Generally speaking, I spend my time writing original stories and novels, not dawdling on fanfiction. But after this past episode of Grimm (which I swear is the best one yet!), I couldn't help myself. So behold, my one-shot!
Now in Grimm, it is implied and hinted and foreshadowed that Grimms are looked upon as the nasty pieces of work by all the fairytale creatures. Sort of like the Bogeyman, but Nick doesn't quite seem to understand that and it hasn't been much of an issue so far. Except in regards to Nick's poor broken refrigerator. So this little snippet is entirely from Monroe's point of view, with a little background story, of how he met Nick and how he reconciled the legendary Grimms with the poor befuddled cop that threw him into the stairs.
Oh, and there is NO slash in this story. Really people, Nick and Monroe? Really?
I also have some exciting news! krapivka37 has been kind enough to translate Grimm Fairytale into Russian! Feel free to read it and review. Since links are such a pain on fanfiction, you can find the direct link on my prolife page or you can just delete the spaces: http:/ /www. fanfiction. net /s/7963162/1/. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Grimm – be it the show, the collection of stories, or the brotherly duo.
Grimm Fairytale
"Once upon a time, in the densest part of the Old Schwarzwald,* our brethren lived in harmony with one another. By night they'd lope through the towering trees, pouncing upon unsuspecting prey and feasting on the warm soft flesh…."
No one in Monroe's family ever claimed that his Gran was entirely sane. He remembered his mother constantly threatening to tear the old Blutbad's throat out if she didn't cease with her, "…Grimm fairytale nonsense! Honestly Claudia, you'll give Monroe nightmares for weeks on end!"
Ironically, to those who are not associated with the Blutbaden way, his mother was more concerned with the end of Gran's tales and not really the beginnings. Typically those parts that went something like, "…and the Grimm chopped the Blutbad's head off with his bloodstained hatchet and strung his teeth into a necklace."
As such, Monroe never quite heard his Gran's 'The Ends' until about the age of six. His parents left town for some business meeting – although looking back on it years later, Monroe had his own suspicions about what sort of "business meeting" it really was, considering butchers don't actually have higher-ups to meet with – and left him to the tender mercies of his wily grandmother.
He didn't sleep for a month.
It was only in his rebellious teenage years, while sneaking over the school fence to the scrubby forest out back with a few other teenage Blutbaden and…other things…that he discovered his Gran's Grimm fairytales weren't all that excessively grisly in their renditions. All of his friends had macabre stories to share of how some distant, or not-so-distant, relation of theirs was hunted down and ripped to pieces by one of the legendary Grimms.
"My aunt saw the whole thing! The trunk of the Grimm's car was stuffed with all sorts of weapons and torture tools! Hatchets and maces and spiked clubs and shotguns this long –"
"Great granddad fought the Grimm off for a full six minutes before she skewered him in the belly! Grandma still talks of all the blood –"
"The Grimm hunted my cousins through the entire night, not stopping even when it began to rain. Gazelle found them all six days later with their throats slit open –"
"He was six feet tall and this wide –"
"—hit like a Mack Truck, Dad said–"
"—wore spiked boots with little knives that popped out of the toes –"
"—carried a 9mm in her red purse –"
"—killed them all without any warning. Just like that –"
As he matured into adulthood, he realized that while some of those tall tales were just that, most were fairly accurate portrayals. Adults, young Monroe was somewhat surprised to find out, liked to gossip in the dark corners of dirty bars just as much as their teenage versions did. And if their choice of topics hadn't changed much, their reliability seemed to increase.
That's how he heard of Marie Kessler, the Grimm of Grimms. Now that was one wicked lady with a bounty on her head to match those of the most notorious Siegbarste.
Well, at least the ones she hadn't already tracked down and killed. And man, were those things hard to kill.
So Monroe always figured he knew what Grimms were about. And as long as he kept out of their way – which was theoretically getting easier to do with each new death that seemed to popping up; did someone open season on Grimms and not send him the memo? – they'd leave him alone. After all, unless he left a trail of bodies lying about, no Grimm would be able to track him, short of literally bumping into him on the street, of course, and what were the chances of that happening?
….
Apparently a lot less than that of a crazed Grimm cop barging into his house, throwing him into the staircase, and demanding that he divulge where he stuffed some missing little girl.
….
Which really, Grimm and cop? Was that even legal?
Monroe stared out the window of the police cruiser feeling somewhat miffed and mildly disconcerted. His thoughts jumbled in-and-out and all over the place – had been since that Grimm cop charged him from across the street.
He peered through the somewhat drizzly window towards his front door where the Grimm cop stood, glaring at him. The guy was young and cut quite the pretty picture for a cop. Weren't they all supposed to have potbellies from snacking on doughnuts all day long? But the way he paced definitely had a bit of predator in his stride. Not enough to be something sufficiently dangerous – which didn't exactly make sense since this was a Grimm he was talking about here – but enough to fit the profile.
Monroe squinted harder. Dark hair, pale skin, kind of on the small size, although he did know how to throw his weight around - he could already feel the bruises forming along his spine from being slammed into the stairs – but in the end Monroe sat back in the uncomfortable backseat of the police cruiser utterly perplexed, for he was one hundred percent certain that he had never met that Grimm cop anywhere, even in passing.
Which then had him reevaluating his life during the last few months. He'd been very stringent about the Pilates, doing them every morning right before breakfast. And he hadn't changed his herbal tea mixtures in nearly six months. He frowned, thinking real hard. He didn't have any mysterious memory gaps in his nighttime activities (or lack thereof), did he?
Well, if he hadn't slipped, then how the hell did a Grimm end up on his doorstep? And more importantly, why was he outside in a damned police cruiser?
It was only after they left, with several sheepish apologies from the human officers and not so much as a threatening gesture from the Grimm cop (unless one counted glaring, but Monroe was a Blutbad. Glaring didn't really constitute as all that threatening), and after a lengthy hour of meticulously reorganizing his home and accounting for all his belongings that he finally sat and realized something earth-shattering.
A Grimm had come into his home. Well, barged in really.
That same Grimm had called the cops instead of ending Monroe's life right there and then.
Nothing had been stolen or planted or really messed up except his poor carpets. Didn't cops know how to wipe their feet before they entered someone else's home?
And finally, that Grimm had left.
Monroe stared into space, dumbstruck. "Gran's stories never covered this."
"You know about me?"
To be honest, he was kind of expecting it. Well, not the whole offering-a-Grimm-a-bottle-of-beer thing. More of the confusion bit. After all, it did kind of make sense. The Grimms were dying out, if even half the rumors were true. That sort of left a gaping hole in education procedures.
Monroe took another swig of his beer. He was mostly winging it. But what else was he supposed to do? Up close it was easy to see that the Grimm cop was only in his twenties. That made him practically a kid. And he was at least half a head shorter than Monroe – something the reformed Blutbad was secretly reveling in.
And he hadn't come armed with any maces, spiked clubs, or shotguns. Well, just the one gun. A standard issue police Glock. Not some mystical ancient relic that imbued the wielder with unimaginable power. Or that damned bloodstained hatchet from his Gran's favorite Grimm fairytale. Oh, he'd had nightmares about that hatchet for months.
So Monroe eyed the much shorter Grimm cop hovering restlessly in his kitchen threshold and finally asked the question that had been niggling in the back of his head since this afternoon's fiasco, "How long you been at this? You seem kind of new."
And that was how Monroe found himself in the dubious position of offering Nick Burkhardt advice on how to be a Grimm.
Yeah.
His Gran was so going to rip his heart out…if she were still alive. Which she wasn't. Monroe groaned and took another long, long swig of his beer.
*Schwarzwald: the Black Forest located in Southern Germany
As another side note, there seems to be some notion that Monroe's first name is Eddie. According to an interview with the actual actor, this is incorrect. Monroe's name is Monroe. That's it. It's not even really specified if Monroe is the first or last name. So in this story, it's his first for simplicity's sake.
Review please! Love to know what you think.