Grimm fic: ABANDON
I'm not totally satisfied with this, but if I don't post it now there'll be no point, 'cause I'm sure it'll get jossed tonight.
Some spoilers/spec for "Last Grimm Standing."
“You’re an idiot. Have I mentioned that lately?”
“Says the guy who got dognapped.”
Monroe’s laugh is like a timebomb ticking down, his back warm where it bumps Nick’s as they turn, slowly and as one. “Ohho, dude, you’re so lucky there are people trying to kill us right now.”
Nick looks into the beady orange eyes of the creature facing him and has a hard time thinking of it as “people,” but it wouldn’t be helpful to say so, so he keeps his mouth shut. He grips the gladius Monroe shoved into his hands like he’s getting ready to step up to bat. Monroe had arched an eyebrow at Nick’s technique -- apparently no situation is too life-and-death for him to not have the time to pinpoint new ways in which Nick is fucking clueless - but he’d still insisted Nick keep the blade. “Comes down to that,” he’d said darkly, “I’ve already got my weapons.”
“It isn’t going to come down to that,” Nick had promised.
That’s the problem, Nick knows. That’s why he had to get inside, what he has to prevent. He isn’t sure exactly how Monroe would fare against the lowen’s fighters, but he knows that he can’t let this go far enough to find out.
Losing would be bad. Extremely bad. But winning wouldn’t be good.
He thinks he knows which one Monroe is more afraid of.
“What exactly is our strategy here?” Monroe asks as they circle.
“Buy time,” Nick replies. “Hank’s coming with backup. We just have to keep them off of us until then.”
“Oh, is that all?”
Nick’s opponent chooses that moment to take a shot at him, and by virtue of the fact that he isn’t much better with a blade than Nick is, the Grimm is able to deflect him. He hears the sound of talons on metal behind him, as Monroe fends off his own attack.
“You okay?” Nick tosses over his shoulder.
“Trying not to die and answering stupid questions, but other than that?”
“I didn’t actually ask you to go undercover, y’know?”
“Profoundly aware of that, yes.”
And right about then, the conversation’s over, because Nick very abruptly finds himself fighting for his life in earnest, and everything beyond the impact of metal against metal vibrating up his arms and down his spine becomes a blur. He hears the rising roar of the crowd as they finally get the show they’ve come for, hears a series of thumps, clangs, and shouts behind him that he doesn’t have the luxury of checking on.
Monroe is still making noise, and while they aren’t happy, they are human, and that has to be good enough for now.
Nick stays on his feet, and keeps his opponent from drawing blood.
How far out would Hank be now?
There’s a vocalization of pain behind him that sounds reptilian, then another that sounds familiar.
Nick stays on his feet, and drives his opponent back a few steps.
Monroe is swearing, and Nick can’t tell if what’s roughening his voice is pain or the wolf. He isn’t sure which is worse, at this point.
Nick stays on his feet. He’s getting tired. There’s a tremor trying to work its way down from his shoulders. He isn’t holding the gladius right.
He tries another tactic. “Listen, man, I know you’re not going to believe this, but I’ve got help coming, we don’t have to--”
His opponent slashes his own blade at Nick’s middle, and as Nick parries the strike, the Wesen swings his shield into Nick’s side.
The wind is knocked out of him, and he doubles over, pretty sure the same ribs that Oleg Stark worked over a few months back are clocking hazard pay.
A knee meets his face on the way down, and lights go off in his vision as he hits the ground.
He watches everything that happens next like it’s in slow motion. A booted foot flips him onto his back, and he sees the face of every last person surrounding the cage, twisted and frenzied, more animal by far than the Wesen standing over him, tossing his shield aside and raising his blade high.
There is another noise, then, closer and clearer than the crowd, and it should be easier to identify than it is, but Nick’s brain is rattling between his ears, and the last time he heard this, it was in the cold open air of the forest, not trapped, echoing and distorted, and it had been wild and frightening but not like this, not bloodcurdling, blood-hungry, enraged.
Something hits Nick’s opponent, faster than the eye can follow, and there’s nothing above him now but the crude lights of the arena. He rolls a body that still hasn’t managed to draw a full breath onto its side, and the lack of air is a problem when he tries to shout at Monroe.
“Don’t…” he gets out, swallowing more oxygen than he inhales. “M’nroe…”
He’s had dreams like this, where he can’t move or call out.
Nick’s opponent is pinned on his back with Monroe’s knee on his chest, and his face is human, and a mask of blood. Nick gets a clear view of it every time Monroe’s fist connects and snaps it towards him. At the four count, teeth start coming out with the blood, and at six, Nick can actually see the guy’s jaw dislocate.
He can hear his own voice gaining strength, but it isn’t reaching the blutbad, and Nick doesn’t know if the other Wesen is dead or just unconscious. He doesn’t waste time looking behind him to see what’s become of Monroe’s original opponent. He just lurches to his feet and throws himself at his friend, grabbing at Monroe’s arm.
“Monroe, stop!
The wolf turns on him with a snarl, but Nick doesn’t let go, doesn’t back off, doesn’t even flinch. He stares into red eyes and looks for his friend, ignoring the hateful din of the crowd, deprived of seeing the death it came for.
“I’m all right. Just stop.”
Monroe is breathing hard, and Nick is barely breathing at all, holding the wolf’s gaze.
“Come on, man. You got this. We’re okay.”
Scarlet yields to brown, and Monroe shudders, a full-bodied, soul-deep shiver. Nick puts his hands on Monroe’s shoulders.
“We’re okay.”
Some spoilers/spec for "Last Grimm Standing."
“You’re an idiot. Have I mentioned that lately?”
“Says the guy who got dognapped.”
Monroe’s laugh is like a timebomb ticking down, his back warm where it bumps Nick’s as they turn, slowly and as one. “Ohho, dude, you’re so lucky there are people trying to kill us right now.”
Nick looks into the beady orange eyes of the creature facing him and has a hard time thinking of it as “people,” but it wouldn’t be helpful to say so, so he keeps his mouth shut. He grips the gladius Monroe shoved into his hands like he’s getting ready to step up to bat. Monroe had arched an eyebrow at Nick’s technique -- apparently no situation is too life-and-death for him to not have the time to pinpoint new ways in which Nick is fucking clueless - but he’d still insisted Nick keep the blade. “Comes down to that,” he’d said darkly, “I’ve already got my weapons.”
“It isn’t going to come down to that,” Nick had promised.
That’s the problem, Nick knows. That’s why he had to get inside, what he has to prevent. He isn’t sure exactly how Monroe would fare against the lowen’s fighters, but he knows that he can’t let this go far enough to find out.
Losing would be bad. Extremely bad. But winning wouldn’t be good.
He thinks he knows which one Monroe is more afraid of.
“What exactly is our strategy here?” Monroe asks as they circle.
“Buy time,” Nick replies. “Hank’s coming with backup. We just have to keep them off of us until then.”
“Oh, is that all?”
Nick’s opponent chooses that moment to take a shot at him, and by virtue of the fact that he isn’t much better with a blade than Nick is, the Grimm is able to deflect him. He hears the sound of talons on metal behind him, as Monroe fends off his own attack.
“You okay?” Nick tosses over his shoulder.
“Trying not to die and answering stupid questions, but other than that?”
“I didn’t actually ask you to go undercover, y’know?”
“Profoundly aware of that, yes.”
And right about then, the conversation’s over, because Nick very abruptly finds himself fighting for his life in earnest, and everything beyond the impact of metal against metal vibrating up his arms and down his spine becomes a blur. He hears the rising roar of the crowd as they finally get the show they’ve come for, hears a series of thumps, clangs, and shouts behind him that he doesn’t have the luxury of checking on.
Monroe is still making noise, and while they aren’t happy, they are human, and that has to be good enough for now.
Nick stays on his feet, and keeps his opponent from drawing blood.
How far out would Hank be now?
There’s a vocalization of pain behind him that sounds reptilian, then another that sounds familiar.
Nick stays on his feet, and drives his opponent back a few steps.
Monroe is swearing, and Nick can’t tell if what’s roughening his voice is pain or the wolf. He isn’t sure which is worse, at this point.
Nick stays on his feet. He’s getting tired. There’s a tremor trying to work its way down from his shoulders. He isn’t holding the gladius right.
He tries another tactic. “Listen, man, I know you’re not going to believe this, but I’ve got help coming, we don’t have to--”
His opponent slashes his own blade at Nick’s middle, and as Nick parries the strike, the Wesen swings his shield into Nick’s side.
The wind is knocked out of him, and he doubles over, pretty sure the same ribs that Oleg Stark worked over a few months back are clocking hazard pay.
A knee meets his face on the way down, and lights go off in his vision as he hits the ground.
He watches everything that happens next like it’s in slow motion. A booted foot flips him onto his back, and he sees the face of every last person surrounding the cage, twisted and frenzied, more animal by far than the Wesen standing over him, tossing his shield aside and raising his blade high.
There is another noise, then, closer and clearer than the crowd, and it should be easier to identify than it is, but Nick’s brain is rattling between his ears, and the last time he heard this, it was in the cold open air of the forest, not trapped, echoing and distorted, and it had been wild and frightening but not like this, not bloodcurdling, blood-hungry, enraged.
Something hits Nick’s opponent, faster than the eye can follow, and there’s nothing above him now but the crude lights of the arena. He rolls a body that still hasn’t managed to draw a full breath onto its side, and the lack of air is a problem when he tries to shout at Monroe.
“Don’t…” he gets out, swallowing more oxygen than he inhales. “M’nroe…”
He’s had dreams like this, where he can’t move or call out.
Nick’s opponent is pinned on his back with Monroe’s knee on his chest, and his face is human, and a mask of blood. Nick gets a clear view of it every time Monroe’s fist connects and snaps it towards him. At the four count, teeth start coming out with the blood, and at six, Nick can actually see the guy’s jaw dislocate.
He can hear his own voice gaining strength, but it isn’t reaching the blutbad, and Nick doesn’t know if the other Wesen is dead or just unconscious. He doesn’t waste time looking behind him to see what’s become of Monroe’s original opponent. He just lurches to his feet and throws himself at his friend, grabbing at Monroe’s arm.
“Monroe, stop!
The wolf turns on him with a snarl, but Nick doesn’t let go, doesn’t back off, doesn’t even flinch. He stares into red eyes and looks for his friend, ignoring the hateful din of the crowd, deprived of seeing the death it came for.
“I’m all right. Just stop.”
Monroe is breathing hard, and Nick is barely breathing at all, holding the wolf’s gaze.
“Come on, man. You got this. We’re okay.”
Scarlet yields to brown, and Monroe shudders, a full-bodied, soul-deep shiver. Nick puts his hands on Monroe’s shoulders.
“We’re okay.”