Grimm Tales (Live Action TV Multicross) (Patreon)

‘So, the multiverse and transmigration are both real, huh?’ I asked myself, holding up a newspaper that was about the size of me while I sat at a well-worn dinner table that was about a decade off from being considered an antique. Emblazoned across the top was the name of the paper for America, one of many, but the ever-popular New York Times was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was the New York Gazette.

The revelation didn’t happen in a vacuum. About a month ago, after a pretty gruesome death that I remembered in a little too much detail for comfort, I essentially woke up in a life that wasn’t mine. Couldn’t say that I was exactly happy about being a five year old again, but I was trying to be optimistic about it -- like focusing on the fact that I could take advantage of the real estate crash instead of being a kid to make money hand over fist like I’d always dreamed of. 

Stock options? Oh, you better believe I was going all in on Google, Apple, and all the other burgeoning megacorporations. Bitcoin? As soon as I could get my hands on a computer, I was going to start mining. 

Going through puberty again felt like it was worth it for the shot at becoming a trillionaire, so I could grit my teeth and put up with the pimples, voice cracks, and awkward boners. Only… 

Only I might not get that shot.

“The fuck is a Madacorp?” I muttered, pursing my lips as I skimmed over the paper that detailed a new product that I had never once heard of in my last life. My first assumption had been that they were a company that hadn’t survived the test of time, but on further research, they were the equivalent to Apple and Nvidia rolled up into one. It would have been impossible for me not to hear about them. 

There were a lot of little things that were simply off about this new world that I inhabited. Names of Presidents, companies, even countries. The words of songs, types of cars, products, cartoons… That first month, I didn’t pay much attention to it at first, but when my elementary class was singing the ‘clean up’ song wrong, I couldn’t help but notice what was different. They were like jagged edges that caught my attention, whether I wanted them to or not. 

“Will, you have to be the foulest-mouthed kid I’ve ever met,” Richard Wake, my father of this life, remarked with entirely too much amusement. “I should set up a swear jar.” 

Pretending to be a young child was outrageously difficult. Like, it was really, really, really hard to pretend to be that stupid. Kids couldn’t hold a coherent conversation to save their lives. 

“Feel free. It’s your money,” I pointed out, lowering the paper enough so I could get a look at the man. Richard Wake was a whole vibe -- an old school biker who was never seen without a leather jacket or a cigarette. Black hair, green eyes, both of which I inherited, with an ever-present five o’clock shadow. Honestly, he was more of a cool uncle than a dad. 

“Heh,” he chuckled, thumbing a cigarette so the ash fell into a tray that was piled high with ash and stubs. “Can’t argue with you there. Maybe you should check out the job listings while you're at it so you can bring in some cash for me to slap you with a swear tax over.”

“I’m never going to get a real job,” I said, having already decided that. I worked blue collar once, and that led to my untimely death. I’m giving that a hard pass this go around. “I’m going to get rich off the stock market and never work a day of my life.”

That got another chuckle out of him, “Don’t forget about your old man on your way to the top.” He said, finishing the cigarette with a long drag before snuffing it out. “Until then, I am a humble member of the working class, and I have a job to do,” he added, reaching out and ruffling my hair. 

I was ninety percent sure that he was a criminal of some variety. I knew he was affiliated with a biker gang in the city, but he wasn’t a member. He was a courier, with some of his jobs taking him out of Miami sometimes for days at a time. Which wasn’t exactly weird in itself, but it became weird when you considered how well it paid.

“Be careful,” I told him, and he patted a cheek as he headed to the door, grabbing his leather jacket as he did. 

“Always am, Will. Be good for Nana,” he said, pointing at me with a warning look. “And you can at least pretend to be a normal kid for her. You nearly gave her a heart attack when she saw you looking up how to get a GED.”

“Nothing above a three-syllable word. Got it,” I replied, offering a smile. That made him shake his head as he walked out the door. 

“You’re kinda a sarcastic kid, you know that?” He said, determined to get the last word in. 

“Wonder where I got that from?” I returned, turning my attention back to my newspaper. 

“Well, you sure didn’t get those brains from me,” he admitted. “Nana will be here in ten. Love ya’,” he said, closing the door before I could reply. I glanced at the door for a moment before my gaze shifted to the living room, and then the kitchen, where I sat. All of it was relatively upscale -- not penthouse levels of luxury, but well beyond what should be within the ability of a single father to afford. 

I had thought that my mother might have been the breadwinner, but after a little prodding, Richard said that my mother ‘had to go away somewhere.’ Meaning that she was dead. So, my next thought was an inherited fortune, which could cover it, but if Richard had the kind of money laying around to afford a three-bedroom apartment in a nice neighborhood of Miami, he wouldn’t need to work a courier job that would take him away from his lovely son for days at a time. 

Which led me to believe that his job was the main source of our income. Drug smuggling seemed the most likely possibility, but he could also be a hitman. Either way, I was about eighty percent sure that he was some kind of criminal. My only hope was that he didn’t get caught before I was old enough to be emancipated, because going into foster care was another thing I had no interest in repeating. 

Flipping a page, I skimmed the job listings and let out a small sigh. “Working retail isn’t nearly as bad as elementary school,” I mused to myself. The teachers there treated me like a freak of nature, given that I already knew all my letters, colors, how to write cursive, and my basic arithmetic. This led me to pursue my GED, as I had already graduated from high school and college in my last life. With a little refresher course, it shouldn’t be too difficult. 

Folding the paper and setting it to the side, I hopped off the seat I was on. Nana was the grandmother who lived down the hall from us, who also owned the building and had since the nineteen thirties. She was something of a busybody, but didn’t mind keeping an eye on kids when their parents needed to step out for work. So, I had roughly fifteen to twenty minutes to continue my snooping before she arrived and wouldn’t let me out of her sight. 

The apartment was a nice one, but that wasn’t the only reason why I suspected my father was a career criminal. It was just part of the equation. The other was in his room. 

It had been idle curiosity at first -- he always locked the door to his room, but I was handy with a lockpick because of misspent youth. It was pretty easy to pick, but the trunk in his closet was a very different story. It was a full-on old wood with reinforced metal plating type trunk. Probably killed whoever carried it up the stairs, and it was sealed shut with a lock that looked like it was about a hundred years old, which refused to be picked no matter what I did. 

I had hoped to find the key in the hidden floorboard near the bed, but the only thing that I found there were fake IDs with various false names and nationalities, six for Richard and six for me. In addition, I found several bricks of cash from those nations. There were keys in the hiding spot, but nothing went to the trunk.

“I suppose he could also be a spy,” I mused, gazing into the old lock that was particularly stubborn. That would be exciting. In any case, I didn’t even really care what was inside the trunk. It was just a mystery, and I could only stare at the walls for so many hours before I went crazy. That being said, beating my head against the lock wasn’t that much better. Honestly, it was more of a matter of pride at this point. 

The lock should have been picked by now. All the tumblers lined up, yet when it came time for the lock to open, it stubbornly remained shut-

My efforts froze when I heard a knock at the front door, and my gaze darted to a digital clock on the nightstand. “She’s early,” I muttered to myself, freezing with indecision for all of a second. So long as I closed the door to the room, I was sure I could slip everything back in place before Richard returned. 

Tucking the makeshift lockpicks into my pocket, I closed the door and grabbed the stepstool just as there was another knock at the door. Taking a few quick steps up, I peered through the peephole to see… someone who wasn’t a grandma. For one, she was a teenager around sixteen, if that. Blonde, blue eyes, and very pretty. Also wearing a leather jacket with a white blouse. 

“William?” She tried calling out for me with another knock. 

I could pretend not to be here, but she seemed like she already knew I was. “Who are you?” I asked, and she threw on a friendly smile. 

“My name is Irene. I’m your babysitter for the evening,” she said, “would you mind opening the door for me?”

“You’re not my babysitter. Not that I need one in the first place, but I’m not in the habit of letting strangers in my house,” I refused, watching her through the peephole. 

“And you are exactly like I was warned,” she muttered under her breath, but I could read her lips. “I’m Nana’s granddaughter. She can’t make it this evening, so she sent me instead.”

Possible. Probable, even. Still, there was something that was… off. I wasn’t quite sure how to describe it beyond calling it instinct. “Prove it,” I instructed, “Hold up your ID to the peephole.” Her eyebrows climbed high at that, like I was being the unreasonable one, so I continued. “Lady, do you know how many murders happen in this city? I’m not going to be one of them, so provide some proof you are who you say you are, or hit the road.”

“Wow,” she mouthed, and then louder, “Right. That’s very… cautious of you.” She said cautious like most said ‘pain in the ass.’ All the same, though, she reached into her purse and produced an ID. Irene Adler. Same last name as Nana, who was… something Adler. Wasn’t sure what her first name was since everyone just called her Nana. “Believe me now?”

“Not even close,” I retorted. “That just gets your foot in the door, Irene. If that is your real name. I’ll be calling Nana to verify your story. Please hold,” I said, lingering by the peephole to see her roll her eyes to the ceiling, but she took no other action beyond that. So, after a few seconds, I did as I said and grabbed the landline to make the call. 

Nana verified the story, claiming that she was feeling under the weather, and her granddaughter volunteered to babysit. Additionally, she claimed that her granddaughter had a crush on my father, which motivated her bout of charity. 

“Your story checks out, Irene. But I’m watching you, so don’t make any sudden moves. Got it?” I warned and one could think that I was being a little too paranoid. They would be wrong. My father was a career criminal/spy, and going by the tropes, I was his one weakness to be used against him. 

I had no interest in being orphaned again, so I could do without the ‘father dying tragically to save his son’ trope. 

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Irene replied as I began to undo the chain lock and the deadbolt. Cracking the door open, I squinted up at her and her friendly smile. “Nice to meet you, Will. My grandma has told me a lot about you. Think you can help me study for college?”

‘I shouldn’t be so suspicious,’ I knew. Logically speaking, unless she’d brainwashed Nana, her story checked out. Her motivation was provided. And she seemed like a normal, pretty, somewhat friendly girl who was being patient with an overly suspicious brat. But there was just something about her that was setting my teeth on edge. 

“What's your major? If it’s mathematics related, you’re shit out of luck,” I said, taking a step back and welcoming her into the apartment. Her gaze swept over it in a way that struck me as analytical before her gaze settled back on me. 

“And you do have a mouth on you,” she noted, “Well, my major is criminology. Think you could help me with that?” I wasn't even sure she was going to college. I was ninety percent sure that was a crime pun. 

“I know a thing or three about committing crimes. And getting away with them,” I said, closing the door shut. I set the deadbolt, but I didn’t set the chainlock, just in case. That got a chuckle out of her as she stepped towards the couch and the TV. 

“I’m sure,” she replied, not believing me in the slightest. “But, before we hit the books, how about a little TV? Got a favorite show? Sesame Street? Rugrats?”

“I was in the middle of reading the morning paper, but feel free to entertain yourself, I suppose,” I said, walking across the living room and never taking my eye off her as I did so. She was watching me just as warily, kind like she just found herself in a room with a snake. Returning to my place at the kitchen table, I flipped open the newspaper once more and pretended that I was reading. 

Sort of. The page that I flipped to was the obituaries and… I gotta say, there were a lot of them. So many that the newspaper couldn’t fit them all, so they stuck with the highlights. 

A person was found without any bones. Two sets of twins were murdered, likely by a serial killer. Men and women were butchered in dark alleys with the savage frenzy of a wild animal. A dead prostitute whose murder was reminiscent of Jack the Ripper. And, the cherry on top? The cops' finding evidence of a dozen bodies in the sewers was fourth-page news. 

This world was more violent than my old one, it felt. More than that, it felt… accustomed to the violence, to the point that it didn’t even register that there shouldn’t be thirty brutal murders a day, even in a city like Miami. 

“The world is a terrifying place,” I mused, flipping the page and as I did so, I took the time to adjust a knife that was on the table. Just in case. 

“You don’t know the half of it, kid,” Irene said, seated on the couch and kicking her feet up on the coffee table. “Though, you probably don’t want to hear that from a strange woman who you welcomed in your home.”

“I don’t,” I agreed. “And I’ll have you know, I’ll scream very loudly if you try to murder me. And I taste very bad, so don’t try to eat me either.” There was also an alarming number of cannibals in this world, as I saw another article about a serial cannibal who struck again. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t threaten me,” Irene mused, a smile in her voice. 

“I also have a gun.”

That earned a bark of laughter, “No doubt about it. You’re Richard’s son, alright. I’m not even sure you have a mom, kid. Pretty sure he cloned you in a lab.” That could be a possibility, I suppose. Still felt like my theory of my mom being dead was more likely than being a clone. 

More importantly, that was an opening. “Do you know my dad well?” I asked her, trying to keep the suspicion out of my tone, but given my previous behavior, it was less than convincing based on the cocked eyebrow in my direction. 

Irene tilted her head at me, clearly aware of what I was doing, but decided to indulge, “I work with your father. On occasion.” Ah, so she’s a criminal as well. 

I had invited a criminal into my home. 

How unfortunate. 

However, it wasn’t yet clear if this was a ‘use me against my father’ type situation, so I kept my spike of panic off my face. Because, as she said, she could be Richard’s partner in crime. Though, given her age… it seem that it was a possibility I would be going into foster care given that I may need to turn in my father for an inappropriate relationship with a minor. 

Beyond that, I was kicking myself. My due diligence was lacking -- I should have contacted Richard. I didn’t think about it, simply because I was used to being a grown ass man who had a very dead father. 

“On what?” I continued, seeing how much information she was going to spill, suspect or not. 

“This and that,” she said, deliberately vague. “How about you answer a question of mine if you want to interrogate me?” To that, I inclined my head and lowered my paper, covering the knife. “Have you ever seen anything strange- beyond the stranger on your couch,” she cut me off before I could give that exact answer. 

The question was a leading one. “Strange how?” I asked, narrowing my eyes, not entirely sure what she meant. 

“If you have to ask that, then you-” She began, only to cut herself off when her gaze snapped to the front door. It felt like a jolt raced down my spine, and despite myself, my hand darted for the knife. The very moment my hand wrapped around it, the door to the apartment was reduced to splinters as someone came barreling through it like a train. 

With a fluid grace that seemed inhuman, Irene rolled off the couch and to her feet, knives launching from beneath her sleeves and into her waiting hands. She stood ready as the man who tore through my front door like it was made of cardboard charged at her before launching herself at him. Her blades flashed out as the man just barreled into her, stabbing and slashing, even when he picked her up and slammed her through a wall. 

He just shrugged the wounds off, straightening up to reveal the most lumberjack-looking man I had ever seen in my life, complete with a plaid shirt tucked into his pants. His beard was long, down to his chest, while his head was shaved and there was murder shining in his eyes. 

But then his face… changed. Almost like smoke on the water, it shifted to give me a glimpse of something before it faded away.  

I recoiled, but so did the man. Then his expression twisted into one of absolute hate -- the kind you reserve for your most hated enemy who killed your mom, fucked your girlfriend, and kicked your dog. Then a single word was ripped from his throat in a snarl, “Grimm!”

I nearly laughed at the absurdity, but that laugh died in my throat as pure instinct. Irene was picking herself up, and I straight up bolted out of my chair and ran for Richard’s bedroom. There was no time for thoughts about the absurdity of it. Or the impossibility of it. It was just time to do or die, and dying once was more than enough for me. 

“Will! Run!” Irene shouted, throwing herself onto the back of the man, stabbing him in the back and the neck and he just ate them, stumbling back and slamming her into a wall. I slammed into Richard’s room, going straight for the trunk. 

Grimm. That’s what he called me. I had a lot of questions about that, but I wouldn’t get any answers if I died here. I knew of them because of a show that aired nearly a decade before my untimely death -- six seasons about a man who could see into an unseen world where monsters and beasts walked amongst humanity, preying on them as much as they wanted to live normal lives. It was pretty solid, like a Supernatural that knew how to let the show end at a natural point. 

Grimm were those who could see into that unseen world. See the monsters. And those that could see the monsters were prepared to fight them, with trunks filled with weapons and books on how to hunt their prey. 

There was a sharp scream from Irene from the living room, along with the sound of wood snapping and glass shattering. I wasted no time -- the lock wouldn’t open to a lockpick? Well, then it was clearly a magic lock and I only knew one way to deal with those. 

I slashed myself across the finger, letting blood well and drip before I smeared it across the lock, which fell open like it hadn’t been fighting me for weeks now. Frantically, I threw the lock aside and flipped open the trunk. Immediately, I saw ancient leatherbound texts, and I flung them out of the way to get to the good stuff underneath. 

It was there I found it -- a tri-barrel elephant gun in three pieces, in addition to a number of vials that covered the inner walls of the trunk. Memories of one of the early episodes filtered through my mind in an instant, and I grabbed hold of the gun and one vial in particular. I didn’t flinch when there was another loud crashing, this one closer, and focused on putting together the gun. 

Next was dipping the bullets in a blood-red potion that had Siegbarste Gift written on it in looping cursive. Probably used more than I should have, but that was a problem for later. 

Hefting the gun up, I ran out of the bedroom to find that the living room and kitchen were absolutely demolished, and they were fighting in the neighboring apartment. Irene was bloodied, bleeding from a bad cut on her forehead that dripped down her face, and the bone was sticking out of one arm. Even still, her movements hadn’t lost that grace I’d noted before in the face of the literal ogre of a man who just barreled forward, unbothered by any damage she could inflict. 

Her eyes widened when she saw me, and that brought the man’s attention to me. His face was cut to hell, and Irene had taken out one of his eyes by the looks of things. He snarled, blood flying from his lips, and he turned to deal with me. My heart lurched in my chest, but even as it did, there was some part of my brain that ripped the wheel out of blind panic's hands. I reacted, knowing that I couldn’t hope to shoot the gun myself, gave it to the person who could. 

I threw it between the man’s legs, even as he closed in on me. Backing up, I tried to evade his grasp, but his hand wrapped around my throat with enough force that it felt like he was going to squeeze my head right off my shoulders-

Then there was the single loudest sound that I had ever heard, but it wasn’t just from the gunshot. It wasn’t until the man was struck by three bullets coated in anti-ogre serum that it came back to me how exactly it worked. The serum stiffened his already hyperdense muscles, preventing a hole from getting blasted through him, so the force was kept internal instead, shattering all of his bones and rupturing his organs.

Hearing an entire skeleton shatter along with the loudest gunshot in history left my ears ringing, but I still scrambled out of his grip before he could fall over me. He landed next to me with a thump, and it was only then that everything that had happened struck me.

“What the fuck?!” I shouted, rubbing my sore throat and flinching when Irene entered the room, using the gun as a crutch to do so. 

Despite the awe-inspiring amount of pain she had to be in, her face didn’t reflect any of it, and she only had eyes for me. She spat out a mouthful of blood and let out a rattling laugh, “Yup. No doubt about it. You’re Richard’s kid, alright.”

For the life of me, I didn’t know if that was a compliment or not.  

…

Predictably, the cops came. Kinda hard to miss a gunshot like that, but even before Irene shot the gun the cops were on their way. With them, Irene was escorted to an ambulance and brought to the hospital for her badly broken arm and other injuries. Which left me sitting in the lobby of the apartment building, sipping a juice box and trying to look sufficiently traumatized that people wouldn’t ask me any questions. 

“Everything is going to be okay, son,” An older man said, white hair gathering at his temples with streaks of gray. Not quite an old man, but certainly not a young one. “Your father is on his way back home. Do you think you’re up for talking about the attack?” He asked in a kind, but firm way. The kind of tone that strongly suggested what the right answer was. 

I offered a mute nod, looking over the man and the others who came and went from the elevator. There were a surprising number of cops. More than I would expect from a clear-cut case of self-defense, even if someone was killed. Not to mention, I’d sooner expect them to give Irene the third degree. Perhaps they would once she was loaded up with pain medicine. 

“You’re brave,” the cop said. “Could you start from the beginning?”

I did. Frankly, there wasn’t a lot to tell, and while I was the last person to give blanket trust to The Man, I was really struggling to figure out how they could twist this into anything other than what it was. My clipped tone and words were brushed off by the fact that my neck was a giant bruise, and by the time I was winding down with the story, the front door of the building swung open. 

Richard stormed into the apartment building like a man possessed -- there was a manic fear in his eyes as they bounced around before landing on me. “Will!” He said, rushing forward and half-knocking the cop to the side. “You’re okay, little man?”

I gave a thumbs up, and a rattling breath of relief escaped Richard. He offered a too forced smile that was meant to be reassuring before he stood up, looking to the cop. “What happened? All I was told was there was an attack and my boy was hurt.”

“Harry Morgan,” Harry introduced himself, and I blinked at the name as he offered a hand for Richard to shake. “I’m with Miami homicide- to be clear, no one is bringing up charges. This is as clear-cut a case of self-defense as it can get,” he stated when Richard began to bristle. “I’m here because of who the attacker was -- Eric Guthery. A well-known face around homicide. I have fifteen bodies over the course of three years that I suspect he was connected to, but lacked the evidence to get a conviction.”

Richard shifted ever so slightly, his expression becoming guarded. “And you’re wondering why he attacked my family.” That wasn’t a question, and Harry didn’t deny it. 

“The gun that was used to kill him is quite a piece. A three barrelled elephant gun. Is it registered?” Harry asked, his eyes sharp. There wasn’t an accusation anywhere, but he was fishing. 

“As an antique. I have the paperwork upstairs, if you want,” Richard replied, closing the door to that. 

“Do you have any reason to suspect why you might have been targeted?” Harry switched tacts without missing a beat. “By all appearances, it wasn’t an accident that he broke into your apartment. Fifth floor up, six doors down. Do you have any enemies that you would like to bring to our attention? Someone who would pay to put a hit on you?”

“No,” Richard replied, and after a beat of silence, it was clear he wasn’t going to elaborate. Probably not the best choice there, given that Harry’s eyes narrowed a fraction in suspicion. “How long until we can head upstairs and retrieve our stuff?” Richard noticed the suspicion, but he didn’t care. 

I thought of the IDs under the floorboards, and suspected it was because we wouldn’t be staying in Miami for much longer. 

Before Harry could answer, the elevator doors opened and two people stepped out. One of them was a Cuban man, a bit on the short and stocky side, dressed like he was going on vacation, and wearing a fedora. My gaze lingered on him for a moment before it went to the other man, and I realized that I recognized them both. 

‘That’s a young Michael Hall,’ I thought, looking right at him. He met my gaze and threw on a well-practiced friendly smile before Harry patted him on the back. 

“This is my son, Dexter Morgan. He’s with forensics,” he introduced him and it was probably a good thing that I was already experiencing some shock because I would have given myself away otherwise. 

Dexter Morgan. From the show Dexter. A serial killer who targeted killers, operating by a Code that he inherited from his father, Harry Morgan, to channel his murderous urges. So, as far as serial killers went he was one of the better ones, but he was still very much a serial killer. And Richard might be a murderer in the eyes of the law. 

First, that ogre- Eric, called me a Grimm, and now I was looking at an increasingly uncomfortable Dexter Morgan. 

‘What is going on?’ I had a suspicion, but it felt like I was putting together a puzzle with half the pieces missing. 

“Uh, hi,” Dexter said, giving Richard and me an awkward smile. “Forensics has done its thing -- blood spatter correlates their stories. A lot of blood and a drawn-out struggle, but it all seems defensive in nature.”

“How long until we can grab some stuff? We can’t exactly stay there,” Richard repeated, and Dexter looked to Harry pleadingly to take that question for him. He seemed younger. A lot younger than he was at the start of the first season of Dexter. Less… experienced, I think. Less used to pretending to be normal. 

The first season of Dexter started roughly twelve years after Dexter first joined the Miami PD as a blood spatter analyst, and I knew that Harry Morgan would kill himself not long after Dexter started killing in his early twenties. I also knew that there was a prequel that covered that time, but I’d never gotten around to watching it…

“As soon as the body comes down,” Harry replied. “This isn’t an open case, and no charges are being filed.” Richard nodded, accepting that much, and then he offered his hand when Harry extended his. “Thank you for your time.”

Dexter held out his hand as well, shaking it, and then turned to me. “You were very brave, little guy. According to Mrs. Adler, you saved her life,” he said, and I shook his hand with some trepidation. I had expected to see something cross his face, but he just smiled the same smile before walking away with his father. 

I just met a serial killer. 

Neat. 

“Are you okay, Will?” Richard asked me, kneeling down next to me once more. His gaze lingered on my neck, but I gave another nod. 

“I’m fine. Just a little sore,” I admitted. Another perk of being a kid, I guess. As an adult I was used to sneezing too hard and pulling something in my neck. By this time tomorrow, I’d probably be fine. “But… that guy. He called me something. A Grimm.”

Richard didn’t seem surprised, but he took in a long, slow breath like he was bracing himself for a conversation he knew was coming but wasn’t prepared for. “He did, did he? And did you… see something strange? On his face?”

I offered another nod, and his lips thinned. He was disappointed, I realized. It was then that I understood that he had hoped I didn’t receive that particular gene that allowed the Grimm to see the hidden faces of monsters. It was also then that I understood that Richard wasn’t a drug runner, but he was absolutely a killer. Nick Burkhardt, the protagonist of the show, was a fairly moral man and he dropped bodies like it was nothing. 

Wait- I just ran into Dexter. Was Nick Burkhardt also here? 

“I’ll explain everything in just a bit, Will. I promise,” he said, taking a seat next to me and pulling me close. We waited in silence for the police to come down the elevator with the body bag that took several of them to carry down and then lift onto a gurney to wheel out of the building. Once we were given the all clear, we rode the elevator back up to our floor and I found myself looking into an apartment that I no longer recognized. 

Richard picked me up, unbothered by the smashed furniture and blood splatter on the floor and wall, and even ceiling, as he took me into his room. There, everything was where I left it. 

He didn’t seem surprised to see the open trunk, “Figured out the lock, huh?” He said, setting me down on the bed and picking up the scattered books I threw around in a hurry. I felt a little bad about that, in hindsight. 

“On accident,” I lied. I had to. I couldn't tell him I guessed because I saw something similar in a TV show where ‘Grimm’ and the monsters they hunted were fictional. “Sorry,” I said, not really sure what I was apologizing for at that moment. Felt like it could be a lot of things. “I got bored.”

That got a chuckle out of him before he sat on the bed next to me, one of the leather-bound books on his lap. He opened them, revealing ancient paper with century-old illustrations on it and handwriting that looked like it was Russian. “Can’t really complain, I suppose. You saved Irene’s life.”

My eyes narrowed as I looked over the page, “She’s not really Nana’s granddaughter, is she?”

“Nope,” he admitted easily. “She’s a Grimm. Like me- like us,” he corrected. “But… I suppose that doesn’t really mean much to you yet, huh?” He mused before he passed me the old book. “I’m not even sure where to start.”

“The beginning?” I prompted, finding myself… curious. I wanted to make assumptions because I had watched the show. All six seasons of it. I wanted to say I understood the broad strokes -- Grimm being monster hunters, some of those monsters were normal people that happened to be part monster called Wesen, who had a whole secret society going on that most people were completely oblivious to. 

It was an assumption that I would have made if I hadn’t just met Dexter Morgan, which told me that there was a lot more going on that I wasn’t aware of yet. I couldn’t make assumptions. 

“Hm. Yeah, that’d probably be the best,” Richard conceded with a weak laugh. Still, he hesitated to gather his thoughts and cleared his throat before beginning. “A Grimm… A very long time ago, when humanity was still huddled around fires in caves… we lived in a world filled with monsters. Everything in these books, and a great deal more. And they preyed upon us, nearly wiping us out… and in response, that gave rise to Hunters.”

Hunters?

“Not all of us are the same,” Richard continued. “Some become Hunters because they lost someone to the Wesen -- the monsters that hide amongst humanity, disguised as one of us. Others become Hunter families, sometimes specializing in hunting specific monsters. Like the Argent family and their werewolves.” Argent. Werewolves. Teen Wolf? “Then there are some like us. The Grimm.”

“But what does that mean?” I stressed, not sure which revelation I was reeling from.

“It means that our family, the Grimm bloodline, has been hunting monsters since humanity decided to be more than prey,” Richard replied firmly. “We’re special. I’m not entirely sure why, mind you, only that we are. Wesen can’t hide what they are from us- we can see them with a glance. Our bodies can adapt to anything that doesn’t kill us, making us stronger, faster, our senses sharper, heal faster… and, the more we kill… the stronger we get.” 

That, at least, felt in line with what we saw in the show. It was something of a reassurance, I guess. Given what I saw in the news and what came crashing through my front door, becoming superhuman had a lot of appeal. Even if it did come with a near-death price tag.

“Not all of us are Grimm. I… I had hoped that you wouldn’t be,” Richard admitted. “You might have whatever makes us Grimm, but your children might not. Or your grandchildren. But your great-grandchildren might. It’s not an easy life, Will. A normal Hunter can retire, live a normal life- or as close to normal as they can get. But Wesen can tell with one look and know what we are, just like we can them.”

I mulled that over in silence, a frown tugging at my lips as I flipped a page in the book to find… yeah, that’s a ghost. Alright. “Is that why there are so many murders?” I asked, thinking of that extensive obituary list. There was a disproportionate number of them that were ravaged, as if they had been mauled by an animal rather than a human.

Richard hesitated, visibly thinking about his response, but he seemed to remember I wasn’t a normal kid. “Partly. Some are monster attacks, but others… humanity has struggled to survive in the face of monsters, Will. People flocked to those who had a capacity for violence.”

Meaning that this version of humanity essentially bred serial killers into humanity’s collective gene pool. That was… great. Fantastic.

“Is that why that guy attacked us?” I asked quietly, really feeling it start to settle in. This was a bit more than I was prepared for. I thought I was dealing with a mundane, if different, Earth. Now I was a Grimm, in a world filled with monsters who wanted me dead on sight. Richard stilled next to me, unsure how to answer. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m not sure why he targeted me. Or even if he did. He might have been there for Irene, but I’m not sure why she was here in the first place.” There was a quiet simmering anger in the back of his voice. “We’ll need to move, Will. We’ll find a new place in the city, and I promise you I’ll be able to answer that question later.” I didn’t need to stretch my imagination to guess how he was going to get those answers. 

Which was something of a complication, I think. Dexter saw us both, and there was enough weirdness about the case to catch his attention -- though, I didn't know if Dexter was aware of the monsters that apparently lurked amongst humanity. If he did, that could change things. If he didn't? Well… 

“You’re going to hunt the monsters?” I asked him, and Richard ran a comforting hand through my hair. And in a soothing voice, he delivered his answer. 

“I am,” he reassured, unknowingly uttering the very last thing that I wanted to hear. If Richard had any bodies that could be connected to him, Dexter would come sniffing around. And, at this stage of Dexter's career, all of his kills had to be approved by his father to ensure they met the Code's standards. Meaning, Dexter would try to turn Richard into a blood slide in his trophy box, and from there, there were two possibilities -- one, that he succeeded in murdering my father, and in that case, hello orphanage and foster care once again. 

But, given that Richard was a Grimm, some superhuman monster-hunting badass, the more likely scenario was that Richard would kill Dexter. Harry would know who to suspect, and that would get really complicated really fast. 

“After that,” Richard continued, oblivious to my apprehension of the rapidly approaching train wreck, “We'll begin your training. It's… not usual that someone awakens whatever makes us Grimm so early. Girls awaken it earlier than boys, but usually no younger than thirteen. So, we'll have to get a bit creative with your training.” I recalled that much, and I knew Nick didn't awaken his Grimm powers until he turned thirty. 

I wonder if whatever made us Grimm had less to do with biological age and more with what age we were… spiritually speaking. 

But that raised a question -- Richard knew Irene, somehow. Irene was a Grimm, like us. Richard, however, didn’t know that she was here or why. And, before she was caught off guard by an ogre Kool-Aid Manning his way into the apartment, she had been asking me if I ever saw anything weird. Probing to see if I was a Grimm. 

It could mean nothing. Or it could mean something. 

“You do need to train, Will,” Richard continued, misreading my hesitation. “It's not safe for a Grimm in the first place, and with you being so young… I want you to be safe. I'll protect you as much as I can, but you need to learn how to defend yourself.” 

I nodded, “I'll do my best.” I swore -- being a monster hunter sounded cool on paper, but now that I thought about it, Nick's life went from mundane to fighting Satan over the course of about three years. So, things sounded like they were going to get messy no matter what, so being able to defend myself from that madness sounded pretty great- 

Oh fuck. 

Am I going to have to deal with that whole plot line of various royal families of Europe trying to overthrow democracy to restore their imperial power? Because that sounded like a real pain in the ass. 

“I know you will, buddy. Now, let's pack up and hit the road. I know of a safe place for us,” he said, pulling me close. 

I wanted to believe him. But, with the knowledge that was swirling in my brain…

I felt nothing but doubt.  

…

This is a story that’s in a similar vein as the Johnny Bravo story, just without being an outright porn story. In essence, it’s a massive multicross that encompasses any TV show that covers the ‘modern day.’ As in, it’s Earth -- maybe with a little extra spice in the form of some monsters al la Supernatural and Grimm, various criminal enterprises as seen in Blacklist, Breaking Bad, Ozarks, and Sons of Anarchy, or forces of Law and Order with NCIS, The Mentalist, and Criminal Minds. 

All of them take place on the same Earth. All the various secret societies are in play to the point that the US government is a dozen Ponzi schemes wearing a trench coat. All the serial killers found in Criminal Minds, Hannibal Lecter, Dexter, and so on? They’re all active. The weird and quirky science in shows like Kyle XY or Limitless? All there. 

Does it sound like a mess? It should, because it absolutely is. But it’s my kind of mess. I like these kinds of crossovers because they give me a lot of interesting plotlines and characters, and I get to piece it all together into a coherent story. I like exploring how things change in new circumstances, or how something like NZT from Limitless affects characters in a show like Elementary. It’s good fun. 

That being said, not everything in every setting will be featured in the story, and that mostly relates to things that I feel would dominate the multicross. The best example of that would be Supernatural -- the individual plotlines of a monster terrorizing a town or a family, and it needs to be put down? That’s golden. The broader plotlines, like heaven and hell wanting that war and the apocalypse? That, I don’t plan on doing anything with.  

As for the story itself? It follows William Wake, or Will Wake, in his quest to navigate the minefield of a planet he was tossed into by taking full advantage of his Grimm abilities and metaknowledge. At the start of things, he’s a pawn in a dozen people’s games, and he’s going to be working his way up the ladder until he’s able to become a player.

I don’t really have a defined overarching story in mind at the moment, mostly because I’m still working down my very long watch list that seems to add two shows for every one that I finish. But, in general, I’m wanting something very cause and effect. For example:

Will finds the sunken sub off the coast of New York filled with stolen Nazi treasure (White Collar). He starts selling the treasure, catching the attention of Moriarty (Elementary) and Red Reddington (Blacklist), who both want one painting in particular for one reason or another. Neither is willing to back down, and when Will picks one of them to sell to, the other decides to steal the painting. Conflict ensues.

In this case, having a well-defined storyboard feels like it would work against me, so I would go for something like that. One domino topples into another, and I explore the ramifications by tying it to characters of various settings.   

On a final note, here is a rough list of what shows I would be working with:

Dexter

Kyle XY

Hannibal Lector

White Collar

Elementary

Limitless

The Mentalist

NCIS

Castle

Breaking Bad

Better Call Saul

Reacher

Yellowstone

Criminal Minds 

Blacklist

Wednesday 

Teen Wolf

Sons of Anarchy

The Finder

Psych

Bones

Leverage

House of Cards

Madam Secretary

Ozark

Squid Game

Prison Break

Suits

Mr. Robot

Shameless

The League

The Rookie

The Gentlemen

Tom Clancy's Jack Ryan

Riverdale

Nancy Drew

Bloodhounds

Greek

The Glades

Cobra Kai

The Residence 

How I Met Your Mother 

The Sopranos 

Succession

The Wire

Euphoria

Scrubs

Community

The Big Bang Theory

Silicon Valley

The White Lotus 

Lie to Me

Scooby Doo

Banshee

Slasher

24

Warehouse 13

And I think that’s about it. Let me know what you think!