A/N: This. Is a serous crackfic. I was sniggering most of the time I wrote this. What happened was that I learned that there is no Eddie Monroe, that is not the Wesen I was looking for. Which was a relief because Eddie is a horribly stupid name for Monroe. There's nothing Eddie-ish about him. Anyway, this led me to inquire, so...what is this man's name-wtf do you mean it's literally just Monroe?! Even on the Grimm Wiki! Alice and Bart don't have last names either! What?! Honestly, aside from Dr. Harper and Frau Pesch not having first names (and who cares about them anyway) every other character has a full name, don't they? Wait...don't they? It doesn't matter, this is what came from me being fixated on this issue-shhhhh, shhhhh...shhhhhhhhhhhhjust let it happen, don't resist...just...let it...happen...

Sunday mornings were so beautiful.

It was Monroe's weekly "Treatchaself" day, the one day he rested from exercise and started the day with a mocha coffee-hey, chocolate at that time in the morning? What could Monroe say? He liked to live fast and dangerously. If Monroe was feeling exceptionally rebellious, he might even go as far as to put chocolate milk in his cereal! Had he no limits?! No mercy?!

Either way, it was a good day. Or at least Nick hadn't called him yet so far, dankeschoen. True, Nick got at least one Wesen case a week that took a few days to at most a month to tackle, this was a pleasant rest for the Blutbad. Maybe he'd be a really bad boy and break out some Bach on his Cello, it was just that kind of reckless day.

First, to complete the arduous task of finishing Mocha Coffee and the Calvin & Hobbes Lazy Sunday Book. That was, until he had a heart attack that propelled him out of his chair and left his life flashing before his eyes.

"You don't have a last name." Monroe coughed into his drink, choking with shock at the Grimm's voice and spun around to meet the steely voice.

"Nick! It's-"His brown eyes landed on his watch before darting up to the very dark looking Nick, bad vibes were radiating off him like heat waves. "6:15 in the morning? Can I help-"

"Stop it dude, I mean it, how the fuck am I supposed to take you seriously as a person if you don't even have a last name. You're not fucking Pele, you know."

Monroe balked momentarily. Seriously? Is this really happening right now? A strained and very controlled whisper escaped like steam from Monroe's mouth, "Nickolas Burkhardt you are way out of character! there are people. READING this. I mean-hopefully, anyway..."

"Oh I'm sorry," Nick started to drawl slowly and sarcastically, "I can't hear you, Mister….? Oh that's right. You're just Mister, aren't you?"

Fine. Monroe set his mug down with solid determination. Two could play this game. "…Well excuse me, Mr. Burkhardt, I guess we can't all be a fully developed Grimm character like you. I'm also pretty certain I would know if I was fucking an international football star-" Monroe could only gape as he recognized the sound of skin slapping skin had in fact been Nick's hand across Monroe's face.

"God damnit it's soccer! Do you see?! Do you see this?" Nick pleaded to an invisible God, "Football and no last name?! I CAN'T WORK UNDER THESE CONDITIONS!"

Oh Goddamnit, not this fucking fight again. Not the cultural differences shit again.

"I'm German! you actually play the game with. Your. Feet. Foosball!" Nick was about to reply but Monroe had cut him off with a reciprocated slap. "YOu have no right to say anything about this! You are supposed to be German, dude! It doesn't take a genius to see that THERE IS NOTHING GERMANIC ABOUT YOU. You're Italian Nick, as painful as it is, you're Italian. Accept it. You may as well change your name to like, David Guintoli or something."

"David Guin-Monroe, that is the stupidest name I have ever heard!" Nick paused for a beat as he Let Monroe's blunt honestly bludgeon him over the head. Oh his life was a lie all a long! "Oh my God it's true. I am Italian!" He started sobbing pathetically in the middle of monroe's kitchen flo-"hang on hang on, hold it. Dude, no, you are not going to have Nick break down on my clean kitchen floor!"

"Monroe, what are you doing?" Nick whispered warily through the hands that were clapped over his face. "You're not supposed to interact with the narrator directly! That's breaking the fourth wall!"

Yeah Monroe, that's breaking the fourth wall!

"Oh shut up! NOW the fourth wall is being broken because I don't want to have to have to clean up a mess?! Seriously folks?" Monroe stood in front of the collapse Nick heap, squawking like a frantic mother hen to no one in particular-"Hey! I resent that description of me! I demand you treat me with some respect!"

Fuck off Monroe, you're ruining the story.

"Yeah!" Nick chorused, "You're ruining the story!"

"LOOK! ASSHOLES!" Monroe stared right up at where he knew the omniscient author sat, watching her scene play out behind a screen. "I am a dignified character with thoughts, hopes and feelings, okay?! First of all, you make me gay-" Hey "-No shut up a minute! you make me gay and then you allow Nick to stomp in her on my sacred sunday pointing out that I do in fact have an incomplete name, you let him slap me-mock me over my European colloquialisms which you yourself have, author, okay?! I know for a fact you say and spell 'aluminium' because HA SEE IT'S RIGHT THERE! So how dare you take his side-and and and then when I ask to not clean up Nick's Italian melt down, yeah that's right you fake German, in my clean kitchen, you get on my ass? WHERE IS THE JUSTICE?"

Nick, by this point, had crawled beneath the kitchen table cowering in fear of what The Author might do. There was a reason that particular wall was never broken, their awesome power was not one to be trifled with.

"Bitch, please," Monroe snapped a sassy curl in the air with a matching neck roll, "Stop talking yourself up."

Deafening silence followed.

…

Yup, still there.

There was no sassy retort, no particularly threatening warning…still nothing. Monroe preened, proud of what he had done, wrangled the unwrangable. "Mitchell."

Nick poked his head out from beneath the table, still incredibly paranoid and anticipating a damn good wrathing. "What?" His blue eyes darted all over the serene scenery.

"My last name. It's Mitchell. Monroe Mitchell."

"Monroe…Mitchell." Nick repeated before wrinkling his face. Boy, that tasted funny. "…Isn't Mitchell a Scottish name?"

"Shut the fuck up, kid."

Just then very window in Monroe's house cracked and shattered all over, save for the stained glass one in his door because I'm particularly fond of it. Enjoy cleaning that mess up, Monroe Kilt-Wearing Mitchell.

"…Son of a Bitch."

Nick let to his feet with a broad smile, "I'll go get the vacuum Monroe! Just don't start barking at it when it's on!" Anything else that may have followed was drowned out when Monroe slammed into him full force and tackled the Grimm to the ground. What the hell was this, national bully Monroe day?!