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"I don't like this, Nick," Monroe says, gripping the armrest of the car, feeling every bump of the uneven earth as they drove. They had left Portland earlier this morning, giving the excuse of going on a camping trip to Hank, packed Aunt Marie's trailer and hitched it to the car, and headed towards California.
"Monroe," he starts.
"You get a phone call from some guy, who claims his name is Peter, saying there are rogue Blutbaden killing children in a small town called Beacon Hills. What part of that doesn't scream 'trap'?" he huffs, crossing his arms and then changing his mind as Nick goes over another pothole. "I knew I should have drove," he mutters to himself. "How did you convince me to come along on this mission? I should be helping my brethren instead of you."
Nick smiles winningly, and Monroe frowns more. "I didn't have to convince you. If I remember correctly, you invited yourself-"
"Because this is suicide!"
"Monroe, I can't just let-"
"This is going to be different from any other case we've done, Nick. You're not a cop on this. You're a Grimm, and only a Grimm. And if they are Blutbaden, and they are killing people's children, when you kill them? It won't be in the line of duty. There won't be any police cleaning up the crime scene. This will be you and me, burying bodies."
"We buried those Reapers."
"Obviously, I haven't taught you very well. Reapers may call themselves family, but they aren't one, and they sure as hell don't act like it. Blutbaden run in packs. And if they find out you've killed one of their own, they will have no problems following us right back to Oregon, to your front door. Have you forgotten Angelina, and Hap, already?"
Nick doesn't say anything for a long time, focusing on the road, before he breathes deep and replies, "I know, but let's just- We'll lay low, stay out of town. We're just two guys, out on a camping trip. We've got the trailer."
"You are the most stubborn man I've ever met, and that's saying something, because I know some bull-headed Wesen. Literally, bull-headed."
Nick snorts, glancing at Monroe from the corner of his eye. "You got people in California?"
"No," Monroe shrugs, readjusting his seatbelt. "Nick, wait, stop." Nick pulls over to the shoulder and Monroe rolls his window down. "Oh. Oh, no," he groans. "Turn down this street here."
Nick does as directed, looking quizzically at Monroe. "You wanna share with the class?"
Monroe keeps sniffing, his head out the window. "Werewolves. Turn right. It gets stronger out in the woods."
"Werewolves?!" Nick panics slightly.
"Distant cousins to Blutbaden. I'll explain it all later. I just, there are rules. Keep straight here, I can smell a whole pack. If a purebred Blutbad crosses a werewolf's territory, we have to declare ourselves to prevent a major war. Like, a complete blood bath. Besides, they might know something."
"Werewolves," Nick repeats, laughing as Monroe points him closer into the woods.
-----
"Blutbad," Derek says, following the rest of his pack out the front door of his home. They had heard the creak of a car's breaks and had smelt a strange creature, one that put each of them on high alert.
Scott and Jackson both bare their teeth and Allison slowly fingers the knife she wears on her belt. Stiles trails behind Derek, asking a thousand questions a minute. "Wait, Blutbad? What does that mean? Derek? Derek."
A tall man exits the car from the passenger side with his hands raised in surrender. "We come in peace." A second man jumps out of the Driver's seat, his hands raised in the same fashion, but the look on his face is anything but submissive. "I'm Monroe."
Derek takes a step forward and accepts Monroe's hand. He shifts slightly, as does Monroe, and the two of them step apart, satisfied that the ritual is complete. "Derek Hale. This is my territory."
"We're just... passing through," the other man supplies, before holding his hand out. "Nick." Derek takes it with a pensive frown, shifting slightly for Nick's benefit. He snaps back quickly and lets go of Nick's hand.
"Grimm. You brought a Grimm onto my land?" Nick purses his lips and hangs his head, letting Monroe take over. Stiles takes pity on him, and holds his hand out.
"Stiles Stilinski." Nick shakes his hand with a smile. "So, Grimm, huh? Want to fill me in?"
"Family of supernatural hunters, can trace our line back to the German brothers. Tend to be a bit unwelcome among Wesen."
"No way, *the* Brothers Grimm?"
Nick laughs. "The stories are real." The two of them look over at Monroe and Derek, who was frowning very seriously at Monroe's typical "he's not like the others" speech. "I'm not, you know?"
"Hmm?"
"Like the other Grimms."
"Heh, good thing for you, I don't know any."
Scott, emboldened by Stiles, walks towards them. He shakes Nick's hand in the same fashion, phasing slightly, and jumps back. "Whoa. I don't know what you are, man, but you smell like...death, and danger."
"Good to know," Nick quips, shaking Allison's hand.
"I'm human," she opens with, "also from a long line of hunters. Werewolf hunters." He quirks an eyebrow and seems to get a big kick out of that, throwing a grin over his shoulder at Monroe. Monroe rolls his eyes, and goes back to his conversation with Derek, which seemed to mostly consist of brooding eyebrows and grunts.
Jackson and Lydia follow behind. Jackson seems to give Nick the once over, but it's Lydia who nods her approval and grips his hand just a little too long. "What brings you to Beacon Hills?"
It's this question that draws Derek and Monroe back to them. "Reports of deaths caused by a band of Blutbaden."
"There's that word again," Stiles perks up, giving Derek a dark glance. "I wonder, whatever does it mean?"
"Blutbaden are a type of Wesen, or creature, of legend. You might know us better as the Big Bad Wolf," Monroe supplies, standing at Nick's elbow. "The werewolf is the distant cousin of the Blutbad, born from interspecies mating with humans."
"The Blutbaden of Europe mixed with humans. Instead of simply weakening the animal instincts, it created a monster that couldn't control them at all," Derek adds.
"Allison's loup-garou," Scott says.
"My family killed it," she explains off-handedly to Nick and Monroe. Nick quirks an amused eyebrow.
"The mythical werewolf, the one who ate virgins and created the need for werewolf hunters. Even the word, werewolf, means man-wolf," Monroe gestures excitedly with his hands.
Derek snorts, and continues the story. "Eventually, though, there were Blutbaden who could handle the transition."
"Learn to control the wolf," Monroe interrupts.
"And they became the werewolves we are today."
"Many of them immigrated to America, since they were generally unwelcome among the Blutbaden and reviled among the humans. Not to mention hunted by both the hunters and the Grimms."
"So wait," Nick jumps in. "If you bit me, would I become a Blutbad?"
"No. First of all, Blutbaden don't generally bite and let live with their meals. Secondly, you're a Grimm. Your blood would neutralize the effects of a bite. Third of all, it's a unique adaptation of the werewolf."
"We were dying out in America, with no more Blutbaden. The bite is some sort of freak genetic thing, coming from the human side."
"I think this is the most I've ever heard you talk in one go," Stiles says, elbowing Derek in the side.
"How did you hear about these Blutbaden?" Lydia butts in, addressing Nick.
"That's what your alpha and I were discussing," Monroe answers instead. "He told me about the old alpha, Peter Hale."
"Yeah," Nick agrees, catching on. "We received a call from a Peter. Are you the pack he was talking about?"
"We've," Derek hesitates. "We've taken care of Peter. He called you, hoping a novice Grimm would mistake werewolves for Blutbaden. He was the one who was killing people. My pack is clean."
"He was looking for you to eliminate the pack for him,” Monroe continues, crossing his arms nervously over his chest and chewing on a fingernail.
"I thought he wanted to claim me for himself, have me kill my old pack," Scott chimes in.
"This was plan B," Derek grumbles, his eyebrows a deep V in his forehead. The werewolves all nod, glancing at each other from under their eyelashes.
"So, this was fun," Stiles claps his hands together. "You guys want to come in, have some lunch or something?"
"No," Derek and Monroe say together. Monroe clears his throat awkwardly, and continues, "There's a territory thing, you know, with werewolves and Blutbaden."
"I can't have a Grimm in my house," Derek explains.
"That goes both ways," Nick says clearly. "No werewolves in the camper." Monroe looks at Nick, but he keeps eye contact with Derek.
"You have a deal. You can park your camper in the field out there. Monroe will be able to tell you where our land ends."
Nick nods, amused. "So, I take it we're staying anyway?"
Monroe has the decency to flush a little, and shrugs. "We did say we were going camping."
Nick cuffs Monroe on the shoulder slightly. "Anything to keep us out of work, huh?"
"Anything to keep you from getting us killed," Monroe quips back, settling into the passenger seat. They drive beyond the line of trees, the pack watching.
"So," Jackson says, "what's the plan?"
"I don't know about you guys," Stiles chuckles, "but he only said no werewolves in the trailer."
"Stiles-"
"Hey, let it be put in the record you tried to stop me, Jackson. Cry for me if I die, Scott. If you find me semi-alive, Lydia is to perform the kiss of life."
"As if," she rolls her eyes.
He raises his shoulders with a smirk. "Worth a shot."
-----
At six in the morning, Stiles found himself picking the somewhat pathetic lock on the trailer door. He had almost gotten caught by Monroe, who has exited the trailer about ten minutes before the hour, grumbling about yoga and being too close to the woods. Stiles had waited long enough to make sure he wasn't returning before he continued on his mission.
The lock gives easily, and Stiles slides inside. There were a few lamps switched on, and the blinds were open over the small bed, letting the orange glow of sunrise filter in. Whatever he had been expected, he was met with something even greater. The stacks of books and weapons laying around were like catnip to Stiles, and he was so busy flipping through a large, ancient tome to notice Nick until he said, "you're lucky I like you."
"Jesus tap-dancing Chri- Don't do that to a guy. Heart conditions run in my family. God, damn."
Nick wrestles himself out from under a stack of sheets, pillows, and blankets, and looks blearily at the intruder. Glancing around, he squints again at Stiles and asks, "where's Monroe?"
"Doing downward dog and the sun salute somewhere in the forest."
The blankets slip down Nick's back, causing Stiles to flush and look away guilty, but not before he notices a rather large and vicious hickey on Nick's left shoulder-blade. "Don't let him hear you make the dog reference," Nick warns, collapsing back on the bed, apparently not ready to face the world, or a curious kid with a hard-on, literally and figuratively, for the supernatural. "How'd you get in here?"
"Sheriff's kid," he explains. "Picked the lock."
"Don't touch anything. This was my Aunt Marie's trailer. I'm still not sure she doesn't have some secret Grimm booby-traps built in here somewhere."
"Is this what Grimms do?" Stiles asks in wonder, thumbing through the open book again. "Kill creatures like Monroe and Derek?"
Nick sits up, realizing he's not going to escape Stiles just by ignoring him, and pulls on a shirt. Stiles sends a thank you up to whoever is listening, because it's only polite, but also because at least Nick seems to understand Stiles' sensitivities. Derek seems to develop an allergy to appropriate clothing whenever Stiles just really needs him to be covered up. There's a whole fantasy involving licking wild honey from his abs that, if he just wore a shirt, Derek would never find out about. Stiles' mind was wandering, absently watching Nick scrub the sleep from his eyes.
"It's what we used to do. It's what my ancestors used to do. It's what my Aunt Marie did."
"So, what makes you so different? Just can't handle not being the special snowflake Grimm?"
Nick smirks. "I wasn't trained for this, not really, not like I should have been. My Aunt Marie was killed, and I inherited her powers. She had just enough time to tell me what I was, but not enough to tell me who I was supposed to be."
"And then you met Monroe," Stiles suggests, connecting the dots.
"Well, and then I arrested Monroe."
"Kinky."
"Not nearly. But he knows German-"
"Is it as hot as Lady Gaga says it is?"
"-and he's taught me a lot about Wesen, and Grimms, and he's saved my life." Stiles runs a finger down a yellowed parchment page silently, and things about the meaning of the word pack. "Speaking of, you better not let him catch you in here."
"He'll be able to smell me," Stiles assumes.
"Obviously, but a scent is harder to kill than a nice little human boy back on his own turf, under the protection of his alpha."
"I get it, I get it," Stiles laughs, backing out of the trailer with his hands raised jokingly. "If the trailer be a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'."
"If Derek ever tries to invite you for 'weapons training,'" Nick says, grabbing the trailer's door handle to close it behind him, "don't believe him. It's all just a ruse to get you alone in the forest."
"Do a bro a solid, Nick," Stiles says cheekily. "Don't tell Derek that for me."
Nick laughs, deep and honest, and Stiles gives him a quick salute.
-----
“So, Grimms,” Lydia coos, settling beside Derek on a fallen tree. “Dangerous hunters in love with big bad wolves.”
Derek frowns, giving her a look which clearly says, you’ve gotten that all wrong.
She only treats him with a raised eyebrow, accusing him right back. “I’m not saying that it gives you permission,” she sighs, looking at her nails thoughtfully. “But you should probably take it as a sign.”
“Lydia,” he growls. “It doesn’t work like that. Nick, he doesn’t know-”
“Yeah,” she smiles serenely, seemingly thinking of Nick’s many features that made up for his lack of knowledge. “I’m sure he doesn’t. He probably also doesn’t know what he’d do without Monroe. But that’s just my assessment, and whatever do I know?”
She leaves him with that, swaying away in a cloud of spicy perfume and a swish of her skirts. Derek watches her, hanging off Nick’s arm as he and the pack play with some of his Aunt Marie’s more fun “toys”, and can practically smell the jealousy radiating from Jackson. Monroe seems unperturbed on the outside, but Derek can see the hints of red around his eyes and the way his fists are clenched a little too tight against his sides. He stalks away from the scene, though, breathing in through his nose, and slumps down on the log beside Derek.
“She can smell you on him,” Derek says, in what is probably considered his version of comforting. “She’s just...Lydia.”
Monroe nods, and Derek can already sense the change in his demeanor. “It’s not that I didn’t already know that, but sometimes, I just can’t control it.” He turns towards Derek, gesturing wildly with his hands. “Is it this hard for your kind? Do you have to fight your instincts this hard?”
“Only during the full moon. Usually, our...humanity takes over, keeps us calm. We can be triggered, though, by anger or pain. We can tap into it too, change at will.” Monroe nods, his brows furrowed in thought. “Our blood lust reaches its peak at the full moon, though, and it’s suddenly,” he glances over at Scott and Stiles, playfully shoving each other with wide grins on their faces. “It’s a lot harder.”
“It’s like that for me, all the time, every single day,” Monroe says slowly, not looking at Derek. “There’s just this constant need to...destroy,” he stares at his hands, as if he can see the blood dripping off of them. “I can almost taste the blood in the back of my throat, and it’s-, it’s- It’s horrific.”
Derek doesn’t say anything, just watches his pack making friends with a killing machine, and sits next to a Blutbad, just the type his parents had warned him to stay away from when he had been growing up. He laughs when Nick knocks Jackson on his ass, and waits for Monroe to stop having his little panic attack. He can’t imagine what it would feel like, if every day was the full moon, and all of his rage simmered just under his skin, waiting to be unleashed. Monroe controls it, exhausts himself in the fight against it, and that’s something Derek can respect in the Blutbad.
“I’m not the wolf,” he continues, staring in Nick’s direction. “I was, once. I let the wolf rule me, but not anymore. But sometimes, I listen to him; I mark my territory, I use it to my advantage in a fight.” Derek watches Nick’s face fall when he looks over his shoulder at Monroe, but Scott pulls at his arm to show him how to work the crossbow.
“You don’t get to choose your pack, Monroe,” Derek says, venturing a guess at the real meaning of Monroe’s little heart-to-heart.
“Yeah, you do,” he chuckles, playing with the clasp of his wristwatch. “Blutbaden are born into packs, just like you were. Stiles told me, about your family, and I’m sorry. But, I walked away from my pack, away from my mother and father, and the girl I was in love with, and now I know. You can choose your pack.”
Derek stares at Monroe for a minute, but before he can say anything, the moment is broken by Stiles running up and slapping Monroe on the shoulder. “Hey,” he pants. “Nick says that, if you’re cool with it, you can read some of those books to me. I want the really old ones, in German. Can you teach me German? That would be so cool, actually. What do you say, Monroe?”
“I highly doubt I can teach you German in a day, Stiles, but come on. I’ll read you the one about the Hässlich. Bridge trolls, literally. Nick and I ran into a few not too long ago.”
He watches them fade into the forest, making their way towards the trailer. Lydia tosses her hair over her shoulder, and purses her lips triumphantly at Derek.
------
They choose a neutral territory for the campfire Stiles insists upon the night before Nick and Monroe’s departure. Allison is wrapped up in Scott’s jacket, settled between his knees, and joking with Jackson about his atrocious driving skills, even with his werewolf reflexes.
“What kind of car do you drive?” Nick asks, passing the bag of marshmallows to Scott.
“Something douchey,” Stiles answers for Jackson, narrowly avoiding the stick that gets swiped at his head for it.
“You’d think it would have improved his ability to drive in a straight line,” Allison quips, throwing a marshmallow at Jackson’s head.
“Haha, yuk it up, funny guys,” Jackson mutters, leaning against Lydia’s shoulder as she presses a placating kiss to his cheek. “I’ll have you know that I’m an excellent driver.”
“Shut up, Monroe,” Nick warns, eyes bright with reflected firelight.
“I said nothing.”
“I could hear it.”
"Wait, can Grimms, like, read minds?" The pair share a conspiratorial look and Stiles feels left out of joke. "What?" he directs at the rest of the crowd, all of whom were giving him dirty looks. "It's a valid question!"
Scott cocks his head a little. "Grimms are hunters, right? So, I imagine you've got people who...disapprove." Stiles puts his head in her hands. Leave it to Scott to bring up the elephant in the...forest. He can't fault him, though. He can see how that would be what would stick in Scott's mind.
"The Wesen world is complicated," Monroe answers. "There are hunters for our hunters, and Wesen that prey on other Wesen. There are people who have already shown their disapproval." Nick's face hardens, and Monroe bumps his shoulder. "But, uh, we sort of liking traveling the road less traveled."
"Oh, man, I always knew that poem was about gay sex," Stiles nods seriously.
Jackson just about chokes on his beer, which Nick is ignoring mostly because werewolves and Blutbaden can't get drunk on human alcohol, and Monroe's face turns a strange shade of magenta.
Derek finally joins them and Stiles grabs his jacket, pulling him down next to him. "Oh my God, save me from myself."
"Too late for that."
Lydia, because she's her, throws another beer bottle at Nick's head, which he catches with a lightning quick speed that could only be supernatural, and says to Monroe, "someone had to break the ice" when he gives her a hard look.
"At least you get to leave tomorrow," Derek grumbles, a little good-naturedly, in a shocking turn of events, and smiles ruefully.
"I'd say we'd miss you, but..." Nick jokes.
"You love us," Allison adds, head rested on Scott's chest.
Nick smiles, unable to deny it, and knows that he's a sappy bleeding heart for kids. He guesses it comes from his own childhood, knowing what it was like to grow up too fast, to lose a parent. He'd been lucky to have Aunt Marie, and he thinks about all the kids who don't have someone like that in their life when he can't sleep at night. It's part of why he'd become a cop. The conversation around them ebbs and flows, touching topics like the tensile strength of a compound bow versus a crossbow and the merits of lacrosse versus baseball.
"Well," Stiles practically shouts, "this has been horrific and mortifying for everyone involved-"
"Just you," Lydia cuts in primly, eating a s'more.
"Nick and Monroe have a long drive tomorrow, and I have a curfew, so let's wrap this pow-wow up."
Nick douses the fire with a bucket of dirt they'd set aside specifically for the task earlier in the evening. Lydia and Jackson drove off, promising to be back in the morning before class to see them off. Allison hugs them both, saying her parents drop her off at school, otherwise she'd be there. Nick takes Monroe by the hand and leads them back to their trailer.
"Go home, Stiles," Derek calls over his shoulder.
Stiles shrugs his shoulders. "I can be a little late." He leans over and helps Derek pick up the trash littered around the campfire. Derek throws a rogue marshmallow at Stiles, and it just happens to fall down his collar. He yelps and does a strange dance, twisting around to shake it out. "You are a sadistic person, Derek Hale," he pants, a high flush on his cheeks.
Derek just smiles.
-----
In the morning, Nick and Monroe pull the car up to the front of the house, greeted by part of the pack. Nick leans out the window and hands Derek a couple of his cards. "If you guys need anything, this is me, okay? Monroe's number's on the back."
Stiles slips a card into his wallet and shakes Nick's hand. "Thanks, man. And, uh, thanks, Monroe, for letting me see the trailer."
"No problem, man. Hey, you guys keep safe out here, okay?"
"We try."
"Nick," Derek says, his hand extended.
"Derek, thanks for extending your hospitality to us."
Monroe leans over Nick and shakes his hand as well. "If you're ever up Portland's way..."
Derek nods, and slaps the top of the car to tell Monroe he was clear to pull out. Watching the trailer pull out, Stiles scrubs a hand through his hair and says, "you know, weapons training in the woods. It's a good idea."
"Do you have a death wish, Stiles?" Derek answers, not looking at him. Stiles really hopes that was as backhanded as it seemed, that Derek knew that he wasn't really talking about weapons training.
"Maybe," he smirks. "But that seems to be working out for them, so."