Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It seems jealousy and petty revenge are not just human faults, Sean reflected darkly, or maybe Adalind had simply adapted very easily to her new status.

He almost snorted. No, Adalind had always been the (stupid) vengeful type and now he had paid for relying on such a childish creature. He should have cut her loose long ago, when he had first understood her feeling for him had become an obsession.

And now the results of his soft heart (foolishness!) were lying, dead to the world, in a hospital bed: Nick Burkhardt, his youngest and most brilliant detective, Portland’s - his, goddammit - Grimm, was unconscious and totally unresponsive to outside stimuli.

There was a part of him, something primal, baser, that was enraged, in uproar and demanded Adalind’s blood. This was beyond certain proof that he was not her mate, despite what she had insisted time and time again for years; Hexenbiester were incapable of such acts against their mate, who were the center of their lives. Adalind knew how important Nick was for his canton.

And Sean hoped that was all she knew, otherwise he was sure Nick would be in the obituary and not in the hospital, even if that was not looking very promising either. The doctors had told him their patient’s status had never been reported before: his cerebral activity was almost non-existent, almost dead, even if Nick was still able to breathe on his own.

Looking at him was eerie: it was like Nick was just sleeping, and in a moment or two he would wake up and open his eyes. Instead, the doctor who had talked to Sean had said, bewildered, that his state was like being “suspended between life and death” and that he and his colleagues were unable to explain what had happened and was still happening to the detective.

But Sean knew. This had Hexenbiest enchantment written all over it, and even if he had no actual proof of the culprit, he was certain it had been Adalind.

If it had been someone else, someone after the Grimm, or even after him, they would have killed Nick, not left him alive - or not so alive - like this. This was personal, personal for Sean, even if devious. Adalind didn’t know how to strike at his heart, thank the heavens, so she had gone for the next best thing and struck at him politically. The fact that one of his subjects, one of his most trusted, had almost killed a person he had gone to great length to protect was probably the worst blow he had received so far.

How could he stand strong against the Royals, against his Family, if he was unable to control one Hexenbiest, turned human? And Adalind knew how important the canton was to him, after what happened with his Family...

But it seemed that after all he hadn’t learnt everything he could have from his experience with his beloved Family. “Trust no one” had been the first lesson. His mother had repeated it for years and now here he was, the familiar bitter taste of disappointment and betrayal, invading his mouth.

And he wasn’t the only one paying for his faults: now Nick lay in that bed, and he had to do something to rectify it .

***

Nick had been unconscious for two days when Sean had to admit that Adalind had escaped his area of influence: his sources had searched every corner of Portland and nothing had been found. Adalind was probably in Europe again by now, and Sean couldn’t afford to make a move in that direction. Too much of his power relied now on the Grimm, and he had to find a way to wake him up, at all costs. He couldn’t afford to lose him, as an ally he had protected and cultivated and as so much more.

And if that wasn’t enough, a member of the Dragon’s Tongue was still roaming around, free, in this city, looking for those damned coins. And his resident Grimm, one of the last people seen with the coins (and Sean suspected the one who still had them), was totally vulnerable.

With a few calls he was able to appoint three of his people as nurses, and station a few police officers in the hospital, but it wasn’t enough. Nick had to wake up.

The situation couldn’t go on.

***

He hadn’t visited Catherine Schade in years, not since he had left Europe and his mother behind, and he would have preferred to never see her ever again, if he was honest with himself: too many memories were linked to her. If not for her importance to his own mother, he would have asked her to leave Portland as soon as it had become his territory.

For once, though, he was relieved he had not followed those first emotional reasons. He had not been educated in the arts of the Hexenbiester, when he was little, on his father’s orders, and when he could have, his desire to bury his heritage as deep as possible had made it impossible for him to learn.

Catherine remained his best choice for Nick. He couldn’t go anywhere else and at least this particular Hexenbiest couldn't betray him.

***

Catherine lived in an unassuming part of town, away from Wesen prying eyes, as it was the best way for her comings and goings not being observed by anyone. It was impossible for Wesen to ignore a threat such an Hexenbiest and if she wanted to come and go as she pleased, without being detected, she needed to be far away from Wesen senses.

That obviously didn’t mean he didn’t have her followed. As much as he would have liked to forget her existence, he couldn’t forget how important she was to him. Her safety was something he couldn’t just ignore.

He rang the doorbell and in a moment the door was opened and she was in front of him, elegant, fair and still as beautiful as so many years ago. The sight of her was like a punch in the gut: too many memories, good and bad, sweet and painful, were connected to her, to his mother, and a part of him wanted to run away, find any other way to do this, away from her acute gaze and flowery scent, so intertwined with the memory of his mother’s.

He almost expected to see his mother stepping behind Catherine, smiling. When a few moments passed and his mother obviously didn’t appear, he shook his head and focused on the woman: his lost look was mirrored into hers.

Yes, he thought bitterly, if she’s a ghost for me, I’m surely one for her.

After a moment of hesitation, she smiled tentatively at him.

“Sean...” her voice was rough, and so, so familiar.

She cleared her throat.

“Please, come in.” she said, stepping aside.

He entered, looking around, his eyes lingering on the tasteful pieces of furniture and the paintings and ceramics: there was no real personal touch behind those, and the photos on the mantel were fake, a good cover if someone by chance came by. Nothing personal could be gained by looking.

The calculating part of him appreciated the care: Catherine had been here for decades by now and still she was as careful as the first days. He knew her name had never come up in the Wesen community, in any capacity whatsoever.

He turned and examined her closely: she hadn’t really changed, and for that he hated her a bit. It was like being thrown back in time, and the sensation of losing control, so typical for the first part of his life, was descending upon him. He had spent too many years working to gain and keep control of his life that it didn’t want anything to alter it.

The memory of Nick lying in a hospital bed flashed through his mind and he knew it was too late: his life was already spinning totally out of control.

“Are you going to greet me properly or will you continue staring at me, Sean?”

Catherine’s voice hadn’t changed, steely and cold as her appearance, but her eyes betrayed her: there was a warm glint there, that she hadn’t bothered to hide.

A smile was threatening to come out, but Sean didn’t let it. He had ignored her for years, and he was here not to get in touch again, but to ask her help in tracking down her daughter. A daughter she loved dearly, and whose fate he still hadn’t decided. No, he didn’t deserve to treat her the same as so many years ago. In a way, he had lost the right and even if her posture was welcoming, he couldn’t treat this visit for something it was not. Not at the moment at least. If she accepted to give him her help, he’d have to make it up to her. He didn't believe it was possible, after having ignored her for so long, but he hoped it was, all the same.

He could begin by greeting her properly.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Catherine.”

He leaned towards her to give her cheek a kiss and so close he could see her internal debate: point out she has been there for years or let it go gracefully?

Catherine didn’t let anything go, but this time she made an exception and that made Sean frown. Why was she being so complacent?

Catherine’s eyes bore into Sean’s and for an instant there was a little whisper of magic between them. Sean kept a firm hand on his control and let her explore his superficial emotions: he was quite sure she didn’t perceive anything but his annoyance.

She frowned imperceptibly at that...

He arched an eyebrow at her.

“That hasn’t worked since I’ve been seven.”

Catherine smiled softly at him, a faraway look in her eyes, the one people get every time they think of things long past, but happy. Then the smile turned sad.

She looked into his eyes, serious.

“No, it hasn’t, except when you were upset.”

“And why should I be upset now?” Sean asked, bewildered, and a bit on the defensive.

The knowing look Catherine gave him was unsettling: what did she know now?

“Please, Sean, I’ve known you since you were born. Let’s not play this game. Come and sit down.”

He followed her in the living room.

“Do you want something to drink?”

He shook his head and sat on the sofa and Catherine beside him. He would have preferred more distance, but he was by now convinced he wouldn’t get out of the conversation and get her help, before revealing a lot more than what he was comfortable with. An unpleasant prospective, but she was his only chance for waking Nick and he would take it, even if some lines couldn’t be crossed.

“So, what has brought you here - finally, I might add?”

Catherine was comfortably leaning on her side of the sofa, but her gaze on him was intense and unwavering.

A familiar sense of being trapped, forced, was already spreading in Sean’s body, but he tried to quell the spikes of fear it induced: Catherine wouldn’t hurt, betray him, he knew. She knew his weaknesses, his fears, his past, she was trusted. Pity the unconscious part of his mind wasn’t so easily convinced.

He looked away for a moment, gaze lingering on a splendid mantel. The fireplace, though, was too reminiscent of the one in the house they lived in in Europe, and the distant reminder of France, his Family, brought his situation in a sharp, painful clarity.

“Adalind has betrayed me.”

He said, turning to look at her. She gave him an almost compassionate look and sighed.

“I can’t say I’m surprised, Sean.”

He almost snorted. Wasn’t it ironic that a person, who hasn’t seen Adalind in thirty years, even if that person was her mother, wasn’t surprised by that?

He had really been a fool, too confident in his ability to control her. Catherine’s next words voiced his own conclusions.

“Despite how much I’ve tried to educate her, she has always been unable to accept that life didn’t always go as she wanted, that she couldn’t always get everything. Particularly, when other people’s feelings are concerned. And she had always been petty and mean in those situations, unable to accept them.”

She paused and her gaze almost pinned Sean.

“You should have realized her obsession with you would lead her to betrayal, after you’ve denied her desires for so long.”

“Interesting. So, you’ve never bought her story that I’m her mate?”

At that, she scoffed.

“Oh, please, no Hexenbiest could be so selfish in regards to her mate. Don’t make me say something you know so well.”

Oh, yes, he certainly knew: the sacrifices Catherine had gone through for his mother, and his mother for her, had been tremendous during the years. And with a pang of guilt, he admitted that part of those sacrifices was his fault. Deep down that was probably one of the main reasons why he hadn’t wanted to see her, and he had tried to forget his life before Portland. Not that his Family’s occasional requests could make him forget. But seeing Catherine here, away from his mother, talking about mates... No, he didn’t deserve to treat her the same as forty years ago, as if he hadn’t ignored her for so long. He surely didn’t deserve her help.

He turned from her and looked at his hands. He didn’t know what to reply. Maybe he should just change subject.

Catherine’s hands were suddenly squeezing his.

He looked up at her. This time the warmth and compassion in her expression was plain to see.

“I know where your thoughts have gone.” she paused and cleared her throat. “And it’s not your fault, whatever you’re thinking.”

A lump in his throat made it difficult to reply and his voice was rough.

“If mother is still in Europe, at his court, at his mercy, it’s my fault. And if I hadn’t found it intolerable to live there, you wouldn’t be here, for months every year, to keep an eye on me, for her. So, again: my fault.”

A pause and then he forged ahead to finish the painful, but undeniable truth.

“If I hadn’t been born, or at least, if I had been born normal, things would have gone differently. And you know it.”

Catherine’s expression was blank for a moment, and then downright pissed. Here she was, the Catherine he knew. He had wondered how long it would take him to bring her out.

“I would slap you for that, Sean.” she hissed. “I hope, for your sake, that you didn’t voice those opinions of yours to your mother, ever, or I will kill you myself. After everything, she doesn’t deserve to hear her beloved son speak like that.”

He tried to keep his expression blank, even if those words were a slap themselves. He knew how much his mother loved him. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t the reason of many of her pains. At least at that list he had never added the fact that he had voiced his opinions about his birth.

“No, of course I never did. I can't be cruel to her, I know how fiercely she loves me.”

Catherine nodded.

“Good. But the fact is that you don’t really know."

At his inquisitive look she went on.

"What I mean is that you can’t understand, not being a mother yourself.” she smiled at him at that. “And obviously no one knows how a male Hexenbiest instincts works when children are involved. A Hexenbiest’s love for her children, anyway, is very strong, and the desire, need to protect almost absolute. An instinct so strongly driven as almost the one towards her mate.”

A pensive frown appeared on her face.

“Actually I don’t think it’s possible to say which one is stronger. Usually the two instincts don’t conflict with each other...”

“Because the children are always children of both the Hexenbiest and her mate, Catherine.” he finished, almost wistfully. “And that’s not our case. Mother had always been torn between what she had to do for me and you.”

Catherine scoffed again.

“Sean, sometimes, you’re very dense. I’m grateful you have come here. At least I can help you clear a few things for you. You’ve clearly lived for too long with these stupid ideas.”

He couldn’t say he wasn’t confused by that.

“What do you mean?”

Catherine's blue eyes fixed steadily on his.

"Why do you think I've taken care of you for so many years?"

It seemed a rhetorical question, but Catherine was clearly waiting for an answer, one he didn’t really want to voice. What if what he had thought for years was true? He was strong and confident about his life now, but there was so much pain and abuse his heart could take before something in him broke.

His reticence did not please Catherine, whose eyes were suspiciously bright and the only thing he could focus on in the utter silence of the room.

“Oh, God” she choked then, standing up. “Your father and his Family have done more damage than I thought!” she exclaimed, disgusted, pacing angrily in front of him. A light trembling was coursing through her body.

He was at loss to what to say to make things better. This seemed too... extreme.

“Catherine” he called her softly. She stopped and looked at him. “You’re overreacting.”

If possible, she got even angrier.

“Are you even listening to what you’re saying, Sean? I’ve loved you like my own son since your birth, and now here you are, more than half a century later, thinking I’ve taken care of you out of some stupid sense of duty towards your mother or some nonsense like that! And all this because your father’s family is made up of sadistic bastards, who convinced you you are unworthy or useless or I don’t even want to know what!”

His heart squeezed painfully at the sight of her lucid eyes, the tears clearly threatening to come out in a moment or two. He couldn’t let her suffer like this. He stood up too and went to embrace her. He hadn’t hugged her since he had been a child, and the startling physical proof of how much taller he had become since then was unsettling. But she fit in his arms, and for once in his life he could be her anchor, he could be the one comforting her, and not the other way around.

He rested his face on the top of her head, her scent so familiar and identical after so many years. He couldn’t help but reassure her then.

"I'm sorry" he whispered into her hair. "I know you love me, I know, but..."

"But the effects of the conditioning and abuse you suffered as a child are still there." She finished for him and sighed deeply. "You can't imagine how it pains me and your mother to know we couldn't protect you."

He had a very detailed idea, actually. While his powers as a Royal or as a Hexenbiest had always been limited, dampened by his hybrid status, the empathy inherited by his mother's side had always been very strong, and sometimes he had thought it was stronger than the one of a full Hexenbiest.

The ease at which he picked up emotions and intentions and the fact that no one had ever picked up on his magic touch when he had read someone’s emotions had made him aware of the extent of his ability. And, so far, the only people he had encountered that were immune to his powers had been Nick and his aunt, because of their Grimm heritage. It had been strange for him, when he and Marie Kessler had met, to see the desperation and the pain in her eyes clearly, but sensing nothing where those emotions should have been.

It was a useful gift, for someone living so disadvantaged in the Wesen world, and out of fear of some kind of retribution from his Family, he had never said anything about it. More often than not it had been a curse: feeling his mother's pain and frustration for years, his father's loathing and his family's hatred for him, had been a terrible burden, worsened often by his own guilt.

If he had been born normal, life for a lot of people - for his mother - would have gone very differently.

But he didn't want to burden Catherine with that. He loved her and his mother too much to let that happen. Their guilt, should they know, was something ultimately useless and cruel to inflict upon them. After everything they'd gone through for him, he could spare them that pain. He had to.

Catherine took a step back then, clearing her throat. The moment had been extremely emotional, but Sean reminded himself that there were more pressing matters. He and Catherine could discuss his fucked-up childhood and family another time: now the most important thing was waking Nick up.

“So,” she interrupted the silence. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me who smashed your face? And what my darling daughter did.”