Thanks to everyone who read and to Kolokol and vmage2 for reviewing.

Crosses over with What Strange Creatures ch. 40, but both stories can be read separately. Also some spoilers for Grimm 1.21/Big Feet, but nothing too detailed.


Barry looked up when he heard the garage door opening and then glanced to the side. Roddy was still curled under the blanket, and when Barry got to his feet, he didn't even twitch.

"Hello," Dad greeted Barry when he got upstairs, holding Roddy's violin case and a very stuffed backpack. "Is Roddy still asleep?"

"Yeah. Is that okay?"

He hesitated. "I can't claim to be any kind of expert on concussions, but considering how he was looking earlier, I suspect it's the best thing for him. And I talked to Monroe, and he gave me the number of a friend of his who'll be a little more help. Apparently she's an apothecary, and she said she'd come by as soon as she was done with whatever errand she was running, just to be safe." He frowned. "I'd almost prefer a doctor under the circumstances, but your mother always handled that sort of thing, and I have no idea where her address book ended up."

Mom's address book had been her holy grail as far as contacts and important dates and all of that were concerned, even more so than her phone, and Barry figured that it was probably in her office. But he hadn't been in there since he'd gotten home, and he didn't think that Dad had, either, and since someone was coming who could make sure that Roddy would be all right, there was no need to do so now, either.

Dad cleared his throat and held out Roddy's things. "Anyway, do me a favor and put these somewhere out of the way, and then come help move the meat to the freezer, would you? The packaging is considerably bulkier than I was expecting."

"Sure." Barry didn't figure that Roddy would be wanting even his violin anytime soon never mind his computer so he left everything by the fireplace and then headed out to the garage. And realized immediately what Dad meant, because while they'd always wrapped their game before freezing, wrapping meant grease paper and plastic, not all of this. "Were they afraid that the steaks were going to break?" he had to ask, pulling one of several cardboard boxes at least as big as the ones Dad had brought home last week out of Dad's trunk.

"I have no idea. It's only supposed to be half a cow, but I was starting to get worried that I'd need to make a second trip." Dad opened the door to the backseat and grabbed another pair of boxes, digging through some very unnecessary styrofoam before pulling out a couple columns of ground patties. "I've seen museums that use less packing material."

Barry grinned. Half a cow shouldn't be that much different size-wise than half an elk, but Dad was right that all of the packaging made it look like a lot more, and it took them some time to get the actual beef unpacked and arranged among the half-dozen turkeys and hams that Dad had already added to the freezer in the shed. Not to mention to get all of the trash and recycling stacked up.

"That's much better," Dad said when they were finally able to close the shed up again. "I suppose we'll still have to figure out how to cook all of it, but at least we've got a few options beyond spaghetti if we get snowed in again."

"Worst comes to worst, there's always the grill." They were Jagerbars, after all; gourmet didn't need to come into it. Although unless he was shifted, Barry did prefer his meat cooked. And maybe with some salt and pepper.

"A very good point, and it's not like we're going to run out of wood anytime soon." They headed back towards the house. "So Roddy's been asleep the entire time I've been gone?"

"Yeah. He's barely even moved." Barry looked over. "Why were you talking to Monroe?" Not that Dad couldn't talk to whoever he wanted, obviously, but Roddy'd already told them that Monroe was out of town.

"Well, I tried Nick first, but his phone went straight to voicemail. And even if Nick said before that Roddy wasn't close to any of his extended family, I wanted to make sure that there wasn't someone that we should be keeping informed, just in case. If you ever got hurt and no one bothered to contact me, I would not be pleased."

Dad was Dad, though, and while some of what Roddy'd said made Barry think that his father would have felt the same way, the rest of his family…. "I think it might be worse than just not close," Barry said after a minute.

Dad grimaced. "Monroe agrees with you. It seems that he's met a couple of them." For a moment Barry thought that Dad was going to say more, but he just shook his head and opened the back door, waving Barry into the house ahead of him. "What do you think about doing dinner from the chicken place? I doubt that Roddy will be up for much, but I know they offer soup on their menu."

Soup was an appetizer at best as far as Barry was concerned, but since Roddy was barely drinking water it was probably a good option for him. "Chicken sounds great. Maybe get the big wing sampler again?" He paused. "And if Roddy's still asleep, maybe we could watch a movie or something until it gets here? Or until this apothecary does?" He'd been kind of counting on having Roddy around as a distraction from everything this weekend, but while Roddy was certainly here, worrying about his concussed-and-sleeping friend really wasn't doing a lot for his state of mind.

"That'd be nice. It's early enough that I wouldn't want to order for another hour or two anyway. Unless you're getting hungry?"

Barry shook his head.

"I checked the mailbox on my way back, but it was empty," Dad said after a moment. "Still no word, I assume?"

"No, it was empty when I checked earlier too. And no phone calls." Not that there was any reason that anyone should be calling him, not on a Saturday. Heck, he didn't even have his calculus grade yet.

A sigh. "Maybe you should try Kevin on Monday, just to see what things are looking like from his side."


"This is why Scrabble," Barry declared as Roddy emerged from his sleeping bag cocoon just long enough to bump one of Dad's pieces back to the start. "Because he's evil, otherwise. I mean, if he could spell he'd probably be evil at Scrabble too, but—" If Dad wasn't playing with them the strangled sound from Roddy that cut him off would most definitely have been swearing, and Barry smirked as Roddy tried to find words.

"I am not," he finally managed. "I can't help it if your pieces keep being in the way."

"Yeah, right. You've hit me like three times this game already. We're going to play Clue next, and it's going to be the rat in the basement with...I don't know, whatever murder weapon I can find. I could just squish you, I guess."

Roddy rolled his eyes. "You know the whole point is to solve the murder, right? Telling me how you're going to commit it kind of ruins the whole game."

"I'm going to be so glad when I can whack you with a pillow again without worrying about your head exploding." Not that Roddy wasn't still doing way better today than yesterday, but Barry wasn't about to attempt even play roughhousing until the couple weeks that Rosalee had specified had passed.

Roddy stuck his tongue out, probably in place of flipping Barry off, and Dad chuckled.

"No murders in the house, please. Certainly not on the carpet. May I have the dice?"

He'd had a chance of catching up until that last hit, but now they were just delaying the inevitable and everyone knew it. "Does Clue sound good for the next game?" Barry checked.

"Actually I'm afraid that I'll have to leave you two to your own devices for a bit after this," Dad said even as Roddy nodded. "I have a trial starting tomorrow, and there are a few things that I need to read over before motions in the morning."

"You could always do that down here. I don't think we're going to be turning on the television tonight." Barry and Dad had finished off yesterday's movie after Roddy had gone back to sleep, but the fact that Roddy seemed better today didn't mean that he wasn't still turning green every time a screen came on. Barry had even had to dig up an actual dictionary for them to play Scrabble with instead of using his phone like a normal person.

"I suppose I could. Maybe bring some popcorn down?"

Barry suspected that that was more directed at Roddy than him since Roddy hadn't had much besides Rosalee's tea today, but it wasn't like he'd mind a snack so he nodded anyway and took his turn. And failed to hit even one of Roddy's pieces because that was just his luck.

A ring from upstairs startled all of them before Roddy could do more than reach for the dice, and Dad frowned. "I'll go see who that is."

Considering that it was like seven o'clock on a Sunday and there was no good reason for anyone to be at their front door, Barry got up and followed Dad up the stairs. Just to be safe.

He could hear Roddy, who didn't exactly qualify as backup even without a concussion, following as well, but as it turned out there was no need for any concern because as soon as Dad opened the door Nick's voice was recognizable enough.

"Hey, I am so sorry. I saw that I'd missed your call yesterday, and since we were up this way anyway I thought we might as well stop by. With it getting dark so early it didn't even occur to me to check the time until after I'd hit the bell, though. We didn't mean to interrupt your evening."

"It's fine," Dad assured him. "Please, come in. The boys and I were just finishing up a game."

It wasn't just Nick, his partner was with him, and they finally stepped inside at Dad's urging. "Thanks," Nick said as the door shut behind them. "Uh, Frank Rabe, Hank Griffin; Hank, Frank."

They exchanged the usual greetings, and then since Dad wasn't deaf he waved Barry and Roddy forward. "This is my son, Barry, and I think you might have met Roddy before as well?"

Barry knew his cue to step forward for a hello and a handshake even if he had technically met Detective Griffin way back when, although Detective Griffin and Roddy only said quick hellos to each other. And for some reason Detective Griffin seemed to grimace a little, but there was no time to ask as Nick frowned.

"Roddy, are you okay? You look awfully pale."

"I'm fine."

"Except for the concussion he got when some creep from his school knocked him down the stairs," Barry said with a snort.

"Excuse me?" Nick asked. "When did that happen?"

Roddy shot Barry a glare and crossed his arms over his chest.

"After his concert on Friday," Dad said. "That's actually why I called you yesterday, although I was able to reach Monroe and he filled in the details that I needed at the time." He stepped back. "As long as you're here, why don't you sit down for a few minutes?"

"I wouldn't mind a break," Nick admitted, looking at his partner. "We just got to spend three hours chasing a couple kids in Chewbacca costumes around the woods behind the supermarket and then convincing them and their parents that viral video making isn't a good career option."

"You're joking."

Detective Griffin shook his head. "Believe me, we wish."

"Why would they send detectives out for that?" Barry had to ask. Not that he was sure who the police should have sent, but that seemed like way overkill.

Nick sighed. "Normally they wouldn't have, but after...well, I don't know if you saw anything about it in the news, but there was a big splash of Bigfoot hysteria six or eight months ago?"

Barry certainly hadn't, and Dad shook his head as well. "I must have missed it, I'm afraid. But please." He waved towards the living room. "Would either of you like something to drink?"

"We don't want to put you out," Nick said. "I should have looked at the clock."

"Not at all."

Dad glanced over, and Barry took the hint and went to dig four sodas and the remains of the last pot of now-cold tea out of the fridge while Dad ushered them into the living room.

"Now what was this about Bigfoot hysteria?" Dad was asking as Barry rejoined the group.

"There was an animal attack—what they thought was an animal attack—on a farm just outside of town awhile back. Juliette got called out to check on the horses, and while she was there…." Nick's eyes went distant for a minute, and Barry remembered that Juliette was the girlfriend that he wasn't supposed to ask about. "Anyway, she and Thom ended up finding the remains of a couple campers in the area which is when we got called in."

"Oh, they weren't campers," Detective Griffin said with a snort. "They were cryptozoologists. Bigfoot hunters."

"Yeah. To make a long story short, the whole thing ended up tracing back to a Wesen, or more accurately a group of Wesen, on an experimental drug cocktail that kept them from woging and eventually drove them to murder. The doctor who'd invented said cocktail included himself in the testing so when it was over it was over, but there were still a couple of ugly days getting to that point."

Dad nodded. "But this wasn't the same thing, was it? Today I mean?"

"No, fortunately this was just a couple kids determined to make themselves famous with videos of scared shoppers. But some enterprising reporter got a few pictures that were better than they should have been, and the captain sent us out to shut it down before anyone else could get interested."

"Wish he'd picked somebody else, but I can't really blame him after that mess," Detective Griffin added, and Dad nodded again.

"Now, what exactly happened to you?" Nick asked, looking at Roddy. "A concussion from getting knocked down?"

"It's not a big deal. Really. I must have hit my head when he shoved me, but I didn't even notice at the time. And Rosalee gave me some tea that makes me feel a lot better." He held up the mug Barry had handed him.

"Mm-hmm." Nick didn't look particularly convinced. "Does this shover have a name?"

"Just some as—bully."

"There seem to be a lot of those at your school," Detective Griffin said.

"Yeah, I've noticed."

Barry sighed as Roddy went silent again. "He said that the kid's name was Dylan and that his dad was with him." Under other circumstances Barry might have kept his mouth shut, but Dad had heard most of that too and was bound to say something if he didn't.

"It doesn't matter," Roddy snapped. "No one's going to listen if it's my word against his, and after I graduate I'll never have to see any of them again anyway so who cares?" He turned back to Nick, jerking a thumb in Barry's direction. "I'm fine. If you want to worry about someone, worry about him."

"What?" Nick frowned, turning his attention to Barry. "What happened to you?"

Barry returned Roddy's glare because he hadn't planned to bring any of his mess up with Nick. "A guy tried to pick a fight with me when I was doing trash pickup the Friday before last. Or tried to shove me out into the road, anyway. I'm fine since unlike some people I don't shove easy, but the shift supervisor saw and decided that it was my fault."

"They're calling it a parole violation?" Nick and Detective Griffin exchanged glances. "That seems kind of extreme, and I say that as someone parolees occasionally take swings at."

Barry shrugged. It wasn't like he could argue with that assessment.

"Do you know the guy who tried to hit you?" Detective Griffin asked.

"No, not even his name until it was over. Kevin—my lawyer—said he'd look into the guy's background and see if he has a history of picking fights, but I haven't heard anything back yet. And who knows if it'll matter anyway if the judge doesn't…." He shrugged again and looked away because even if Detective Griffin wouldn't notice, he wasn't about to risk woging in front of Nick.

Nick looked at Dad, who shook his head. "I have the same information that he does, although I'm hoping we'll hear more shortly."

"No promises, but if you can give me his name it I'll run it through our system," Nick offered. "There's a good chance that it won't turn up any more than your lawyer will find, but it might be a little faster, and while I don't think anyone in the court system cares about my opinion, that seems like an idiot thing to violate someone over."