Based this story off a prompt I found on FaceBook (which was a screenshot of a tumblr post). This one is really short, I know, but the prompt did give a pretty condensed plot. Thanks for reading, and I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sisters Grimm.

Puck hisses, as blood continues to flow between his fingers. Three men lie slain around him, and there is a red-tipped sword on the ground.

Oh hell this hurts, he thinks, as a sharp sting runs through him. Oh bloody hell, I'm going to die.

And then. Heh. Bloody. I'm funny.

He shakes his head, clearing his addled brain momentarily. A thick fog is covering his mind, growing thicker with every drop that spills from his wound, and it weighs heavily on him. I need to, I need to do something. He takes a laboured breath. What was it?

As he thinks, a small leaf dances before him, wafted by the wind. Then, the breeze passes, and the leaf falls still. He suddenly remembers.

Sabrina! One hand peels itself away from his stomach and reaches into his pocket, where he withdraws a cell phone (now slick and red). He punches in a number.

Dial tone. Come on, come on, pick up.

"Hello?"

It's her. "Hello?"

"Puck?"

"Hey."

"Hey... Why are you calling me?"

"Oh uh..." Crap, what do I tell her? That I'm dying? "No reason."

"You're just randomly calling me?"

"...Yes."

"That sounds really suspicious." Her voice adopts an accusing tone. "You're not in trouble are you?"

He gulps, his red fingers sticking together. "What, no. Pft. What makes you think that?"

He can almost feel her raise an eyebrow. "You really want me to answer that?"

"Not particularly."

"What are you, in, like, jail or something? Need me to bail you out?"

"Please, the cops can't catch me."

"Then why are you calling?"

"What's wrong with me calling? Can't I just call you because I feel like it?" He can feel himself slipping, and he doesn't have time to waste. His voice rises a little, and the effort (and pain it brings) causes him to groan quietly.

"Woah alright. Calm down there, I was just joking. Why are you so uptight anyway?"

"Just tired." His blood, which was so warm in his hands a minute ago, doesn't feel so warm anymore. Matter of fact, nothing was feeling very warm anymore. "Hey, Sabrina?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

Silence. It is awkward and penetrating. "W-what?"

"I said I love you."

"Oh."

"What's wrong with that? We're dating aren't we?"

"Yeah..."

"So what's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just... I just didn't expect you to say it so early on, that's all."

"Well I saying it now, so deal with it. I love you."

She is quiet, for another minute. A precious, wasted minute. At last, though, she speaks. "I love you too," she says sincerely.

He chuckles (weakly), and for a second his fingers flare again with feeling. Then, it fades. "So sappy, Grimm."

He pictures her rolling her eyes. "We sound like we're in one of those stupid rom-coms Daphne watches," she says. "You're not, like, dying are you? Calling me to make sure I love you?"

How did she know? He laughs, but it is forced; there is a touch of uneasiness to it. "What? You think the last thing I'd do before I die is tell you I love you?" His voice is light, but an iron taste still lingers in his mouth. The feeling of nothingness intensifies, and he begins to feel woozy.

"Yeah, that is kinda stupid."

"Trust me, the last thing I'll do before I die is tell you what I want on my tombstone. If I tell you that, then you'll know I'm dying."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Another spasm of pain wracks him. His grip on the phone begins to weaken, and the leaf (unmoving on the ground; there is no trace of wind) begins to spin in his eyes. Nausea builds.

"Why is your voice so quiet?" Sabrina asks suddenly.

"Huh? Oh." He swallows the blood in his throat. "Bad signal. I chased those robbers into a forest."

"Oh alright."

There is silence for a bit, as Puck musters up the fading energy he has left. His eyes begin to flutter close.

"Hey, Sabrina?"

"Yeah?"

"Here lies Puck, Trickster King extraordinaire. Mentor to the wicked, enemy of the good, and general all-round bad guy. That's what I want on my tombstone." He takes a harsh gasp.

"Wait what?"

She hears an incoherent murmur. Then a tumble, as if a phone has fallen out of someone's hand.

"Puck?"

This story was actually more fun to edit than it was to write. That's quite strange, I normally hate editing. Maybe it's 'cause this story was quite short, so I didn't spend as long checking it. Whatever the reason, I hope you enjoyed this, and thanks for reading.

For anyone interested, this was the prompt:

...

Person B knowing they're undoubtedly about to die within the next few seconds, likely from the gaping wound they're bleeding out from. Instead of calling for help, they phone Person A and carry on a casual conversation as if nothing is wrong, making sure to mention how much they love them before their time runs out.

Alright Satan, just calm down for a while, you've done your job, you can punch out for the day.

...

It made me laugh, and then I though 'Hey, that'd actually be a pretty cool story idea'. Thus, this was written.