Hank smiled weakly down at Rosalee. She was slowly coming to after spending far more time than he was comfortable with sound asleep on a hospital bed - recovering, from, as far as he could tell, just generally having been really roughed up. However, when he and Nick had finally made it to the hospital late Friday night, the doctors had been remarkably ambiguous about the condition both she and Bud were in.

Nick hadn't taken that particularly well - not that Nick had taken any of the events of Friday particularly well. Hank sighed. Nick's mysterious disappearance wasn't even at the top of the list of the bad news he had for Rosalee. He didn't even know how to start. Hell, he was barely over any of it himself. It had only been two days. Two days since... he almost couldn't bring himself to think it, let alone say. He didn't know how he was going to tell her.

But Rosalee wouldn't put up with any roundabout nonsense so he knew was just going to have to spit it out.

He wasn't surprised when she cautiously pulled herself up against the hospital headboard, relaxed against it, and then firmly locked her eyes with his, "How long have I been out?"

"Two days, give or take," Hank said, frowning.

Immediately afterwards, her eyes flaring with a renewed intensity, she asked,"Where's Monroe? Tell me right now."

Of course that was her first question. Hank drew in a deep breath.

"Rosalee, Monroe's..." Hank started, leaning over and gripping the bedrail. He couldn't say it. He had to, but he couldn't - saying it made it real, "He's...he's dead."

"I need to know where his body is, then," Rosalee said. Her expression remained calm, her tone detached. Hank stared at her, taken aback. For someone who had dated the man for nearly two years and been friends with him for five, she didn't sound particularly perturbed or surprised.

When Hank continued to stare, she pressed, with a calm urgency, "Tell. Me. Now."

"In the morgue, I think...but, Rosalee, what difference does that make?" Hank said. Truth be told, he'd been too worried about getting Nick the hell away from the crime scene to worry about anything like that. Not that it mattered - he clearly hadn't gotten Nick out of there anywhere near fast enough. "It's not like we know how to resurrect the dead... do we?"

Rosalee shook her head, "Believe me, it makes a difference. Help me off the bed, and then let's go."

"To the morgue?" Hank asked, raising his eyes. Unless he really had missed the Wesen seminar on the reanimation of dead tissue, he really didn't see how that would be beneficial for anyone.

"Yes, don't argue," Rosalee said. "I'll explain on the way."

"I'm not. Though I probably should be," Hank said. Then, with a sharp glance at the hospital bed, he asked, "Are you sure you're up for this?"

"It doesn't matter. We have to do this, and we have to do it now," Rosalee said, ripping an IV out of her arm before pulling herself over the side of the bed. "But let's find out."

Fifteen minutes and several circuitous corridors later found the two of them pausing just outside a room full of dead bodies. This was, unfortunately, kind of run of the mill for Hank, but he was filled with a more than typical dose of apprehension. He didn't usually know anybody.

He did not envy the task ahead of Rosalee one iota.

"I can do this alone," Rosalee said, as she scanned Hank's face. "I don't want to make this harder on you. If this doesn't..."

"Harder on me?" Hank asked, incredulous. "Not that I don't love Monroe, but you and Nick, you two are the ones this is going to kill. Not me."

He didn't bother to mention that Nick wasn't exactly around to be killed, emotionally or otherwise. Rosalee hadn't asked, so he hadn't explained. There hadn't really been time anyway.

"I'm coming with you," Hank said. Rosalee nodded, and they pushed the swinging doors in together.

Once they found the right compartment, Hank braced himself as Rosalee pulled out the cold metal drawer. He wasn't really prepared to see Monroe the way he'd last seen him. He'd tried to tell Rosalee how bad it had been. How he wasn't even sure that the precautions that she and Monroe had apparently taken would even matter.

So, when the drawer slid forward with a stubborn click, he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Although he was deathly pale and perfectly still, there was not a scratch on Monroe's skin. Furthermore, he was whole and completely in tact. No severed limbs or any other lingering signs of the violent scuffle Hank could have sworn he'd witnessed remained.

"Hank...?" Rosalee asked, squeezing his shoulder lightly as she leaned over Monroe.

"You don't understand..." Hank said. "I'm telling you, he was basically torn limb from limb. It wasn't pretty. This doesn't add up."

Rosalee wasn't listening. She had her fingers curled under Monroe's cold, lifeless palms and was pressing her lips down on his, trying to undo the work of their fortified death feint potion.

Giving up on explaining how impossible the current circumstances were, Hank watched Rosalee trying to resuscitate their seemingly deceased friend. After several long moments, as hope bubbled and percolated in his chest, she drew back and took a long breath.

"It's not working, is it?" Hank asked, deflated; he should have known better. Rosalee shook her head, looking dazed. He had the feeling that the adrenaline that had got her this far was starting to wear off, and her injuries were taking their toll.

She took a wobbly step back, and Hank just barely caught her, "I'm not really sure this was a good idea. I think I should take you back to your room."

Rosalee nodded weakly, her eyes welling with tears as reality began to set in. Hank pulled her in close, thinking that if she started crying, he probably wouldn't be that far behind, "It almost felt like it was working. Hank...what are we going to do without him?"

In the absence of Hank's reply, the morgue drawer rattled.

Hank and Rosalee looked back at each other cautiously. They really didn't want to get their hopes up a second time.

Then, fortunately, a voice that could only be Monroe's said,"You know, I've never had nightmares about waking up in a morgue, but I really think I'm going to start. It's kind of horrifying. Better than the alternative, though, I guess...and, uh, not to ruin you guys' moment or anything but can you please get me off of here?"

Hank and Rosalee both breathed out in relief. Then they sprung into action, pulling Monroe to the floor.

Then, with Rosalee's arms still firmly wrapped around him, Monroe asked the question that Hank had been dreading since Rosalee woke up, "Where's Nick?"

"That's a good question," Rosalee said, turning to Hank.

"You know what, you guys have to see this for yourselves," Hank said. "Nick does some reckless things, but this is bad even for him.

Then he gave Monroe a pointed look, "He'd probably tell you he was doing it for you, too."

"Don't tell me he's doing something as ill thought out as dropping in on my parents again," Monroe said, rubbing his hand over his forehead. "I still don't know how he didn't think being both a man and Grimm wouldn't automatically disqualify him as potential Blutbaden spouse material. But he just had to do something stupidly traditional. I mean, I did ask his mom, but she did kind of have me at gunpoint at the time..."

"Monroe, this is not the time. Focus," Rosalee said. "Until about two minutes ago, all of us, Nick included, thought you were dead."

"He did?" Monroe asked, looking perplexed. "Well, I guess that explains why I'm in the morgue..."

As Hank nodded, Rosalee asked, "Hank, he's not trying to take out all of the other reapers out on his own, is he?"

"It's worse than that. That we'd have a better chance of stopping. But from what I gather, the main person he's trying to take out is himself," Hank said. Then when Monroe and Rosalee shot him equal looks of horror, he held his hand up, "It's not what you're thinking, not exactly. There was a book about a potion that could be used to alter time, and a list of the Wesen he'd encountered when he'd first found out he was Grimm."

"So the Wesen I told him about," Monroe said measuredly. Then, after adding up the evidence and drawing the conclusion that Nick was absolutely out of his mind, "Oh good God. He wouldn't."

They all shook their heads because they all knew he would.

But just to confirm Nick's insanity, Hank added, "The top of the list had the date that Nick met Monroe written on it."

Then he added with a long suffering sigh, "Don't even ask why I know that."

"So he went back in time?" Rosalee asked slowly. "To do what, exactly?"

"My educated guess is that it has something to do with you," Hank said, dramatically sweeping his hand past Monroe, which was a little bit of relief. He'd spent the last couple of minutes trying not to all out stare at him. The guy had been dead for nearly three days. He'd started planning the man's funeral for god's sake. Try as he might, he couldn't snap right back from that. "Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine. I have no idea why he'd go all the way back to when you met to prevent an ambush five years later."

"Well, whatever he's doing seems likely to be a harbinger of totally unnecessary trouble," Monroe said, pinching his eyes closed. Hank had the feeling Monroe suspected what Nick had done but rather wished he hadn't. "So we should probably hit the books, figure out if we can bring him back or if we need to get to him."

Then with an irritated wave of his hands, he muttered, "I wish I were more surprised that he thought limping up to his past self with a legal pad was a good idea."

"I do too," Hank said. Then his mind went back over what Monroe had said, "What do you mean by limping?"

"I mean limping," Monroe said, narrowing his eyes. "The last I saw of Nick, he'd done something gnarly to his ankle. It was all swollen and kind of green. I don't know how anything could get infected that fast, but, you know, leave it to Nick."

"That's it. What is it with you two and totally unexplained injuries?" Hank asked wearily because he'd just about had it with their nonsense. "First, Rosalee and I come down here, and despite the fact that I watched you get cut to bits, you're completely unscathed. Now you're telling me that Nick, who left that barn totally physically intact was hurt."

Rosalee rested her hand on Hank's shoulder apologetically as she gazed at Monroe, "I'm not sure I'm following this any more than Hank."

"The trugbild waffe," Monroe said with enough gravitas that Hank just knew it was some damned Wesen thing they would know everything about, while he remained totally in the dark.

Rosalee's look of complete shock and total understanding only underscored his suspicions.

"Which is?" Hank asked, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Well, it looks kind of like a machete, but, well, it's not," Monroe said. "It can't actually hurt anyone."

"Then why would anyone use it?" Hank asked.

"Trugbild waffe translates roughly to Knife of Illusion ," Rosalee said. "So although it doesn't harm the person it's being used on, it looks like they're being seriously injured."

"Or, you know, being torn limb from limb, in my case," Monroe said. "But what really doesn't add up is that Nick was the one "attacking" me...since there was another reaper not two feet away. I really don't know how he got his hands on the trugbild waffe...or how, when, or why he had time to change clothes...but it was definitely Nick."

"That's impossible," Hank said, raising his eyes. He was starting to think that as long as he knew Nick and Monroe, he should simply retire that phrase from his vocabulary. "I like to think I would have noticed if my partner was butchering his husband. Not to mention that after we, that is Nick and I both, saw you get torn apart, I could barely drag Nick away from your body. If he had been attacking you, and he knew the attack wasn't real, I think he would have been less worried about leaving you behind."

"Yeah, none of this makes any sense," Monroe said. Then as the cogs in his mind started spinning, he offered another suggestion that Hank would have previously considered impossible, "...unless he was in two places in once."

"Which time travel could make possible," Rosalee offered. "At least temporarily. Not that it would explain where Nick is now..."

Hank mused on that. The other night, while Monroe had been definitively losing his own battle, he and Nick had been taking on their own set of reapers. Consequently, Nick being the man "fighting" Monroe had been impossible.

However, ignoring his previous logic about the situation, despite the darkness of his vantage point in the barn, Hank could see an eerie resemblance between Nick and that man. The man had been roughly Nick's build and had been wearing a hoodie that, now that he really thought about it, closely resembled one that Nick had owned several years prior.

"Well, I think it's safe to say the trailer is about due for a visit," Monroe said.

"I think you're right," Hank agreed readily. Then he gave Rosalee a cursory once-over, unsure if she really ought to come with them, "Think you're up for it, Rosalee?"

"Well, I'm still standing," Rosalee said. She looked worn out and run down just from the brief time since they'd left her room, but her jaw was set in determination. Clearly, finding Nick was currently a higher priority than her own well-being. Hank wasn't sure he or Monroe agreed with her, but despite sharing an uneasy look with each other, neither of them argued with her.