There were two poignant questions I received after posting the last chapter which I felt particularly inclined to answer here because even though I'm going to address both of them in the story, I've thought about them extensively, and their answers are a lot more complicated than I think I can get across without shoehorning the issue in.

Pesterfield: Is Marie a known serial killer, or did only the Reaper know she was the Charnel Queen?

Answer: If your question is whether or not she's actively wanted by the law by name, no. She's still anonymous. If your question was whether or not the Charnel Queen was known, hell yeah, she's just about the most famous serial killer of her time period in this universe, at least of those active in the United States. Think BTK if he had never gotten caught and just kept killing indefinitely. Honestly, even though she's so understated and easily overlooked in her everyday life, she loves to kill in a particularly flashy way when she's hunting. It's partially dependent on her signature, but also partially just because she really dislikes authority. Killing in such a visible and sensational way? She's all but thumbing her nose up at the police and FBI, to those trying to catch her. It's her little way of saying 'I am so much better than you that it's almost pitiful'. She gets off on making the people tracking her down look like fools as much, if not more, than she enjoys the kills themselves.

(Also cue her being so utterly dismayed that Nick dreamed of becoming a cop.)

Livia: You know, it strikes me that it must be very difficult for Nick to give or follow descriptions of suspects or victims in hi job if he does not usually see their human faces. How does he manage it?

Excellent question. The answer is, honestly, with some difficulty. If anyone ever knew the right questions to ask Nick and he answered them truthfully, they might be able to diagnose him as legally blind.

Before he started seeing people's human faces due to his inner Grimm poking its nose out of its cocoon, the only reason why Nick knew what human beings looked like at all was because of hand-illustrated artwork. He sees everyone's woged faces in photographs, in television, in films- everywhere, in all media. Luckily, that means that if someone hands him a photo of, say, a Hundjager, he would see them in the photograph as a Hundjager, so he would be able to recognize them in the street if he met them.

If they don't have a photograph, and instead, just a sketch or a physical description of the suspect, he's a little bit more screwed. But then, you have to remember two things- one, Grimm sight in this Verse sees more than just the inner Wesen, but also basically sees the person's soul. Every scar and scab and blight is visible in a very specific way- emotional wounds appear as gouges to the heart, self esteem issues as black gunk clinging to them and slowing them down, delusions as a filmy web over the eyes preventing them from seeing the truth, ect. And Nick is very good at profiling. So if he figures out the characteristics that a suspect would have, based on their crimes and race and personality type, then if he gets within a line of sight of the suspect, he can usually pick them out just through their traits on the fly.

But sometimes he messes up. Sometimes he's expecting a cowardly Lowen and winds up finding a Mauzhertz with delusions of grandeur instead. When he runs into those situations, the thing is, he's never alone.

It's standard practice to bring backup when you're a cop or a police detective. For those 1 out of 10 situations where Nick is left floundering completely in the dark, his partner has always been there to bail him out. And because he spots so many of the rest of the suspects, nobody thinks much of it if he randomly misses one every once in a while.

He's had a lifetime of learning to cope with that weakness. And now that he can see human faces, practically a whole new world has opened up to him. It's as exciting as it is terrifying.

Also yes, in case you're wondering, I have considered this Verse a lot.

If you guys have any more questions, please feel free to ask!

Stabbing himself was sounding more and more appealing.

Not to say that he was suicidal. No way.

But after the third time he realized he was digging his pencil into his knee to stop himself from zoning out, just jabbing it in there and leaving it was beginning to sound tempting.

He was amazed that no one else had noticed how off he was at the station. Or maybe they had, and just presumed it was due to his aunt being attacked.

The captain had stopped by just long enough to glance over him, offer him condolences, tell him to write up the incident report, and inform him that he would be attending a session with the station shrink.

If only everyone else could bother being so simple and efficient. It felt like everyone he talked to, including Hank and Wu, were all walking on eggshells around him.

The tooth marks on the flesh had come back, but were inconclusive as to species. Nick had been the one to slip in a recommendation that they test saliva for DNA, but that would take nearly another full day.

In the meantime, he had a lead that he couldn't fully explore without an excuse or an explanation. And it was driving him mad.

Blutbad weren't exactly rare, that was the thing. In terms of population, they were definitely among the less endangered races out there.

The only reason why they didn't usually turn up everywhere was because their brutality drove them away from just settling down the way that most other races could. They tended to be transient by nature- getting in bar brawls, roaming around from rest stop to rest stop, providing either patronage or tips for clubs and concerts.

That was healthy for a Blutbad. That sort of behavior suited them, and while they might be a bit wild, it allowed them to work out their urges and instincts in a healthy and even productive way.

Lieutenant Keene bumped into the edge of Nick's chair as he walked past, and Nick found that he was twisting the pencil into his leg again in an attempt to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing the man's throat and squeezing and watching the light leave his eyes-

Nick took a deep breath. This- this was going to be harder than he'd thought. This wasn't like just withstanding his headache- that had been something that he just had to live with, had to put up with, something that had no cure. He'd been dead wrong when he'd presumed that living with his own instincts would be no different.

Sitting here in the middle of the station, all he could think of when he looked at anyone for too long was how best to flay them alive.

Was he like the Blutbaden were? Was there some kind of- lifestyle choice which would make it easier to deal with his new problem?

Or was his situation completely unique?

From what mother had said, it seemed like there weren't any other Grimms who had both managed to pull away from their bloodlust during their Becoming and still killed on their first night. So what did that mean? Those who succumbed to that homicidal lust- it seemed like it just broke something inside of them, like killing an innocent in cold blood set the bar for how their life was meant to play out. And those who didn't succumb- they turned into those mindless monsters, didn't they? The ones mother had warned him about.

An impossible choice between the lesser of two evils. Picking between consciously becoming a murderer and accepting the inevitability of the homicidal urges, being plagued by it for the rest of your life, or else pushing them away, refusing to pick the easy way out- and then losing everything that made you who you were, and still killing countless others, but never having any control over yourself ever again.

No wonder Grimms tended towards incarceration or the death penalty.

Nick shook his head. Checked the time on his phone.

He needed to get out of here. He needed to get up, to stand, to move. He needed to do something.

With an offhand remark to Hank that he was going back to the park to check it out and stretch his legs, his partner agreed, all too grateful to get out of the station and stop beating their heads against false leads. Nick slipped the pencil into his pocket as they stood. Who knew if he would need it later?

Nick didn't notice the way the captain's gaze followed him as they headed for the exit, shrugging on their coats.

x

"Okay, so I presume this is something incredibly clever that'll give us our big break, but seriously? Hide and seek?"

"Shut up." Nick shot back at Hank. He meant it good-naturedly, but it may have come out a little more aggravated than he'd intended for it to. He shifted to the next spot. "Can you see me here?"

"Yeah." Hank sighed. He'd been positioned on the trail in approximately the place where they'd determined that Sylvie Oster had been attacked, and now Nick was trying to get an idea of where the Blutbad had been hiding.

Nick moved to the next spot.

"Here?" he called.

"Again, yeah." Hank called back. "Dude, your elbows are poking out."

He folded them in. A pause, but then-

"Now your shadow's plastered all up against the other tree."

"Would it have been early in the morning, though?" Nick wondered. Hank considered it.

"Guess not." he admitted.

Nick moved out of hiding. He considered Hank, frowning thoughtfully.

"Oh, come on, man." Hank shot him a grin. "I can practically see the smoke coming out of your ears. What is it?"

"Well, it's just..." he paused. Then- "That spot is the only one nearby that actually gives halfway decent cover, but it's still so far away. I would almost want to say that something dropped onto her from above if there had been any trees overhanging the path, but we're out of luck. Instead, there's this one spot, but- come on, Hank, you and I trade places. I need to use your legs."

"You got it." Hank sounded sort of amused as he walked over to the tree and Nick took his place on the path. "What do I need to do?"

"Presuming there was a blitz attack, I need you to take a run at me from there, fast as you possibly can." Nick explained. He didn't want to admit that the reason why he didn't want to do it himself was because he wasn't sure what he would do if he lunged for Hank. It was going to be bad enough that Hank was lunging for him.

He was glad he'd been able to bolster himself against it, if only a little bit. When Hank broke free from the tree line, powerful strides driving him towards Nick like a champion horse from the gate, it took everything he had not to draw his gun.

Hank only slowed down one or two steps away. Nick had stuck both hands in his pockets, digging his nails into his palms to keep himself from reaching out and grabbing Hank.

"How was that?" Hank asked, cheerfully. Nick nodded, shoving the fight-or-flight charged desire to lash out back down under the surface.

"Bad." he admitted. "I mean, you were good, but there's bad news."

"Uh-oh." Hank's face fell. "What?"

"I don't think we're dealing with an animal."

Hank's frown darkened. Nick grimaced.

"You at top speed trumps any kind of wild animal's lunge, but with the distance between that spot and here, I still had plenty of opportunity to register that you were coming at me and run off the other direction. She might not have been a professional runner, but she would have at least been able to put some distance between her and her attacker. That is, unless she wasn't aware of it until it was too late."

"But why does that mean it wasn't an animal?" Hank was confused. "I mean, I'm not arguing- this has felt like too much of an organized attack right from the start, and animals don't care about using counter-forensics measures to hide the shape of their bite- but a critter can do an ambush just as well as a person can."

Nick shot him a small smile. Hank. He knew there was a reason why he liked Hank so much.

"You tell me." he pressed.

The Skalenzahne frowned until Nick pretended to tug at his earlobe. Then, his eyes lit up in realization.

"She had those headphones in." he had remembered. "Which means that if she had her back turned, she wouldn't hear the footsteps. But an animal wouldn't have known that- would have waited for her to get closer to their hiding spot before attacking, trying to get the upper hand. But she runs this path every day, and her roommate says she takes the bus back, which means that she only ever runs one direction down this path. But it attacked her on the approaching side, instead of waiting for her to round the bend and potentially showing her back to it."

It was all Nick could do not to cheer for him.

"Gold star, man." he grinned. "And because she had those headphones in, her only potential way of noticing she was getting attacked was visually. And because it attacked her on the approaching side instead of waiting for a better target of opportunity, and that she didn't run away, what can we presume about her vision?"

"It was impaired somehow." Hank was frowning. "I don't know how that's possible, but-"

Nick pulled the pencil out of his pocket and threw it against the nearby tree where it cracked with a loud snap.

Hank jumped, his head jerking to the side to see what it was.

When he turned back to Nick, Hank's eyebrows were arched all the way up.

"A distraction?" Hank lifted his fingers to his neck to check his pulse. "Christ, man, you freaked me out."

"Animals don't often use distractions when there are far easier methods of hunting available to them." Nick pointed out, ignoring Hank's complaint.

"So," Hank concluded, his eyes narrowing. "Unless we get proven otherwise, we should go at this presuming that we're investigating a homicide made to look like an animal attack. Joy."

Success.

At least Nick managed not to punch the air in victory.

x

Nick and Hank spend the rest of the day compiling a list of people who might have held a grudge against Sylvie Oster.

It was procedure, even if it was most likely a waste of time.

Unfortunately, as Nick stood outside the station with the lab's promise to have the sample finished and ready by tomorrow morning still ringing in his ears, he found himself wishing that the slow going on the case was the worst thing he had to handle.

He wanted to go to his new house and handcuff himself to a pipe in the basement in order to just relax and let go and let his instincts run free and know he wouldn't hurt anyone, but without someone to uncuff him in the morning, he might be better off booking himself into lockup at the station for how helpful it would be.

None the less, he just wanted to go and sleep and make the morning come sooner, but none of his furniture had been moved to his new house yet. He could go back to his apartment, but that would mean facing Calyssa and the Garretts, which would have meant explaining not only the tension between himself and mother, but also the fact that she was currently in the hospital.

He could go visit her at the hospital. See if she had woken up yet. But he didn't think he was ready for that. He wasn't ready to face her. Even if she was still unconscious, the only thing that he would get out of seeing her was guilt.

Guilt for letting her get hurt. Guilt for saving her, for not letting the Reaper exact justice. Guilt for even considering it an option. Guilt for killing the Reaper who had been trying to do right, trying to stop someone who was a monster in his eyes, trying to spare future victims from her sadistic wrath- all the Reaper had been trying to do was be a hero...

He wondered what had happened to the Reaper's scythe. Nobody had asked him about it. It seemed like the sort of thing that would catch people's attention- his aunt, getting attacked by what was very visibly the weapon of the Order of the Reapers. But in his daze to get to the hospital, he couldn't even remember what had happened to it.

Maybe it had gotten lost, kicked to the side and forgotten. Maybe they had their hands on it right now, and internal investigations was looking into his family history. Maybe they had found where he had stashed the mask in the attic and someone waiting for him at home right now to arrest him.

That was how Nick found himself wandering the streets, his hands in his pockets.

What was he supposed to do? Had he acted wrongly? Should he have let mother be killed?

No, instead, she was just paralyzed and comatose. Even if she woke up, she would never kill again. She would never hunt again.

She might consider that even worse than death.

The nurses in the hospital had asked him about her scars. About the damage done to her that had stayed with her, each mark telling a story that would never be spoken, much less understood...

Not except by another Grimm.

How could a Grimm hope to be understood, except by one of their own kind? If he ever tried to describe the instincts- the urges- to someone else, what would they hear? They would think he was crazy.

And wasn't it crazy? Crazy, to look at someone and imagine how their blood would taste, how they would scream, how they would squirm...

It didn't even make him feel sick anymore. More numb to it, as though the constant barrage of savage lust battering against his conscience had caused his heart to barricade itself off to try and prevent the damage from spreading.

Or maybe his conscience was gone. Maybe it had died along with what was left of his sanity during his Becoming. Maybe those last pangs of ethics and morals had been just an echo, and this was how he was supposed to feel. Just numb.

Nick fell to a halt. His tortured thoughts had led his feet down a pathway that he knew, but had never walked before.

Now, as he stood in the courtyard, staring up at the tall steeple in front of him, a tug of unfamiliarity overcame him. The cross stared down at him from the very top of the building, wrought iron, looming ominously.

He had never been in a church before in his life.

Was it even open? Did churches close? Did they have some kind of operating hours?

There were lights on inside, though. A warm honey glow against the inside of the windows.

Hesitantly, Nick walked up to the door and tested the handle.

It swung open easily in his hands.

And this was it. His moment of decision. He didn't even really know why he was here.

Redemption, maybe. That was what the men of the cross were good at, wasn't it? Redemption.

Or maybe confession.

He still didn't know which one he was looking for as he hesitated in the doorway, trying to convince himself to either go in or go home.

The second one finally won out.

Nick sighed, letting the door fall back closed. He turned around, shoving his hands back in his pockets, ready to walk back to his apartment.

And nearly ran smack into someone behind him.

His instincts flared. Every cell in his body screamed that he was being hunted, that he was going to be hurt, to be ambushed, to be killed-

Nick saw fur, and red eyes, and his brain- worn out from thinking about Blutbaden suspects all day- only registered enemy.

He reacted before he could act.

Nick ripped his hands free from his pockets and lunged, tackling the beast to the ground, his fingers wrapping around the wretched monster's throat.

They met white cloth.

Nick froze. Staring down blindly at his would-be victim.

A priest was staring back up at him, wide-eyed in shock.

Nick tore himself away from the man, scrambling back. The beast's facade face superimposed itself over his fur and fangs, leaving him looking benign and bewildered and only slightly terrified.

Nick was about to lean forward- to apologize- to offer his hand, to protest that the priest had startled him- but the second he reached out, his instincts screamed kill again with such ferocity that he felt dizzy.

"I'm sorry." Nick managed to choke out, even as he pushed himself to his feet. "Please- please forgive me."

He ran.

He barely even heard the man's cry of "Wait-!" from behind him.