As usual not mine and if this isn't your ship get off my boat, if you find an error you get one free fic! (1,000 words or less, any fandom that I know of). Eh…. I happen to be someone who cusses a lot so expect that. Also I should probably warn you that there will be mild(mostly mentions) Nick/OC sort of.

This is a sequel to my story Those Things Without Words (I abbreviate it TTWW) that is up on already. You can find it through . It's on my profile page.

Warnings: violence, gore, sex, angst, children, confusing writing style, long replies to reviews. Monroe/Nick and, to an extent Nick/Warren(OC).

I feel I must also warn that unlike the majority of people I meet I wasn't raised on fairy tales. I grew up banging pots with wooden spatulas and yelling at the moon and coyotes. I'm not kidding. That was family bonding right there. That and fishing toads out of the dilapidated hot tub in the backyard and chasing after lizards under rocks near the barn. I used to howl at coyotes to warn them off our property. I grew up as close to feral as you can get and still be literate so my grasp of fairy tales and otherworldlies is exceptionally different than most peoples. If there is an inaccuracy or something skewed you can blame it on my strange upbringing.

Before we start, as ever, I'd like to thank the people who replied to, well, the last chapter and the epilogue on TTWW:

Hime-Miko-Love- Thanks. I try to be as realistic as I can. But then at the same time I'm a firm believer in fuck-the-haters-write-what-you-want so… yeah.

Annon- Thank you. I'm glad you liked TTWW enough to read it so quickly and that you enjoyed the tenseness of it. I will continue. Ha. I just… needed a breather. I'm pulling from personal experience of a different sort for TSIB and it's a little more… of a soft thing. It's like I tried to climb with a newly healed arm and found out it wasn't quite healed enough for that. I might end up disappearing more with this one simply because it pulls on things that have more profoundly affected the sort of person I am than my flakiness.

.Sure24- You are correct. One free fic for you coming up probably soonish. I have it plotted out I just haven't been arsed to write anything with HP for a while. And thank you. I think my story is lovely as well. Well, I just think I'm lovely so there's that.

There were several others as well that I could reply to including one abrasive anon who took the time to tell me that they didn't like how I interacted with you readers of this story. I'm pretty sure I've told you peeps a couple times that this series is experimental for me. Meaning I'm testing out different writing styles, as well as other portions of this. The way I responded to comments was part of that.

If any of this isn't on your ticket then get off my boat. Or not. Really, it's up to you.

With what could possibly be less of an ado, here it is:

Chapter Two: Whisper To Me In The Dark

There are things I never speak of. Things that whisper to me in the dark. They come so swiftly to comfort me. These nasty little shades at night… Then when the lights do go out They step through the spaces in between They sweetly torture me with these things I'll never speak.

Monroe is beginning to suspect that his life is being written by a bored, sexually frustrated, sadistic twenty-something with a morbid thing about fake death.

"Do you ever actually stay dead?"

He isn't even all that surprised, really.

"Before we begin the 'you bastard I thought you were dead again' talk can I use your bathroom? It's been a long drive…"

Monroe sighs and holds the door open. Nick flashes him a quick grin and darts past. The bathroom and the front door close at the same time. Monroe walks to the kitchen to the sounds of Nick unbuckling his belt, unzipping, then, of course, the obvious sounds. He gets out two beers because it just seems like standard operation at this point. Monroe sits on his stool, back against the counter, head resting on the cabinet next to him, beer dangling in his hand between his knees.

"So… I'm not dead." Monroe watches Nick with a sideways look as Nick rubs his hands on the sides of his thighs.

"Congratulations."

"I… uh… you're not very happy."

"It's three in the morning. I was having a good dream. Why don't you ever," here Monroe gestures half-assedly, "re-animate at a reasonable hour? I mean I know the undead have a thing for the witching hour but is it too much to ask for you to show up during regular business hours?"

Nick is smiling; Monroe can feel the irritating shape of his lips. The beer is taken from his hand and Nick's thighs brush Monroe's knees.

"Would you like me to make it up to you?" Nick skims a single finger teasingly above the band of Monroe's pajamas, barely dipping his finger underneath. Monroe's dick reacts before his brain: trapping Nick with his knees and rolling his hips up, both demanding and offering in the same gesture.

Monroe really wished he knew what his body was doing because it obviously isn't on board with the Saying No and Kicking Nick Out Plan. He still hasn't moved his hand from where it had hung between his legs. Now it brushes passively against Nick's jeans. Monroe resists many urges involving his hand and Nick's jeans.

Until Nick presses closer and runs his hand slowly down Monroe's chest, a sinfully innocent smile on his devil-lips. Then Monroe's hand is steadily edging down the inner seam of Nick's jeans. Monroe leans up and Nick follows suit, leaning down and hovering his lips close to Monroe's.

"I want," Monroe grazes his lips against Nick's briefly, a wicked smile on his face. "To be done with getting woken up in the middle of the night by you."

Nick's hand presses into his side and slides down, following the line of his hip, pressing his thumb into the soft inner portion of his hip.

"I can think of some pretty pleasant ways for me to wake you up."

"Tempting, Nick, but why are you here?"

"It can wait till morning," he replies while slowly dropping to his knees. Monroe's breath catches and his head thumps against the cabinet behind him.

The thing gurgled merrily. Nick pressed his lips together in disgust. A bleb frothed from its mouth the color of crude oil, the texture of freshly poured milk.

"Do you think we don't know your weaknesses?" It chuckled wetly.

"We made a deal. You can't interfere with them."

"Oh, Hansel, do you think we don't know about your little puppy love?" It raised a hand and rubbed its lips. A smear like black lipstick spread where it touched. Nick felt queasy.

"How quaint. But don't worry, there are rats in your big bad wolf's walls same as everyone else."

"What're you going to do to him? What do you want of me for his safe passage?"

"Oh you sweet little Snow White. It's too late. Your wolf is huffing and puffing right now and we're going to blow his house down."

Nick let out an ardent cuss and turned to flee. Its laughter chased after him, popping like soap bubbles in his stomach.

"Not even you, little grimm boy, can outrun your shadow!"

He was an avalanche through the woods. A cold force more powerful than anything, nothing could outrun him. Nick concentrated hard on that feeling of power, pictured it in his head as clear as he could. A mass of snow rushing uncontrollably through the woods, breaching the forest's boundaries and stopping in Monroe's back yard.

Nick jammed a couple fingers on the doorknob. He could care later. Right now he had to make sure. Had to keep Monroe safe. He just hoped he could make it in time.

I know, I've been gone very very long. I'll make it up to you guise. I'll try to publish another one later tonight/tomorrow.