Title: I'm Fine
Author: bballgirl3022
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Monroe/Nick
Spoilers: None
Warnings: flashbacks of violence, hurt/comfort
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the recognizable characters in this piece of fiction. And I am most certainly not making a profit from this.
Summary: Nick gets attacked and Monroe is there for him.
Word Count: 593
Notes: Fill for heeroluva's 5 Acts request of hurt/comfort.
Thanks to moonofblindness and confetticas for looking this over for me. All other mistakes are my own.
I'm Fine
"You alright?" Monroe asks reaching out to lay a hand on Nick's shoulder only to pull away when Nick flinches at the movement.
"I'm fine," Nick repeats for the twentieth time because if he keeps saying it eventually it'll be true, right?
He's not alright though. Not even a little bit. Nick can still feel large hands wrapped around his throat constricting his airway. His feet dangling uselessly as he tries to kick out, to fight back. It's hard when his brain feels fuzzy from the lack of oxygen, his vision blackening around the edges. His attacker snarls something scathing at him. "Not so tough now, are you Grimm?"
"Nick? Nick!" Someone's calling out for him. They sound so far away beyond the blood rushing in his ears. If they've come to help, they'll be too late. Nick isn't going to last too much longer.
A loud "Nick" pulls him back to the present. Monroe's face hovers in his field of vision, his worry written all over his face.
"I'm fine," he says again while taking in the remnants of his living room. Broken fragments of a table lay scattered on the floor. There's a gash on the couch where stuffing leaks out. He was attacked in his home. It doesn't feel safe anymore.
"Your place is pretty tore up. You wanna come stay at my place tonight?"
Nick nods. He can't stay here tonight. Not if he wants to get any sleep. The house of the big, bad wolf is safe right? Monroe is safe. Or at least Nick's brain keeps saying he is.
Monroe wanders around Nick's apartment grabbing seemingly random things and shoving them into a bag before leading Nick out to his car and driving them away into the night. His friend rambles on about something, clocks or a new recipe Monroe has found. Nick isn't listening though; Monroe's voice is background music to his disquieted brain.
The attack plays on repeat in his mind. The crash of his front door being kicked open. The crunch of the table breaking as he falls from a well-aimed kick to the chest. The crunch of drywall as his body slams into the wall. Images flash in quick succession before his eyes.
Panic is setting in again. Nick's heart is pounding. His breath coming in short gasps.
"Put these on," says Monroe breaking through the haze of Nick's memories and thrusting Nick's favorite pajamas at him. That explains what Monroe was collecting from his house.
He changes and joins Monroe in bed pressing close as Monroe drapes an arm around his waist. Nick buries his face in Monroe's neck and breathes in his unique scent. It's warm, reminds Nick of the woods and all the clocks on which Monroe is always working.
He feels safe here. Wrapped up in Monroe's scent, head on his mate's shoulder; the scratch of Monroe's beard as he presses a kiss to Nick's forehead makes him feel grounded, enough that his mind has settled.
Monroe doesn't ask again if he's alright –probably sick of Nick saying he is when he so obviously isn't. He just tugs Nick closer and spans his hands protectively over Nick's lower back. Nick might not be a Blutbad, but he understands the sentiment perfectly.
"You think I could stay here for a few days?" questions Nick sleepily.
"As long as you need," Monroe replies.
The last thing Nick feels when he falls asleep is the steady rise and fall of Monroe's chest and the press of his lips against Nick's hair.
