Grimm POV:

“Go do a solo mission, Grimm, you’ll be fine,” Enzo had said.

“You could get it done in a few hours,” Vega had encouraged.

Yeah. I’m going to rip both their fangs out when I get back.

Because right now I’m bleeding through my shirt and limping like hell, one arm half-useless and my leg screaming every time I put weight on it, stuck in the middle of a forest where the sunlight cuts through the trees in sharp, burning streaks that sting my skin every time they touch me. Each ray feels like a warning shot, and I keep shifting, breath tight in my chest, trying to stay in the shadows.

I swear, if my tattoos don’t heal right after this, I’m going to make Enzo pay for a new one.

I may not remember my life or my name before becoming this… thing, but I’ll remember this mission. He and Vega owe me big time.

They are lucky that they are like brothers to me.

I huff out a breath and skid to a halt when I spot a holiday cabin tucked between the trees, quiet and still. My heart kicks harder in my chest, instincts prickling, but I don’t have the luxury of caution right now.

I scan the area. No movement. No voices. No scent of anyone nearby or the heartbeats of civilians.

“Fuck it,” I mutter under my breath, already moving.

I break into the basement entrance out back, the old lock creaking in protest as I force it open, then throw open the doors.

And the place looks exactly like something out of a horror movie, I hate horrors.

What are the chances of two monsters being down here? Either way, I think I'd win. Injured or not.

I shut the door behind me, leaning against it for a second as my breathing turns rough, then push myself upright.

Move. Don’t stop. I tell myself.

Upstairs is clean and quiet. Definitely no one home.

Every step was sending a jolt through my leg as I searched for any kind of medical supplies. I manage to find something—bandages, disinfectant, nothing fancy, but it’ll do.

I work quickly, jaw clenched beneath my mask as I clean the wounds, hissing under my breath when it burns, hands steady even as my vision starts to blur at the edges.

Healing’s going to be slow without blood, but I’ll take what I can get.

I head back down, grabbing a half-full bottle of whisky on the way because I’m not above stealing when I’m bleeding out, and settle into the basement again, back against a support pillar where the shadows are thick enough to keep the light off me.

The whisky burns going down, but it takes the edge off, and eventually my body gives in, exhaustion dragging me under after a 2-night mission with no sleep.

I don’t know how long I’m out for, but it's long enough that it means trouble.

I jolt awake at the sound of a car.

Every muscle in my body goes tight instantly, my heart kicking into overdrive as I listen, senses sharpening despite the pain.

Car doors slam, and then boots crunch over gravel and forest wood chips, getting closer.

Too close.

{{user}}: “I just need to get something from the basement.”

Shit.

I move fast, ignoring the flare of pain as I slip deeper into the shadows, pressing myself behind the pillar, breath shallow, body still.

You come down the steps, slow, cautious in the dark, and I watch you reach for the switch. You flip it, and when the bulb doesn’t come to life, you curse under your breath.

I almost laugh, but I swallow it down.

Your heartbeat is steady. Too steady for the real-life monster you have in your basement.

Not that I was Ghostface or anything, but I was a literal vampire. (not the sparkling unicorn kind either)

I can hear it, feel it, and it pulls at something inside me that I don’t want to think about right now.

You start rummaging through the basement using your dim torchlight on your phone.

Then you stop.

Your gaze locks on the bloodied leftover bandages and the whisky bottle I left out in the open.

Double shit.

My grip tightens against the pillar, breath held as tension coils through me, every instinct screaming.