One-shot set during Revelations. My take on how Bart ended up in the fight at the trailer, what happened to the Wildesheers' bodies, and how everyone ended up at Nick's for dinner.

Some of the dialogue in the first part of this has been taken directly from the episode. If you recognize it, it's probably not mine.


"—because I'm going to need more firepower than my canines," Monroe was saying as they came down the walk.

The Grimm made no response as they climbed into his truck, and Bart stared after them, fighting down the urge to woge again. His son was friends with a Grimm. Hunted with a Grimm. Was going to hunt something that was going to get him killed.

Bart slipped down the bank as the Grimm's truck halted to allow a woman walking her dog to pass, and by the time the Grimm was moving again he was in the rental car and following. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he had to do something. If the Grimm died tonight he'd have nothing to say but good riddance, but he couldn't lose his son like that.

It wasn't until he turned down a very lightly-trafficked road in pursuit of the Grimm's truck that Bart realized that he should be being more careful. Following a Grimm didn't exactly lead to health and long life for Wesen. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to care, though. Alice was missing, his son was…. A half-howl caught in his chest, and it was just as well that he was in human form.

The Grimm's truck turned into a trailer lot a moment later, and Bart made himself continue down to the second entrance, turning in and putting his rental car behind a dilapidated motor home where neither the Grimm nor his son would see it. By the time he'd climbed out and made his way to the Grimm's truck there was no sign of either of them, but the way the clouds were rolling overhead reminded him far too much of his grandfather's stories, and he climbed up onto a large truck where he had a clear view of the Grimm's vehicle. If the stories were wrong, all well and good. If they were right—and Bart had always had a great respect for history and tradition—he'd be here. He didn't know how much good it would do, but he'd be here.

Thunder cracked overhead suddenly, and Bart tensed as the door to the small trailer beside the Grimm's vehicle opened. The Grimm stepped out first, a handgun held ready, followed by Monroe with a rifle, and both surveyed the area cautiously as the thunder faded away.

"Well, my book could have been wrong," Monroe said after a minute.

Thunder cracked again before the Grimm could reply, and then a Wildesheer was on Monroe with a howl. He didn't even have time to pull the trigger as he was thrown to the ground, but before Bart could do anything except woge the Grimm fired multiple times into the Wildesheer's chest.

As the stories had claimed, the bullets didn't even slow the Wildesheer, but at least the attack made him turn his attention towards the real target—the Grimm—and gave Monroe time to scramble back to his feet. Unfortunately instead of getting away and leaving the Grimm to his fate as Bart had hoped he might, he pulled the rifle back to his shoulder, obviously planning to take a shot when he could get one. The way the Grimm and the Wildesheer were grappling was making it impossible, though.

The Grimm pulled back from the Wildesheer slightly. "Behind you!"

Bart wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it—a Grimm putting himself at risk for a Wesen?—but the warning shout gave Monroe time to turn and fire almost point-blank into a second Wildesheer's chest, one that Bart hadn't even seen coming. Unfortunately his bullet had no more effect than the Grimm's had, and now the battle was joined two-on-two.

The Wildesheers were living up to their reputation as ferocious warriors, and Bart winced as his son was thrown under the same truck that the Grimm had just scrambled under. Presumably they were regrouping, but he couldn't hear what was being said, and he doubted that they'd finished before Monroe was dragged out by his ankles.

The Wildesheers had Monroe trapped between them and Bart was tensing to spring when the Grimm was suddenly there again, leaping onto one Wildesheer from behind. It spun away from Monroe, trying to dislodge the Grimm—trying and succeeding, and the Grimm swore as he was flipped over its shoulder—but with only one Wildesheer to contend with Monroe was able to struggle back to his feet and resume the fight. For a moment things seemed almost even, but then they were flung back into the dirt, one after the other.

"I'll take the one on the left," Bart heard his son say as they stood again.

"I'll take the one on the right," the Grimm agreed.

Thunder cracked again, and a third Wildesheer stepped out.

"What about the big one in the middle?" Monroe didn't seem to expect an answer, drawing a dagger that matched the one the Grimm held and woging before the two of them hit the Wildesheers together. The Grimm took the one on the right as he'd said he would while Monroe hit the one in the center and drove him back into the third.

Monroe clearly wasn't the Wildesheers' real target, and one of the pair almost immediately broke away from Monroe and moved to join the first on the Grimm, but one Wildesheer was still a threat, and as it slammed his son into the side of the truck Bart was perched on, he decided that he'd had enough. Blutbaden weren't meant to sit around and watch fights, especially when their children were involved. "Get off my son!"

The Wildesheer went down under his weight but didn't stay down, and it wasn't long before Bart realized that he despite what he'd seen, he might still have underestimated them. He wasn't in his prime anymore, as much as he hated to admit it, and this one clearly matched if not exceeded his strength. He hit the ground hard a moment later and found himself struggling just to keep the Wildesheer away from his throat. And his scalp.

There was a yell from somewhere else in the clearing, but Bart couldn't spare the source any attention as he continued to pour his energy into holding the Wildesheer back. And then the Grimm was there, suddenly, over the Wildesheer's shoulder, and Monroe was with him a second later.

"Nick, hold him!"

Whether the Grimm was obeying Monroe or just acting on his own plans Bart couldn't be sure, but the Wildesheer screamed and then collapsed to the side as the Grimm grimaced and threw something on the ground. Bart remained where he was, trying to regain his breath as he shifted back to human. The last thing he needed was to see a Grimm staring down at him right now.

His son woged human as well. "Dad?"

Bart accepted the proffered hand, allowing his son to pull him to his feet. "You didn't know what you were up against," he tried to explain. "If I—even if you are friends with a Grimm, I couldn't see you die." He looked around at the three bodies. "How did you know how to kill them?"

"We didn't. Nick's ancestors did."

The Grimm raised an eyebrow but kept his mouth shut, and Bart shook his head.

"I didn't think it was possible to fight on the same side as a Grimm." Even now a part of him was screaming 'unthinkable,' and never mind the fact that he just had. Technically, at least.

"I told you, he's different."

Bart still wasn't sure about the 'different' part, but he couldn't deny that he'd seen the Grimm put himself at risk twice to help Monroe. And had attempted to help him as well. "Some things you have to see to believe," he said finally.

That, at least, Monroe seemed to accept—and the Grimm as well, not that that was Bart's main concern—and Bart shook his head again. "I've heard about these guys my whole life. Your great-grandfather, whenever it stormed he'd get scared. He used to say that if the Wildesheers ever returned, it meant that something really bad was going to happen."

Monroe and the Grimm exchanged glances. "How really bad?" Monroe asked.

"I don't know, just that something was coming that would change the world." Thunder cracked overhead again, punctuating his words.

"All right, well, whatever this very bad world-changing thing is, it's not going to turn up in Portland in the next half an hour, right?" the Grimm asked in the all-too-still silence that followed.

It was hard to tell who the question was directed at, but it seemed that the Grimm didn't really expect an answer as his eyes met Bart's a moment later.

"Do you have a car?"

Bart nodded. Did the Grimm really think that anyone, Blutbaden or not, could run fast enough to keep up with a truck over that much distance?

"Good. You two should get out of here. I'll deal with them." He gestured at the bodies.

"How?" Monroe asked. "We didn't bring shovels, unless you're keeping one in your truck now."

"At this point I probably should be, but while I'd like to dump them a deep, dark hole, this case has too much attention on it. Too many people looking for answers. And those coats of theirs, that's a lot of families that'll want closure. No, these bodies are going to have to be found."

"With Sampson and Delilah type haircuts. Great. But you can't call the police here. I mean, not without…." Monroe jerked his thumb at the trailer behind them, and the Grimm shook his head quickly.

"No, no, that'll raise way too many questions that I don't want to answer. That I can't answer unless I want to try explaining Wesen to the entire Portland PD, including Internal Affairs."

"That's a bad idea."

"Yeah, no kidding." The Grimm scanned the area and then nodded slightly. "I'll take them up Jackson Quarry. They killed a ranger up there the other night, and with so much unoccupied land it's not much of a stretch to figure they'd stay in the area. Find a forest service road, dump them in a shallow stream so there's no question about the lack of pooled blood or forensics…yeah, that should do it even if this thunder doesn't bring any rain."

"You're going to hope a hiker finds them?" Monroe asked. "That's a hell of a nasty surprise for someone."

"I'll call the captain after I dump them. He's been doing coordination work with all of the local agencies; he should be able to steer a couple of our guys through that area in a day or two without making it obvious."

"Your captain knows about you?" Bart demanded. Monroe had said that the Grimm was a cop, but he hadn't really thought much about it. Given, well, Grimm.

"Yeah, he's—it's a long story. But he's just as angry about what these guys have been doing as everyone else. He'll help. Anyway, like I said, you guys should get out of here. I've got a couple tarps in my truck; I can handle cleanup."

"It'll be faster with help," Monroe said. "Keys?"

That decided that as the Grimm shook his head but didn't object, digging his keys out of his pocket and tossing them to Monroe. Bart didn't feel like leaving his son's side right now even if it did mean being around the Grimm longer.

The Grimm ignored Bart as he began to scan the area around the fallen Wildesheers stooping quickly to retrieve his handgun a moment later. The gun went into the Grimm's holster, and after a quick glance around he knelt and rolled one of the Wildesheers over, grimacing as he opened the coat of scalps. "Didn't even penetrate. What the hell?"

Hell was exactly where they were from, but Bart held his tongue as his son threw a wad of black in the Grimm's direction and the Grimm caught it without comment and began to spread a tarp out on the ground. A few minutes later the first of the Wildesheers was wrapped and they'd stooped to lift it when the Grimm halted abruptly.

"Dude, I said I'd help, not that I'd do all the heavy lifting myself," Monroe said, his hands hooked under the Wildesheer's shoulders.

"What? No, I'm thinking if we're going to be hauling dead bodies around, we might as well use their truck. I didn't think about it before, but we should probably dump that too."

"Their truck? You really think that they drove here?"

The Grimm shrugged. "I'm not the expert on legends or winds of hell or how a coat of hair can repel bullets, but I do know that they've been stealing vehicles and driving everywhere else. If it's the one that's still missing, it'll be a white Jeep out of Kansas, license D-A-D-8…something." He started digging around in his jacket. "I've got it in my notes."

"Don't bother; the truck will stink to high heaven if they had those coats inside it." Monroe dropped the body and straightened. "Give me a minute."

Monroe woged and Bart's eyes locked on the Grimm, but if having a woged Blutbad beside him bothered him, he didn't show it. In fact, as an instant later he turned, putting his back to Monroe as he headed for his truck.

Monroe grimaced and headed off in the opposite direction, and after a moment Bart followed the Grimm. "What can I do?"

It took a lot to say the words, and fortunately the Grimm didn't make him say any more, pulling out a black tarp and handing it over. "We've got to wrap the last two for transport."

"You do this a lot," Bart said as he spread his tarp out beside one of the remaining Wildesheers.

"Probably not as much as you think. I've been a cop a lot longer than I've been a Grimm." He threw his tarp down beside the Wildesheer closest to him and then began to spread it out.

Given that the Grimm was probably eight or ten years younger than Monroe, Bart doubted that 'a lot longer' amounted to much, but that was hardly the important part of his statement. "You arrest Wesen?"

"If they break the law."

"You didn't arrest the Wildesheers."

The Grimm scoffed. "Yeah, because that ended real well for the last cop who tried. The last several cops who tried, if the DNA they pulled from that motel room is any indication. I'm a cop first and a Grimm if it comes to that, and this time it did."

"And if a Wesen isn't breaking the law?" he pressed.

"Then whatever's he's doing is none of my business." He grabbed the Wildesheer's ankles and started to drag him onto the tarp.

"You really to expect me to believe that you let Wesen just live their lives?"

The Grimm pulled the Wildesheer's upper body onto the tarp as well and then wrapped it quickly before straightening. "Do you know how many people there are in Portland? Even if I wanted to—and I don't—I don't have time to go around harassing complete strangers, Wesen or not. And most of the Wesen I do know I'm on good terms with, or at least we're all in agreement to live and let live, so I don't see much point in harassing them either." He shook his head. "Look, believe me, don't believe me, do whatever you want. If you won't listen to your own son, I can't imagine anything I have to say changing your mind."

There was a honk, and Bart shielded his eyes from the glare of the headlights as a white truck made a tight turn and then backed up to them, and a moment later Monroe stepped out brushing at his clothes. "This is it."

"All, right, help me get them loaded up."

Monroe grimaced but grabbed one end of the first Wildesheer and helped the Grimm toss it into the trunk. The second followed as Bart remembered that he was supposed to be helping and wrapped the third, and then they tossed him in too and began to scour the site.

For a moment Bart was confused, but then he understood as Monroe retrieved a rifle casing and the Grimm the rifle itself from the dirt beside the trailer. Like the handgun, those weren't the kind of things that you could leave just lying around even if they were moving the bodies elsewhere.

"Knife," Monroe said, and the Grimm turned and tossed something in his direction before handing the rifle over a bit more carefully. Monroe ducked into the trailer for a few moments, presumably putting the items away, and then rejoined them as raindrops began to fall. "Well, there's your rain so let's get these guys to wherever we're going to dump them. What's the plan?"

"I'll take their truck—if one of us gets stopped driving a truck with an APB on it better me than you, and we'll just hope no one notices the bodies in the back if it comes to that—you take mine, and I guess you can either ride along or head home."

The last was directed at Bart, and he shook his head. "I'll ride along." He'd come this far, after all.

"Whatever means that I don't have to smell that thing again from the inside," Monroe said. "Even with the windows down I was gagging."

"Great, something to look forward to." The Grimm took another look around and then headed for the Wildesheers' truck while Monroe climbed into his, Bart taking the passenger seat.

The first part of the ride up was quiet except for the rumble of the engine. Bart wasn't sure what to say, and it seemed that Monroe was at a loss for words as well. "He says he arrests them," Bart finally said.

"What?"

"Wesen."

"Oh, Nick? Yeah, if they're breaking the law. He's a cop, that's kind of what he does."

"He's a Grimm."

"That came later. I keep telling you, he's different."

"Have you ever fought him?" Bart asked.

"Like, for real?" Monroe shook his head. "The first time we met he tackled me, and the second time I tackled him, but he was mostly freaking out, and I was making a point. Not exactly fight to the death type stuff. Besides, he just wanted to know what he was seeing. "

"Why did he ask you? Why not his parents? Or another Grimm?"

"That's…it's complicated." Monroe went silent for a few moments and then shook his head. "See, his parents got killed in a car accident when he was a kid. Twelve or so, I think. Except later—a lot later, like just a few years back—he found out that it wasn't really an accident and…." He trailed off with another shake of his head. "Well, it's complicated, like I said. His aunt raised him after the accident, but she never told that he was a Grimm, or that his mother was a Grimm, or even that she was a Grimm. He thought she was a librarian right up until she showed up in Portland and was kind of like 'I'm about to die of cancer and oh, by the way.' Which, pretty messed up if you ask me, but when she died she left him a trailer full of Grimm stuff and he's sort of been figuring it out ever since." A pause. "I guess we did fight when he was zombified, and it's not something that I want to do again considering that he wiped the floor with me, his human partner, and a Zauberbiest all that the same time, but that wasn't Nick. He was pretty upset about it when he was himself again."

Bart was about as thrilled at hearing that his son knew a Zauberbiest as he was about the Grimm—hadn't he raised the boy with any sense of self-preservation?—but this obviously wasn't the time. "And does your…fiancée…know about him?" he asked instead.

Monroe had to have heard his hesitation over the term, but he didn't call Bart on it as he nodded. "Sure. Nick's the one who introduced us."

"And it doesn't bother her?" he pressed.

"No, she likes him. I know it worries her sometimes that somebody we don't know is going to have just the wrong reaction when he sees Nick in the spice shop because he does drop by sometimes, but he's a good friend and she's not going to tell him not to visit. Besides, she's got the really dangerous stuff locked up, and it's not like Nick couldn't hold whoever off long enough to get a few words in if it came to that." Monroe shook his head. "Really, he spends a lot more time annoyed that he has to keep telling people that he's not going to chop their heads off than he does any kind of head chopping. And, I get it. I mean, just try telling people you're a Blutbad and a vegetarian and it's all 'does not compute.'"

Bart had his own opinion of his son's idiosyncrasies, and Monroe knew it, but anything he might have said was cut off as Monroe turned off the main road in pursuit of the Grimm and the truck hit a pothole hard.

"Damn, Nick, remember we have to be able to get out of here again," Monroe muttered. "I'm glad this isn't my car."

The road didn't get any less rough as they climbed, and Bart hoped that there was some kind of turnaround wherever they were going because trying to back their way back down would be a mess. It eventually leveled out in what appeared to be an overgrown campground, and Monroe shut off the truck and climbed out, heading over to where the Grimm was getting out of the other truck.

"This is it?" Monroe asked as Bart trailed him over.

"Yeah. There's a stream just back there." The Grimm jerked his thumb at a row of bushes. "Give me a minute, though, I've got like four messages from Juliette."

"Oh, man, I should call Rosalee."

"Who's Juliette?" Bart asked.

"My girlfriend," the Grimm said, stepping away as he pulled his phone out.

"Kehrseite schlich kennen," Monroe said. "Because Nick likes telling people."

The Grimm turned back long enough to shoot him a glare, but there didn't seem to be any real heat behind it.

Monroe ignored it, putting his phone to his ear. "It would be a lot easier for you and Mom to find each other if you had cell phones, you know."

Bart grimaced. "We've managed without them this long. All these newfangled devices…."

Monroe shook his head, and then Rosalee must have picked up because all of his attention went to the phone. "Hey, it's me. I'm fine. Nick too. And my dad's here." A pause. "A little beat up, I guess, but nothing to worry about. And the Wildesheers aren't going to be a problem anymore." Another pause. "Wow. Okay, I did not see that coming. Uh, does she want to talk to Dad?" Another pause, and then Monroe turned and held out his phone. "Mom's with Rosalee. She wants to talk to you."

"Oh." Bart supposed it made sense, especially when she hadn't been at their son's house, but he wasn't sure what he thought of it. He'd meant what he said, that a Fuchsbau fiancée was far less of an issue than a friendship with a Grimm, but that still didn't mean that he liked it. They had traditions for a reason. He took the phone from Monroe and put it to his ear. "Alice?"

"Bart? Are you okay? You were in a fight with Wildesheers?"

"Yeah, it's…I was, but I'm all right." A little cut up and with bruises that were going to be weeks in fading—he didn't heal like he used to—but that wasn't the sort of thing he liked admitting. "You're with…her?"

"I told you, I'm not willing to lose my son."

There was steel in her voice now, despite the fact that the worry from a few minutes ago hadn't entirely faded, but Bart wasn't going to argue. Not when he'd just fought alongside a Grimm to save his son.

"Uh, sorry to interrupt," the Grimm said, rejoining them abruptly, "but as long as you're—" A pause, and he turned from Monroe to Bart—"Um, you're still on the phone, Juliette says you're invited to dinner. All of you. She's been worrying and cooking and apparently there's a roast. And also that broccoli-cauliflower dish you gave her the recipe for last week."

The last was directed at Monroe, who looked more than a little skeptical. "Um…are you sure? I mean, dude, you're probably talking about the most awkward dinner party in the history of ever."

He'd lowered his voice over the last sentence, although in the near-silence Bart would have heard the whisper even if he hadn't been standing three feet away, but the Grimm just shrugged. "Well, Juliette and I can't eat a roast alone, and you know she always doubles up on the veggies...we might as well try to get along."

"I guess we could meet Mom and Rosalee there after we finish up here," Monroe said after a minute. "I mean, Dad, if you want to."

Bart couldn't really say that he wanted to, but then he hadn't wanted any of this. And now that the fight was over, he was starting to get hungry. "I suppose," he managed, although it came out as more of a growl. "At least there'll be meat." He put the phone back to his ear. "Alice, we're invited to dinner. At the Grimm's."