Prompt from LittleBounce: without knocking Monroe out of the picture in any emotional way (he could be visiting his folks, for instance), Nick and Rosalee find themselves having to become BFFs in the process of tracking down something really childish, and really fiendish - and then making it BEHAVE ITSELF. I suggest an infant troll, or teenage Daemonfeuer... something along those lines ;)
My armor is like tenfold shields, my teeth are swords, my claws spears, the shock of my tail a thunderbolt, my wings a hurricane, and my breath death! -JRR Tolkien
For what seems like the first time in his career since he became a Grimm, Nick gets called to a crime scene that isn't the site of a murder. It's a little strange, he admits to himself as he pulls up at the scene, to not see the coroner loitering around the place, but it's a welcome change. Wu gives him a good-God-it-is-seven-in-the-morning look, then waves him over to examine the scene of the crime.
It's definitely arson, that's what Nick is sure of. The house he's standing in front of is virtually an empty shell, burned from the outside in until nothing's left but the husk. What he's not sure of is why he and Hank have been called in on what seems to be a cut-and-dry case. He turns to ask Wu that very question, but the Sergeant beats him to the punch.
"Not really your area, is it?" he asks rhetorically, then grimaces. "I wasn't going to call you in, but then…"
"Then what?" Hank says as he walks up beside them. Wu gives a little sigh.
"Maybe I should just show you," he tells them. Nick gives Hank a curious look, but follows Wu without further comment, Hank bringing up the rear behind him.
"Wow. I can see why you called us in."
Hank finally voices exactly what Nick has been thinking for the past thirty seconds of silence. The three of them are standing in what used to be the living room of the house, facing one of the only painted walls that is still standing, albeit tilting unhealthily to the side. Nick tilts his head on the same angle, but the message makes no more sense than it does standing upright.
Ein Blitz trifft mehr Bäume als Grashalme, the message reads in what looks like charcoal, next to a scribbled drawing of what looks to be a hangman.
"Know anyone who speaks German?" Wu says dryly, and Nick gives an uncomfortable laugh. Yeah, he knows someone who speaks German, but he's not overly keen on bringing up Monroe while the Sergeant is still hanging around-pun intended.
"I'm sure we'll find someone," Hank says after a long pause, and then changes the subject. "So what is this, anyway? A death threat? You think whoever did this meant to kill the homeowners?"
"Unlikely," Wu muses, flipping open his notebook. "Says here the owners were on vacation, and have been for several days. If someone was looking to burn people alive, this would not be the house they'd pick."
Nick nods slowly and turns back to the message. It unnerves him in a way that not many of his ordinary cases do. He's almost 100% sure this is Wesen-related. "So whoever did this was either stupid, all talk and no bite, or..."
Hank looks at him. "Or?"
"Or this was just a dress rehearsal," Nick continues, "And tomorrow will be opening night."
"Monroe? Are you there?" Nick knocks again and waits impatiently on the doorstep of his friend's home. Hank's back at the precinct, seeing if any other arson cases lately might be related to today's, so Nick volunteered to get the translation.
That is, if Monroe bothers to answer his door.
Nick is about to walk away, maybe look up an online translation, when the door swings open. He turns, saying, "You sure took your time," but it's not Monroe whom he comes face to face with. Nick blinks. "Rosalee? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the spice shop?" He pauses, and frowns. "Where's Monroe?"
"Hi, Nick," Rosalee replies, stepping aside to let him come in. "I'm fine, thanks for asking. The shop doesn't open until ten today, so I was having a little bit of a sleep-in." She levels an unimpressed glare at Nick and he drops his gaze, embarrassed. "As for where Monroe is, he's visiting his cousins down in Salem. He'll be gone for a couple of days, sorry. Is there anything I can help you with?"
"You don't happen to speak German, do you?"
Rosalee raises an eyebrow, then holds out her hand, palm up. "Give it here," she says flatly, and Nick quickly gets the picture up on his phone before handing her the device. She takes one glance at it and snorts. "I didn't think you and Hank handled this sort of thing."
"What sort of thing?"
She gives a shrug. "This. Silly, childish stuff. Not really detective work, is it?"
Nick bites his lip to stop himself from snapping at Rosalee. Really, he loves her, he does, but he's been up since six am and is nearing the end of his tether. "Can you just tell me what it says?"
Rosalee makes an apologetic face. "Lightning strikes more trees than blades of grass," she says, handing back Nick's phone. "It's just a silly German saying-you know, those who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, the early bird gets the worm. That kind of thing."
Nick pockets his phone and looks at her confusedly. "Lightning strikes more trees than blades of grass?" he repeats. "What's that got to do with hangman?"
Rosalee looks just as stumped. "I wish I could be of more help, Nick, really. Do you think it's Wesen?"
"I have a feeling it might be,"Nick tells her, "But I can't be sure. I might swing by the shop later when I know more-would that be okay?" Rosalee nods emphatically, and he gives her a half-smile. "Thanks for the help. Sorry I ruined your sleep-in."
She waves his apology away with a laugh. "I needed to get up anyway," she says. "Glad I could help. Make sure to keep me posted, yeah?"
Nick nods, thanks her again, then heads out the door to his car. If this really is Wesen, and if the next time they strike will be arson with a side of murder, then he needs to get back to the precinct, ASAP. He just wishes the charcoal message made more sense.
Hank has turned nothing up by the time Nick gets back to the precinct, and they spend the rest of their day following flimsy leads that take them nowhere. By the time they call it a day, Nick's beginning to think that maybe he'd prefer a simple cut-and-dry murder compared to this rubbish.
He comes home to an empty house, and remembers belatedly that Juliette is at some vet symposium thing in the next town over, and that she's staying overnight. He drops his phone and keys into the bowl by the front door, and thinks about ordering take-out instead of trying to cook something he knows he'll end up burning.
Of course, that's the moment his phone chooses to ring.
"Burkhardt," he answers through gritted teeth.
"Nick-oh, thank God," comes Rosalee's voice. Nick blinks the sleep away from his eyes and picks up his keys again.
"Rosalee? What's wrong?"
"It's Wesen, Nick, it's Wesen-you need to come over to Monroe's right now, okay, I think they're about to burn another house down-and this time there's people inside."
"On my way," Nick says, and makes sure to alert the fire department before hopping into his car and pulling away from the kerb.
The fire's been both lit and doused by the time Nick arrives. It's three houses down from Monroe's, and Nick can see Rosalee's worried face by the curtain as he pulls up. She spots him, lets the curtain drop, and comes racing out the front door moments later, before Nick's even had time to close his door and lock the car.
"It's a Dämonfeuer," she says without preamble. "I was coming home from the shop and I saw them lurking in the shadows. I thought it was just a cat, but then I got inside and they came out and just-the house just went up in flames, there was nothing I could do, Nick, I swear, I tried to go after them but they were gone, and -"
"Hey, hey," Nick says gently, cutting her off. "You did everything you could, okay?" He cranes his neck to look at the scene, and can see a small huddle of what looks to be parents and their two children. "And look, everyone got out safely, Rosalee-because you made the call, okay? You did good."
She nods shakily and they stand together for a minute or two, just watching the firefighters at work. The breeze soon picks up, however, and when Rosalee starts to shiver, Nick turns her around and steers her inside. "Come on. There's nothing else we can do right now." When they're in the house, he shuts and deadlocks the door. "You're okay, it's okay," he says awkwardly, because Rosalee is still shivering, and he doesn't think it's from the cold.
"I wish Monroe was here," she says, her voice small, and Nick frowns.
"Hey, hey, none of that. I wish he could be here too, Rosalee, but you did good, okay? You handled this amazingly all by yourself. You know that, don't you?"
Rosalee cuts off her shivering and, for the second time that day, levels an unimpressed glare at Nick. "I know I handled it amazingly," she says, mockingly haughty, "Just like the way I handle everything else." Nick gives a small laugh, and Rosalee smiles appreciatively. The smile quickly dims, however, and she sighs. "I just wish he was here," she says again, and this time, Nick gets it. He thinks about Juliette, and sighs as well.
"Yeah." he says, putting an arm around Rosalee's shoulders and squeezing. "Me too."
There's a knock on Nick's door early the next morning, and he stumbles out of bed to open it. Rosalee is standing on his doorstep in some kind of reverse echo of the previous day.
"Hey," she says, shouldering her way inside. "Thought I could help with the case again today."
Nick follows her into the kitchen and switches on the kettle. "You've done enough, Rosalee," he says, leaning back against the counter. "Go home. Have some rest. Hank and I can handle this."
Rosalee arches an eyebrow at him. "Oh, really? Then I suppose you two know all about the Dämonweschel? Of course you do, you're a Grimm. Don't mind me, Nick, I'll just let myself out."
"Woah, woah." Nick stops her with a hand on her arm before she can take another step. "The Dämonweschel? What is that, some sort of demon…"
"Change," Rosalee finishes, turning back around to face Nick, her expression serious. "That's the literal translation, anyway. It's sort of like puberty for a Dämonfeuer, except more...intense."
Nick sighs. He thinks he's getting a headache. "Awesome."
"That about sums it up, yeah." The kettle boils and Rosalee moves to make herself a cup of coffee, talking as she goes. "The Dämonweschel is a period in their teen years when a Dämonfeuer has less control over their own impulses. I guess you could say it's as if their inhibitions are lowered."
"Like when people are drunk?"
"Exactly. Except far more serious and, sometimes, far more deadly. Dämonfeuers already have explosive tempers, and adding the Dämonweschel into the mix only makes matters worse. The fires they've set may not have killed anybody yet, but if we don't put a stop to them today I'm afraid that sentence might soon ring untrue." Rosalee takes a sip of her coffee and Nick does as well. He sighs again.
Looks like they're in for a long day.
They start at the trailer because, though Rosalee knows of the Dämonweschel, she knows little about how to control it and its impulses. Nick flips open the tome he knows the information about Dämonfeuers is in and gives it to Rosalee to translate.
"The Dämonweschel," she reads, "Is a highly volatile and explosive period in a young Dämonfeuer's life. Lasting for as brief as two weeks to as long as eighteen months, the Dämonweschel is a dangerous time for both the Wesen experiencing it and all those around them-both Wesen and human alike." She and Nick exchange worried glances. "There is no way to completely cease the progression of the Dämonweschel without resorting to killing, as like puberty in humans, it must be left to run its course. However, there are several methods I know which are often used by the young Dämonfeuer's family in order to curb their dangerous impulses somewhat. These include coating their eyelids with-um, I don't know the exact translation but it's nothing I've ever heard of-every night before they go to sleep; employing a Hexenbeist to charm the Dämonfeuer into serenity-"
"No," Nick says shortly, and Rosalee nods her head in agreement.
"-or injecting the Wesen with a mixture of African violet, agrimony and Spanish moss, when the moon is at its peak in the night sky." Rosalee shuts the book and looks at Nick. "That could work."
"It had better," he says grimly-pun, once again, intended-and follows Rosalee out the door.
The mixture is relatively easy to make. Rosalee does it in under an hour, and by noon has a syringe full of a pale lilac liquid. She squirts once to text the needle, and a drop of the potion flies out from the tip and lands on the wall, fizzling like acid. Both she and Nick take an involuntary step back at the sight.
"Uh, you're sure this is a good idea?" Nick asks, eyes nervously flicking between the syringe and the brand new hole in the wall, which is still smoking.
"Unless you have any other suggestions, it's the only one we've got."
"Right." Nick watches carefully as Rosalee puts a cap over the tip of the syringe to stop it from leaking. "Now all we have to do is find the lucky Dämonfeuer who gets to sample your creation." Rosalee gives him a sarcastic smile and walks him to the door.
"You and Hank will take care of that, I suppose? And when you find them, you call me, is that clear?"
"Crystal," Nick replies, giving her a small wave before exiting the spice shop, the bell ringing jauntily behind him.
"So there must be a connection between the victims," Hank says, before taking a sip of his coffee. "This...Dämonfeuer, however hormonal it may be right now, wouldn't just attack random citizens." He pauses and looks at Nick. "Would it?"
"It's unlikely," Nick agrees. "I've got a possible pool of suspects. Both homes attacked had children who attend the same private school. Two of those children, one from each home, were both seniors. So I'm thinking…"
"That our arsonist is a senior at the same school," Hank finishes, nodding enthusiastically. "Sounds about right. What's a better place for a teenager to conduct a vendetta than in a high school? But what about the message…"
"Lightning strikes more trees than blades of grass," Nick recollects. "Tall poppy syndrome, maybe? Lightning is obviously in reference to the fact that they're a Dämonfeuer...maybe they're marginalised at school? Do we have any record that the kids whose homes were attacked were popular? Maybe we have a classic case of the victim going after the bully."
"Only in this case, the victim is a fire-breathing hormonal dragon teenager." Hank downs the rest of his coffee in one sip. "Just when I thought I'd seen it all." He shuffles the mouse of his computer around for a second to wake up the screen. "Okay, so, the seniors who lived in the houses...were Stephanie Greene and Isla O'Flaherty. They both seem to be straight A students, play plenty of team sports, Stephanie takes piano lessons and Isla volunteers at her mother's charity store on weekends. They don't look like bullies to me."
"But maybe they are tall poppies," Nick says, bringing up the school's webpage. "Looks like they both won several academic awards last year...Stephanie placed first in an eisteddfod, and Isla received a school service award as well. And came runner-up prom queen at the junior formal last year." Nick meets Hank's eye and grimaces. "They were popular, all right."
"This prom queen thing," Hank says, scooting his chair closer to Nick's so he can see the monitor better. "Was Stephanie involved in that in any way?"
Nick pulls up a recount of the evening that was published in the school newsletter last year. "Looks like...Stephanie read out the result, and Isla was beat out by the one other candidate, Laurel Smithers. No, hold on…" Nick reads further. "There were originally three candidates, but Emma Redmayne pulled out an hour before the winner was announced."
"Does it say why?" Nick shakes his head. "Then it looks like we'd better go pay Miss Redmayne a visit."
Hank knocks twice on the old wooden door, and it swings open almost immediately. A middle-aged woman frowns in the sudden sunlight, still wearing her pyjamas. "What do you want?"
"Good afternoon, ma'am, I'm Detective Griffin, this is Detective Burkhardt, we're with the Portland PD. Can we come in? It's about your daughter."
Mrs. Redmayne stands her ground. "I'm sure you've made a mistake, detectives. Emma's a good girl."
"We're not saying she isn't," Nick cuts in, "But all the same, it's important that we-"
"I won't have you smearing the family name because of conjecture, Detective Burkhardt," Mrs. Redmayne says angrily, and then woges right in front of them. Her beady eyes widen as she realises what Nick is, and she stumbles backward, woging back into human form. "You-you're a-"
"I'm not going to hurt you," Nick says soothingly. "We think your daughter might be going through the Dämonweschel, Mrs. Redmayne, and if we don't help her she has the potential to do someone serious harm."
Mrs. Redmayne nods slowly and steps aside to let them inside. "I was afraid something like this was happening. Emma's a good girl, she really is, but she's been distant lately. Quick to anger. With her dad gone, it's just me and her, and I thought she was just coping…"
"It's not your fault, Mrs. Redmayne," Hank tells her, guiding her to her couch, "And it's not Emma's either. We're just trying to stop her before she does something she'll really regret."
"Last year, at junior prom," Nick says, "Do you have any idea why Emma pulled out of the running an hour before the results were due to be announced?"
Mrs. Redmayne sighs and nods. "Unfortunately yes, I do. The girl who read out the announcement, Stephanie Greene-she found Emma in the bathroom and told her that she didn't win." She sighs again. "More than that, actually. She told Emma that she had lost by the widest margin of votes the school had ever seen. It was cruel, detectives. Telling my daughter that. Apparently the competition between Isla and Laurel, the girl who eventually won, was fierce, but Emma well and truly won the wooden spoon. She shouldn't have been told that, though. It was just so cruel. Emma came home in tears that night, and wouldn't tell me what had happened for days."
Nick shares a look with Hank. If Emma's going on some sort of vendetta for the prom queen incident, then there's only one more target left on her list: the prom queen herself. "And do you know where your daughter is right now, Mrs. Redmayne?"
She shakes her head. "She told me she was going over a friend's house. That's all I know."
"Well, thank you for your time." Nick and Hank stand and head towards the door.
"Detectives!" Mrs. Redmayne's distressed call turns them around once more. "You won't hurt her, will you? She's just a girl. Not even eighteen yet."
"We'll do the best we can, ma'am," Hank tells her, and leaves with a grim look on his face.
Nick and Hank pick up Rosalee from the spice shop on their way to Laurel Smithers' house. Hank eyes the syringe in her hand warily. "And you're sure that will work?"
"We're counting on it," Rosalee says with a grimace, and they don't talk for the rest of the drive.
When they pull up at Laurel's house, dusk has well and truly set in. Because of the haze already in the air, it takes them several long moments to realise that smoke is coming from the house as well.
"She's already inside," Nick realises, and hastily unclips his seatbelt. Hank is already out of the car, gun ready. Nick twists to face Rosalee in the backseat. "Give me the syringe, and call the fire department. Tell them to hurry." Rosalee sits up straight and fixes Nick with a glare.
"You need me in there, Nick. This serum has to be administered very carefully. And I know about the Dämonweschel. You can't afford to leave me out here. I won't let you."
"Rosalee, Monroe would kill me if I let you into a burning building."
Rosalee laughs incredulously. "Let me? What is this, medieval England?" She unclips her seatbelt and gets out of the car, slamming the door behind her. Nick quickly follows. "I'm not a damsel, Nick. I can take care of myself. You need me."
Nick hesitates. He knows she's right, and eventually that knowledge makes up his mind for him. "Hank," he calls. "Ring the fire department, tell them to hurry. Then try and get the family out of the house. Rosalee and I will take care of Emma." Hank nods his understanding, and all three of them head towards the burning building.
Inside, it is thick with smoke and hard to breathe. Nick and Rosalee both bring their jackets up to cover their noses and mouths. Despite the haze, Rosalee's nose twitches and her ears prick up. "I hear voices," she tells Nick, and they head towards the source of the sound.
It's coming from a bedroom.
Nick kicks the door open, because the handle is hot to the touch, and shoulders his way in. A woged Dämonfeuer stands in the centre of the room, snarling down at a teenage girl who is cowering on her bed. They both glance up at the intrusion, one in anger, one in relief.
"Oh, thank God," the girl who must be Laurel says.
"Are you alone in the house?" Nick asks, and Laurel nods. "Hank!" he calls. "Get in here!" Hank arrives and, as Nick moves to stand between Emma and Laurel, takes the latter under his arm and ushers her out of the room to safety. "Rosalee," Nick says under his breath, keeping a watchful eye on Emma, who is snarling and spitting small embers from her scaly lips. "Any time now."
"I've got to get closer," Rosalee whispers, edging around the other side of Emma. "Distract her."
Nick takes a shallow breath, trying to avoid the smoke. "Emma? Emma, my name is Nick Burkhardt. I'm a friend of your mom's. I'm not going to hurt you." He makes a big show of clicking the safety on his gun and slipping it inside his holster. He raises his arms, palms facing out. "See? I'm not going to hurt you. Emma, you're going through something called the Dämonweschel. I'm sure you've heard of it. Right now, what you're doing, to you it seems normal...the right thing to do. But it isn't, Emma. What you're doing is wrong, and you need to stop." From behind Emma, Rosalee gives Nick the thumbs up. "Alternatively," he says with a smile, "We could stop you."
Rosalee lunges forward and presses the syringe deep into Emma's neck. The Dämonfeuer lets out an almost inaudible sigh as she woges back into human form and sinks to her knees. After a long moment of stillness, she shakes her head, eyes fluttering open, and glances around her, an expression of dawning horror on her face. "What...what happened? What did I do?"
"Nothing you need to worry about," Rosalee says soothingly, meeting Nick's eyes and giving him a wan smile. "Let's get you home."
Yes, Nick thinks, as he hurries after Rosalee out of the smoke. Let's all of us just get home, and rest.
"I don't know how to thank you," Nick tells Rosalee later, after all is said and done. Emma is back with her mother, Laurel back with hers, and the fire department got there just in time to stop the house from being reduced to ashes. Hank managed to craft a story about a mask-wearing, fire-starting gang who are travelling along the west coast of the country, and thankfully, everybody involved bought the story. The case is closed. Night has well and truly fallen, and Nick is beyond ready to get home to Juliette, who should be back from her symposium by now. There's just one more thing he needs to do; thank the person who made it all possible. He just doesn't know where to begin.
"There's no need to thank me," Rosalee smiles tiredly, stifling a yawn. "I did exactly what Monroe would have done."
"You weren't just a replacement for Monroe," Nick says firmly. "You need to know that. You did what Rosalee would have done, and I don't know what I would have done without you."
"Perish the thought," Rosalee laughs, and laughs, and keeps laughing, Nick right by her side.
Author's Note: I don't know if I filled the prompt exactly the way you wanted it, LittleBounce, but I tried. Sorry it wasn't in time for Christmas, but hopefully you can enjoy the story over New Year's.