Thanks to everyone who read and to Scififan33 and 1983Sarah for reviewing.


"You're sure that you have no idea where they came from?" Nick asked again, and Rosalee shook her head.

"No."

"The J, the Giers, your...the friend that came through town?"

"I don't know," she repeated. "I mean, I'm guessing Freddy had something to do with it since he owned the shop for a good fifteen years before he died, and the couple he bought it from sold it because they were in their eighties and ready to retire. But like I told you when I first came back to Portland, it had been years since I'd seen Freddy in person. And when we did talk..I don't know, it always sounded like his life was pretty boring here."

"Giers?" Detective Griffin asked, and at least now he was looking between Nick and Rosalee rather than shooting random sideways glances at Roddy the way he had been ever since he and Nick had arrived. It had been creepy enough to make Roddy edge his way over to Monroe, and even if Detective Griffin was looking elsewhere now he didn't plan on moving unless someone made him.

"You remember the whole organ harvesting mess from last year?" Nick asked. "With the street kids?"

"Yeah, and I wish I didn't," Detective Griffin said. "That was a Wesen thing?"

"Yeah. Freddy was selling some of the...products. He got out of the business afterwards, I made sure of that, but..." Nick shook his head.

And now Roddy kind of wanted to hide behind Monroe because while he had no idea what organ harvesting they were talking about—and he didn't want to know, either, especially if Giers were involved—a human talking openly about Wesen could only end in so many ways.

"And J?" Detective Griffin pressed.

"Wesen drug." Nick waved a hand. "One of the many things that came back from the lab after Freddy's murder as 'poisonous but not illegal.'"

Something else Roddy didn't want to know about. Not that he didn't know what J was, obviously, but seriously, Rosalee's brother must have been her polar opposite.

"So a guy involved in organ harvesting and drug dealing had a couple boxes of handguns in his shop?" Detective Griffin echoed Nick's earlier headshake. "Honestly, that's one the thing you've said that actually makes sense."

Roddy poked Monroe's arm lightly and hoped that his 'What the fuck?' look translated.

"Hank's in on everything," Monroe said. "Or at least he's catching up.

Monroe had been quiet, but apparently not quiet enough as Detective Griffin's gaze shifted back to Roddy. "So you are one too, then. Wesen."

Roddy looked at Nick and then nodded. It wasn't like he could do much else.

"Like him?" He gestured at Monroe.

"A Blutbad? No." That was a vaguely insane idea. "I'm a Reinigen."

"Can you do the thing?"

Roddy frowned. "Uh...what thing?"

"I'll show you later," Nick interrupted before Detective Griffin could respond, shaking his head at Roddy. Not that Roddy had been planning on doing anything since he didn't have a clue what the detective was asking for anyway. "For now we need to figure out what to do with all of these," Nick continued.

'All of these' weren't actually all that many guns, not quite two dozen in total stuffed in straw and with a few boxes of ammunition included as well. After all, if the crates had been full of guns Roddy wouldn't have been able to move them any more than he would have if they'd been full of books. But it still wasn't a question that Roddy had any clue how to answer. He knew the basics about how to handle a gun, sure: always treat a gun as loaded, never point at anything that you don't plan to shoot, all of that, but he didn't recall anyone ever telling him what you were supposed to do when you found a stash of them in a crawlspace in a spice shop.

Detective Griffin gave Nick a surprised look. "What's there to figure out? Rosalee was going through her brothers' shop, found them, called you. Us. We'll sign them in as surrendered, they'll get processed whenever the lab gets around to it, and assuming that nothing comes out of it they'll get handed off to one of the gunsmith shops for practice. I mean, unless you want to keep them?"

That was directed at Rosalee, who shook her head immediately. "Absolutely not. But is that really all there is to it?"

"Yeah. I mean, if the lab does turn up anything, like if any of them were stolen or used in a crime or whatever we might need to come back and interview you again, but you've only been in Portland for what, a couple months now? And all three of you were here when they were found?"

"Yeah, and with a pretty thick layer of dust on the boxes, too," Monroe said.

"You know, he's right," Nick said after a moment. "I'm so used to things being complicated that just surrendering them didn't even occur to me." He gestured to the two crates. "This is all of them, right?"

"Everything that we found," Rosalee agreed. "There were only those two back in the crawlspace, and after we opened them up and took out the book on top and saw the first gun we didn't touch anything else until you go here."

"Have you opened up everything else your brother left behind?"

"I think so? I haven't quite gotten everything fully inventoried yet, but those were the last two crates shoved into a random corner that I hadn't at least opened up."

Nick nodded. "Great, that makes things a lot easier."

"Is there any problem with me keeping the books? Some of them aren't the kind of thing..."

She trailed off with a wave of her hand, but Roddy had no trouble filling in the blank. The odds were that any human who saw them would write them off immediately, assume they were badly written fiction or old herbals with nothing of real value in them or something like that, but it was never good to tempt fate when you could avoid it.

"Can't imagine why there would be," Detective Griffin said, exchanging glances with Nick.

"Yeah, we'll put in the report that you found them hidden under some old books, but specific titles and authors aren't generally the kind of thing that an investigator would care about. But give me a minute to call it in, would you? Even if we're not talking about assault rifles, I'd rather let the lab know that they've got twenty-ish handguns coming in before we just show up with them."

"Of course," Rosalee said.

Nick stepped back towards the stairs, and Roddy gulped a little when Detective Griffin's attention returned to him again.

"So. Reinigen. Is that what your dad was too?" Detective Griffin asked.

"That's usually how it works," Roddy said after a minute. And maybe Monroe jabbed him lightly in the back for the smartass comment, but seriously, what had the guy been expecting?

"And you know what Nick is."

That wasn't a question, but Roddy nodded anyway. "Kind of hard to miss."

"That's why you ran? Back when we first met you, I mean?"

Roddy shrugged. "Hanging around for a nice chat isn't really the kind of thing you're supposed to do when a Grimm shows up at your house. At least not in the stories. Nick's..." He glanced back and then shrugged again. "Nick's weird. I mean, it's cool, but he is."

Both Monroe and Rosalee choked off quick laughs, but neither of them voiced any actual disagreement.


Roddy pushed the laptop away and dropped his head down against the table with a groan. This was stupid. Like remarkably so. Roddy figured that he might be able to get fifteen hundred bucks for Dad's truck, two thousand if he was lucky, but before he could do anything with it he had to figure out where Portland's Title Office was and how to get there when he had school every fucking day so he could get the damn thing in his name.

At least Dad hadn't had enough money that he had to worry about the probate crap the website was describing, that would have made things really ugly, but the annoying letters from the insurance company hadn't stopped and he was getting seriously sick of all of it.

And none of this was helped by the fact that he still hadn't gotten any checks in the mail. If they hadn't started arriving by next month, he was going to be in some serious trouble. Halloween was the weekend after next and he was already set up to spin, obviously, but a couple hundred bucks was only a stopgap especially since there were only likely to be one or two more after that before the end of the year. Stupid, ugly weather.

Stupid, ugly rent payment that took several raves to cover.

He'd started keeping an eye out for part time jobs, but the fact that he didn't get out of school until five or five-thirty made things tricky even without having to factor in the bus schedule. He'd be fine working weekends if he could find something like that, but so far he hadn't had any luck. Even the gas station up the road that was always looking for workers now had a full roster somehow.

It was annoying.

He pulled up his school calendar. They had Friday off the week after Halloween for teacher development or conferences with parents or whatever...he'd prefer sooner, but short of cutting school it was his best option for getting the truck in his name. And he wasn't about to risk his scholarship even if he was short of funds. After that was done he'd be able to post the truck for sale on Craigslist and hopefully have it off his hands and the bank account at least partially refilled by the end of next month which was something, but...

The microwave beeped, and he shook his head and shut the computer and went to pull out dinner. He was back to the usual set of meals he and Dad had always eaten since Monroe couldn't really send him home with leftovers or random groceries when Roddy was going straight from his place to school Friday mornings, but Roddy'd always been fine with spaghetti and potatoes and whatever in rotation and didn't see any good reason to change things up now. Cheap was good. Besides, he needed to get through dinner and start on his next history paper anyway.