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"If I have to spend another goddamn minute in this line I'm going to lose my mind."
"How can you lose something that's long gone?" said a black woman with an afro behind him. She added a snort of derision for extra punch.
"Aw, shut up," he said, sticking his hand on his hip. He'd have crossed his arms if he could. "You're stuck here too, Gwen, you might as well complain with me."
"Don't you think I might have better things to do than talk to you?"
"Like what?" he said.
She shrugged. "I don't know. Watch paint dry?"
His face contorted in an ugly snarl as he tried to think of a reply. Nothing came, so he turned back to face the office door. He could hear snickering behind him. He didn't bother checking who it was. Laugh to his damn face and he'd knock your lights out, but he didn't have time for this passive aggressive bullshit. Not when his legs were getting stiff from waiting so long.
The door to the office was flung open and the deputy mayor, usually all poise and grace and all those other adjectives Gren hated applying to her, toppled out, hand still gripping the door to the office. She ran a hand through her hair, a vain attempt to pull the strands that had escaped her bun back in. Those famous candy red lips were pursed and frowning.
"What's got you all strung up, huh?" said Gren, leaning against the wall, boot scraping the wall as he dragged the heel along it.
She snapped her head over to meet his gaze, eyebrows furrowing as the wheels in her mind turned. "Grendel," she said. "What're you in the line for?"
He frowned. "Aren't I supposed to discuss all that shit in the office? Not while you fall to pieces in the hallway?"
"Grendel," she repeated, a moment passing where her face softened, the desperation bleeding through into her expression.
"Fine," he said. "I need a job."
She let out a relieved gasp, like she was trying to laugh but couldn't quite manage it. "Good! That's great! Come in the office!"
He turned to look back at the others in the line. Gwen was shaking her head, smiling, and motioned for him to move along. He rolled his eyes and followed the deputy mayor into the office. The door was barely shut before she turned to him.
"Flycatcher called in sick," she began.
"Oh hell no," he said, putting his hand up in protest. "I'm not putting on an orange jumpsuit and mopping your floors for you. What makes you think I'll go 'yes sir' and 'no sir' like I'm your personal goddamn servant?"
"No, that's not what I want!" she said, voice rising. "Let me finish!"
"…Okay then," he said. "Finish."
"Fly called in sick and I need someone to take a passenger to the-"
"I'm not going to the Farm, that place makes me sick, no fucking way," he said, unable to stop the words from bursting out. She gave him a glare that would have made lesser Fables wither. Good thing Gren wasn't lesser.
"I don't need you to go to the Farm, I need you to drive someone to Chicago. Flycatcher was supposed to do it but Boy Blue says he's got the Mundy flu pretty bad."
"Chicago?" he said. "Like, the Mundy city half the damn country away?"
"Yes," she said. "I'll pay you better than I would have paid Fly, especially since it's such short notice, not to mention covering gas and the hotel. Please, I have the money right here, the truck's in the parking lot, I even have directions."
Gren reached out to grab the little packet of directions and cold hard cash and paused. "Drive? You want me to drive someone to Chicago?"
"Yes, he's waiting outside," said Snow. "You do have your license right?"
"Yeah," said Gren slowly, "I haven't used it in a while though."
"So you're a little rusty," said the deputy mayor, smiling in relief. "No big deal."
Gren wasn't sure how much more obvious he could get, what with having an empty sleeve pinned to his jacket. "I haven't driven since your sheriff ripped off my arm, ma'am. So you're going to have to find someone else to drive halfway across the country."
"There's no law saying you can't drive with one arm," she said. "Please, Gren, I need you to do this. I don't know anything about the others in that line. This is important."
"So it's not just because I was the next one in line?" he said, raising his eyebrows.
"Not entirely," she said, smiling ever-so-slightly and handing the bag of cash to Gren, who took it this time. "Everything's in place, just go find the truck we usually take to the farm, he should be down there already."
When she said how much she would pay him for doing this stupid road trip he just grinned. "Where would you be without me, huh?" he said, shoving the bag in his pocket and waving goodbye.
He thought he heard her say 'have a good trip' as he slammed the door shut behind him, but he couldn't be sure.
"Aw," said Gwen as he passed. "You look happy, did the wanna-be mayor finally send you to the Farm where all the big scary monsters live, like the three pigs and Mary's little lamb?"
Gren snorted. "I'd eat Mary's little lamb and you know it."
He could see the keys to the truck in the bag and tore the ziplock open with the help of his teeth as he headed down the stairs, wondering why the hell someone in Fabletown needed to go to Chicago. He fished the keys out and held them in his mouth for a second, pausing against the wall to try and count the amount of cash she'd put in this bag. He managed to see a couple hundred bucks before his thumb slipped and the money fell. He stuffed it back into the bag, swearing under his breath the entire time.
When he finally made it outside he scanned the parking lot for the piece of shit that the officials liked to call the official vehicle of Fabletown. When he finally spotted it he strode toward it…only to see the man he was supposed to drive to Chicago standing next to it.
No wonder she hadn't mentioned the man's damn name. No wonder she was paying him so much. No fucking wonder.
At least Bigby Wolf seemed surprised to see him too.
"What're you doing here, Grendel?" said Bigby, cigarette in his mouth. As Gren approached he took a long drag on it, flicking the ash on the ground. "If you're here to complain about Snow, look, I don't control what help she gives at the office."
"Clearly," said Gren, rolling his eyes. He had two good ones at the moment; Greenleaf knew when to make her Glamours good enough to last a few hours at the office. "Flycatcher's sick or some shit. I'm the one taking you to Chicago."
Bigby's mouth opened and closed. He stared at Gren, bushy brows helping a glower form on the wolf's face. "You're driving me? You?"
Unlike Snow White, the Big Bad Wolf knew exactly why that was ridiculous, his eyes pinned on Gren's missing arm. Gren had a lot less patience when it was coming from him. "I'm not the grown-ass man without a driver's license," he said. "Get in the fucking truck."
Gren examined the truck as he unlocked the keys to it. "This is supposed to get us halfway across the country?"
"Have you ever actually been to Chicago?" said Bigby. "We're not going halfway across the country. The truck is fine."
The truck would do, Gren supposed. It wasn't in terrible shape, but Gren really wondered about the gas mileage they'd get on truck so clearly meant to haul bitchy animals and supplies in. Well, at least it was a nice shade of red. Wonder if they'd made Flycatcher paint that. He got in and was glad to see that the cab wasn't completely covered in wrappers or trash and didn't carry some indelible mark of the vehicle's usual destination.
Bigby pulled the car door open and got it, slamming it shut when he was comfortably seated. "Do you even know how to get to Chicago?" he said, throat rasping.
"Snow gave me directions," he said, pulling the little bag out of his pocket. He pulled the money out and pocketed it before throwing Bigby the papers in question. "You'll navigate."
He stuck the keys in the engine, staring at all the knobs and pedals. "It's been a while," he said.
"That's encouraging," said Bigby, running a hand through his hair and peering at the controls. His proximity sent Gren into a coughing fit.
"Holy shit, man," he said. "You reek like a fucking chimney. No smoking in this thing."
Bigby sent Gren a glare he usually reserved for the most hardened criminals (there was a time the term would apply to both of them), his mouth tightening in a deep frown. "You have a problem with my smoking?"
"Yeah," said Gren. "It'll kill you and it smells fucking terrible."
"You do know you smell like a brewery, right?"
"There's no such thing as secondhand alcohol," said Gren, looking up to check the rearview mirror. "When I'm driving there's no smoking in the car."
Bigby looked like two sides of himself were warring with each other. Gren was glad. If the wolf agreed to stop smoking for the next several hours of his life, he'd have succeeded in his quiet but unquenchable goal to make him a little more miserable.
"I have to go to Chicago," he said finally.
"And I'm your driver," said Gren. "How long is this trip anyway?"
"I think it takes twelve, thirteen hours to get to Chicago," said Bigby. "You going to get going or not? It's hot in here."
"I meant how long are you staying there?" asked Gren, turning the key and rotating his hand on the wheel, getting a feel for the truck as it roared to life. He hadn't driven in years; you really didn't need to when you spent your whole life on the same few blocks of pavement.
"A few hours," said Bigby. "I need to meet up with a contact. We'll have to spend the night."
"Wish the princess had mentioned that bit," said Gren. "But fine, whatever, who gives a shit what I think, I'm just the chauffeur. As long as there's enough money to cover my expenses I'll be fine."
He'd been about to back out of the parking lot, but he had to pull the bag out yet again to find the cash, because if he was going to have to spend more than a day with Bigby Wolf he wasn't going to do it sober. This time he was able to count it out properly (much to Bigby's annoyance; the man clearly wanted to get on the road).
The total amount of cash came to two hundred dollars. Gren did some math in his head and figured that it should be enough for a couple nights plus the booze to get him through it. Thank god.
Bigby looked away as he fumbled to get the bag closed. Fine, if that's how he was going to play this. He was over it.
Gren finally pulled out of the parking lot and into the road, wondering why Fabletown hadn't invested in a second, far less annoying to drive vehicle. This giant-ass truck wasn't exactly suitable for fun roadtrips from one huge city to another.
"Finally," said Bigby.
"You know, I'm glad this thing isn't a stick shift," said Gren, ignoring him. "You'd be stuck here without my company, wouldn't that be a fucking tragedy?"
"It used to be manual transmission," said Bigby. "Fly was terrible at driving it, so the witches on the 13th floor did a little magic and fixed it up."
Gren's hand on the wheel tightened considerably at that. "Oh really? The witches charge out the ass for a Glamour but they'll fix a fucking car because some asshole was a bad driver?"
"Apparently it cost Crane a fair bit of cash," said Bigby as Gren drove straight into a pothole. The wolf grunted in annoyance, having forgotten to put his seatbelt on.
"What the fuck ever," said Gren. "It costs me a fair bit of cash, like you said, just to look decent enough not to get shipped off to your fucking farm."
"It's not my farm," said Bigby. "I'm not even allowed there."
They had to stop at a light, and the next one, and the one after that. New York City driving was fucking fantastic. Gren didn't drive for a reason; the last time he had he'd rear-ended a driver who was taking too long to turn out of spite. That hadn't been why he'd spent the night in jail, though (which had been totally unfair, he had hadn't even taken the first swing). He wondered if Snow knew any of that shit.
"Well I think sending me there would be a real terrible idea," he said. "I may not be no big bad wolf but I'm not exactly pig friendly…or whatever kind of animals you keep in that place."
They were still at the light. They'd probably be there for the next five minutes. They'd be on the expressway soon enough; he had to keep reminding himself of that because he really didn't need Bigby judging him for getting into a fistfight with a Mundy.
"How should I know?" said Bigby. "Although I know they've got a couple dragons and the like up there. You wouldn't be alone."
"You mean in being a fucking monster," said Gren. "I know what you're getting at, don't fucking worry about that. I also hear you've got that dragon and the giants asleep. Is that what you Fabletown pricks would do to me, given the chance?"
The light finally changed, but they didn't move. The cars were too backed up for that.
"I can't say what Snow and the others would do," said Bigby. "But I'd consider it if it would shut you up for a while."
"Joke about it all you want," said Gren. "You're not stuck groveling under the thumb of the Fabletown government."
He pressed the gas pedal as the cars began to move and the truck started forward with a lunch. Maybe he was a little rusty with this whole driving thing (but hadn't he known that from the beginning).
Bigby snorted. "Because life is so hard for you."
"Go fuck yourself," said Gren. "You don't know anything about my life. You don't have Fabletown controlling where you live, where you work, where you shop, how you take a goddamn piss. You're too high up to see it, and all your talk of change just ends up meaning new rules for the people you think you care about."
"I told Holly once I care about every Fable," said Bigby. "And I meant it."
Gren's fingers curled around the steering wheel, digging into it until his nails hurt. There was so much he could say to that, so much he wanted to spit out, the words rising like bile in the back of his throat. How fucking dare Bigby say to his face, how dare he watch Gren struggle to drive a car at the whim of their deputy mayor all because the wolf needed a ride, and tell him how he cared for everyone? The fucking hypocrisy of it all threatened to override his better judgement, but he kept his eyes on the road and finally, finally, found the turn for the route out of the city.
Out of the city. That hadn't occurred to him before. Sure, he'd end up in another one at the end of the stupid trip, but between that would be hours of being on the road. Probably a loud, busy one with lots of billboards and lights, but still, an improvement on the city he'd been trapped in. His grip relaxed. Even if the company was shit, a change was nice.
"I'll be nice to get some peace for a while," said Bigby suddenly.
Gren didn't reply, his energy concentrated on a wide turn that proved a bit difficult with one arm. "Yeah? What do you mean?"
"From the city," said Bigby. "All the smells. Maybe I won't even need to smoke like a chimney for a while."
"So you can smell as well as they say, huh?" said Gren, who was still a bit preoccupied with driving. He made the final turn and they were on the route they'd be taking for a good couple hundred miles.
"Yeah, although I might not be able to after ten hours in a car with you," he said. "My nose might go numb from the booze. It's only three, how can you have already been drinking?"
"Keeps the noise down," said Gren absentmindedly.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Sorry if I didn't completely explain myself," he snapped, glancing over to see Bigby looking at him incredulously. "I've been concentrating on not crashing this shitty truck."
"Take your time," said Bigby, adjusting the seat so he could lean back the way he wanted. "I'll be here."
Gren took a couple of minutes to think about his reply. He didn't want Bigby to know even more about him, but hell, what point was there in hiding. "I hate the noise of the city," he said.
"So? Everyone knows that."
"I mean I can always hear it," he said, ever walking a fine line with his temper. "It's like your nose, I guess. I can't drown it out, except when I'm drunk and everyone's decided to shut the fuck up for a couple minutes."
"That's why you go to the Trip Trap so much," said Bigby. "That's why you're drunk before noon most days."
Gren gritted his teeth. "You don't know what I do 'most days.' You don't know me."
"I can guess."
"Fuck you," said Gren.
"We're more alike than you think," said Bigby.
"I'm surprised you'd even want to compare the two of us," he said. "Considering what you think of me."
"What I think of you?"
He shouldn't be surprised that he was so low on Bigby Wolf's radar that he couldn't even remember the things he'd said to him. "A waste of life," he said. "You've called me that more than once. You don't think I'm worth the space it takes to be alive, so why don't you shut up and stop pretending you think any different, huh?"
"I don't think you're a-"
"Really, Bigby," he said, tone dropping as his annoyance grew. "Shut the fuck up for once."
Apparently something in his tone came off pissed off to the point that Bigby fell silent and looked out the window. Gren relaxed slightly as it became clear the other man wasn't biding his time, preparing some jibe to restart the conversation.
He couldn't look away from the road for long, not with his rusty driving skills, but it was okay. They'd left in the middle of a weekday and it wasn't that busy; even getting out of the city had been a walk in the park compared to how it would be just a few hours later. The sun was hot on Gren's face, the trees a dark green blur, their color saturated from the recent rain. The Mundy world was so similar to his that it ached sometimes. It was worse in the winter. Sometimes he thought about taking a trip overseas, see this world's version of the place he'd grown up. He didn't though. It wouldn't feel right- it wasn't, no matter what it looked like, his home. Besides, he didn't have the cash.
They drove in silence for several hours. It was nice. Gren wasn't completely comfortable knowing the wolf was next to him the entire time, but as long as he was quiet he couldn't rightly care. The noise of the city faded, and while they weren't completely free from the world of the ceaselessly loud Mundies, Gren didn't feel like something was trying to rip his clarity from him at every second.
"I need to smoke," said Bigby.
Nothing lasted forever.
"Didn't you hear me when I told you no fucking smoking?" he asked, the venom in his voice a bit more severe than he'd intended.
"There's a rest stop up ahead," said Bigby mildly. Gren wished he'd gotten pissed off. He hated feeling like he was being humored.
"Fine, we'll stop," he said. "I need a drink anyway."
"It's a rest stop," said Bigby. "Unless you mean you want a Coke, you won't be getting any booze."
"I knew that," he snapped, cheeks warming. He had not known that.
He pulled into the little area designated as a rest stop. Damn, when was the last time he'd gotten out of the city? Years. Too many years. He parked the truck and unbuckled his seatbelt, grabbing the keys as he slid out of the front seat and out of the car.
Bigby snorted. "I haven't seen you out of a sleazy New York bar. Do you realize how ridiculous you look?"
"What the fuck man, you're criticizing my clothes? You?" said Gren. "You've probably been wearing that shirt a week straight."
"Not a week," said Bigby.
"At least I have more than one pair of jeans," said Gren. "And I actually wash my jacket."
"I meant those chains of yours," said Bigby. "You trying to replace Georgie Porgie?"
"What the fuck, man," said Gren. "I don't know what you think is funny to joke about, but that ain't on the fucking list. That piece of shit murdered my friend, and you're going to- holy shit, Bigby, you'd compare me to him because I wear chains and snake skin boots?"
"I didn't even mention your boots," said Bigby, frowning. He was already lighting a cigarette. He didn't meet Gren's eyes as he shoved past him, shoulders colliding. Gren's blood was boiling. He wanted Bigby to get mad.
When Bigby didn't, Gren kept walking and bought himself a soda from the vending machines. It wasn't booze but it would do. He paced the little area with picnic tables while Bigby smoked, thinking about how unfair it was that he was stuck in his damn Mundy form while he stood on the edge of a stand of trees. He hadn't been in the natural world, in the place he felt most at home, in his real form for hundreds of years. But that was against regulation, so he opened his Coke and breathed in the smell of pine.
He spent more time doing that then he thought, because when he walked towards the car, Bigby was nowhere to be found. Instead he was dialing a number at a payphone. Gren resisted the urge to laugh when he overheard what he was saying.
"Look, Snow, I don't know what you were thinking, but Grendel?"
Good. He was glad he was making the wolf uncomfortable.
"The guy hates me, Snow. He's probably going to strand me in Chicago and take the truck back, and then you'll have to pay for airfare."
"Not my style," said Gren, now only a few feet from Bigby. "I'd just punch you. But you really think I'd do that, huh?"
Bigby let out a sigh. "I have to go now, your chauffer is back." He hung the phone up, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows. "What?"
"God, I fucking hate you, you know that?" said Gren. "I'm hired to drive you and you pitch a fit, but you really expect me to believe you care about all Fables? I'm going back to the car. Get in before I drive off without you or whatever it is you think I'd do."
"Is that what this is about?" said Bigby, following him to the truck. "Big bad Grendel is sad that because he thinks I don't care about him?"
"I don't want to hear another word out of your fucking mouth," said Gren, fist clenched so tightly his nails were digging into his skin.
Bigby snorted. He didn't say another word though, and it saved him from Gren turning around and socking him in the mouth.
They drove. God, they drove. Gren was glad he'd passed out on his bed and not his couch the night before, because otherwise he might have ended up getting tired on the road. As it was, it was…calming. Soothing. Something like that. He didn't want to get into it.
Bigby somehow managed to stop himself from letting another word out of his fucking mouth until night had fallen and the directions Snow had given Gren told him that they were getting close to Chicago, although he'd have to spend another couple of hours driving in the dark. The bright lights were a pain in the ass, but otherwise he didn't care. Even if they got in an accident, well, Beowulf was taught in schools across the country. He wasn't in a lot of danger.
"Do you really think Fabletown is so bad?"
"Awww, you've been thinking?" said Gren, who didn't feel the need to immediately stop the car and slaughter the other man. A good sign. "Who knew you could do that!"
"Shut up and listen," grunted Bigby, running a hand through his hair. "Look, Snow's really trying now. She wants to make a difference for Fables down on their luck. Fables like you and your friends."
"Oh, I believe it," said Gren, letting out a short, bitter bark of a laugh. "I actually believe she thinks she can help."
"And what makes you so damn certain she can't?" said Bigby, voice low and annoyed, practically a growl.
Gren narrowed his eyes at the pavement in front of them, the lights from an oncoming car flashing in his face. "Fabletown is run by a bunch of dumb shits who somehow completely miss the fact that they put themselves in charge. They're the ones who run the fucking place and they have been practically forever. King Cole was elected, what, hundreds of fucking years ago? And he's not even here now."
"What makes me so damn certain," said Gren, pressing his foot to the pedal a little harder than he needed to. "Is that I'm Grendel, and you're the Big Bad Wolf. You know what I was doing a few hundred years back? Eating people. In my fucking nature, or whatever. And what were you doing a few hundred years back? Was it so different?"
Bigby didn't answer.
"That's what I fucking thought," said Gren. "We're both the bad guys in our stories, but you're Sheriff, and I'm the barfly you feel justified in kicking the shit out of once and a while. And there was no rhyme or fucking reason for why you got the job…oh, unless I'm wrong. Don't hesitate to correct me if I'm wrong!"
More silence. Then, eventually, came, "You're not wrong."
"I said it earlier, Sheriff. We're stuck. You regulate everything we do. You keep yelling at me to get a fucking job, but not with the Mundies, because that's dangerous, but Fables don't change. Fables don't hire new people. A Fabletown position shows up once every eight or nine months or so, and by the time most of us hear about it it's already filled. Do something about that if you want me to think you give a shit about us."
"Nothing I say will ever convince you, Grendel," said Bigby, reaching into his pocket and lighting a cigarette.
"Fuck you," said Gren as the scent of cheap smoke filled his nose. It didn't sound convincing, even to him. "You're the worst of them all."
He tried to regret saying it. Bigby had found Holly's killer. Bigby had brought him to justice, had made sure to put down every last one of the fuckers like wild dogs. He'd tried to respect Lily's funeral, even if it had turned into a shitshow. He'd treated Holly, Woody, all of them with the utmost respect.
But when he tried to dredge up some sympathy, some regret, all he could think of was the merciless way he had wrenched Gren's arm off while Holly begged him not to, the way Bigby had mocked him after, how he'd spent the night clutching an armrest while Holly stitched him up with bloodstained fingers.
It wasn't a big deal, he'd told himself. Bigby did what need to be done in the end. He'd found the killer. Holly was the important one, not him.
Rain began to splatter on the truck's windshield, fat drops pelting the vehicle with a ferocity that Gren could relate to. He hadn't noticed the dark clouds in the night air. Either they'd shown up quickly or Gren had been unobservant. Both were possible.
Bigby finally put his cigarette out in the ashtray, shaking his head at Gren's look. "I'll buy you some booze when we get in town. Maybe that'll get you to out of your shitty mood."
"I can buy my own booze."
"With Snow's money?"
"You think now's the time to go for that jibe?"
"It's with Snow's money, though, right? I'll buy the goddamn alcohol."
"Whatever," said Gren. "As long as I get drunk either way."
He had to slow down as the rain continued, and Bigby left him alone so he could concentrate on keeping the car steady, a task made especially difficult with only one arm. The downpour showed no sign of letting up, and several of the nearby cars slowed down around him. Gren was sick of driving with his asshole though, and sheer annoyance kept his speed up. He wanted to get to Chicago and he wanted to get smashed.
"Let's stop for the night," said Bigby. "We're only about half an hour from the city, okay? It's raining too hard for us to deal with the city traffic."
They were in the outskirts of the city now, derelict buildings visible from the road, a few fast food places stationed for the hungry traveler to pull in, get food, and get the hell back on the highway. Still, Gren could see a rundown Motel 6. He pulled to the right lane, ignoring the honking that he received at his fast lane change, and exited the freeway.
"So, what, can't handle a little rain? Afraid you'll start smelling like wet dog?"
"It's not the rain, it's your driving," said Bigby. "Besides, don't you remember what happened the last time you called me a dog?"
Lap dog. He'd called Bigby a lap dog, and Bigby had torn off his arm. Yeah, he remembered. He fucking remembered.
"Get out of the car," said Gren, pulling to the side of the road.
"What?" said Bigby. "The motel's up the road, you need to pull in there, a couple hundred yards-"
"Get out of the fucking car!"
Gren unbuckled his seatbelt and hopped out of the truck, not caring as rain began coating him, running down his cheeks and into his slicked back hair. When Bigby approached him from the other side of the truck he clenched his fist, resisting the urge to grab his shirt and do something stupid.
"I can't do this anymore," said Gren, his hair beginning to fall in his face as the rain dissolved his product. He was already soaked. So was Bigby, his thick eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He really didn't get it, even now.
"Can't do what?"
"I can't pretend that everything is fine," said Gren. "And that I'm not allowed to hate your fucking guts."
Bigby's mouth fell open at that. "Gren, what the hell are you going on about?"
"What the fuck do you think I'm talking about?" said Gren. "You ripped my arm off, and you think it's okay to joke about it? You ripped my arm off! I ain't gonna take all this bullshit anymore!"
"That was months ago," said Bigby. He had to shout to be heard over the sound of rain hitting the pavement. Gren was already yelling.
"I don't fucking care! What the fuck is wrong with you people? What the fuck? Who rips someone's arm off? What kind of fucking asshole thinks he can do that, and then, just- just, forget about it? Think it's okay because he helped out some other way! You fucking crippled me, man!"
Bigby stared at him, frowning. He was glowering. His eyes were yellow. Gren didn't care.
"You fucking cripple me and then what? No one says a goddamn word! Snow thinks I'm okay with driving you eight fucking hours, because who gives a shit right? Who gives a shit that you maimed me! What kind of- of sick fucks are you? You think I'm over losing my goddamn arm? You people really think I want to sit next to the guy who did it? You think buying me fucking booze is going to fix it?"
He was screaming so loudly he could hardly hear himself. He didn't care.
"You get to tear my arm off and then move on with your life, and you think it's all good 'cause I told you to fuck off when you did it," he snarled. "News flash, Sherriff, maybe you should cut the guy you're busy crippling a little slack! It's your fucking face I think of when I try to buckle my fucking belt, you know that? All you."
He kicked the ground, the toe of his shoe sinking into the soft dirt.
"Do you really want to know how I know you don't care about me?" said Gren, advancing on Bigby. "There's a real simple fucking answer, man, and it's that you ripped my fucking arm off. And you have the nerve to ask me that today, to look at me like I'm the same as the rest of them, like I'm over what you did to me? Fuck you!"
He grabbed Bigby's shirt and pulled him towards Gren, breathing heavy, his chest heaving. He was so angry. He was always angry. That was his thing. He was Grendel, and he fought people because he was angry for no reason.
Except he had a reason. He always did. No one ever listened to him when he tried to explain them.
He let go of Bigby's shirt, leaving it crumbled. "Fuck you," he gasped, pulling back and punching Bigby as hard as he could.
Bigby stumbled backwards, hands shooting up to his chin. He didn't say anything.
"We don't live in the fucking Homelands anymore," Gren said, voice cracking. "We're not supposed to be monsters anymore!" He advanced again, and Bigby didn't stop him from hitting him again.
"All of you stupid fuckers in Fabletown have the goddamn nerve to…to order me around and call me lazy for not getting a job when I can't- when you're the reason I can't-…fuck! Fuck you! Fuck this! God! You cripple me and then you- you-" He could feel the rage leaving him in favor of crushing exhaustion, the same exhaustion that plagued him when he was sober and stupid enough to think about his life.
"I'm sorry."
"What?"
Bigby let his hand drop, exposing his bruised cheek. "I'm sorry, Grendel."
"A bit fucking late for that, don't you think?" said Gren. His hand ached, and he wasn't so damn popular he could just will it away like some Fables could.
"Yeah," said Bigby, pulling a cigarette out and attempting to light it in the rain. His attempt failed, so he capped his lighter and was forced to meet Gren's eyes. "It is too late. I can't go back in time and choose a different option. I would if I could, believe it or not. I wouldn't rip your arm off, knowing what I know now."
"And what is that?"
"That I'm an asshole," said Bigby. "That however much you piss me off, you deserve more than that."
"You do know people who maim others go to jail in the Mundy world, right?" said Gren. "Not get to keep their job?
"Yeah," said Bigby. "I know. And you know what else?"
"What?" said Gren, taking a step away from Bigby. He was done; he didn't need to hurt his hand any further. He only had the one, after all.
"It could have been me, Gren. You could have been the Sheriff and I could have been the pissed off guy in the bar. There's no difference between us."
"You can say that all you want," said Gren, sighing. "But things will never change in Fabletown."
"I don't know if you've noticed," said Bigby. "But we're not in Fabletown. I mean what I said."
Gren didn't reply. He looked up at the clouds and let the rain fall in his face for a few moments. Nothing was different, really, except that Bigby had listened to him for once when he was angry. Not something that mattered (so why did it feel like it did?).
"Shit," he muttered. "I guess I believe you. Let's get out of the rain."
He walked back to the truck, snake skin boots crushing the grass underfoot.
"So are we good?" asked Bigby, hand on the car door.
"No," said Gren, surprised at how easily the words came. "We're not. We might never be. You're gonna have to learn to accept that, 'cause you're not the one who gets to do the forgiving."
It was cold in the truck with their rain-soaked clothing, but Gren didn't mind. It wasn't like they had far to go. He pulled into the Motel 6 parking lot and pulled the ziplock bag Snow had given him out, grasping the top with his teeth and pulling it open. Bigby watched him do it, perhaps understanding the gravity of what he had done for the first time.
"I'm going to pay for the rooms," said Gren. "Go get that fucking booze."
Bigby nodded and turned in the direction of a gas station they'd passed. He hesitated, clearly trying to think of something to say.
"I'll let you know if I'm in the mood for forgiving you," said Gren. He paused, realizing how the words had come out. "I meant that- shit Bigby, you know what I mean, right? If things get better I'll let you know."
"I'm going to make sure they do," said Bigby. It sounded like a threat the way he growled it, but Gren knew it was a promise.
Gren swung the bag in his hand as he walked to the front desk of the Motel 6. Things could be worse. At least he'd be able to stomach the drive back; somehow he had the idea that Bigby might be a bit more tolerable.
The rain didn't stop all night. The night sky reminded Grendel of home, of bitter cold and pine trees with nothing but the stars to watch, clouds making their way across like travelers of their own. Car lights illuminated the pavement and the grass, sodden with rain and glinting with reflections. Gren liked the view. History really did have a way of repeating itself, he thought idly, brushing droplets off his empty sleeve.