too." Aaron did that thing where he drew out his sentence in a faux concern laced with mockery. His family thought that it made them sound mysterious and intimidating. Personally, Séan thought they sounded like badly written villains in a children's show.

Aaron stepped forward, hovering too close. He reached around Séan's neck, fixing his tie to his family's signature knot. "We're getting rather impatient with you. You promised us the key, and yet you haven't delivered.

Aaron finished off the knot, leaving it too tight around Séan's neck. "And we've been hearing some rather interesting things about that Grimm of yours~." The royal only smirked when Séan tensed rather obviously.

"Oh yes. Did you know he managed to kill two reapers? Sent their heads back in an icebox. Their trainers went crying to the Council about that one, actually. It made for a rather large headache."

Aaron grabbed onto Séan's chin, tilting down to meet his eye. "So either you get us the key, or we take the Grimm for ourselves."

Séan grabbed Woolsey's wrist, kicking the man in the side of the knee, and using his gun to shoot Aaron in the head.

Aaron crumpled to the floor, blood seeping from his forehead. Woolsey groaned from where he was lying on his back. "My answer is no," Séan added, "by the way. You might want to relay that to the family."

Woolsey sat up but couldn't manage to get on his feet. "I think the message is clear, sir."

Séan checked Aaron's pockets, then stole the gun to dispose of later. Lucky he wore gloves. Woolsey looked up at Séan. "They'll kill me if I tell them."

Renard looked around the scene, making sure that there was no other evidence to be found. "You do have a point there, Woolsey." Séan walked over, the trigger feeling impossible to touch. "And I promise, this isn't personal."

"I know, sir," Woolsey gasped, out of breath, water rimming his eyes as he looked up. His voice was cracking slightly. "But I'm taking it that way."

Hank was at work that day, and Nick didn't ask why he was gone for as long as he was. Some part of him noticed the man was getting worse. Jumping at nothing, staring at passing shadows. Lately, he lost that paranoia. So whatever was going on was probably good for him.

The day was running by slowly, as no one seemed to have any reason to murder each other lately. Crazy, right?

Hank spun around to Nick, looking surprisingly bashful. "Hey, Nick, what are you doing Friday night?"

"Uhh—," Nick blinked for a moment. "Nothing, as far as I'm aware. What're you thinking of?"

Hank glanced off to the side and held a thumb in his belt loop. It was a nervous habit of his that had Nick wondering what the hell this was about. "I've been seeing this girl, and y'know I always have you meet them, right? Screening process and all that—

Oh, so it was about a girl. But Hank started taking off shifts over a week ago; he'd have Nick meet them before then. At Nick's suspicion, Hank sighed. "It's just—I already know that you don't like this chick. Like… at all." The man sat up defensively at Nick's skeptical shift in demeanor. "No, but like, I really like this girl. You've been wrong before! Maybe all you need is more time?"

Nick looked at Hank for a bit longer, scrutinizing. He huffed, "Fine, open mind. Just saying, if she turns out to be an asshole—"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll have earned a big 'ol told you so."

"Damn right you would've."

The place they were at was fairly nice, definitely an excuse to dress up for the night. The lights were a dim gold, leaving most of the room shrouded in darkness. Hank was already here; he texted Nick earlier.

Nick spotted them fairly quickly, Hank spinning around and calling him over with too big of a smile. "Hey, Nick!"

The blonde spun around, smiling at Nick nervously.

Nick made sure not to get stuck in static this time, focusing on Hank. The man put a hand on the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Listen, I know you two had kind of a bad start, but hopefully we can move past it?" Nick and Adalind both remained silent. Hank frowned, "I'll go grab our table."

Nick didn't take his eyes off of Adalind, her eyes dimming into a rotted brownish red.

Nick dropped the smile, glancing back at Hank. "Let's keep this civil, yeah? For his sake." Hank seemed to have found the spot, waving them both over. Nick nudged the blonde forward without touching her. "We can discuss this later."

They sat down, the triangular table having them both facing towards Hank. The waiter brought some bread over, setting it down between them.

Nick turned to Adalind, plastering on a pleasant demeanor, if only for Hank's benefit. "How have you been faring, Ms. Schade? It's been a while since we've last saw each other, and it wasn't during a particularly positive time."

She smiled, a controlled amount of tension leaving her shoulders. It was as if she really was a nervous girlfriend relieved that there wasn't any bad blood. "We've been doing well at the firm. The days go on, and it gets a little easier with every one. I'm touched you asked. When everything was going on, you seemed a little…"

The waiter came by to get their drink orders down, just a hair too late to not be avoiding their table.

Nick waved it off, trying to keep his movements light all while he was tensing every muscle in his body. "Yeah, sorry about that. As a rule, I try not to be around lawyers. Speaking of, how did that happen? I mean, everyone always says they want to be a lawyer, but no one ever is."

"Well, for a while there, I wasn't." Adalind stirred the straw in her cocktail. "I started in criminal law, wanted to be the next Clarence Darrow. Then I was spending all my time around criminals, and it really just didn't suit me. So, I switched to contract law. Still criminals, but at least they dress better."

Hank smiled, hands already in finger guns. "And they pay better."

"Well," Adalind smirked, "most of the time anyway."

The table laughed, and the waiter swung by to see if they wanted appetizers. Adalind laughed sheepishly, "Oh! We haven't even looked at the menu, have we?"

Adalind excused herself to go to take a work call, and Hank looked over at Nick excitedly.

Nick hummed, sipping out of his cocktail glass. "Still don't like her."

Hank sunk down in his chair, looking like a toddler you told no to buying candy. "Come on, Nick, you two were hitting it off!"

"I don't like her, man, she gives me the creeps and I don't think you're safe around her."

"She's from Iowa, how dangerous could she be?"

Nick raised an eyebrow, "You bought that? Did you even check her paper trail?"

Hank frowned, "No, I didn't check her paper trail, because only insane and paranoid people check paper trails after the first couple dates. Or ever."

Nick sighed, sliding up out of his chair, gesturing at his drink. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom. If the waiter comes by, tell him I want another one of these."

Nick found the hexenbiest just by the stairs next to the bathroom. She didn't bother hiding her expression now, smirking wickedly as she turned further into the phone call.

Nick snatched the phone from her head, tossing it somewhere over his shoulder. Adalind, for a moment, actually looked surprised, as if she wasn't expecting him to do anything so brazen.

"What the fuck are you doing with him?" Nick bit out, knowing they were tucked away from any of the passing employees.

"Falling in love," she responded, keeping the pleasant tone from earlier, if tinged. "I didn't know that was against the law."

"Oh fuck off. And drop the 'against the law' shit, we both know you don't care about that."

Adalind rolled her eyes, trying to go up the stairs. Nick snatched her by the arm and yanked her back, wiping his hand non-discreetly against his jacket. To her credit, she played her part well. Looking ever so slightly scared, but annoyed with the knowledge that they were in public. "Did it ever occur to you that this is exactly what it looks like?"

"Not once." Nick backed up a couple paces to give her room (and because he didn't like being around her), but glared all the same. "I don't give two flying fucks about what you do in your free time, but if I hear that you hurt him?"

Nick took a few steps back towards the stairs, inadvertently shrouding his face in darkness. "I will kill you like I should have the first time."

The detective walked back upstairs. He knew that Adalind wouldn't draw unnecessary attention. Hank was, thank fucking christ, hastily signing the check already. He looked so guilty about it too.

"We got a call, double homicide on the east end." Hank grabbed his jacket off the back of his seat, spotting Adalind where she was walking over. "You can drive over, I'll meet you in a second."

Nick tried not to shudder as she woged, glaring at him.

Nick pulled up the scene, happy to get out of the rain. Wu met him as he walked in, leading him over to the bodies. "Two victims, two guns and one Mercedes," Wu summarized, taking a bite out of his chapstick.

Wait, what?

Nick did a double take, staring at the now indented chapstick end as if to fact check, "Wu-?"

The Sergeant didn't even react, looking at Nick questioningly as if nothing was wrong. "What?"

"You-" Nick frowned, pointing at the still very indented chapstick. "You just took a bite outta that?"

Wu capped it, putting the chapstick back in his pocket like normal. He raised an eyebrow, "What? No I didn't."

Nick looked around to see if anyone else saw that. No dice. "I saw you???"

"That's crazy, who the hell eats chapstick?"

Hank walked up to them, notepad in hand, before Nick could make any more accusations. "Ok, so the older guy's a Brit, Thomas Woolsey. The other one is Anton Krug, he's Swiss."

"Well, they both have guns in their hands, so a simple minded Sergeant would surmise that they shot each other." Wu gestured to them grandly, "Fortunately, that's not my job. I'm going to go run prints."

Wu was only a few feet away when Hank started back on about the Hexenbieste thing.

"I don't know why you have such a bad feeling about her, man. If you think that I'm abusing the fact I saved her, you can tell me, you know." Hank kneeled next to the body, checking the pockets.

Nick only glanced at the vics. "You're a good person, Hank, you wouldn't do something like that. I'm more concerned about her taking advantage of you."

Hank scoffed, getting up and walking towards the abandoned car, "Fine by me."

He knelt down, looking underneath and reaching to pull something out. "Hey I got a cellphone, you got a bag on you?"

"I got one," Wu said casually, spawning behind him and passing Hank one. The officer lingered there, looking over Hank's shoulder. Wu smacked his lips, and then swallowed his chapstick.

What the actual fuck.

Hank and Nick were both back at the precinct and neither of them were in the head space to get any true work done. Go figures thats when Séan comes by to check on their progress.

Renard leaned on the back of Nick's chair, "Getting anywhere with the double homicide?"

If Nick was any more cognizant, he would have noticed the Captain's odd body language, or the dip in his tone. But both of those things went unnoticed. "Not much," Nick sighed, pulling up the information they had so far on his computer.

"They're both foreigners, one British and one Swedish. The rental agreement on the Mercedes was listed to Krug, the Swiss, but the keys were in Woolsey's pocket." Nick tapped his pen on the desk idly, looking at the profiles in front of them curiously. "Why they decided to fly down into Portland together just to shoot each other is up for debate."

"They flew down together?" Renard echoed.

"Yep, and the one car means they drove together too," Hank added on.

"Unless," Nick snapped his fingers in sudden thought, "there was a third and someone drove away."

Renard's shoulders tensed, and he straightened his posture. "What are you suggesting, a third man?"

Nick shrugged, "It would make sense. Fly down to Portland for some kind of meeting, went wrong. We don't have any evidence, though, just guessing here."

Séan nodded, "It could have been a business dispute that got out of hand. Did you connect them to anyone here?"

Hank reached over their desks, showing off a plastic baggy. "We found this cellphone underneath the car. We think it must have fallen out of Anton's pocket when he hit the ground."

Renard cleared his throat. "You, uh, access that yet?"

Nick shook his head. "Haven't been able to turn it on. Broke when it hit the ground. I'll bring it down to labs to look into the SIM card later tonight."

Renard hummed in appreciation, "Good, good. Keep me advised." Their Captain looked back at the two detectives for a second longer as he walked back to his office. "Make sure you both don't overwork yourselves, either. You look like you could both use some rest."

Both detectives either scoffed or snorted. Hank leaned back in his chair, "Understatement of the year."

Wu past Séan, coming up to their desks with papers in hand. "Gentlemen, and you two as well."

Both Nick and Hank looked at Wu blankly, silent.

"Waits for laugh," Wu stalled. "Doesn't get it, all right," the sergeant set down the papers between the two. "According to the airline reports, both your victims declared the guns they used to shoot each other when they checked in from their flight in Zurich. So, either they were both very, very dumb, or knew full well of what was going to happen."

The silence permeated. Wu rolled his eyes, "Waits for response again." He held up one hand in a mock microphone shape, "Taps on fake microphone, is this thing on or are you two being harder than usual."

Finally, both detectives cracked, snapping out of the late night drowsiness. Hank stood up, stretching, "Sorry Wu, must be late. Plus, I'm still pissed I missed by dinner with Adalind." The man grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair, strolling towards the door.

Nick would have poked fun at him not offering to take the phone down to evidence, but he didn't feel like a witty remark at the moment. He pocketed the phone, staring at his computer screen as if some kind of answer would fall into his lap.

He glanced up at Wu, "You doing ok?"

"Yeah."

…

Wu tilted his head, "Well no. Been getting the worst stomach problems lately."

Nick scoffed, "Could it be something you ate?"

Wu hummed in deep thought, even looking up slightly in remembrance. "No, I've been eating pretty good lately, nothing comes to mind." The sergeant started walking away, smiling, "Though I have gained some weight since the Holidays."

Nick smiled, watching him pass by.

Wu stopped, turning on his heel. "Hey Nick, you know what?"

"What?"

"I think I'm gonna pass out-"

Wu was immediately proved correct, toppling like a house of cards. Nick rushed over, checking for a pulse and breathing first, before hoisting him over his shoulder.

He needed a break.

Adalind got back home feeling just a little bit vexed. The Grimm wasn't just unenthralled, but downright hostile. She didn't even do anything to him, this time or with the Mellifers! Good instinct, she supposes. Why on Earth her Séan was so captivated by him was honestly a mystery-

She snapped her head around, woging on instinct. The intruders scent drew closer, rounding the corner in a horrifying and familiar face.

She woged again, sighing in relief and smiling, "Mom. You should've told me you were coming over, I could've ripped your throat out."

Catherine chuckled, bringing her daughter in a tight, suffocating embrace. "Like you could have. Hope you don't mind I let myself in, I just heard some interesting things and had to come ask about it."

Adalind hung up her coat on the rack by the door, "What kind of things?"

"I heard you got yourself a new Beau."

Adalind rolled her eyes affectionately. "It's not for my enjoyment, if that's what your wondering. I have more distinguished tastes than him. I'm working."

"Of course you are. The royals I assume?"

"Who else would I take orders from?"

Catherine smirked, "I imagine that the Captain knows of this mission of yours?"

Adalind gave a small glare, pouring herself a glass of water and sitting down on the couch.

Her mother sunk down next to her, elegant as always. "I can't believe you're still hung up on him."

Adalind damn near laughed at that, "You make it sound like I'm in love with him. Besides, I can't help it. It's fun to watch him squirm."

Catherine stood up, lingering by the kitchen as she poured a drink for both herself and her daughter. "Can I ask what the Royals want with some Portland detective?"

Adalind groaned deeply, practically throwing herself across the couch. Her mother almost giggled at her antics, but she did get her dramatic flair from her mother. Adalind accepted the drink gracefully.

"That 'some Portland detective' is partners with the Grimm, and the Royals want his key," Adalind murmured into her drink. Almost instantly, her mother's eyes narrowed.

"The Captain's Grimm has a key? When was this found out?"

The Hexenbiest took a large sip of the pleasantly too strong drink. "Recently. Séan's been protecting him however much he can, and his cousin is trying to go behind his back to get it anyway, but Séan already knows and…" Adalind put a hand up to her forehead. "It's a mess all around, and it's going to get ugly."

Catherine smiled, reaching over and tucking a hair behind Adalind's ear. "Don't worry, love, you do ugly so well."

Adalind leaned into the touch, "I learned from the worst."

Nick got back to the precinct well into the early hours of the morning. Wu was fine, for the most part. PICA was certainly an interesting disorder, but knowing what he did now, it felt almost mundane by comparison.

The station was almost completely barren. That was to be expected, it was 3 or 4 in the morning. But the last time Nick had been at work this much, and this late was… well, it was since before he met Monroe, actually.

Nick pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying to wake himself up. Caffeinated abomination first, then he'll get to the SIM card.

Nick turned to the computer screen at the beep. The loading took forever, given that the cellphone Krug had on him was practically an ancient artifact, a crumbling one at that.

Nick pulled up the most recent messages. Woolsey was the only contact with an actual name, the others having nicknames that he couldn't decipher. He'll look into that in a second.

The conversation with Woolsey was a sparse one. Makes sense given that they were probably together for the past few days. Nick took a sip of hellwater as he scrolled further back.

-And you're sure he doesn't know whats going on?

Of course not. Do you really take me for a fool?-

-No, but you take Séan for one too often to be safe

What? Nick looked around, making sure he was alone in the station. What did Séan have to do with this?

On the contrary, I think I give that tiersch too much credit as it is-

-Do you truly think that someone who has been able to defy your uncle for so long as this susceptible?

Relax, Woolsey, we're just killing him. As long as we get the drop on him, it will be fine-

-Whatever you say, sir

Nick stared at the words in front of him blankly. He pushed his chair away from the table, rubbing his face and eyes as if that would change what he was reading. He knew that Renard's family was prolific, royalty of some kind. But straight up assassination?

The messages were from the other night, likely before everything went down. Thank god their Captain was quick on his feet.

Nick took the SIM card out of the computer, pocketing it. Séan has covered for his ass more times than he could make up for.

Might as well trying start now.

"He's dating a Hexenbiest?" Monroe looked almost offended when Nick told him. It was actually kind of funny.

Nick groaned, sinking onto the couch next to him, "Tell me about it."

"Sure you can't just warn him off her? You said he trusts you."

"That's the thing!" Nick nearly shouted, staring up at the ceiling with an almost manic look in his eyes. "He does trust me! He has me meet all his girlfriends at least in passing cause he knows I can spot red flags from a mile away! But he knew I didn't like her, and then tried anyway. Of which, might I add, he has never done before."

"Well then she probably spelled him, man. Listen, Hexenbiest aren't just magical, they're not like zauberbiest. They're souls are rotten, whether or not they can even feel love in the traditional sense is still up for debate. Whatever reason she has for keeping him, it's not pretty."

"Well, then how do I un-spell him?"

"Uhh," Monroe glanced at his phone, "we could call Rosalee? Though she's probably asleep by now."

"What time is it?"

Monroe checked the time, "11:30ish."

"She's awake, let's call her."

"Well he has to be under a potion. How else would anyone fall in love with a Hexenbiest? I mean they're hideous both inside and out." Rosalee reached for a couple of dusty books so high on the shelves, she needed a ladder to reach them. "Who is she?"

"Adalind Schade."

Rosalee brought down 3 books, both novel length and positively ancient. She handed a book to each of them. "I don't think I've ever had her come in, but Freddy might have. I'll go check."

Monroe flipped through the index. "How many Zaubertrank are there?"

"Zaubertrank means potion?"

"Yep."

"Wouldn't it be easier to say 'potion'?"

"Yeah."

"…So why aren't we doing that?"

Monroe set his book down on the table, staring Nick down, "Because it is so much more than that. I mean these are basically curses, some real old world stuff. As it is, these may not even have the spell she used if it's a family zaubertrank."

Before Nick could respond with well warranted panic, Rosalee brought over a small notebook. "Hey I found something. It's a shopping list from my brother, it has some really putrid stuff on here."

She showed it to Monroe and Nick, even if the latter had no idea why they were reacting to the ingredients. Monroe reeled back, "Oh god, nothing with Essigblasse could be good."

Rosalee shook her head, setting the notebook on the counter before swiftly moving to start shuffling through bookshelves. "It's nothing definitive, but from what theory I know, it's a mix of head over heels love and gruesome death."

Nick stuttered on his next word, speechless. "So how do we cure that?"

Rosalee shook her head from where she was tiptoeing. "I don't know if we can. To do anything, we'd need to find the recipe she used but even then, depending on how the relationship has gone on, it might be too late." She tossed a book to Monroe, "There might be a cure, but I need to find it."

Nick reached up next to her, pulling books out, "What are we looking for?"

Nick got into work early that morning. He'd left the remaining work to Rosalee and Monroe (although the wolf had fallen asleep). Even though they were making progress with potential contenders, he didn't leave feeling confident. He paused in the doorway, dreading this conversation.

"Morning," Hank greeted, happy and normal and so very oblivious to the bullshit going on around him. "You forgot to take that cellphone down to evidence, I dropped it off this morning."

Nick faked groaning, "Oh sorry man, I must've forgot it when Wu passed out."

"Yeah I heard about that, how's he doing?"

"Better," Nick sunk down in his chair, spinning to face him. "Got discharged sometime this morning, Cap gave him the day off to rest. How're you?"

Hank hummed negatively. "Not good, actually."

Nick beckoned him to continue.

"Flowers."

Nick stopped reading the page he was on. What would have been a thoughtful, romantic gesture had taken on a different light now that he knew what was actually going on. "What, do you wanna send Adalind some?"

"I should've sent her flowers to make up for walking out the other night."

"No time better than the present, what did you have in mind?"

Hank leaned back in his chair, looking too damn stressed over this. "I was just gonna go for roses, but that seems so thoughtless, y'know? I don't even know what her favorite flowers are, damnit, I should know that."

Nick frowned, "Here, flowers have meaning right? I'll pull together a mixture, she seems the type to look into that sort of thing."

Hank looked back at him like he just saved his first born, "Thank you, Nick, really. I know I haven't really been around as much the past couple days, she takes a lot of attention-" Hank was then cut off by his cellphone ringing. He smiled while picking it up, "Speak of the devil."

Nick snorted, googling a list of flower meanings as he eavesdropped. "Hey baby, how you doin'?…I miss you too…" Hank broke out into the dopiest grin Nick had ever seen on his face. "What tonight? Of course… Yeah, I'm with him right now."

Nick glanced up from the screen, watching Hank look up at him, "She says hi."

Nick smiled, impulsivity taking over his brain. "Hey, let me say hi." Hank rolled his eyes amusedly, relenting the phone over to Nick. Quick, say something witty, he has to use this to be clever, what kind of Grimm would he be if he didn't?

"Adalind, sorry about the other night," Nick leaned into the phone.

Adalind sounded almost exasperated, no doubt a complete turn from how she spoke to Hank, he could feel the dip in her voice. "Hello, Burkhardt, how are you?"

"I'm fine, just wondering what you've done to my partner." Nick grinned into the phone, a little too sharp, "You've got him under a spell."

He's so funny.

Hank wrangled the phone back, impatient after two sentences. "Alright, alright, I'll see you tonight, I'll bring a surprise with me." Hank stood up from his chair, leaving to take the phone call outside just as Renard swung by their desks, his shoulders tense and rigid.

"Any progress on the double homicide?" Séan asked a little too nonchalantly.

Nick shook his head, sitting up a little straighter, not that Hank was going to pick up on any signs. "No, actually. Phone had a completely blank SIM card. It must have been a deal gone wrong."

Séan raised an eyebrow, "You're dropping the third man theory?"

Nick looked up, a silent agreement passing between them both. "With the blank phone, there's not enough evidence to support it. Some cases are just that simple, it should be wrapped up once we get the reports finalized."

Séan's eyes softened, a soft heave relieving some of the tension from his shoulders as he leaned on the back of Nick's chair. The station was pretty busy in the middle of the day, but everyone was actually busy with work, absorbed in their own lives.

Nick leaned in a little closer towards his Captain. "That Schade woman from the Mellifer case…" Nick started, but he didn't know where he was going. The wince just mentioning it around Renard was not a good sign.

"I'm not happy with it," Séan admitted lowly. "But unless some outside force interferes, there's nothing to stop her."

Nick hummed, "Outside forces being?"

His Captain eyed him with indecision, a mixture of guilt, worry and pain swirling in his features. Finally, he huffed, "Hexenbieste can lose their powers if they ingest the blood of a Grimm. Of course, their potions will remain in effect, just Nick-" Séan looked like just talking about this hurt, "Be careful, ok?"

Nick nodded, glancing at where Hank was standing in the hall, smiling into his phone with a colorful glare to his eye. "I should've killed her the first time."

Séan snorted humorlessly, "I tell myself that everyday."

Both Rosalee and Monroe nearly assaulted him when he walked into the spice shop. They were both behind the counter, hurriedly mixing and crushing and grinding too many things at once. Rosalee balanced the motor and pestle on her knee, sliding around a book to show a page to Nick.

"It's not just a love spell, its obsession. Love potions are frowned upon entirely for a myriad of reasons, but this is practically mind control, and a very destructive one at that." The page showed a man with bleeding eyes and an x-ray into his head with a melting brain.

Rosalee took a couple of phials off the work bench, and a cup from Monroe, mixing them together and adding something onto the burner she had set up. "Your friend was lucky, any other less personalized zaubertrank and he would've been dead before we could get to him."

Monroe finally addressed the lack of a hello or explanation or anything Nick got. "We're making the antidote now."

Nick blinked, heels of his palms pressing into his eyes. "What the fuck is my life anymore."

The three sped over to Hank's house, having no idea if this cure would work or not or if they were too late altogether. Given the Lieutenant didn't pick up his phone, the prospects weren't looking up.

They got out of the car, the two wesen sighing as Nick practically sprinted up to the front door. Monroe huffed, "Hey man, you sure we aren't going to be interrupting anything? Cause I don't know how to explain that, not to mention it would be kind of, y'know, awkward-"

Nick saw the front door left open, and stopped listening. He ran past the discarded clothes, and crushed begonia petals spread across the floor.

Nick swung the door open, eyes widening as he rushed over to Hank's side. He was completely unresponsive, a pulse barely strong enough to feel. Rosalee and Monroe finally caught up, the fuchsbau running over and forcing Hank's eyes open.

"Shit," she swore under breath. She grabbed the book from Monroe, scrambling through the pages.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean!?" Nick asked wildly, Rosalee not meeting his eyes.

"She altered the zaubertrank, the antidote is useless now-!"

"Well there has to be a way to use it-"

"Not now that he slept with her!"

"God, that always complicates things, doesn't it?"

Nick shook at his partner, looking to Rosalee frantically. "There has to be some way to reverse it, he can't just be stuck like this."

Rosalee shook her head, glancing back at Hank's blood red iris. "She must have added her blood into the zaubertrank. The only way to fix it once it's this far would be to get her blood and mix it in with the antidote."

A phone ringing filled the room, the three going silent. Slowly, Nick looked at the calling number. Unknown. Nick rolled his eyes, dreading the voice he was about to hear.

"Adalind," he greeted before she even got a word out.

She laughed over the line, her amusement only quelling long enough to coddle him. "Aww, so you aren't stupid." Adalind giggled, but the happiness in her tone quickly died, her voice dropping into a bored drawl. "I assume you've found him already, and you're wondering what I want out of all this?"

Nick remained silent.

The eye roll was almost audible, "Bring the key to Forest Park by the old ruins. In return, I'll trade you my own perfectly curated antidote that will save your partners life."

"And if I don't?"

"Well, then you can kiss Hank goodbye. Not that it'll do much, shining armor."

The line cut with a cackle and a beeping tone, and Nick held back the urge to smash his phone against the wall. Rosalee looked at him with a harsh gaze, "Nick, you cannot make that trade-"

"I'm not," Nick growled out as he fished the key's chain from under his shirt. He lifted it over his head, walking over to Monroe. The Blutbad looked at him almost manically, though the questions of his sanity were long since answered.

Nick slipped the key off the chain, handing it over to Monroe. The green accents gleamed against the low light, the darkened metal cold against his hand. "I'm coming back, but I don't want to risk losing this."

Monroe and Rosalee both protested, and rather loudly as Nick started off towards the door. "Nick, you don't have to do this, we can find another way-"

Nick ran a hand through his hair, "If I don't do something, he will die, and they'll just keep coming back." 

He looked out to the moonless night outside, a steeled look in his eyes. "I have to try."

The stars provided no help, long shadows cast under the thick arms of trees overhead. The light stone of the ruins was hardly visible, but Nick knew the forests from here to the coast by heart. 

Adalind was lazily sprawled across some of the nearby rocks, fully woged. She was sharpening her claws with a nail file, her decrepit hands rocking back and forth. She examined herself like she was the most interesting thing out here.

Never had Nick seen a more disgusting woge in his life. Her once blonde hair had thinned, graying to a dusty white like cobwebs clinging on to a forgotten corner. Her skin hung off her bones like drapes, looking more like rotted animal hide than the flawless pale skin she once adorned. She was sickeningly skinny, the sharp ridges of ribs visible under the tight jacket she wore. 

"I trust you brought the key?" she rasped, just sounding like her throat was torn as she struggled through words. Nick pulled on the chain, showing it off and praying she didn't call his bluff. 

Adalind tilted her head, the skin on her cheeks pinching at the corners in an imitation of a smile. It only made the flesh pull and tear apart like wet tissue paper as she tried. "Aww, well I almost feel bad now. I never made the antidote." 

Nick only glared harder, "Then I'll just have to make my own."

He didn't even get the chance to attack first, Adalind taking the first sign of hostility to pounce. Didn't help that she fought like a bat outta hell.

Nick tried to duck the first swing, but she threw herself at him with every ounce of force she had. The two tumbled to the ground, sharp claws digging through his clothes and leaving long, bloodied gashes in their wake as they rolled down the hilly area.

Nick slammed her body into a tree, stopping their descent. He could feel bones snapping, frail under his grasp. It didn't seem to help, Adalind's gaping, rotting maw gnashing out at him with a ferocity he hadn't expected.

Nick elbowed her in the mouth with a sickening crack. Adalind threw him off with impressive force, cradling her broken jaw as it hung on one hinge. She looked back at him like a wild animal, wailing at him before she lept onto her feet and lunged. 

This thing should not have the amount of strength she did, pinning Nick to the ground with almost no struggle. She tore at the front of his shirt, grabbing at the chain underneath it as inky black blood collected at her fingertips. 

Nick managed to grapple free one arm, unclasping the hook at the back of his neck and hurriedly wrapping the metal chain around her throat.

The weight of the chain made enough momentum to spin around her, allowing Nick to pull it tighter. Adalind relented control, rolling off of him as she clutched at her neck fervently. Nick managed to switch their positions fully, straddling the woman's hips as he pulled tighter, waiting for her to go limp.

Adalind twisted her neck at a distinctly broken angle, twitching away the woge and looking like a pathetic, sobbing girl. 

Nick punched her across the face.

Adalind woged again, using the momentum to strike Nick as well, sending him to the forest floor. He closed his eyes, the world spinning around him because fucking christ was that a bell ringer. Nick couldn't react in time to Adalind planting her hands on either side of his head, eyes glowing a rotting, grotesque red as she forced him into a kiss.

Nick tried to move away, blow after blow delivered into her sides with no avail. Sharp, jagged teeth bit into his lip, stopping him from pulling away. He pulled his knife from his holster, barely visible through the bright shine of brown-green-red. 

The blade slipped between her ribs easily, the serrated edge pulling back bits of flesh with it. Adalind shrieked, loud and high as they pulled away from each other. 

Nick rubbed at his eyes, feeling like he was at the tail end of recovering from pepper spray. Adalind was human again, looking at him like he just did the impossible. "You- that was a mind control spell, that should've worked-!"

She didn't get to finish her sentence, doubling over as her knees hit the ground. Her noises before only amplified, screaming like a banshee into the night. Her hands gripped at soil and rocks in an attempt to ground herself from the agony wracking through her figure. 

Nick stumbled further away as a brilliant white light began to rise from her screeching body, only magnifying the noise. The white, fuzzy light began to form into something like a ghost, clawing at the air like it was escaping her.

Then all at once, it stopped. Adalind went limp, slumped against the ground with her curtains of blonde hair covering her face. 

Some of Marie's training urged him to go check for a pulse. He looked down at the bloodied, gored knife in his hand and back at the possibly alive Hexenbiest. 

He has other priorities. 

Nick opened the door to Hank's bedroom, and was immediately tackled into the tightest bear hug of his life. He welcomed it gladly, pulling the Blutbad close and enjoying the familiar, safe contact. 

Monroe pulled away, looking him over for any injuries (of which he had plenty). "Fucking hell, man, what happened out there?"

Nick smiled, loopy and exhausted, holding up the knife. "You should see the other guy." 

He walked towards Rosalee (read:held onto every piece of furniture as he struggled not to collapse), handing over the knife. She popped open the container of the device, thoroughly scraping the blade and its contents.

Nick leaned closer to Monroe, putting a little more weight than he probably should. Not that he complained, holding him tight and keeping Nick from falling.

Rosalee shook up the handle like a can of hair spray, hooked her fingers into Hank's nostrils and slowly inserted the prongs. Some of the steam seeped out as it was delivered with a loud hiss. Hesitantly, they all stepped back, waiting. 

"So did it work, or-?"

Hank bolted up right, all of his muscles straining as if he were tazed. Everyone in the room simultaneously flinched, jumping back. The Lieutenant fell back on the bed as if his strings were cut, eyes half lidded. 

Nick rushed, ok, more like fell at his bedside and then limped, to Hank's side, cradling his face in his hands. Blearily, Hank woke up.

In hindsight, waking up to two strangers and a beaten and bloodied Nick might not have been the best plan in the world.

"Nick, what—?" Hank sat up straighter in bed. "What happened?" Hank looked down at Nick's torn clothes and bloodied mouth. "What happened to you?"

Nick shook his head, sounding like it was mid-afternoon on a Wednesday, "Ok, first, are you ok? Feeling normal, no aches, pains, or other urgent injuries?"

Hank shook his head.

"Thank fuck, I was worried. Now, I fucking told you so!"

Adalind stumbled into her house, catching herself on the doorframe as she swayed forward. She felt so empty, so clean. The glossy film she felt over her skin even without a woge, it was gone and it left her feeling so exposed. She always had the thrum of power just beneath the skin, eating away at her bones like maggots. Now she felt whole.

She hated it.

Her mom was sitting on the couch, shooting up to her feet when she spotted her. "Oh Addy," her mother cooed, bringing Adalind close to her chest in a tight, cold embrace. Adalind took it gladly, letting out a sob. 

Her mom pulled back as if burned. Catherine's hands gripped her face, forcing her to look into her grey, scrutinizing eyes. A realization dawned over her, Catherine glaring down as if she didn't believe it. "Oh my god... he got to you, didn't he? How did he get his blood in you?" 

Adalind hiccuped, her body shaking as she cradled herself. "I bit him-"

She was cut off with a hard slap across the face, the force sending her to the floor, back hitting the edge of the coffee table. Catherine's concerned expression was gone, replaced with a maniacal, furious scowl. "You stupid bitch, you knew damn well what that key would've done for our family!"

Adalind growled back, her shrieking voice dulled and muzzled. "I used the damn Regieren Seele spell! It controls someones soul, it's literally impossible to resist-!" 

"You used a soul spell on a Grimm?" Catherine echoed, the sheer astonishment evident in her voice. "If you thought that would work, I'm surprised you made it this long."

Adalind scrambled to her feet, blinded by a rage that, while once formidable, was now only the whining of an entitled woman. "Oh fuck off you old hag. The royals don't know that I failed, I can just tell Séan-"

"Tell me what?"

Adalind's blood ran cold, whipping around to face the bastard prince. But this wasn't what she was used to. Not Séan standing up straight and tall, any hint of fear or hesitation gone from his gaze. Now it was only an apathetic, muted disgust. 

The blonde staggered, tone turning sweet as she approached him, "Séan, love, I was only-"

"Going to con me into giving you more time? Threaten me to get the key myself and keep quiet? Let you break into my Grimm's home and slaughter him, like you first suggested?" Séan scoffed at the last one, looking her up and down. "I think you've more than proven who would win in that fight." 

Séan took several strides towards her, the height difference between them more daunting than ever before. He studied her closely, glowering down at her. Testing, he raised a hand in front of her face, faint colorful sparks swirling just by her nose. She flinched when it got too close to her eye.

Séan pulled back, "You really are just a pretty girl now." The prince started to the door, shaking his head in almost disappointment, not at her but at himself. "And to think that I was ever scared of you."

Chapter Text

Carley put the last dish on the drying rack, grabbing the dish towel off of the oven to dry her hands. "I'll be fine, dad, I've been fine the past 3 years."

"I know you'll be fine, that's the problem," Jarold huffed. He still had some more food prep to get through, but at least he'll have one more weekend with his daughter before things get too hectic. For the both of them.

"It's your Senior year, have fun, go out and do something stupid while you still only get sent to Juvie for it."

Carly raised an eyebrow, "I don't think you should be the one encouraging me to do all this. What happened to good influences?"

Her dad laughed, "I think you've had too many." He watched as his daughter gathered the laundry off the table, getting ready to head to bed. "Want me to wake you up in the morning?"

"Nah," she shook her head. "I get 3 more days of sleeping in, I wanna make them count."

Her dad smiled, "Goodnight, pumpkin."

"Goodnight!" Carly called from her door, shutting it behind her and muffling the loud sounds of cooking and running water.

She dumped her clothes onto her bed, turning to her vanity to grab a hair tie before she-

Carly glared down the glowing yellow eyes in her vanity mirror, looking at the uncle she never thought she would have to see again, the person she was promised she'd never have to see again.

No, not again. She was going down with a fight this time.

She grabbed the scissors she kept on her vanity, burying the blade into the figure beside her, the man doubling over and clutching at his side in pain. She tried to lunge for the man across the room, but 2 hands quickly grabbed her arms, twisting the scissors out of her hand.

She struggled against the arms wrapped around her waist and mouth, but she didn't know how to woge on command yet, human nails scratching futilely against a thick fur coat.

She wriggled one arm free, elbowing her attacker in the nose. He didn't let go completely, one claw digging into her cheek and drawing blood as he clutched her tighter. Her cousin stood from where he was slouched on the floor, holding a roll of duct tape.

She bared fangs that hadn't grown in yet, but it didn't help any, the tape wrapped around her head again and again in suffocating circles. The man behind her pulled one of her arms around to her back, a tension threatening to break it if she didn't comply.

Her uncle slid from the shadows, a sly grin spreading across his face as she gestured silently to the window. She tried her best to scream however much she could, but her arm was only twisted further back until tears welled in her eyes.

All she could do was kick as she was dragged out to a car, out and away from the one person who would give a shit about her.

The jerky motions of her cousins bad driving skills threw her around in the back seat, but she'd take that over sitting next to her cousins any day. She knew what do here, she'd prepared for this damnit, so why wasn't it working?!

The car came to a lurching stop, sending her sliding towards the front of the car. The backdoors swung open with an almost full moon shining down on them. She tried to struggle and climb into the front seat, but one of those vermin grabbed her by the ankle, dragging her out and to the ground.

One of them pulled her up by her bound fists, throwing her over his shoulders as they walked towards the barn. It wasn't a full moon yet, they couldn't be doing this tonight, this was not happening-

"Jesus, hold her still for fucks sake," someone bit out, pulling the chain to the well.

"I'm trying, but godamn she's strong for her size," he set her down against the stone, grabbing the ankle she tried to kick him with. "Then again," he purred, a hand coming to cradle her bloodied cheek, "that means you'll make some fine puppies, girl."

Carly delivered one last kick, and she made it count.

"Fuck! Godamnit Carly, why can't you be good like last time?" Her cousin threw her feet over the side of the stone, falling a good couple feet before the chain caught her, painfully tugging at her wrists.

One of her cousins called out to their uncle as he cranked the handle lowering her down. "Hey, won't this make her arms go numb, being down there all night?"

A low, cigarette wrought voice scoffed. "So? We could amputate if need be." Bright, golden eyes glanced down at her, squinting in appreciation as they looked anywhere but her face. "She don't need hands for what we have her for."

"You said you were having trouble sleeping? And some periods of anxiety?"

The woman's voice was soft, delicate in a way that irked him. Though, Hank doubt he would've taken it better if it were anything else. It made him feel fragile, like a little kid running to mommy about the monsters under the bed. But hey, maybe that's what he needed.

He nodded silently, but she just kept looking at him, waiting. "Yeah," he sighed, feeling like if he spoke too loudly the room would shatter. "yes, that's right."

He rubbed his hands back and forth, skin quickly growing irritated with how roughly he was pulling at his skin. He didn't like being here, he hated this so much but he knew that if he went without any help, he'd turn into one of the officers he and Nick had to put down and he'd rather die than let that happen.

"How long has this been happening?" she asked, pen clicked against her clipboard of notes. He always wondered what was on those, if it was a printed sheet of questions or just loose leaf.

Hank sighed, looking out the window then at the door. "A couple months now, just before Christmas." He rolled his shoulders, trying to sit back and relax but failing miserably. "I thought it was just the Holiday stress getting to me, so I didn't tell anyone."

She nodded, scribbling audible. "Can you describe those feelings?"

"Just… jumpy, I guess." A hand rubbed at the back of his neck, never ceasing motion. "I'm always on edge. Normally I wouldn't worry anyone with this, but being jumpy doesn't go well with a gun. And I'm not one of those, it's never been an issue before. There's just a lot of strange things happening lately…"

"Like what?"

His mind flickered back to the past few months, those more pertinent cases that kept him up at night. They'd always had them, but now they were getting farther with them, actually coming to solve them. If he had heard this a year ago, he'd be happy, asking what Nick did to finally solve the puzzle but now…

The dead bodies coming back more and more gored, dying in ways no evolved human ever should. The puffy face from the apitoxin, eyes blown up like balloons. Desecrated corpses covered in pigs blood when the nearest butcher had just closed down. Evercroft in that stupid mask, thrashing away from Nick like he was the devil incarnate. The deep claw marks in Nick's jacket that night with Adalind.

That seemed to be a pattern, didn't it? Suspects laying on eye on Nick and losing any pretense and inhibition in a desperate attempt to flee from him, to escape his gaze. Nick always acted like he didn't know, but Hank knew. He could tell that, while he was just as disturbed, he knew the reason behind it.

But he'll die before he ever says a word against Nick on the record.

"It's kind of hard to explain."

"Alright then, can you tell me when the nightmares began? Any significant event before then?"

He wanted to say it was Evercroft. The twisted and mangled body that he watched, up close and personal as it shifted between monster and man in a way that no mask could explain. The definition of proof as Nick corralled him from the body like herding a wild animal.

But it wasn't him.

"It was a murder case, you remember when the news went crazy about Bigfoot back in November?" Hank tried to laugh it off, but it came off a hair too hollow.

She smiled back, a small mercy. "Yes, a man in a mask, likely inebriated. He fell from the roof of an abandoned building?"

Hank nodded, arms crossed as he looked up at the ceiling, sinking back into the couch. "Something like that…" he muttered. "Witnesses throughout the whole case were struggling to explain what they saw. I thought it was stupid. It was just a halloween mask, right? Isn't that hard."

Watching the police dogs scamper away, running back to their handlers like their lives depended on it. The deep thrumming in the forest floor below him, a danger growing closer and closer with no audible direction.

"It was a group of people actually…" Hank admitted, though he couldn't bring himself to look at her, barely could bring himself to croak out words. "Some experimental drug gone wrong, used on the wrong people. The other two we got help, but in order to find them all-"

He sat up straight, leaning over and braced against his knees, moving just a little too suddenly to be just shifting weight. "We were in the forest, brought hunting dogs to catch a scent to track him down. And there was this- just, deep, guttural roar from right ahead of where I was."

Hank shook his head, keeping his eyes on the floor. He couldn't deal with the judging stare of another person who thought he was on drugs. "And it was loud, I mean, it shook the trees and the entire forest just went quiet. The dogs ran scared, right past me."

Being tackled to the ground, falling flat on his ass as a monster loomed above him. Nose shifted into more of a snout, sharp and jagged teeth that no human should have. A face covered in a thick fur coat, and tall wolf like ears pinned to its head in anger. The way it had loomed above him, inspecting him like prey with a kind of lucidity now mere animal could hold behind its eyes.

The monster, the claws too paw like to be just a costume. Too seamless at the cuff, too realistic to be gloves. The blood dripping from protruding bone that masqueraded as claws. He was so sure that something would happen then. Not sure what, eaten or worse but he didn't know what worse would be, he just knew.

Hands latched onto either side of his arms, and he shoved them down and away. He nearly knocked into the wall behind him with how strongly he flinched back. But in front of him wasn't the jaws of a monster come to life, it was Dr. Hodgkins looking more than startled.

The two stared at each other, more words passing through them in the silence than ever could be said.

"I should go-" Hank turned to the door, barley checking if he left anything on that couch as he went.

"Detective Griffin, please-" she pleaded, clipboard forgotten. "We have more time, you could come back in next week."

Hank pulled open the door, giving a wrought smile that was more work to make than it was worth. "It's fine. Thank you, ma'am."

Dr. Hodgkins sighed as the door shut behind the Detective. Renard wasn't lying about this, was he? She groaned, opening up her laptop and quickly drafting another encoded email. He was strong, yes, but even the strongest bow under enough pressure.

Hank sat down at their desks without a word of introduction, the silence lingering between then and thickening the atmosphere too much to be healthy. Nick glanced at his partner, knowing all too well what this was about. It would happen eventually, and with what happened with Adalind, he's surprised it didn't happen day of.

"I've been doing this a long time, Nick," Hank started, voice too low for comfort. "I think, maybe it's starting to get to me."

Nick tried to shrug it off, mid morning rush at the station was not the place for this conversation. He kept his eyes on the work in front of them, "There's been a lot of weird cases lately, stress gets to you."

"I put three bullet holes in my closet, Nick, I don't think this is just stress."

Oh

Fuck

"You know how it goes with this. Cops get jumpy and they make a bad call because of it. I don't want to put other people's lives in danger just because of how I'm feeling." Hank leaned in closer, head in his hand and staring off into space. "I came from seeing a therapist this morning and just trying to talk about it sent me spiraling."

Nick shut off his computer, looking at his partner. "You're a good cop, Hank-"

"I was," was the reply he got. "I was for damn near 20 years, that's long enough, isn't it?"

Nick moved his chair a little closer, looking around them as the conversation moved down to a whisper. "Hank, listen, I know that a lot of weird stuffs been going on," he tried, only to get cut off.

"I'm thinking about going to the Captain with this one." Nick tried protesting, but got shut down immediately. "I don't trust myself anymore, Nick. I can't trust myself not to make a bad call, and I've been making a whole lot of them lately."

Nick glanced around the station, making sure no one was listening in. "Hank, listen to me. A lot of stuff has been going on, but I promise that more of it can be explained than you think."

Hank shook his head, looking at his partner with genuine hurt in his eyes. "With the way they look at you, Nick, I don't think I want to know whats going on."

Nick couldn't even respond to that, Wu swinging by their desks with an urgent tone. "Hank, there's this guy here to see you, says he knows you? Jarold Kempfer?"

The two detectives leaned away from each other, returning into their usual work routines. Hank furrowed his eyebrows, coming to his feet. "Jarold? Yeah, I'll handle it," he told Wu, walking over to the man standing in the lobby.

They greeted each other warmly, tense smiles as Hank led him to their desks because who the hell comes into a police station happy?

"I'm sorry to bother you, Hank, but I think somethings happened to Carly," the man asked, the familiar worry of a parent audible in his voice. Hank's mild concern jumped up to priority case the second he heard the name.

"Carly? You don't think it's Lisa's family again, do you?" Hank asked, grabbing an empty chair as an afterthought. "Here, sit down."

Jarold shook his head, "Maybe? That's what I'm worried about but I know it's probably fine. She was supposed to meet with her school counselor this morning, but she never showed. I only found out when she called me, asking where she was."

Nick grabbed a note pad from his desk. "When's the last time you saw her?"

"Just last night. I go to work early, I didn't want to wake her up. When her counselor called, I rushed home and-" he set a colorfully decorated phone on the desk "-her phone was there. Her bed was made too."

The man's composure began to slip, soft tremors wracking his body and starting to grow stronger. His voice was shaking too, sounding like he was on the cusp of tears as the adrenaline started to crash. "Her bed was made, she never makes her bed, I don't think she even went to sleep last night-"

Hank laid a hand on the man's wrist, trying to ground him. "Alright, was there any sign of forced entry?"

"No," Jarold shook his head. "The window wasn't even open. Hank, I don't know where she is."

"Have you or Carly received any threats lately? Fights, confrontation?"

"No, nothing I can think of. I called all of her friends, too, she's not with any of them. And she is not the kind of person to miss appointments- god, I knew she had too many responsibilities." Jarold's face turned down to the side, the familiar ripple of a woge washing over him as he whined silently.

It was gone as he looked back at Hank. "I know you should wait 24 hours before going to the police, but I have no idea where she is and she isn't the kind of person to disappear like this."

Hank shook his head. "No, no, you did the right thing. The first few hours are crucial."

"You said something about her mother's side of the family?" Nick pressed. Please don't be another wesen issue, please don't be another wesen issue-

The man looked downright ashamed in a personal failure kind of way, a look he'd seen on Monroe when he spoke about other Blutbaden. "Lisa's side of the family was… really close knit. While I was dating her, I'd joke about how they were in a cult," he tried to joke but the pain behind it made it fall flat.

Jarold grimaced, anger taking over his voice. "They didn't take kindly to us trying to leave Texas with Carly. It was- god, it was bad. I wish I could say Carly was too young to remember anything, but she wasn't. My wife ended up dying there, her brother shot her cause he'd rather her die than leave. We ended up moving here with half of them put in prison."

Nick frowned, "Well what about the other half?"

The gold faded from his eyes as Jarold's temper cooled. "That's what I'm worried about. But they live down in Texas, and trying something so long after would be insane."

"By the sound of it, they're far past that mark," Nick spared a glance to Hank who was laser focused on his monitor. "Could you give us names of who might do something like this?"

Jarold rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, her other brother Hayden Walker and his family. Three kids, his wife passed recently. They're older than Carly by a few years, so they'd be 19 or 20 by now."

Hank winced, pulling back from his computer screen with a grim look. "You said they lived in Texas?" Jarold nodded. "Not anymore."

Hank spun the monitor around, showing a place of work to0 close for comfort, a home address, and a property out in the more sparse part of Oregon. An old abandoned lot if Nick remembered correctly. There was a stable so old it was rotted and more than a few scraps, why would they want that?

Nick stood up from his seat. "I'll go get a warrant from the Cap in case this turns out bad."

The two only nodded as he left the building, fishing his phone from his pocket. "Hey Monroe?" he greeted as he closed the doors behind him. "Yeah, can you meet me at the trailer?"

"Ugh, Coyotls," Monroe practically rolled his eyes. "I know I'm stereotyping here but I've never met a Coyotl who wasn't an absolute ass to everyone around him. Not the kind of guy you want to run into in a dark alley or under the bleachers."

Nick raised an eyebrow, "I swear I heard you say the same things about Fuchsbau."

"Hey, I disclosed my faults." Monroe flipped through some more pages. "Everyone has their biases."

"Just feels like wesen have way more. Anyways, they're canine so they have the same pack mentality right?"

Monroe's eyes widened. "Oh dude, you have no idea. They're even more intense than we are. If one of us leave the pack, at least we're raised strong enough to do so. It's a death sentence for Coyotl. You've seen one that lived to tell about it?"

Nick winced, "He and his daughter may not be alive much longer, but yeah. We think their family are ones that kidnapped her."

"I'm not surprised. Scared for that girl though, how old is she?"

"Seventeen, I think."

"Coyotls, well wesen in general, but especially Coyotls still do a lot of their old world rituals. The barbaric stuff you see in these books," Monroe gestured to the page in front of him, "they do it today. And nothing good involves a seventeen year old girl in these."

Nick leaned over Monroe's shoulder at the page, pressing up against his back as he planted a hand against the desk. The writing for the English translation was small and cramped, but more than legible. And fucking hell, this was not pretty. A mating ritual with a future husband and… what the fuck was this. 'A father's participation in the event is crucial for initiation in to the pack', what the hell was wrong with these people?

"What the fuck is this?" he cursed, looking at the talismans and overly graphic depictions of rotting animal corpses. "I mean what the fuck are these for?"

Monroe smiled, his voice all too smug. "Uh, well, Nick, when a daddy Coyotl and a mommy Coyotl love each other very much-"

Nick rolled his eyes and scoffed a laugh. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sure you'd love to tell me about it." He left the sentence in the air a little too long, staggering on continuing the conversation smoothly. "She's seventeen and… fuck the full moons tonight, isn't it?"

Monroe nodded, and if he noticed the pause, he didn't say anything about it. "Yep, I'll be staying home tonight, so don't plan on dragging me into whatever this is."

"I know, your time of the month and all that," Nick smirked, Monroe elbowing him softly in the ribcage. He only laughed, "Anything I should know combat wise?"

"They're nothing special, you'll do fine. They're only strong in packs," Monroe reassured. Considering what they've gone against, this likely was nothing to worry about. But from the sound of it, it would be a 2vs4. Which… he's done before, actually.

Nick didn't move from his place at Monroe's back, letting his thoughts wander as he traced over the inked illustrations on the page. The drawings were detailed monsters, snouts lined with sharp teeth with small droplets of blood where the ink didn't smudge.

"Why are some woge's so much more intense than others?" Nick asked finally, breaking the comfortable silence.

Monroe tilted his head, looking like a confused dog. "What do you mean?"

"Like, I saw a mouse wesen the other day. The only difference was the fur and the teeth. Then there's this guy and you and Rosalee," Nick glanced down at the man, somewhat hard to do when directly above him, "where you just look like overgrown puppies."

Monroe stuttered for a second on that, trying to find a response. "What, I- You- God, you have to be the only Grimm on earth who thinks that."

"What?" Nick questioned innocently. "You even get a little snout and wolf ears when you woge." To accentuate his point, Nick lightly pressed the pad of his finger to Monroe's nose, pulling away with his hand intact. "Red eyes don't change that."

Monroe just heaved a sigh, sinking more heavily into his chair. "You are so unbelievably weird, you know that?"

Nick smiled, "You wouldn't like me any other way."

"You two seem pretty close," Nick started casually as Hank drove them to the listed home address. "How do you know each other?"

Hank smiled, glancing in the rear view mirror. "We met in college, old friends. Argued with the cops in the middle of nowhere town he and Lisa lived in, pretended to be a cop when they didn't do anything."

Nick smiled, "So you've always acted like a cop. I knew it couldn't just be practice."

Jarold laughed, "He's got you there." It was nice bringing the man whatever levity they could before this all went to shit. "He's actually Carly's godfather. I know its pedantic now, but back then it was a precaution we had to take." And back to depressing conversation, great work team.

The stench of rot lingered far down the hallway, growing stronger as they approached the door. The two didn't need to say a word, simply giving each other a glance before Nick kicked the door in.

The main room was clear, although Nick had trouble to trudge through the piles of discarded clothes, only partially empty beer cans and trash that littered the floor in a thick layer. The kitchen wasn't any better, food plates stacking up in the sink and likely growing mold. Thank god he didn't have an enhanced sense of smell as one of his Grimm powers, this would be torture.

Hank gestured to what would be the bathroom door, locked from the outside. The smell, while just as foul, was decidedly that of a rotting body compared to the garbage burying the rest of the room. Please don't be body soup, please don't be body soup, please-

Nick kicked the door in, lowering his sights when no one was there. Hank followed but flinched from the doorway, wrenching.

There were animal carcasses in the bathtub, luckily no water to decompose it further. They looked like they had been eaten, the majority of the flesh pealed off and the bones left there. There were organs and intestines piled in the sink, maggots and fly eggs visibly wriggling around in the tissue.

Hank leaned on the doorway, audibly gagging. "See this? This shit is one of the reasons I'm quitting, fucking hell."

Nick called biohazard given that none of the remains were identifiably human. One bigger game, deer from the antlers. Smaller critters, too, raccoons, and either a dog or another coyote. Hold on, was there semen in the carcasses-

"Nick, stop fucking staring at it. How are you not gagging, this whole damn apartment reeks." Hank quickly left, likely running back to the car.

Maybe an explanation of the wesen world wouldn't help at this point. He's seen enough shit as both a normal officer and as a kehrseite to last a life time. Nick always thought Hank was stronger than the average person, hell he himself said he'd go for another 20 years if he could help it. Now, he wasn't so sure.

Carly was sitting on the edge of the well, refusing to say a word. Her cousins surrounded her, and her uncle was no doubt nearby. They were already half woged, no way she could outrun them, let alone with her hands tied behind her back.

Todd looked back at her, smirking. Slowly, he set down the whetstone on the tire of his truck, whittling knife still gripped in his hand as he approached. He was, what, 19? 20? The relatively low age difference didn't matter, the guy towered over her.

Todd pulled on the bottom of her blouse, making it taught. He dragged the knife down, buttons popping away. Carly refused to react.

"We should get you scrubbed down girly." Todd pressed the edge of the knife against her bare stomach, drawing a small amount of blood until it dripped around the knife. He brought it to his lips, the crimson liquid spreading along his tongue as he licked it off. "Need you nice and clean for the ceremony."

Now, any other time Carly would have the self control not to head butt the guy with a knife.

This was not one of those times.

The pulled into the edge of the property, telling Jarold in no uncertain terms to stay in the car while they figured this out.

There were a group of 4 guys lounging in front of the ruined stable, a trailer parked behind them. One of them was cradling a broken nose, and one had bandages peeking out from under their shirt. Hank was twitchy as they approached, jittery. With the dad in the backseat and his already incriminated relatives and Hank going through it? This was not going to end well.

"Hayden Walker?" Hank asked the man in the middle, a bite in his tone he usually had enough self control to suppress.

The man looked between the two detectives with a too calm look on his face. A look of security as he sized them up for a fight. "That's me. Have I done something I don't know about?"

"No, just want to ask you some questions is all."

The man gestured to one of his sons, the dirty blond reaching towards the stereo (the stereo, who owns stereos anymore?) and turning it down. Hayden shifted around, all too comfortable as he leaned his head on a piece of twisted rebar. "What can I do you for?"

Nick cut off Hank to the questions, not trusting him at the moment. "We're looking for a missing girl, a relative of yours." He spared a glance to Jarold in the car, likely not visible to the group of men. "Carly Kampfer, your niece?"

"Carly's missing?" Hayden asked, almost convincingly but his next words were so painfully inauthentic, Nick wondered if he was actually trying. "Well that's just too bad. We haven't seen her since the family split up though, and that was years ago now."

Nick raised an eyebrow, "You came here all the way from Texas and didn't bother to reach out?"

"Didn't think we'd be welcome. Not after that shitshow back home, anyways. Her daddy ain't the kind to give up on grudges in the name of family, you know." Hayden looked past them back at the pathway up to the barn, brown and blue eyes glistening a bright citrine.

"I know you have her!" a voice shouted from behind them, Jarold having ignored them and gotten out of the car. Reasonable response, Nick would've raised high hell if he were in the man's position. Didn't make it any better.

Hank tried stopping Jarold, holding him off. Nick would've helped, but the men shot to their feet as Jarold approached. Nick planted himself in front of Hayden, keeping his eye as he prevented them from getting any closer.

Jarold broke out of Hank's grasp, running to the stable at breakneck speed. Hank rolled his eyes, turning to Nick, "Stay with them, I got him."

Nick nodded without looking away from Hayden. The coyotl was uncomfortably close, but he'll be damned if he backs away now.

Hayden stepped just a bit closer, a small hand signal telling his boys to surround him. Hayden himself wasn't any taller than Nick was, but his sons were each well over 6'4, lanky as they were. "You sure about your position here, detective?" Hayden teased, a smile on the edges of his lips.

"Are you?"

Hayden's skin rippled, a tongue visible under the skin as he licked around his no doubt sharpening teeth. Nick reached for the knife on his hips. He'd taken worse, he could handle these assholes-

They were interrupted but Jarold sprinting out of the barn entrance, looking around the area in a haze, frantic. Hank didn't stop him, instead coming over to Nick. The other men pulled back from the semi circle they'd formed around him, any hint of a woge vanishing from their eyes.

"Nick!" Hank pulled his partner away from the group, speaking in hushed tones. "Hey, these guys have the exact same set up as the fuckers did last time, and if they're planning the same thing, it will not end pretty. I say we bring them to the station and sweat 'em."

Nick stopped listening half way through, focused on a shaking rope in the well on the far end of the property. It was half hidden behind piles of scrap, almost intentional in its obstruction.

As they made their way over, Jarold practically threw himself at Hayden. He would intervene, but this made a great distraction. The group wrestled him to the ground, kicking up dirt as they did so. Gave them time to haul Carly out of the well.

The girl tossed herself over the edge the second she saw Hank, no doubt hurting her rope tied wrists as she did so.

A loud bang fired from the trailer, both detectives dropping down behind the stone. Nick quickly cut the rope off of Carly, doing his best to cut the thick duct tape around her head without hurting her too much.

Hank picked Carly up, carrying her over his shoulder as they bolted into the stable. It didn't look like it though, most of the interior hollowed out and 'decorated', if you could call it that.

Carly was near manic, clinging to Hank desperately, tearing his shirt as claws came in at her fingertips. "Please, Hank, you don't understand-"

"Carly, calm down and listen to me-"

Nick ignored the two, checking all the sides for any discrepancies in the structure. It didn't provide much other than a place to hide. The large pillars they used to tie the ropes and banner too were barely holding up the roof, liable to be kicked down with not too much pressure.

Then again, they weren't expecting that much resistance when it was 4 against one. This entire concept make him sick, and to think they've done this to her mother and likely so many before that? These fuckers deserved a lot worse than a jail cell for this.

Carly went quiet, and she was staring at Nick when he looked back to see why. Though the quiet quickly turned to paralyzing fear as she stumbled away from him. "Hank, get it out of here, Hank, please-!"

Hank looked almost exasperated with her, "Carly, he's my partner!"

"No it's not-" Carly shoved Hank off of her, fur sprouting over her face as she looked for a place to run.

Hank drew his gun.

"Hank!" Nick shouted, grabbing Carly by the scruff and yanking her behind him. Fortunately, Carly didn't attempt to move to try to hurt him while his back was exposed. "Hank, put the gun down, it's just Carly."

"No she's not!" Hank bellowed, raw and ragged with strain put over the course of months. "You don't see what I see Nick, she's changed!" The gun changed from where Carly would be to aimed at Nick's head.

"You know what they are, don't you? They seem to know what you are, you're one of them, aren't you!?" Hank questioned, eyes wide and tearing up at the edges. "I'm not crazy, Nick, I know they're real. I know you pretend they're not there, but they are!"

Nick took a breath in, a hand reaching behind him and holding Carly close. If he got shot in the head, it'd miss her. Though he doubted she could come out of a woge in that situation fast enough to avoid a second shot. He kept his voice even and low, "You're right, Hank, I do know what they are. You're not crazy, I promise you, but you have to let me explain."

The barrel didn't move, Hank's finger one hairs breadth away from pulling the trigger. "I know what they are, and it's a lot more complicated than you think. I should've told you sooner to avoid this, that's on me, I was trying to spare you from all this."

Nick felt the fur turn into human skin from where he held onto Carly. "I will explain everything the second we get out of here, but we have to deal with this first. And right now, the assholes back there are the monsters here." Slowly, Nick moved to the side, the teenager looking more than scared but also very human. "And right now, she's just Carly."

Hank slowly lowered the gun, looking at his god daughter like she was going to go feral any second. Ironically enough, this only made Carly stick closer to Nick, ready to hide behind him again. That was fast, normally wesen would get as far away from him as soon as possible.

Hank shook his head, looking at Carly and then back to Nick. "You couldn't see what I saw, Nick, I went through the same psychosis training you did."

"What, with the fur and the snout and the glowing yellow eyes?" Nick questioned, relieved at the recognition on Hank's face. "Yeah, it's terrifying, I know, wait til you see some of the other ones. Trust me, I know. I know damn well what you're going through, because I went through the same damn thing."

Hank didn't reholster his gun, but he didn't take his eyes off of Nick and Carly, glancing back at where the trailer would be. The scuffle from Jarold had since gone quiet, and they were no doubt going to move in here.

Carly slowly separated from Nick, "I'm sorry, Hank, I didn't mean for that to happen, I haven't even fully woged before-" Nick cringed at the confused look Hank made "-he just scared me."

"Why?" Hank tried tentatively.

Carly side eyed Nick, but the usual fear and malice was dulled. "He's a Grimm, that's what the do."

Nick scoffed, likely inappropriately offended for the situation. "Okay, one, that's stereotyping, and two, you know damn well he doesn't know what that means."

"A Grimm?"

"That's a whole other bag of worms I don't have the nuance to fully explain, I'll bring in someone else, first we have to deal with this," Nick gestured outside.

Almost accentuating the problem, they could hear Hayden's voice calling from outside the barn. "Listen, I just wanna talk this out, fellas. I'm unarmed, and I wanna talk this out like any civilized person." Hayden gestured to the trailers, his son's pushing Jarold to his knees and a gun trained on the back of his head.

"But if anything happens to me?" he smiled, "Jarold dies. Precautions, you understand."

"He's bluffing," Nick stated immediately. "They need him alive for the Aseveracion." He looked to Hank, testing. "You okay to deal with this?"

Hank glared down at Hayden from between the cracks in the wood, panic turned into determined resolve. "Oh, I'm ready."

Hayden walked in with his hands on his hips. Unarmed, as promised. He likely thought he didn't need one to put them down. Maybe that's why he didn't question Nick's gun not trained on him. "No need to get serious, we can work this out." He raised his hands all too casually once he saw the two.

He nodded towards Carly, "Glad to see you're ok, sweetie, thought we nicked ya for a second there."

"Don't talk to her," Hank snapped. "You're under arrest, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

Hayden smirked, a low chuckle emerging from his throat. "Come on, guys, you know this is never going to court." He laughed so confidently, acting like this was some cheesy 2000's cable TV show. "Oh fellas, you have no idea what you're dealing with." His irises shifted into a glossy yellow, "Let me show you why."

He was promptly punched across the face.

Hayden retracted the woge, looking up at Hank with utter confusion on his now human face. Hank looked at his hand, then back at Hayden with the same kind of disbelief. He looked up at Nick, "That easy?"

Nick shrugged, hands half in his pockets as he stared at the man on the ground. "They're coyotls. They're only strong in packs." He looked to Carly, "No offense."

The girl only raised a hand, the 'none taken' said silently. Hayden looked more pissed at her comfort than he did at his defeat. His features rippled once more, trying to turn and scramble to his feet.

Nick pinned him down, kicking him in the head once and stepping onto his chest to keep him down. The man growled, deep and low until he looked back up at Nick. It was almost comical the way his ears pinned back, a whine replacing the once confident laughter.

The woge retracted, leaving nothing but a small, terrified man in its place. He looked back to Carly from where she was now standing between the two detectives, expecting some kind of assistance. Her cold look back offered no reassurance.

She came a little bit closer to Nick, refusing to look at Hayden any longer. "Can you kill him? His skull would be a nice trophy, if you don't mind."

Nick looked back at Hank, checking for his reaction.

"We'll see," was all Nick offered, though it didn't scare Hayden any less. The Grimm surveyed the rafters above them. They were creaky, but they would work. Preferably, the others would go down without a fight. Nick glanced down at the man beneath him, more pressure earning another whine. This one sure didn't.

Nick let up, letting Hank cuff him. "Go get the others," he told Carly, climbing up with too much ease for any human. "We'll take care of them."

Hank raised an eyebrow, "They're not going to leave Jarold alone."

"I imagine he needs to get some violence out of his system," Nick shrugged, knowing he was sounding more like Monroe and Rosalee by the day. "That's his kill."

Carly ran out of the barn shrieking as loud as she could. She barely got close as most of the pack bolted, not listening to a word she said. Maybe if they had paid attention, they would've heard her say 'they're killing him' instead of the other way around.

As she looked up, she couldn't hear what Todd said to her dad, but it must have been something as he woged, jaws latching onto the mans arm. A chunk of flesh was torn out, blood spraying onto the dirt.

Todd looked back to her dad, fur bloodied and stained. He held the gun in his other hand, as he smiled, "Oh, I've been waiting for this for a long time, uncle. And no way in hell are you going to take this from me-"

Todd choked on his last word, throat suddenly filling with blood as Carly tore his throat out. The gun fell from his grip, hands reaching to his neck in vain as he toppled to the ground. He did his best to look over his shoulder, staring up at the girl he was meant to be with tonight.

Carly went in for a second bite, cartilage and bone crunching under her teeth as the head was severed. She could feel the top of her no longer white dress was soaked, a deep satisfaction ringing through her.

Her dad stumbled to his feet, looking at her like she was a baby who just took their first steps. Heavy arms wrapped around her, and this time they were more than welcome.

Jarold hiccuped, "My baby's growing up-"

"Dad, please, now is not the time-"

"Who were the two in your room that night?" Hank asked, the report pulled up on his computer. The station was almost entirely empty, no urgent cases keeping anyone late besides them. Lucky, since they could discuss the night freely.

Carly swallowed a bite of the muffin she was snacking on, "Todd and Kyle. I actually stabbed Kyle." She nodded as he dad looked at her disbelievingly. "Yeah, the scissors I keep on my vanity. Surprised he could still walk."

Carly looked down at her muffin, "Who made these, these are great. Why do you have like 4 platters of pastries in your break room anyway?"

Nick chuckled, "I helped out a couple of Eisenbeiber back in fall, you know how they are. They bring in something every week no matter how many times I tell them it's fine."

Jarold looked surprised, "Oh I heard about that, with the Hasslichen right? I heard something about you guys from some Drang-Zorn buddies of mine, but I thought it was just rumors. That was you?"

Nick nodded, relenting to Hank's questioning look. "With Arnold Rosarot, and the mafia esque guy at the construction company." Hank nodded in recognition, "Wait, those were-?"

"Yeah, a lot of people are, actually. I'll explain all this later," Nick promised, glancing to the side thoughtfully. "Actually, I should probably introduce you to Monroe, that should clear up a lot of things."

Hank sighed, turning back to his report, almost laughing. "Not tonight, you aren't. We can settle all of that in the morning."

Chapter Text

A Kehrseite, a Blutbad and a Grimm walk into a bar. Well, breakfast place, and- hey, we've already done this bit.

The place was also a wesen run breakfast shop, a real mom and pop place. It was cozy, comforting and somewhere Hank had mentioned he'd been to a couple of times by now. Apparently, their chicken and waffles were to die for, and they had some vegan options for Nick's friend.

"And this place is run by wesen, too?" Hank asked, looking around as if it had taken a whole new light.

Monroe nodded, sipping at the coffee he paid too damn much for, in Nick's opinion. "A lot of family shops are. Not all of them, but most of them. I'm surprised they didn't discourage you from coming back, this place is kind of picky with who they want as regulars."

"I could imagine being on friendly terms with a cop would be beneficial," Nick remarked, still looking at their menu. Seriously, he loves sweet breakfast more than the next guy, but some of these were ridiculous. You'd think a wesen shop would be all natural.

They should probably move onto the reason they're here. Nick sighed, stealing some of Monroe's coffee even when he knew damn well he wouldn't savor it as much as he should. "Alright, let's start with the first time you've somewhat been in contact," Nick began.

Monroe raised an eyebrow, "With the Siegbarste, right?"

"That Siegbarste known as Oleg Stark."

"Yeah, I should've guessed he was wesen." Hank looked to Monroe. "I don't remember running into you, though."

Monroe smiled almost sheepishly, "Funny story, I was actually the guy that shot him that night."

"Holy shit," Hank cursed. "That was you?! I honestly thought that was Nick."

"What's with people thinking I snuck out of my hospital room to go kill that guy?"

"Because it's something you'd do, Nick, that's why," Monroe huffed with a familiar exasperation. (Hank looked between the two, cogs turning in his head as he thought back to what Wu said around Christmas) The wolf turned back to Hank, "I'm also kind of the guy that scared you in the forest back with the Wildermann."

"The Bigfoot case," Nick provided.

Suddenly, Hank's look was much more hesitant. Monroe held up a hand, "In my defense, I didn't expect to run into you and I also didn't want to get shot."

Hank nodded, processing. "That's fair, I would've shot you if you didn't." Their conversation paused as the waitress walked over. Nick pretended not to notice that she had been subtly eavesdropping in on them, along with the surrounding tables. It was a pretty interesting conversation, to be fair.

Hank looked at Monroe more speculatively, which was a step up from accusingly. "Do you think you could do it again?"

Monroe exhaled heavily, "Trust me, you do not want that right now. Blutbaden are the closest to wolves, and there's no way to tone down our woge like some prey wesen can. It's scary." Monroe looked at Nick disapprovingly, "No matter what Nick would have you believe."

Nick put up a hand to the side of his face jokingly, whisper shouting, "It's not even that bad."

Monroe snorted in amusement, not deigning that with a true response. "It'll make things worse, trust me. If you have any wesen friends, it'd be best to get used to being around them. Coyotl's have a similar woge, but it's less violent than ours."

"What is it called, a voger?" Hank tried to echo.

"God, your pronunciations worse than Nick's," Monroe cringed. "A woge, it's a lot of foreign languages. The only wesen species I know of with American names would be native, and I don't know of any with English."

"Yeah, I've had to learn German for all this," Nick complained. "An entire language just so I don't trigger every wesen in a two mile radius by pronouncing a word wrong."

"Our titles have meanings behind them!" Monroe countered, a hand pressed against his forehead. "You keep changing suffixes, and at this point, it has to be intentional."

"It is, but they don't need to know that."

Hank smirked at the display, tension falling from his shoulders. It was certainly a more relaxed setting than Nick's first introduction. Then again, it was easier when talking to a Kehrseite, and even easier when it was someone like Hank.

"Wait, so then what are you?" Hank asked, gesturing to Nick.

Nick hummed in that 'I'm uniquely uncomfortable with this conversation topic' way, putting a hand on Monroe's shoulder. "I don't think I'm the best to explain this one."

Monroe only sighed, but reluctantly nodded. "Nick is what we call a Grimm-" the several people who were listening promptly snapped back to their own affairs as if they were listening into some confidential information. Nick and Monroe only shared a look of light amusement.

Nick gestured openly to the room, since ignoring it now would be a moot point. "Yeah, hear that? That's what I have to deal with. I’m trying to have breakfast in peace, but one mention and they spook. Do you know how many times someone has accidentally woged in front of me and then promptly bolted? Too damn many."

"It's a really long history, but to keep this from becoming a late lunch, Grimms used to hunt down and kill wesen. Indiscriminately. The reasons as to why are still being argued, some ties to royal families, something about curses, it's a whole field of study at this point."

"A lot of us don't even think they're real anymore. I didn’t before I first met Nick. I'd heard stories, some fairytales and some as a listed cause of death but you don't think they're real until the Grim Reaper comes knocking at your door."

Hank tilted his head, "That has to be dramatized. Either that or your… vogeh is 10x scarier than anyone else."

"No, actually," Nick shook his head. "You'd probably think it's really mild. I've been told it's more of an uncanny valley type of effect, which you can't get if you're not the population I'm supposedly mimicking. I can't even do it on command, I have to be in the presence of someone else's woge. To you, it'd literally just be my eyes turning black."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Monroe scoffed, mocking the two in a high pitched voice, "'That's it.'"

Hank nodded along, taking all of this surprisingly well for the information they were dumping him with. After thinking you were insane, getting both reassurance from friends and outside sources was a relief. "So, are you guys hidden? How have I never heard about this?"

"That would be the Gesetzbuch Ehrenkodex, the statue of secrecy. Something that you will have to adhere strictly to from now on. You can't tell anyone about this unless they're about to go insane like you were. As it is, most humans can't actually handle seeing a woge. It makes them go properly insane because they can't comprehend it."

"What, like cthulhu?"

Nick rocked his hand back and forth. "More like cthulhu's pet bulldog."

"Apt comparison, Nick. Very flattering."

"Is this like a law?" Hank asked. "I've never heard of this, and if this is on a global scale, there has to be some kind of enforcement of the rules, right?"

Monroe nodded, "There is, and trust me when I say you do not want to find out what they do to people who break it."

It did not go unnoticed that the Council was completely unmentioned. The one time Monroe brought it up, he'd regretted the slip immediately, providing no other explanation. If he wasn't even allowed to say their name, they must be one hell of a punishment.

Hank continued, "What about crimes involving wesen? We've apparently handled plenty of murderers who turned out to be wesen. Is there a separate court for that?"

"No, actually. We do adhere to the rest of the world's laws as well as our own. The only real rules we've collectively established is that we can't break the veil of secrecy, and have to prevent or report others who do. We're also not supposed to use our wesen side to give us a leg up in modern day but it's barely  enforced."

"Huh…" Hank muttered, rubbing his eyes. "That's certainly a lot."

Nick chuckled, "Believe me, it only gets worse from here."

"You've been quiet," Nick noted, a hint of worry in his voice.

Hank shook his head. "Just been thinking… there were so many cases that had witnesses that saw something like that and I thought they were crazy. Knowing that they weren't… it's making me rethink some things. Old cases, mostly."

Nick looked over his partner's shoulder, seeing what he was staring at. It was a local news article, a man named Craig Ferran was getting a death sentence for murder the next day.

"I was one of the first responders to that case," Hank admitted. "I cuffed him, I brought him in, it was my testimony that put him away and gave him his sentence. The entire time, he kept telling me that they changed. His official story was that they turned into monsters. I thought he was crazy…"

Ah, that made a lot more sense. Hank shook his head. "I know that there's probably a lot more cases like this one, and helping all of them is impossible, hell most of them. But I want to try. If we can't then I'll just live with it, but I have to see if there's anything I can do."

"Alright," Nick pulled on his jacket. "Where do we start?"

Nick had looked into the trial, seeing if there was anyone who could give some insight into both Ferran's character and the brother's. They agreed to drive to the girlfriend's house, but given it was across the city, they had some time to kill.

"Another detective, Robert Anderson, worked on the case," Hank explained while Nick looked for a number. "He works in white collar now, but he probably still remembers it. He was pretty furious about the whole think, really looked up to the victim and his brother."

Nick raised an eyebrow, "Prominent people?"

"The vic and his brother were advocates for the indigenous community in the area, started a lot of programs that kept falling through. Good, well liked people. Ferran said they tried to eat him. Went back a few days later with a gun."

"There's a lot of wesen that eat people, and also some normal humans that also eat people." Nick began dialing a number, Hank already agreeing to be the one asking the questions. "We'll see what Ferran says, but even if this is wesen, we may not be able to prove it."

The phone rang a few times, the man picking up on the 4th ring. "Robert Anderson."

"Detective Anderson," Hank greeted. "It's Hank Griffin. I was wondering if I could take a second to ask a few questions about Craig Ferran's murders?"

The man on the other end agreed. "I have some time. I know the dates coming up soon, what brought this up?"

Nick stayed quiet, letting Hank do the talking. His phrasing was sugar coated, providing some truth hidden behind a well crafted and decidedly normal cause. "I was discussing the case with my partner, decided to revisit and now I'm having some doubts."

Anderson sighed, but didn't sound too upset. "All evidence shows it was premeditated, and even Ferran himself admitted to the shooting."

"I'm not saying he didn't do it, I'm just wondering if he may have been justified in some of his reasonings."

"Neither brother was armed that night. Even if it was purely a stress induced hallucination, we searched the entire house for any evidence and found nothing to support his claims that they were cannibals. These were good people, and they did a lot of good work, even if most of it was in vain."

The man's tone turned more somber. "Hank, you are not responsible for this man's death. He chose to murder an innocent person, it was his choices that landed him in this position. Let justice be served."

Hank nodded out of habit, "I appreciate it, and thank you for your time."

The call ended as the two pulled into the house's driveway. That ended up as a bust.

Nick hummed, "They only searched the house?"

"I think so, didn't bother to look anywhere else. The house alone took enough effort."

The younger detective rolled his eyes as they got out of the car. "Any bodies would be buried in the backyard or disposed off farther out. Who the hell hides a rotting corpse in your house?"

Hank shook his head. "Listen, there might not have been any bodies, but it damn well smelled like it. They were hoarders. Surprising but everyone has their vice, I guess. But trudging through that initial crime scene was not fun. Besides, it was a nice neighborhood. They wouldn't have been able to sneak out a body at any time of day."

The girlfriend, Monique, was polite enough once they explained what they were there for. She brought out some of Ferran's old things, ready to present her argument like she was on trial all over again.

"We met at Oregon state, I was studying marketing. He wanted to be a mechanical engineer, but that cost a lot more money than he could afford." She half chuckled, like it hurt to admit but she'd been reassured, "I was the one who suggested he enlist. Get in, get the funding, get out. He was real patriotic, and found a passion there."

She shook her head, unstable composure cracking. "What he saw out there changed him. He came back haunted, woke up with nightmares, couldn't sleep through the night. But dammit, he wasn't a killer. He still worked hard. He spent almost all his time helping people, volunteered at shelters, he would give the clothes off his back if someone needed it."

"He had his issues, and a lot of them, but he wasn't a murderer," she urged, handing both detectives photos, both military and civillian. "The prosecution painted him like this… feral lunatic, a ticking time bomb waiting to snap. Almost ironic that he's the one getting called a monster."

Nick tilted his head, "You believe him?"

She sighed, reaching into the box and pulling out a few loose pages, some thick sketchbook paper and some loose leaf. "I don't know what he saw that night. But I know that there was pure terror in his eyes when he told me about them. I believe that."

Hank took one look at the page and grimaced, handing it to Nick. The silent question of 'Do you know what this is?' on his lips.

It was an ugly thing. Practically skeletal, the skin was wrapped so tightly around bone. The lips and even some of the cheeks were gnawed off, rotted but very firmly human teeth exposed. It honestly reminded Nick of Adalind, of a hexenbiest. But instead of curdling blood, it was a toxic green (the eyes were the only thing colored in on the page).

The drawings at the bottom of the pile were crude, all loose leaf but they slowly got better in quality, fully colored. Monique noticed this, "He was never much of an artist. Those last few days, all he did was draw and research. He didn't tell me what he found, his search history is a mess of folklore and monsters so I couldn't find out myself."

Nick nodded. This was definitely a wesen case then. Whether it would be an actual wesen or a possession like Adalind, he'll have to find out. "Do you mind if we take some of these?"

She shrugged, smiling resignedly. "Keep them. I'm not going to get my hopes up, not now. But I appreciate you both trying."

The two detectives left the house without much more preamble. Nick was still studying the drawings as they got into the car, Hank hovering on google maps. "Do you recognize it?"

Nick shook his head, "No, but it is probably Wesen." He grabbed Hank's phone, punching in an old trailer park, since he wouldn't let Nick drive for anything. "There might be some books on them, and I like to go into these cases knowing what I'm looking for."

"You have books?"

"Hmm? Yeah, Grimm books. Apparently we keep records of the wesen we find. I've been writing my own, but it's pretty lackluster in comparison. You should look through it, see which of our past cases have been wesen."

"Nick, if they look anything like that, I don't want to know."

"Pfft, wait til you see what Adalind was."

"what"

Hank shuffled through the trailer, not helping with the search but exploring the almost fantasy like collection. "So this is your armory?"

"Something like that."

He continued to pull out books at random, seeing the illustrations and immediately regretting that choice. "Are these journals then?"

"Some of them," Nick flipped through a few more pages. He's sworn he saw something like this in this one. He thought it was a male hexenbiest or something, but thinking about it, it matched pretty closely. "Others are more like catalogs. I stick to a specific author for most of those, but looking through random books would take too long."

Nick flipped to the right page, a more skillful, full bodied drawing of this thing taking up most of the page. The wesen was adorned in Native American clothing, and sprawled across the top page was the word 'Wendigo'.

"Wendigo?" Hank read aloud looking over Nick's shoulder. "Like the Native American myth?"

Nick nodded, closing the book and returning it to its place without further reading. "Yep, and I think there might be an entry in this one."

The blue leather was familiar between his fingers. He'd stuck to this author after reading through their journal with Monroe. Their willingness to befriend a Steinadler set them apart from the more clinical and, well, Grimm-ish authors. He also had an idea of who wrote them, and he definitely trusted her information.

"Here we go," Nick set the book down between them both. He found himself reading the footnote at the top of the page, the smaller font written in the red ink of important context the author usually added to her entries.

"'Despite the wesen-like appearance, the Wendigo is more akin to that of a Hexenbiest or Dämmerzustand in the fact that it is transformed rather than born. Wesen, and some geändert Kehrseite can become Wendigos if they indulge in greed or cannibalism, though only heavy greed is strictly needed to begin the process.'"

The rest of the page was written in a normal sized font, though some lines were overlapped with red ink for emphasis.

"'Wendigos are most commonly found in the North American continent, concentrated in land inhabited by Algonquian speaking Native American tribes. It is noted that only Native American wesen of these tribes's descent possess the gene capable of turning them into Wendigos, likely brought on by a mixture of cultural celebrations and regional wesen influence.'"

"Wait," Hank interrupted. "The vics were white. Doesn't that prove this can't be it? Those tribes don't even reach Oregon."

Nick shook his head. "It's not always as simple as that, and this seems like a pretty close match. If there's nothing else, then we'll move on, but I want to finish this first."

"'Wendigos possess an unnatural hunger, primarily for human flesh. The more a Wendigo feeds, the larger it grows, in turn needed more and more food. Wendigo stories dated before or during the colonial era describe them as growing well over 15ft (4.5meters) before being killed by either Grimms or kehrseite.'"

There was a smaller footnote between that and the next paragraph, the portion of the page heavily marked with red. "It may be hypothetically possible for a wesen to fight off this possession, but given the selfish nature of the wesen in the first place, it has not been recorded as happening or being attempted."

"'The physical appearance, abilities and even signs of a Wendigo have been incredibly mutated from the truth due to dismissive portrayals in Kehrseite media. Information on Wendigos should be taken from Grimm books of direct encounters or directly from Native American myth exclusively due to widespread misinformation.'"

"'A wesen possessed by the wendigo spirit is described as an incredibly emaciated person with ashen skin, typically with chewed off lips as it is said to eat them. The only abnormal power they may have comes from their size, otherwise having the (generalized and nonspecific) strength and abilities of wesen.'"

"'Wendigos still have the ability to hide among kehrseite, though their insatiable hunger draws them to kill much more often. In modern day, this makes Wendigos only outwardly detectable by their greed and selfish tendencies, as well as the large murders they commit leading to spiked missing persons.'"

"'If put under closer inspection, Wendigos are often cold to the touch as they are a product of cold, starving winters. Additionally, one may feel a sense of dread or despair when alone with a Wendigo during a-'"

Nick, paused, stumbling over the word, "-Verstect? Viersteckt-, I'll ask Monroe about it. It's probably referencing the woge you can't see but me and wesen can. '-Versteckt woge. An unfertig or Vollstandig woge-' don't ask me what those are, I don't know, 'would take considerably longer for a Wendigo due to both their size and frail bodies.'"

"'These wesen are truly horrible creatures, steeped in the Wendigos awful spirit of greed, hunger, cold, desperation, and despair. Though not physically formidable by current standards, their true depravity is shown by the person possessed and their actions, and it is often far worse than any monstrous appearance.'"

The entry ended there, but the page was filled with other papers and pamphlets tucked into end of the chapter. Hank picked up one of them, a newspaper of Jeffrey Dahmer's arrest. "Dahmer was a Wendigo?"

"They certainly thought so…" Nick shuffled through the rest of the papers, coming across one that was handwritten. "A passage recorded by Lottie Chicogquaw an ethnographer of the Chippewas of Rama First Nation," Nick read.

'One time long ago a big Windigo stole an Indian boy, but the boy was too thin, so the Windigo didn't eat him up right away, but he travelled with the Indian boy waiting for him till he'd get fat. The Windigo had a knife and he'd cut the boy on the hand to see if he was fat enough to eat, but the boy didn't get fat. They traveled too much. 

One day they came to an Indian village and the Windigo sent the boy to the Indian village to get some things for him to eat. He just gave the boy so much time to go there and back. The boy told the Indians that the Windigo was near them, and showed them his hand where the Windigo cut him to see if he was fat enough to eat. They heard the Windigo calling the boy. He said to the boy "Hurry up. Don't tell lies to those Indians."

All of these Indians went to where the Windigo was and cut off his legs. They went back again to see if he was dead. He wasn't dead. He was eating the juice (marrow) from the inside of the bones of his legs that were cut off. The Indians asked the Windigo if there was any fat on them. He said, "You bet there is, I have eaten lots of Indians, no wonder they are fat." The Indians then killed him and cut him to pieces. The end of this Giant Windigo.'

It didn't seem like they needed anything specific to kill this thing. Now they needed to hope that this was the monster that Ferran saw.

Walking through a prison as an officer of any kind was not a pleasant experience. Less so when one has a particularly long streak of putting people away that could have gotten away.

Apparently, it was worse as a Grimm.

The two entered, one of the inmates mopping the floor as they passed. Nick could hear a soft growl and shift as the man woged. He should probably know better than to turn around by now, but he didn't think about it as he glanced back.

The man, a Blutbad, flinched back, dropping the mop as he stumbled back. The attending guards shouted at him futilely, the wolf turning around and bolting down the hallway away from them.

Hank looked between the fleeing man and Nick, who was softly grimacing. "We gonna get a lot of that?"

Nick only sighed, pushing on the door leading to the long corridor lined with bars. "Probably."

Nick himself kept his eyes locked forward, knowing that trying to hide was impossible. Hank didn't restrict himself at all, looking up at all of the inmates who flinched away from the bars, some tentatively looking down as if they were looking at an escaped serial killer.

One of the prisoners, the one cleaning the bathroom, got one look at Nick and promptly locked himself into a bathroom stall. "Jesus…" Hank muttered under his breath.

They finally got to the questioning room, the frosted windows and opaque stone walls a welcome shelter. Ferran was on the other side of thick glass, a guard positioned on either side of the room. He looked… resigned. Like he'd accepted his fate long ago. He did have nearly 7 years to reflect on it, after all. Why get your hopes up now?

"I have nothing to say to you," he stated firmly, though any energy or bite was drained from his voice.

"You don't have to talk, but you only have 31 hours left. What do you have to lose?"

"What's left of my dignity," Ferran glared. "Here to clear your conscience?"

Hank didn't say anything to that, instead gesturing to Nick as they both sat down. "This is my partner, Nicholas Burkhardt. He specializes in," he paused, "cases like yours. The unusual. If you'd let us, we might be able to help you."

Ferran only scoffed, "Right."

Nick tilted his head. It wasn't likely he was wesen, not only would he not have brought up monsters in his story, he would've woged by now. This really was a normal person who got caught up in all this.

"I want to hear about the night you shot the Kreski's."

"Read the transcripts."

"No, I need to hear it from you. Transcripts from years ago can be argued with, I need what you remember now."

Ferran leaned closer to the glass, much to the ire of the guards. "I was mistaken. I didn't see anything."

"Not even this?" Hank held up one of the man's own drawings, one a sketch and one a full color. Even now the man looked disturbed just by seeing it.

"Thing is," Nick pulled up a picture he took of one of his books, "it looks just like this, right?"

Ferran nearly stood up, trying to get a closer look at the image. Something flickered behind his eyes, a spark of some kind maybe. Just as fast, it was gone. "What the hell is going on here?"

"I'm saying we believe you. Even if we can't prove it to everyone else, we can prove that you were justified," Nick urged.

Ferran barely gave them another glance, looking to guards and the exit.

"They were cold to the touch, right? Almost freezing?" Nick continued. "Felt like just being around them was torture. Lips gnawed off to the point of showing teeth, bright green eyes?"

The man turned to them, eyes glossy. His voice was cracking, "It's too late to be trying now, isn't it?"

"Too late is in 31 hours. At the very least, let us try."

Ferran settled in his seat again, invigorated. "I went over that first day to fix their sink. They had a leak and had gone to me personally because they didn't want anyone to see the inside of their house, they were too embarrassed to hire someone. I agreed, I knew a thing or two and I'd done it for other people."

"Then they started laughing, like they were drunk or high off their asses. They told me, 'Hey, we'd love to have you for dinner', and started laughing like maniacs. I shrugged it off, it was weird but whatever, I didn't judge someone off a bad high. It was after, when they corrected themselves and said, 'No, we'll fix you for dinner'."

He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. "I tried to leave civilly, I didn't want to start anything. Then they locked the front door, turned into-" he shook his head. "I got out through the window, ran home. I didn't call anyone at first. They would've said I was crazy, and maybe the stress was getting to me."

He leaned forward against the glass, a hand pressed against the table between them. "But I looked into them, dammit. I swear to god, something is wrong with them. People would go into their houses and never come out, I don't know where they took them but I know what I saw."

Hank looked back at Ferran, "Why didn't you call the police?"

"I did!" he insisted. "I tried, but I kept getting laughed out of anywhere I went to. They would never do that, I was making it all up, I was unstable or a racist bigot. It wasn't until they tried to drag me back into their house I actually did anything."

"The report says you broke into their house?"

Ferran shook his head vehemently. "No, no I wouldn't step one foot in that place if I could manage it. I was trying to figure out what they were, what I saw. But they dragged me back in there, like they had all those other people who probably saw what I did. I had a gun on me, and I fought for my life. Nothing more."

The room went quiet, tears welling in Ferran's eyes as he said nothing more on the matter.

Quietly, he added, "No one's going to believe you. They didn't believe me then, they won't believe you now."

"We can't prove to the DA that they woged, but we might be able to prove they were killers." The two detectives walked out of the prison brainstorming what to do next. "If they couldn't sneak the bodies out, they must have gotten rid of them somewhere on their property. Do you remember the address?"

Hank nodded, "Sure. But without a warrant, we'll be looking through based on the owners permission."

The two drove through the neighborhood. It was nice, admittedly, with larger than necessary houses and pressure washed sidewalks and neatly trimmed front yards. Hank took a turn, squinting as they passed by what looked like a humble grocery store.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath.

"What?"

Hank pulled up to the curb of said store, looking at it with disbelief. "That's where Kreski's house used to be."

The two got out of the car, strolling into the place and ignoring the curious stares from suburban moms wondering why two cops were here. Hank closed his eyes briefly as he walked, stopping right next to the produce section.

"I'm not perfectly sure, but right here would be the living room. Nick, we need a warrant to dig, and we are running out of time."

"Then let's talk to the Captain.

Hank scoffed, the two walking back to the car. "Listen, I know we get shown a lot of favoritism, but we need evidence for this."

"We do, but this is a really high profile case. I'd rather we be the first people he hears about this from rather than someone throwing a fit about it.

Wu saw them heading for the Captain's office, calling out to them knowing damn well neither would listen, "He's got company."

"Well he's about to have more."

Hank pushed open the door to Renard's office without knocking, but he didn't manage to get a word out before Renard swiftly introduced them to said company.

"Detectives Griffin and Burkhardt, I'm sure you're familiar with our District Attorney. Lauren and I were just talking about you. She heard about your visit to death row today. I will admit this is the first I'm hearing of it."

So someone did beat them to the punch. Damnit. They should've stayed out looking for evidence.

Nick took the meeting in stride, knowing that Hank was too self righteous to pretend to be polite. In his defense, people sacrificing other's lives and well beings for the sake of their political careers would permit someone to be a bit rude.

"We were just coming to tell you about it, sir." Nick stood at attention, carefully professional under this woman's piercing gaze.

She frowned at the two, looking more than pissed. "Your little stint is causing quite a stir."

"Our apologies, Ms. Castro." Nick started, "We didn't mean to cause a scene."

Hank took the hint, thankfully. "Just making sure no stone is left unturned."

She scoffed disbelievingly, zeroing in on Hank. "You're the arresting officer. Your testimony helped put Ferran on death row in the first place. You better have a damn good reason for digging into this at the eleventh hour. Did you find some new piece of compelling evidence," she tilted her head, turning her body to face Hank, "Or is it that you don't want a man's death on your conscience?"

"This isn't about me-"

"If a man is going to be put to death for a crime, it should be because he's guilty of that crime," Nick interrupted smoothly. Lauren Castro, she was going to be running for Mayor pretty soon. He gave a hard look to Renard as he continued, "It would look bad on all of us if he turned out to be innocent."

Séan, thank god, got the hint, addressing Lauren with an implicative tone. "We'll keep anything further as discreet as possible. And of course, if we do find anything, you will be the first to know."

She seemed placated for now, but still looked at Hank with a critical eye as she left. "It'd be better for both of you to drop it completely. We have little more than a day left, and I do not want to hear that we were mistaken too late."

The tense silence lasted for as long as Castro was in hearing range of the office.

"Who shoved a stick up her ass this morning? We literally just talked to him," Nick looked through the windows as she left the precinct.

"Not only does making a mistake right before election not look good, you also didn't provide a good reason as to why you're looking into this other than your own moral gratification." Renard shifted his gaze to Hank, "Do you really think this man is innocent?"

"I-"

"We think the Kreski's were Wendigos. We interviewed Ferran today to look further into it and he all but confirmed it."

Séan barely spared a glance to Hank, making sure he didn't look totally lost, before focusing on Nick. "Impossible, the Kreski's have zero Native American lineage. That's why no one looked into the matter seven years ago."

"His drawings and testimony lined up perfectly with an accurate Wendigo portrayal, that can't be coincidence."

"Part of the submitted evidence was his research into possible mythological causes for what he saw, one of which being a Wendigo. That was another reason why the insanity plea was so ineffective, it looked like he was planning for it."

"And if he was purely going off of that research, he would've fallen for the thousands of inaccurate portrayals of an objectively scarrier monster, rather than what amounts to a zombie." Nick sighed, "I know it's improbable, but if there's a chance, we owe it to him to at least look into it."

Séan sighed, his eyes softening. "Fine, but if you run out of time, you burn any evidence you have otherwise she will have your asses, you hear me?"

Nick nodded heavily, "Understood."

Hank finally broke his silence in the altercation, looking to Renard. "Wait, you know too? Am I the only one who didn't know about this?!"

"Come on, Hank, we have work to do."

"Wait, is he- Nick, I need answers-"

Renard only smirked amusedly as the two left his office. The two spun around, Nick lowering his voice as they were in the middle of the precinct. "So no way we're getting a court order to jackhammer up a random grocery store, especially not without evidence."

Hank sighed, looking guilty. "Nick, we might not be able to prove this after all. There's no reason to stick both our necks out like this if this might all come crashing down."

Nick crossed his arms, smiling. "And how are you going to do this without me?"

"I don't know, but I can manage. You're a good cop, and a damn better one with this power of yours. I shouldn't have dragged you into this."

"Hank, this is my job. I probably would've looked into this anyways if I didn't hear it from you. And I've made dozens of calls like this one before, and that was before I could see what I do now."

Hank smiled, "Well as long as you got something else to blame, let's do this."

The information they had on both the attack itself and the living brother after the fact was surprisingly little to work with. The report for the missing persons count during those years was still processing. The brothers really did look noble, even if nearly every single fundraiser and program they started ended up bankrupting.

That was… suspicious. Every single one? They lived in a nice enough area, so they had enough money to support themselves and then some. A lot of their supporters were wealthy white suburbanites, and they had plenty backing from the Native Community they were advocating for in the first place.

It looked like it, anyway.

But what are the chances of every single thing flopping? It looked almost intentional.

"Hey, can you pull up the Kreski's tax returns from the years before the attack? I want to check something."

Hank nodded, "If you can find anything out of that. Only thing they got on their records were tickets for driving too slow." The man chuckled, "Getting them on tax evasion would be funny, wouldn't it?"

He frowned, looking at his computer screen, puzzled. "He didn't update the address on his driver's license but I got a P.O box and a last known job here."

"Besides that?"

"Oddly low income funds. I know they donated most of their money, but none of these charities look very legitimate."

"Anything we could get them on?"

"Nope." Hank leaned back in his chair, "But we do know where we could start looking for John. Do you think you could get him to do that thing? Attack us?"

"Maybe, but it'd look like we threatened him to confess. We need to find bodies. Once we get the missing persons report, it'll be set in stone, but these things need to eat regularly. Not to mention he'd be pretty damn big, and I don't want to risk getting mauled trying."

"Well, guess what just printed?" Hank handed over the papers, the two flipping through them.

"Heightened missing persons in both areas where the Kreski's lived both before the shooting and during. And near Forest Grove, that's where he's been working, right?"

Hank nodded, "Yep. You reckon we start there?"

Nick agreed, but didn't move from his chair. Instead, the detective looked through the report a little more closely, searching for missing indigenous people in those areas. A lot of names showed up, making up quite a large percentage out of the total.

Curious, Nick searched up their names along with some few keywords.

It didn't show much, but the few results he did get told them that most of those people were critics of the Kreski brothers in some way, and harsh ones at that. Asking where all the money was going from said donations, accusing them both on online forums and in police reports of stealing.

Nothing was proven, and the messages stopped around the time of the shooting, likely not wanting to draw negative attention to themselves as the brothers were victimized.

Nick frowned, shutting down his computer with a bad feeling in his stomach. "Yeah, let's go. How much time do we have?"

"Seven hours."

"Yep, that's John," the store manager briskly smiled at the photo. "He looks a bit older now, but, yeah, he works here. Assistant manager, he does good work. Is he in some kind of trouble?"

Nick shook his head, "No, we just wanted to ask a few questions."

The store manager nodded, leading them to the back. "Of course, Ferrans on death row, right? Just horrible what happened. Hey John! These detectives are here to see you."

John Kreski barely glanced at either of them before turning back to his work, grimacing. "If it's about Craig Ferran, I have nothing to say."

Nick spared a glance around. It was just after closing hours, and no one was in the back besides them and Kreski, the store manager already returning to the front of the store. Hank looked nervous talking to Kreski. Well, nervous wasn't the right word. On edge, accusatory, like he didn't know how to handle talking to him.

"There's a chance the case might be reopened, we just want to ask a couple of questions," Hank said, voice low as if he were speaking to a feral animal.

Kreski didn't say anything about the tone, rolling his eyes. "You can ask, but I'm not gonna answer. I did all my answering seven years ago. You two have a good day." Kreski turned the corner, moving further between the shelves, and thinking that was the end of that.

Hank followed close behind, body language already geared up for a fight. "Craig Ferran found out about you and your brother, didn't he?"

John stopped, barely glancing over his shoulder. "If this is about us supposedly embezzling funds, I'm not even going to dignify that with a response. Even if we did, we paid the price."

"You like the taste of human flesh, Johnny?"

Nick almost stepped in, but they were completely alone. Everyone in earshot knew of the matter, and this might get him riled up enough to woge. Best way to prove something's legitimacy is to see it for yourself, right? And if he was a Wendigo, the rest of the evidence is just a matter of finding it.

Kreski spun around, looking Hank up and down as if searching. "What?" was all he managed to stutter out.

Hank pulled one of Craig's drawings from his pocket, one of the uglier ones, unfolding it and nearly shoving it into Kreski's face. "Ferran drew this, hundreds of 'em. Pretty good likeness to a Wendigo, wouldn't you say?"

This managed to stun Kreski, the man unmoving as he looked for anyone around them to stop what was likely a startlingly blunt interrogation of wesen matters. You don't usually bring it up so clearly, even in a room of only wesen or kehrseite-whatever-they're-called.

"What do you think, John," Hank stepped closer, getting in his face and still holding up that picture. "Is this you or your brother? Or do both of you look too much like monsters to tell the difference?"

Kreski lunged forward, coming nose to nose with the unflinching detective, "Ferran is the monster!" Hank must not be able to see him woge, then. But no, that was definitely a Wendigo. Pale skin, emaciated form with sunken in cheeks and almost nonexistent lips.

The woge receded, the man growling in Hank's face. "That man murdered my brother, tried to kill me, all because he couldn't stand the work we were doing. And he is going to pay for it." Kreski shoved Hank out of the way, "Rot in hell with him."

The man stalked off, where to they didn't know. Hank looked to Nick questioningly.

"He's a Wendigo alright, Ferran was telling the truth."

"Wish that was enough to prosecute him."

"It might be, we just need to find where he's getting rid of the bodies."

"Manager'll have an address."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

The two pulled up to the house, Kreski having left moments earlier, likely on a grocery run. The moon hung high in the sky by then, but they had hours before Ferran's execution.

Even in hiding, Kreski wasn't modest. Tucked behind sprawling forest was a grand 2 story house that would cost well over a half a million dollars. Nick looked up at the place, "Do we even have probable cause to be searching the place?"

"Hell yeah, he has a warrant. Skipped out on jury duty."

The door wasn't hard to kick in, the two surveying the house as quickly as they could.

The living room was large, a luxurious couch buried under a mountain of crocheted blankets, giant quilts, and threaded pillows. A giant flat screen TV bigger than the table it was mounted on, an absurd number of consoles that looked like they hadn't been touched in years. All the furniture was ornate, carved wood and looked antique.

The kitchen wasn't better, large paintings and cupboards of fine china you could barely see with the number of objects stuffed inside. Most of the floors were carpeted, the kitchen having designer ceramic tiles. One of which, under the fridge, wasn't actually connected to the rest of the tiles, lacking a grout finish.

"Hey, help me move this fridge, would you?" Nick turned to Hank. It was a task in and of itself, the giant thing weighing a hundred godamn pounds.

The two finally set it down, looking to the space underneath. Nick lifted up the tiles, giving way to a trap door. Nick grimaced, "I'm getting flashbacks to Robin's case."

"With the Howell's? He had a trapdoor like this, didn't he?"

Nick sighed, pulling the thing up, "Yes, yes he did."

The air was filled with a thick, rotting stench the second they pulled up the door. Nick shined his flashlight down there, expecting that just a glance was all he needed. But there was nothing there but an empty crawl space.

Nick groaned, "If he doesn't get arrested, I might just kill him for making me do this."

The detective hopped down, looking for any sign of either a body or second layer. Hank joined him, seeing him tapping the wooden floors, searching for a hollow sound.

"I think I found it. Help me lift this," Hank asked, swiping away all the collected hay and dust.

The two pried off the wooden plank, moving it to the side and promptly regretting that decision.

"Fucking christ!" Hank jumped away from the pit as if he was going to fall in, pulling his shirt over his nose. "Oh, fuck this guy, I'll help you kill him at this point. I'm getting out of here."

Nick watched as Hank retreated to the main level of the house. This had to be well over 35 bodies down here. And Kreski had only lived in this place for seven years. How many did they kill at their old place? How many families had they torn apart just to eat?

Nick looked a little closer at the pit. Among the piles of rotting corpses and metal bones, there was a small, wooden chest. What else were they hiding down here?

Nick jumped, Hank letting out a loud scream and a heavy weight thudding against the ground. Not that he could help, as the fridge collapsed over the trapdoor entrance.

Shit.

The edges of the crawl space was covered by thin wood, and he could see moonlight shining through at some points. Nick scrambled to one of the thinner patches, kicking out the panel, and crawling outside.

There were several shots fired, but sounds of a struggle didn't stop as Nick ran around through the house's front door.

Hank was thrown into the living room, crashing against the coffee table and breaking it. Kreski stood in the doorway, pausing as he saw Nick.

The fully woged Wendigo was a great, terrifying thing. Looking in it's toxic green eyes, Nick could feel every ounce of impending doom that the books described. It's giant body could barely be classified as humanoid anymore, its head scraping against the ceiling, even as it was hunched over.

Its gangly, boney arms were long enough to reach the floor without every becoming disproportionate to the rest of its body. Its legs spread out so far behind it, it looked like it was kneeling just to fit inside the house. It must have been, what, ten, eleven feet tall?

It flinched away from him, what would have been the word Grimm leaving its throat in a dry rasp.

It was terrifying to look at, but ultimately, it was just another monster. Nick raised his gun, unloading most of his clip into the things body. It wailed, ducking back into the main house however fast it could being almost 4 times the size of the doorways.

Nick returned his focus to Hank, helping him up. His partner groaned, clutching at his side. Nick glanced back into the house, "We need to call the DA, now. And probably back up."

"It's too late, Nick. We can't wait to be patched through, and the drive over takes too long."

Nick shook his head, "I had Séan give me her personal number, cover me."

"Why the hell did you get her personal number?"

"For exactly this."

The call rang through exactly twice, Nick putting her on speaker so they could both hear. "Lauren Castro, District Attorney."

Nick tried to catch his breath and sound a little less frantic. "You need to stop the execution, now."

"Burkhardt, this isn't just late, this is at the damn hour," she cursed into the phone. "On what grounds?!"

Hank leaned into the phone from where he had his gun trained on the darkened hallway, "On 25 dead bodies we just found at John Kreski's house, now stop the damn execution."

Castro sounded more annoyed than anything else, "Are you serious or just buying yourselves more time?"

Nick rolled his eyes, "Listen, either you stop the execution, or I go to the mayor with a recording of this phone call and you have to tell people why you didn't do anything. Or, you can listen to us and reap the glory just in time for the election, now which one do you want to do?"

Unfortunately, they didn't get an answer, as the window behind them was shattered. Kreski grabbed them both, pulling them outside as Nick lost his grip on the phone and Hank on his gun.

The two tumbled onto the soft grass, now looking up at the Wendigo, standing at its full height and towering over them.

Talk about a rough first time.

Nick gave Hank the gun he still had holstered, unsheathing his knife putting some distance between him and Hank. Obviously, the Wendigo's attention followed what it considered the bigger threat, swiping at Nick.

Hank then shot the thing in the head. Fifteen times.

Understandably, Kreski toppled to the ground, its body cracking and folding in on itself as it turned back into a human. Nick stood on his guard, prepared for the same spirit to come out of the body like it did Adalind, only hostile. But nothing like that happened as far as he could see.

John Kreski's human corpse laid between them, unmoving, with bullet holes littering its head and neck. A bit overkill, but with the number of bodies in the basement, they could easily defend themselves.

Shit, he didn't end the call with Castro, did he?

Craig laid down on the tabe, ignoring the cold gazes and angry glares of half the people on the other side of the window. He barely met Monique's eyes. She deserved better than this. She deserved better than him.

Some part of him, some stupid, hopeful part, was honestly expecting them to stop. To pause just before the final strap was pulled, before the needle was pricked into his arm and say, 'No, not today'.

But as Monique started crying for one the only times he'd ever seen such a thing, and the blue liquid began pumping into his body, he scolded himself for being so stupid.

The loud ringing of a telephone disrupted the tense atmosphere, the warden standing up to answer it. 'Mhm, of course. Understood,' Craig could read lips, learned how to in the army. He must be getting woozy, because no way that was right.

The intercom buzzed to life, audible to both him and the person manning the vials. "The governor has issued a twelve hour stay of execution."

Holy shit, they actually managed to do it.

Craig Ferran stepped out of the court house on uneasy feet. The camera flashes alone would've been enough to disorient him if Monique hadn't brisqued through the crowd in the forceful, unstoppable force that she was. That didn't stop the questions being shouted at him though.

"Mr. Ferran, were you aware of the Kreski brother's Misappropriation of their funds at the time of the murder?"

"Do you have anything to say on our DA running for Mayor?"

"Did you know that the Kreski family had heavy involvement with several anti-indigenous laws, including but not limited to the Indian Adoption Project?"

"Is it true that the Kreski brothers were responsible for over 60% of the missing indigenous persons in the area?"

"Could you name the two detectives that fought for your case?"

Monique pulled gestured to one of the cars on the curb, quickly speeding off from the gathered crowd. As much as she would love for Ferran to revel in the satisfaction of being proven right, he just wasn't that kind of man.

Besides, they had lunch with two very eager detectives.

Chapter Text

Bum-Bum-Bum-Bum-Bum-Bum-Bum-Bum-Bum-Bum-Bum-Bum–Bum

Bum-Bum-Bum-Bum-Bum-Bum-Bum-Bum-Bum-Bum-Bum-Bum–Bum

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream

Make him the cutest that I've ever seen

Give him two lips, like roses and clover

And tell him that his lonesome nights are over

The radio was playing in the background absently. Some oldies station neither detective bothered to change from. The car ride to the apartment was short; there was no need for a designated music change.

Both detectives had been feeling… drained. Between the debacle that was learning about an entire new world, their last case had been exhausting in all the right ways. Ferran and his now fiancée were getting out of state, and they both had wedding invites for next year's spring.

Then, if that wasn't enough, word had spread through the wesen communities that Nick and Hank were the mentioned detectives involved with the case. They kept it relatively hidden, as wesen were keen to do, but both of them were getting thanked on the street and having anonymous letters addressed to their names turned into the station.

And now they had another scene to get to.

Wu had mentioned it might not be a homicide case, but as the first responder and their friend, he said it was gruesome enough to warrant at least getting a look at. Nick had silently prayed to gods he gave up on years ago that it wasn't a homicide. All he wanted to do today was hang out with Monroe and Rosalee and help out at the shop.

'This might be another weird case, just a heads up,' he had said.

'How weird?'

'Well, it's definitely up there with the killer bees.'

Because that wasn't concerning at all. Both detectives sighed, mentally preparing themselves.

The car pulled into the scene, Nick trying to remain optimistic. "Hey, not all woges or wesen murders are that bad. Sure, the insect ones are on the more…terrifying end of the spectrum, but it can't be worse than the Wendigo."

He'd jinxed himself, hadn't he?

He signaled for the other officers to lift up the bookcase, the wooden shelf rocking as it was pushed upright.

The bruising on her hands and neck, combined with the two coffee cups, likely meant this was in their jurisdiction. However, her clothes were completely intact, so it might not have been sexual in nature, but you never know. Her entire body was, no shit, crushed and swollen, but her eyes especially.

They were puffed up in a disturbingly similar fashion to an allergic reaction, flashbacks of the Mellifer case already flooding his head. She wasn't a hexenbiest, was she? He could check the tongue later.

"Do we know the passcode to the phone yet?" Hank asked, picking it up with a glove.

"We're looking into it, put it in an evidence bag for now."

Nick looked through the various broken vases, glass shards, and photographs littering the floor. He bent down, examining a card with faux interest where it lay next to a printed selfie. "Any report of where she was last seen?"

Wu looked over his shoulder, tapping on the card. "You're looking at it."

A grief support meeting being held at a church within walking distance from here. Alright, let's get this bullshit started, shall we?

The organizer of the meetings, Joe Silva, seemed more than distraught at Molly's passing. "God, I can't believe she's really…" The man took a seat in one of the arranged chairs, either not moved from last night's meeting or set up for next time.

He shook his head, trying to answer the questions. "The meeting broke up around 7:30, but she usually stays a while after. She's, well… was a kind soul," he grimaced.

"She was talking to the newcomer; he introduced himself as Andre. They really seemed to connect. I overheard him offering to walk her home, since it was dark by the time they left."

The two sat down with him, trying to remain empathetic. "Did you get a last name?"

"No, we never ask. As it is, we have an honor system to never call out another person in public if we recognize them. Anonymity is often the one thing these people ask for."

That certainly made things a lot harder. If their suspect was going into this with a plan, he'd likely use a fake name. Nick tilted his head. "Did he have any identifying features? Any tattoos or scars, a particular build?"

Silva nodded, "Yeah, he had a real thick accent. It sounded Australian, but Molly had noticed it was South African. I don't know if he confirmed it or not. I could probably describe him somewhat."

Nick's phone pinged at that moment, a text from Harper telling them to get their asses down to the morgue pronto, sounding a little too excited.

"Here," Hank handed the man a card. "We'll call you in for a witness recount soon. If you see anything in the meantime, don't be afraid to call us."

The two left the church, slowly settling into the day. It was so goddamn early, why is it always early?

"Harper say anything?" Hank asked.

"Nope, but she sounded too happy for comfort." Nick laughed, "Maybe we should call the Captain, see if he freaks out about this vic too."

"Don't even joke like that."

Harper was too damn happy when they walked in. Practically giddy, the morbidly fascinated genius she was.

"She suffocated, her windpipe was crushed. The bruising on her wrists shows she was held down, no idea if she was in a fight or not." She guided them to the gurney that held their victim, their swollen eyes pried open and glazed over.

"You sound too excited for that to be it," Nick sighed. "Hit me, I'm ready."

Harper beamed, "Look at her eyes."

Both detectives peered in. The eyes were deteriorated in their sockets, almost eaten at. The redness that looked like irritation at first glance was actually fine-grained red sand. Who pocket-sanded someone they were assaulting? And why specifically red sand?

"I already took a sample," Harper gestured to the microscope she had set up right next to the gurney. "Take a look."

Hank didn't move, politeness disguising the fact he had no desire to look at whatever had Harper smiling like this. Nick smirked, tugging on Hank's arm, "Come on, there's two lenses. I'm not doing this alone."

Hank groaned, "I should've taken that leave Renard offered me. When did I turn into you?"

Nick had a witty response on the edge of his tongue, but it was left unsaid. There was a rapid squirming on the lens, thousands of little maggots wriggling around. There was almost no light projected onto the slide, either. What the fuck—

"The sand you saw? Those were eggs," Harper breathed with the kind of joy that only an academic would get after finally finding a practical use for an obscure area of study.

"I take it you recognize something from that jaunt you took in Kenya?" Nick asked, not moving away from the microscope (Hank had jumped away the minute he heard eggs, Harper laughing at his discomfort).

Harper nodded, "It looks like river blindness. It's a certain type of fly that lives around rivers. Typically, they deposit their larvae just under the skin, and the parasites travel through the body. But, in this case, it looks like someone dried up the eggs and reactivated them from the moisture of the victim's tears!"

Both detectives looked at Harper, who was grinning like a madman. She seemed to shrink under their gazes, rolling her eyes. "Well, I think it's cool, but if you want to be killjoys."

Harper looked back at the microscope more as a formality. "The parasites are dying, they need a living host to live. They also stop moving in high-intensity light. If she had lived any longer, they would've feasted while she slept. And given the size? These are just the babies."

…

"Hey, Harper?" 

"Hmm?"

"If you need anything, like anything, ever,  at all at any time whatsoever, call us. You know, we're always ready to help out a friend."

Harper snorted, "Thanks you two."

"I came back home cause I had forgotten my keys, but then I heard her scream and saw her on the floor. There was a guy with her, but I didn't get that good of a look before he ran off. I could only see what I think was his car speeding down the road."

The sister of the victim was standing outside, the ambulance pulled up to the curb, and EMTs were already on site. They seemed pretty shaken up, the sister going off of shock and a lack of information to keep her stable enough to answer questions.

Hank pulled the forensic sketch from his pocket. "Did he look anything like this?"

The sister looked at it but didn't seem familiar. "Kind of? I really didn't see him, he bolted out the back when I kicked the door in."

Of which, how she managed to kick in a French door like that clean off the hinges was frankly impressive.

"That's fine. Could you describe the car?"

She nodded fervently, "Oh yeah. It was pretty distinctive, but I don't know enough car names to put a label on it. It was really old, it had tail fins. White on top and red on the bottom, I think it might have been a Cadillac?"

Shouldn't be too hard to find. "Do you know where your sister was before this? Where she was coming from?"

She hesitated, the shock beginning to wear off. "She was at a grief support meeting. Our mother died two weeks ago, both of us have been taking it pretty hard."

Well if this wasn't the most fucked up victim profiling he'd ever seen.

Nick sighed, "We have her number, right?" Wu nodded, and the EMTs were already loading up the victim. "You can go, the ambulance will take you to the hospital."

The sister left them alone, Wu leading them into the house.

Hank looked through the house, the dining room eloquently set with fine china teaware. One cup remained on the table, untouched, the other was shattered on the ground. "It's the same MO: he gets himself invited and takes advantage of the vulnerability."

"But why go through all the trouble of blinding them? Assuming this girl is dealing with the same thing, he isn't raping them or stealing anything from the houses. So what is he taking?"

Wu raised an eyebrow. "Besides their sight?"

The question lingered in the air. Was he a sadist then? Only doing it to hurt another person? Maybe there was a wesen explanation for this, but if there was one thing Nick had learned during his time on the job, what humans lacked in savagery, they made up for in cruelty.

The only indicator of something paranormal (if he can call it that anymore) was the usage of this obscure fly's eggs. A fly wesen, maybe? The man from the church said he had a South African accent, it was in the realm of possibility.

Hank snapped his fingers in front of Nick's face for a second. "You ready to come back to us? Cause we got a lot of work to do."

Nick nodded, stretching his arms. "I think I'm going to do some research into what this might be. You remember where the trailer is, right?"

"I do, but if we're diving into the books, I'm grabbing us coffee." They stepped outside, out of earshot of anyone who might overhear them. "That friend of yours gonna be joining us?"

"Probably. There's a lot more to this than just the books can provide, and his input’s saved my ass more times than I can count."

"Uh huh," Hank agreed sarcastically. "And definitely not because you miss your pet wolf."

"Oh please, you got along with him fine."

"What can I say? I'm a dog person."

"Of course it's Gliederfüßer wesen, can't be like a pack of Blutbaden or another Löwen ring, it has to be bugs." Monroe flipped further through the pages, grimacing away from the page. "You said a fly, right? Something from Africa?"

Nick nodded, jumping up from his place on the floor surrounded by piles of books, coming to join him on the small sofa. "Did you find something?"

The wolf nodded, silently eyeing Nick as he got what was supposed to be too close for comfort. "For your sake, I hope not."

Before he could say anything more, his head perked up, looking to the outside of the trailer. Nick wanted to laugh, going to the window to check that the car pulling into the lot was in fact Hank's. "It's funny how wolf-like you are sometimes," Nick noted as he moved to open the door.

Monroe scoffed, "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. You said Hank was joining us?"

"Mhm, and he brought coffee—and before you say anything, it's my books I'm risking, and also it's that one hippy place you like."

"…Fine."

Nick opened the door, taking the tray of drinks from Hank and resting it on the desk.

"Sorry I'm late," the detective apologized. "The minute Harper found out there was another victim and she was alive this time, she hounded me for the address."

"Well, at least we'll have thorough observations from the science side of things." Nick turned to Monroe, who had moved the book to the desk, reading through it with a mildly disgusted look on his face. "You said you found something?"

"Yeah, and the only thing on it is a journal entry from the 1600s. There's probably more information on this in the region it's from, but this is the best we have. It's all in German, so bear with me while I translate this. 'It was my third trip of the interior when I encountered one of the most fiendish wesen on the dark continent.'"

"'It took 14 days of consecutive hunting'—that's probably not accurate wording, but whatever—'to finally capture the beast that had been terrorizing the villagers. He blinds the innocent, feeds off their tears like an addict. The tribesman I've been working with call him a—' God, what does that say, a Jinnamuru Xunte? That's a mouthful."

"'The word roughly translates to tear-stealing evil spirit, which I find ironic as he was previously the localized priest.' I guess that makes sense. 'When I finally—'" Monroe sighed, "Okay then, 'when I finally slayed the—' that's a slur, 'beast and removed its brain from its severed head, I found it to be rotted and crawling with vile red worms.' That illustration does not need to be colored, just saying."

Nick looked over Monroe's shoulder, propping himself against the back of the chair out of habit. "Oh, this thing looks sick. Do the worms have hooks in their bodies?"

"Nick, I need you to stop talking."

"Shutting up."

Hank chuckled, "That's a first."

"'The-'" Monroe made a motion with his hand, "Fly wesen things, I'm not saying that every time, 'will often revisit the beloved ones of their past victims, their tears readily available.' Ok, this guy just sounds like he sucks as a person."

"Nothing about having to feed for survival?"

"Not that I could see."

"Cool." Nick fished his phone out of his pocket, the insistent buzzing showing he had a call. "It's Harper," he informed the two, putting it on speaker and resting it on the table as they flipped through the chapter's drawings. "What do you got for us?"

"Most of the same. The suspect used the same method of attack. The only difference now is that she's still alive, which means the parasites are alive too."

Harper's chuckle was audible over the phone. "You have got to see this. Either when you interview the victim or stop by the lab, this is really a sight to see."

Monroe gave Nick a silent 'What the fuck?' mixed with 'Who the fuck is this chick?' look.

Nick mouthed back, 'Don't worry about it.'

The hospital was quiet, the shade cast by cloudy skies furthered by covered windows. The sister spotted them in the window, quickly exiting the room and stepping into the hallway.

"Is your sister awake? We had a couple of questions."

Casey shook her head. "The doctors just dosed her, she should be out cold for another few hours. Do you know who did this to her?"

"We've been working on it. Has she said anything about the man who did this to her?"

"Just that he had an accent and that his name was Andre. It's been a long night, and whatever he put in her eyes is painful. This is the first time she's slept soundly."

So he isn't using a different name each time? It could be just one alias, but that would make connecting the victims much easier and would leave a clear trail once they find him. Surely he isn't using his real name, no one's that stupid, right?

Right?

The victim woke up, which couldn't be good. Nick could see her clutching at the bandage around her eyes, curling into a fetal position, and trying her best to pull it off. Casey burst back into the room, holding her sister by the arms and trying to stop her struggling.

"Please, get it out, it hurts!" Kelly moved her head up, looking to the other people in the room. The bandages were soaked through, blood quickly staining around the eyes.

"What's happening to me?!" The girl screamed and pushed the bandages down onto her nose bridge.

Casey jumped back, her own terrified yelling adding to the noise. Or maybe the high-pitched shriek was from Hank, who knows? Not that it was undeserved, this was properly gross.

The worms were protruding from her now empty eye sockets, each the length and girth of a finger. They crawled onto the rest of her face, Kelly's frantic clawing sending some of the bigger ones out and onto the floor and squishing beneath her fingers.

Doctors flooded the room, Nick and Hank being pushed out.

"Shit, and this is what she wanted us to look at so bad?" Hank swore as they left the hospital.

"You can yell at her later." Nick slid his phone back into his pocket. "We got a sighting of our Cadillac."

The squad cars were pulled up a fair distance away from the front entrance. They didn't want to be spotted and potentially spook their suspect.

Wu pointed at the pristine Cadillac parked around the back of the school. "There's the Cadillac, and no one's come out to get it yet. The grief support meeting is supposedly ending right about now."

Hank waved off the other two responding officers, directing them to tag the car and run the plates. Nick kept his eyes trained on the front doors, people slowly filtering out.

Hank squinted, "Hey, does that guy in the grey trench coat look like him?"

"That is him," Nick confirmed, pulling his gun and bolting. 'Andre' spotted him as he got closer, darting back inside and slamming the doors shut behind him as he went.

Nick turned the corner, Hank and Wu just coming through the end of the hallway. He motioned for them to get the stairs and other hallways as he chased after their suspect, taking steps two at a time.

This fucker was fast, and Nick could spot the ripples of skin as he started to woge. That wouldn't be fun to deal with, and it would risk Wu seeing him. Andre hightailed it around a corner, Nick only catching a glimpse of the end of his coat breaking his way into another classroom.

Nick paused, hesitating on opening the door for a second. He swore he could hear a faint buzzing from inside the room. With his gun raised, he peered inside through the door's window.

Their suspect was flitting from window to window at impossible speeds, changing directions within the blink of an eye. That's going to be really annoying to deal with. Hopefully being around a supposed Kehrseite would get him to rely on more human methods of evasion.

Nick opened the door, silently stepping inside and raising his gun before announcing himself. Andre heaved up one of the desks, raising it above his head and aiming for the window.

"Drop the desk, and put your hands over your head." Nick didn't raise his voice very much, just enough to be heard. Andre thankfully didn't woge, but his skin did ripple slightly. Reluctantly, he set down the desk, facing the window, and raised his arms.

Okay, the Mellifers had spines that protruded out of their skin. Nick couldn't imagine what the fly equivalent for that would be. A proboscis? Or would he just lay eggs (he doesn't want to think about how) and then dry them into sand like Harper said?

Nick slowly approached, speaking lowly all the while. His trench coat was thick enough to block any kind of penetration. He lowered his gun, grabbing the handcuffs from his pocket and grabbing one of the man's arms. As long as he's careful about not touching the skin—

The minute he had a hand in his grasp, Andre whipped around, pursing his lips and blowing sand into Nick's eyes.

The immediate effect was similar to pocket sand, a stinging, burning pain and a grittiness stuck behind his eyelids. He wrenched his eyes open, ignoring it and unsheathing his knife.

Andre had picked up the desk from before, breaking the window. Nick dove forward, sinking the blade into the thing's side. It let out a horrible screech, something caught between a hiss and what Nick imagines a cockroach sounds like getting sprayed with ten pounds of roach killer.

It didn't do much, the thing prying him off and jumping out the window. Nick slumped against the sill, clutching at his eyes. Oh goddamnit, this was going to be a shitshow, wasn't it?

Maybe Rosalee would have something for this, either to get the eggs out before they started eating or antibodies so he becomes immune to them. That sounds like some shit she could pull off, right?

He raised two fingers to his mouth, a loud whistle echoing through the empty halls. Fuck, he couldn't see shit. Everything was just red with quickly fading silhouettes.

The door slammed open, two footsteps running to him that Nick quickly identified as Hank and Wu. His partner pulled him up, arms slipping under his shoulders as he was hoisted to his feet.

"Fuck, he went through the window, he's heading west," Nick shouted at where he hoped Wu was. The sergeant quickly called in backup as he ran out, the clicking of boots audible down the hall.

"We need to get you to a hospital. Come on—"

"No, you saw that girl, they couldn't do anything. The eggs are too fine to extract." He pulled out his phone, handing it off to Hank. "Call Monroe for me, Rosalee might have something for this."

"Rosalee? As in Rosalee Calvert from the spice shop—what the fuck is she gonna do?"

"She's like a cooler witch, and she'd also have the balls to carve out my eyes if it comes to that. Now hurry up—"

Rosalee had wrapped up shop immediately, flipping on the closed sign as she took the books from Monroe. "And he said that he breathed them out?"

"Yeah, you'd think that in order to make eggs you have to lay them, but when have wesen ever made sense?" Monroe questioned, grabbing the book from earlier and flipping to the right page before handing it off to her.

She glanced at it once, but then did a double take. "Hold on, this is a Jinnamuru Xunte that did this?"

"If that's how you pronounce that, then yes."

The Fuchsbau ran her hands over her face, groaning as she speed-read through the entry. "Of course he managed to go get wesen-fueled African River Blindness in the middle of Portland, Oregon. I don't know why I expected anything less. I have a few books on this pulled out already, but I don't know which one of them has a cure—"

The doors opened, Hank half carrying Nick inside, yanking him away from shelves to keep him from running into them. Monroe led them both into the back, sitting Nick down on the sofa. "Here, grab that lamp over there," Monroe directed, grabbing one of the smaller tables from the corner.

"Hey man, these are bad, like really, really bad."

"I can actively feel them barbing into my eyes, you don't need to tell me," Nick half laughed. His half smile died when he heard Monroe whine slightly, shuffling around and tilting his chin to point in a certain direction. The movement in his eyes stopped to the point he could feel it. Still burned, but now it was like opening his eyes in a pool.

"It slows down when you look into the light. Keep your head there, ok?"

The hand pulled away from his face, which honestly hurt more than the damn worms. Jesus, there was almost no difference between staring into what was probably a lamp and into the rest of the room.

He could hear quick, light steps come closer from the rest of the room, crouching down in front of him. "Rosalee?"

The figure stilled. "Yeah, I thought you couldn't see."

"Your gait, it sounds different than those two. And also, you're like a hundred pounds lighter than both of them."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hank called out, half offended, clinging onto the small comfort of banter. A little loud for a response; he's blind, not deaf, but ok.

Rosalee took his hand, bringing it up to touch the lampshade. "The lights here, I need you staring at this for as long as possible. I'm sorry this happened to you, but I promise we're doing everything we can." Her voice slipped into what was likely reserved for patients, but it was comforting nonetheless.

Nick smiled, "Trust me, this is only like the 4th worst thing that's ever happened to me, and that's just conceptually. Doesn't even hurt that much, promise."

That statement didn't help, as she made the same hurt noise Monroe did earlier. He'd never heard this from either of them before, no way it was that bad to look at. Rosalee returned to her mini library in the other room, a flipping of pages audible as she searched between pages.

Hank and Monroe were worriedly talking to each other, not even bothering to whisper. To be fair, he hates when people whisper about him, but still, rude.

"These worms are barbed, which makes them impossible to rinse out, and it would risk tearing the pupil to pull them out with tweezers. And that would only be possible when they're large enough to do so."

"Whatever the solution is, we have to get it quick, because the last girl lasted under 12 hours before her eyes were completely dissolved."

Nick shuffled on the couch, careful not to get his shoes on the cushions as he leaned back. "Not helping, guys."

"Nick, keep your eyes in the light," Rosalee snapped. "And whisper quieter, you two."

"You aren't even in the room with us, how do you know I looked away?"

Rosalee took a breath like she was going to respond, but it died before she could. She sighed, whispering, 'Oh my god' just loud enough to be heard.

"Did you find something?"

He could hear Monroe's voice from the counters, "I promise we'll tell you the second we find something, Nick—"

"Hank, Monroe, can you come in here, please?"

There was a shuffling of feet and a creaking in the floorboards as they shuffled to where Rosalee was. Nick did not miss being this keen to movement, to memorizing gait patterns and listening for who was approaching behind closed doors. This sucked.

"There's a cure."

"Great, what do we have to do?"

"We have to pull his eye out."

And getting suckier.

"Pull his eyes out—how is that a cure?"

"No, not Nick's eyes, the Jinnamuru Xunte. His eyes carry the antibodies necessary to combat the blindness. That's why he's not affected by the hundreds of worms squirming around in his brain."

Ok, less sucky.

"How much time do we have?" Nick asked, hearing Hank say a small 'What did he say?' while Rosalee called back to him a little too loudly. They're practically right in front of them, why are they shouting?

"We have four hours before the pupae get large enough to pop your eyes, and longer than that as long as you keep looking at the light."

He winced at the loud ringing of Hank's phone, nearly bringing his hands to his ears. "Please tell me you got something."

Wu's voice was clear, as if he were whisper-speaking on the couch right next to him. Thats- that's not right, Hank never puts his phone on speaker loud enough for people to hear. "He stole a car the minute he got out, and he left it at the corner of Quimby and Aspen Terrace. No sight of him so far."

Hank swore a little louder than he usually would, putting his phone in his pocket. Wait, isn't that right near the house that Casey was attacked in? With her at the hospital, Casey must be getting home right about now.

"Hank!" Nick sat up, regretting looking away from the lamp when the pain tripled. "Hank, that's right near the victim's house, the sister's probably home now. He's going back for her."

There were footsteps, far too many footsteps to be right across from him. When Hank spoke next, it was as if he were shouting, "Wait, you heard that?"

Nick flinched, his hands raising to his ears before he could stop himself. "Yes, I heard that. I don't know why you put your phone on speaker. And stop yelling, I'm right here."

The silence between them permeated, the scuffle of feet the only sign that they were still there. Then, after a few beats, he heard Rosalee's voice. It was faint, like she was whispering, but still audible. Why did she sound so hesitant? "Nick, can you hear me?"

"Yes, I can hear you. The worms haven't crawled through my brain to my ears yet."

He could hear a mix of shocked reactions from Monroe and Hank. Rosalee quickly returned to his side, too many damn footsteps trailing behind her. "Nick, I was on the other end of the shop, the far back corner. Could you hear me?"

Hold on, what? "What? You were, like, right next to me. It was faint, but I could still hear you—where are you guys right now?"

Rosalee tilted his head towards the lamp again, and he didn't need to listen for a frown. "We're in the front of the store. I put most of the books up there when Monroe called me."

"So what, do I have super hearing now? Cause there's been a lot of parodies that show that would get really old really fast."

Rosalee stood, shuffling through drawers. "We can think about this later. Nick knows where he is, and we need to move now. Hank, can you drive?" The detective nodded, grabbing his keys from his pocket. "We have a few minutes between extracting his eyes to make the paste."

Nick stood, Monroe's arms holding onto his own as he stumbled into his chest. "Do we have a flashlight or something? I can feel them eating, and I'd really rather not."

"Good thinking, Monroe, take this, you're on babysitting duty."

"Please, I've been on babysitting duty for the past six months."

"Hey, you can't be mean to me while I'm injured."

"Nick, you're always injured, I'd never get the chance."

They were pulling around the corner of the curb when Nick sat up. "He's already in there, she's putting up a fight."

"Are you sure?"

"Some kind of glass is breaking, and honestly I'd rather believe it's directed at him."

Both the driver-side and passenger-side doors opened, a soft growl making Nick pull back from opening his own. "Nick, if you try to fight him while actively blind, I'm going to beat your ass. Keep that goddamn flashlight on your eyes and stay in the car."

Huh, he's pretty sure that's the first time Monroe's ever sworn at him. (No, he is not getting butterflies, shut up.)

Rosalee laughed from where she was next to him, making a backup mixture. "I thought dogs were the ones to take orders."

"Shaddup"

Hank didn't waste any time kicking the door down, getting a glimpse of Andre on top of Casey before he bolted into the next room. He'll deal with the bug later, stopping by the stairs where Casey was curled up in a fetal position.

"Casey, Casey, he's gone," he assured her, the girl hesitantly looking up from her hands as they covered her eyes. Smart girl. "Stay here, and if he comes back, cover your eyes no matter what."

She nodded, Hank running around the corner Andre had sprinted behind.

Monroe caught a glimpse of the man hauling ass around the corner, turning into the kitchen and down a hallway. Maybe it was his being wesen, but damn if he didn't run like prey.

He chased after him, running into walls in his pursuit. The man must've seen him, turning and running up the stairs further into the house. He knocked over vases and tables in his fleeing, leading Monroe right to the ladder leading to the attic, the man just barely slipping inside. This would be fun, wouldn't it?

Oh shit, he cut the lights.

That staying in the car lasted all of 5 minutes before the house was plunged into darkness. Rosalee's panic and the sound of a refrigerator turning off was enough to tell him something was off.

"He cut the power, didn't he?"

"Yeah, how the hell could you—Can you hear that?"

Nick didn't respond, putting down the flashlight and bolting into the house. Rosalee trailed after him, half protesting and half leading him up the steps. "Nick, are you sure about this? We don't know where they are—"

"I do. I can hear him. He sounds like a fly, and I can hear it through the walls. I can tell where he is, and if it is pitch black in here, then they won't be able to. Now, where are the stairs?"

The house was dark, but in no way quiet. The fighting from the attic dropped down to the second floor as Monroe was pushed out of the attic, taking the Jinnamuru Xunte down with him as he clawed into the arms touching him.

The thing hissed like a feral cat with three mouths, the darkness not letting him prepare for the next hit.

Then he was off of him, the sound of footsteps rushing down the hallway. Given the clambering of Hank shuffling down the stairs, it definitely wasn't him.

"Godamnit, Nick," Monroe muttered before moving through the halls to try and find his dumbass Grimm.

Nick tackled Rosalee to the ground, the fuchsbau giving a small yelp as the Jinnamuru Xunte tripped over them. The loud, insistent buzzing didn't cease. Nick didn't even know if he was woged or not, but it didn't matter, he'd get him to soon enough.

There was a creak in the floorboards but no footsteps, a shifting of weight as the man readied to go after him again. Nick cut him off, moving left and catching him by the throat as he was stopped mid-motion.

The thing was fast and too strong for comfort. Nick had been thrown around a lot since becoming a Grimm, but this was absurd. It grabbed him by the waist, hauling him up with almost zero effort as he was slammed back into the ground, pinned.

So if his arms are here, then his torso would be a little lower, and he's probably feeling still freshly stabbed right about now.

The beast hissed in pain, rolling off of him as Nick punched him in the side, wincing as he used the leverage to elbow him in the face. That was… really hard for a human face. Sure, facial bones are strong as hell, but there was almost no give to that.

And flies have exoskeletons, don't they? And he did hear a loud crack, he was woged, wasn't he?

Nick scrambled to his feet, nearly running into whatever decoration was pressed against the wall behind him. He could hear the buzzing right next to him, getting higher as the man stood up. It didn't move for a second, then slowly began creeping closer.

Nick jerked back, hands guiding him against the walls as he moved down the hallway. Could it see in the dark? Why else would someone shut off the lights if not for the advantage?

The buzzing only got stronger the more they moved, as if it was studying him and his movements. They continued, Nick moving farther back until he was pressed up against a window.

It paused, then lunged.

Nick ducked, the glass shattering from where the hit landed on the window. He heard Monroe call out his name from the other end of the hallway, footsteps rapidly approaching. There were two more downstairs, likely to turn the power back on.

Nick ducked to the side, nearly running into furniture as he did so. Listening for movement was a moot point, with growling and pained hissing too loud to focus on anything else.

The house began humming, electricity flowing through the walls as the lights (presumably) turned back on. All three wesen winced from the sudden light, giving Nick a reminder of where Rosalee was hiding.

Monroe staggered back from the Jinnamuru Xunte, back meeting one of the walls. It didn't sound all that visually impaired, poised for another strike.

Nick felt the table from before, using the leverage to jump, legs quickly wrapping around Andre's neck, sending them both to the ground.

What should've been hands clawed at his thighs, feeling more like sharpened sticks than arms. Was he even further woged then? That would be gross. He didn't entirely mind being blind right now.

"Rosalee, you have the spoon with you, right?" Monroe asked, kneeling by Nick's side and pinning the man's arms down.

The Fuchsbau nodded, running over to them. Given the small shift in weight and the loud cry of pain from the thing, Rosalee was sitting on top of him, knees digging into his stomach. Nick could hear both wesen make a noise of disgust, the cries only getting louder.

"Did you guys get—woah, what the fuck." Hank's presence stopped at the top of the stairs, momentarily going back down them before joining in to help.

Monroe winced, "Yeah, there's a reason Gliederfüßer wesen keep to themselves. I'm all for choosing your own path, but I don't think I could ever love this face. Even with both eyes."

"Hold on, Nick, open your eyes a little more. Monroe, hand me that flashlight." Rosalee's hands were on his face, presumably getting a better look. "They're advancing, we need both eyes."

Nick could faintly hear Hank gagging, and then the watery, mushy mixing of something in glass. "Oh man, you do not want to be seeing this."

"It looks like strawberry jam if you don't think about it," Rosalee reassured. "Just think of it as strawberry jam. Now, I'm going to put this on your eyes, it's gonna sting a little bit."

"I sincerely doubt it could hurt more than the hundreds of maggots currently squirming around in—" The feeling of a cold paste and a blindfold being wrapped around his head, Nick forcefully kept his eyes open. The minute it touched his eyes, it was as if someone had thrown a bucket of bleach at his face.

"Holy shit—!" Two hands quickly pressed him back down. "I should've believed you, ok. Fuck, I think he's waking up if you want to take care of that."

Nick's statement was punctuated by the man's insistent screaming. His weight writhed on the floor, and given the lack of movement from everyone else in the group, that's all he was doing. The rippling, tearing noise of a woge was magnified by Nick's advanced hearing.

"What did—what did you do to me!?" The man cried, his back hitting the wall in a thud.

The group was silent for a beat before Hank looked back to Rosalee. "Hey, are the antibodies to the worms in the rest of his body or only in the eyes?"

Rosalee's muffled, startled laugh was her response.

The pain in his eyes stopped almost completely, the only irritation coming from multiple foreign substances still making contact. Slowly, he took off the blindfold, his vision blurry but quickly clearing the more he blinked. That was a fast-working cure, Jesus.

Andre was human again, still whining and screaming like a child. But, if Nick squinted, there were red worms crawling out of his eyes. Dozens, maybe hundreds, were crawling out of the woodwork as fast as the man could rip them out of his head.

Nick laughed, "Oh, the irony."

"I would call that justice personally." Hank stood, hauling Nick to his feet as he went. "Now, what's the official story here?"

Nick walked over to Andre, crushing fly larvae as he did. He stepped onto the man's neck as he kneeled to get a better look at his eyes. "He got a taste of his own medicine."

(fucking christ thats cheesy, delete that in post)

There was some more chatter around them, the faint crushing of gravel beneath tires, and the faded sounds of construction work a little farther off.

The rush of wind coming at him.

Nick swung the bat, even more fruit spraying on him as it was broken. Another, a little farther forward this time. Then another behind him.

"That's it, I'm all out."

Nick took off the blindfold, pushing down his smile as he saw some of the kiddos watching from the pavement, jaws nearly on the floor. Monroe handed off the empty crate once filled with fruits back to the woman they bought them from (he wished they'd let them pay more for them, but paying in the first place was an uphill battle).

"I don't know how you did it, but you didn't miss a single one. Are you sure I'm not speaking too loud?" Monroe asked, concerned, grabbing the kanabo and cleaning it off.

Nick shook his head. "No, you're fine. It's not that everything is louder, it's just that I can hear more just as clearly. Is this how you feel all the time?"

"Sort of. Nice to know I'll have you suffer with me now." The Blutbad swung the bag of weapons over his shoulder, making his way back to the center of the lodge, nearly getting stormed by both praises and some of the older kids (and not so older kids) asking if they could join in next time.

"Please, Mr. Nick," Aurora whined. "I'll be super careful, and Hailey could watch me! She always tells my parents when I do something wrong!"

Nick chuckled, "Your mom would actually kill me if I let you so much as near one of those swords, Grimm or not." He wasn't even joking, for all that Bud lacked in intimidation, Phoebe made up for it tenfold.

"Y'know," Monroe said softly as Aurora glumly gave up on her ventures, "when I first told Rosalee we were headed to the Eisenbeiber lodge to test out your hearing, she thought I was joking."

Nick raised an eyebrow as if anything about this was even remotely normal. "Really? I figured she knew me better than that by now."

The Grimm peeled away to go thank Bud again for letting them come down here, trying again to pay for the fruits they'd wasted that day, only resulting in surprisingly stubborn refusal.

Monroe stayed a couple paces back, maybe looking a little too softly at the stupid Grimm he'd somehow picked up.

Maybe… maybe Angelina and Hap were onto something.