villagelogs | 037-040 » the reason for time

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037-040 » the reason for time

WHO: Everyone.
WHERE: Eastern/Central Mathias
WHEN: Day 037-040
WHAT: The dead return and the living wake to changes within Mathias Township.
WARNINGS: Some explicit sexual content in threads. (PM this account to have a warning added!)
NOTES: Plotting post over here!

RECOMMENDED ♫ Kammarheit "Sleep after Toyle, Port after Stormie Seas"

DAY 037
THE DEAD RETURN
“The only reason for time is so that everything
doesn't happen at once.” —Albert Einstein
The dead return to Mathias forever changed by their experiences. Waking along the beach, near the tree line, or among the graves, they will find that their bodies are not as they remember them. They are whole again and not torn to shreds by the shadow creatures that cannot be described, but they are also not as they were before the Hunt. These residents will find, so strangely, that their bodies are in the physical state in which they first arrived in Mathias — any injuries or recovery they have made since their initial arrival no longer exists, as if their time in Mathias has simply been a horrible nightmare. Except they all now carry a last reminder of the Hunt with them: spiderweb-thin healed scars marking their injuries from the Hunt. Those who were injured by fire in the other realm also carry those burns with them.

The dead are not the only things that have returned to Mathias. Inexplicably, fall is back, with the temperature finally reaching above freezing and snow falling from trees to reveal beautiful autumnal colors. As the sun rises higher in the lightly cloudy sky and the day warms, the snow begins rapidly melting, puddles growing in the slowly revealed grass and little rivers forming in the streets. And with that snow comes the frozen blood from the deaths to the Hunt, tinting the street river on Phillips Drive a sickening shade of red.

Another oddity that residents will notice: houses with broken windows from the encounter with the fog on Day 015 have now been completely repaired, though any boards put in place are still there somehow. A small bit of good news, at least? And truly, how kind of Mathias to clean up its own mess.

Finally, alcohol is back. Enjoy in moderation, friends, for more will not be arriving the following morning.

THE NEW ARRIVALS
The newest arrivals to Mathias will wake up on the beach near The Grey Gull. It's quite chilly out with their wet clothes, but surely there's something to help warm them inside the restaurant. Indeed, their timing is perfect, for alcohol has finally returned to Mathias Township — and not just the cowboys' homemade moonshine.

DAY 038-039
THE CHANGE OF SEASON
The continued warm weather proves that the unseasonable shift of the previous day was not merely a fluke. Once again, the sun rises and brings with it a temperature that feels almost spring-like, save for the fact that each day there seem to be more and more leaves on the trees in hues of red and orange. For those who have been in Mathias for some time, this new type of weird may be almost normal at this point, but newer arrivals will likely find it quite odd.

The gently trickling river running along Phillips Drive is still somewhat pink in color as the snow continues to melt and refreeze each night. By Day 040, the bloody snow will finally be gone completely, though the relief will be... short-lived.

DAY 040
THE BLINDING WHITE
In the late morning of Day 040, when the sun is visible through patchy greyish clouds, the fog sweeps into town like a like a tidal wave. It moves in quickly and without warning, not from the waterfront but the forest, cascading through every street in a thick wave of white. Rather than a soft blanket enveloping the town, it is a heavy weight pressing down, blotting out the sky in a way that almost feels suffocating, for none can see further than their outstretch hand.

Those outside when it rolls in are left wandering blind, stumbling toward shelter as you're unable to even see your feet beneath you, let alone any obstacles in your path. Perhaps you call out for help, hoping for another voice to guide you toward shelter or simply another living soul. Or perhaps you were lucky enough to already be inside when the fog descended, quickly closing doors and windows to keep it from creeping in.

Unlike the last time the fog swept into the town, residents who encounter it are not immediately killed. Instead, they are simply disoriented, possibly losing their sense of time and place, and it is only after prolonged exposure that they will begin to feel off. A sense of being ill will cling to them if they are in the fog for too long, including dizziness, lightheadedness, or nausea — the time it takes to manifest varies from person to person, as does the duration it will last after leaving the fog.

By nightfall, the fog still has not dissipated.

CONDITIONS UPDATE

— THE WEATHER conditions are fairly typical for late fall: chilly "sweater weather" days and nights that can dip just below freezing. You don't want to be outside without a coat, but it won't kill anyone if they bundle up. Probably.

— THE FOG remains blocking the paths in the forest beginning a few dozen yards past the treeline, urging residents to stay huddled within the town proper, and it also now blocks the western section of town, beginning just past Hill Lane, before where residents know the chasm in the earth to be between Hill and Stine Road. Venturing into the fog blocking these areas is ill-advised.

— DISAPPEARANCES continue. Castiel and Sam Winchester have vanished, and Dean Winchester has not returned with the others after his death during the Hunt.

— THE GRAVEYARD has now seen around a dozen burials, both below and above ground. With the weather warming, though, something may need to be done about the handful of temporary graves aboveground...

— ALCOHOL has returned to Mathias! A small stock of beer and cheap wine may be found at the General Store, and some homes may have a small store of alcohol in the fridge or pantry. The Grey Gull has also been restocked with its lower-end offerings of a variety of alcohol types. Alcohol does not replenish in the same way as food.

— THE GREY GULL has been cleaned up and stocked with moonshine. Along with the newly restocked usual offerings, the place almost seems like an actual bar again.

— THE GENERAL STORE is in a bit of a state following the brutal slaughter of two residents during the Hunt. Cleanup on aisle 3, anyone?

OOC NOTES

— FOOD is now being mysteriously restocked as per usual, including inside homes and at the General Store. Alcohol is not being restocked. Use those rationing skills, friends.

— REWARD REDEPEMPTION is back and will soon have a new option for anyone looking to spend big AP and learn a bit more of the lore of the town.

— MADNESSES due to the Hunt have been earned by Klaus Hargreeves, Ellie, and Malcolm Bright and may now be claimed. Players may also claim additional sanity loss from the aftermath of the Hunt; only losses from the Hunt itself have been deducted from totals thus far.

— SANITY REGAIN is now available! Players will submit a form with some details of the progress their character has made and the mod will review and decide on the numbers of points that will be regained.

— MOD STATUS The usual reminder that it's mostly just Amy steering this ship for now, so things will probably be pretty slow for a while. Apologies in advance, and please don't feel shy about pinging me if you're stuck waiting for something.

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They were doing more snapping than a factory of cheap rubber bands in winter. Will stopped took a breath and then turned his eyes glittering.

"I'm sorry would you rather speak with Hannibal?" Will pointed to a space off to Raylan's left. "Dolarhyde? Tier? Brown?" Point point point. Will didn't yell, he just never yelled but his voice being high, wound tight.

"Hannibal wanted me to take your lungs home and make a nice spaghetti bolognese," Will continued through his teeth. "Tier wanted me to break your bones apart, use some pieces from Neal's corpse and build you two into a large, bear like creature. Dolarhyde wanted me to collect you, Neal and Klaus and set you all around that woman's body, then break a mirror and ..." he stopped that one right there. "Brown wanted me to string you up like a marionette. He was very insistent about using Neal's pieces that way.

And beneath it all whatever it was that killed you, wanted to continue the work with Malcolm, Doc and the others I couldn't walk away from fast enough."

Will stopped, looking up at Raylan.

"You're a corpse to me right now," he said softly. "Half your face is gone, your body is in tatters and my fingers are itching to turn your skull into a flower planter." Will's eyes were suspiciously bright but the tears did not fall. "Your blood is oozing under my feet as we speak and all I want to do is snatch your damn eye ball, yank it off the retinal nerve and stuff it in your sanctimonious mouth!"

'If not a bolognese, perhaps a kidney pie?' Hannibal was amused, deeply amused and for the first time Will turned his head and snapped. "Shut.Up.Hannibal" Just behind Raylan Hobbs shook his head and gave his usual skeletal grin, while the others tumbled over each other their voices a cacophony of more and more horrible ideas.

Will began to twitch. His shoulders jerking a couple of times before his eyes began to dance as if in REM sleep, rolling then upwards until only the whites were showing. The jerks and shudders became full body and he went crashing down on his knees.

Will didn't need to raise his voice in the same way Raylan often didn't need to. The nuanced edge of tone was more than clear in the tension that coiled up Will's neck as he spoke, even when it softened around the edges, it was still a bearing of teeth, a raising of hackles.

Raylan didn't glance this way or that as Will gestured, eyes unflinching, unnervingly stone solid as Will laid out the horrors that he saw. There was no doubt that it was deeply disturbing, no doubt that his own mind almost happily adapted to the ideas, laying them out in Raylan's peripheral. None of it translated to his face.

Was it weird that the cannibalism of his own corpse bothered him less than every other description? A thought for later.

Naturally, he'd been working on an equally savage kind of response, especially after 'sanctimonious' but the angry snap at the man that wasn't there stopped it. His eyes narrowed in concern, suddenly, almost violently reminded that in the end, he was dealing with someone who should likely be a mental patient. That wasn't the largest concern.

As the twitching started, Raylan took two steps forward, one hand hand out with a cautious, "Will?" and all caution was promptly abandoned as Will's eyes rolled back. Raylan had been around the block enough to know what a seizure looked like. By the time he got his hands on Will, the smaller man had already dropped to his knees and all Raylan could do was drop to a knee himself and urge him back gently, get all of Will's weight down before he fell and broke his nose or something by falling forwards.

Uselessly, Raylan looked around and worried about whether he should move Will while this was happening or wait until it passed. Until he could figure it out, all he could do was make sure that Will wasn't going to be swallowing his tongue or something, keeping him at a gentle incline and tilt, just in case this came with vomit.

There was nothing dignified about a seizure.

Will lucked out that the event was mild enough to avoid urinating on himself but the sharp contractions of his stomach caused him to vomit. There was not much in his stomach, he could not remember the last time he ate, it was stomach acid, spit and more a series of dry heaves so hopefully Raylan was able to avoid the worst of it.

The entire episode lasted a little over two minutes before he entered the postictal stage. As had been the case when he'd seized at Hannibal's, some animal instinct kept Will from becoming a completely boneless mass. Almost immediately he was trying to pull his limbs up under him, instinct driving him to stand. He was shivering but it was most likely due to the sweat that had broken out across his body, rather than the fall chill in the air.

There was something in the way he moved to suggest that he was not completely aware of Raylan's presence. Full conscious thought not yet back online.

Raylan swore under his breath as Will started heaving and tilted him a little more, one hand holding Will's head by a palm across his forehead, keeping both the hair out of the man's face and keeping his head up at an angle where Raylan's leg wasn't getting puked all over. "Alright, you're alright," he muttered to the both of them, minding Will's temperature under his palm. Once he'd emptied everything to the point of dry heaving, Raylan tilted him back a little.

It would have been easier if Will had gone boneless. Raylan could, at least, do what he felt needed doing without providing the option for Will to have a say. Will pulling away and up to his feet got a short protest as the Marshal stood up with him, circling around to the front with both hands on Will's shoulders as he tried to discern if there was anyone home, despite him being on his feet.

"Will," he said gently, shaking him equally softly. If he got no response, he had no choice but to go down the very short list of 'What to do's.

Plan 1: Get Will to walk on his own, even if that was at Raylan's immediate and direct direction, but if Will wouldn't move smoothly -

Plan 2: Raylan had no problem scooping Will up into a bride's carry if Will's body would let him, unconcerned about the possibility of more puke simply because Will's stomach was empty and aiming them for Will's house.

Raylan was not wrong to worry about whether or not anybody was 'home'. The good news would have to be that Will wasn't trying to do this with a 105 degree fever on top of his brain misfiring. The bad news was his inability to see Raylan at the moment.

The hands that grabbed at him were an amalgamation of Dolaryhyde, Hobbs and Gideon causing Will to try to rear back. His words were shaky, slightly slurred but coherent enough.

"Don't." His eyes narrowed and opened multiple times as if he were struggling to focus on Raylan's face. Which would be exactly what was happening. The faces kept swimming in and out of focus: Hobbs, Dolarhyde, Gideon, Brown ... the Marshal, Hobbs, Dolarhyde ...

the Marshal.

Will took a stagger step to the side -in the direction of his home- legs fighting for coordination. The ex-profiler looked up and in his mind's eye the location spiraled. The chapel, Hannibal's office, Will's home in Wolf Trap, the moonlit sky above the cliff in Virginia. Snow faded in briefly and Will overlay it atop the fall like scene that currently coated Mathias, except even that view skewed and he was once again standing outside Alana's house.

Alana's house ... snow.

He spun towards Raylan, looking for Gideon no, Hobbs.

"Will," Hannibal's voice was stern and Will grabbed for it desperately. "Tell me your name.

"My .. my name is Will Graham," Will spoke the words aloud, feet set wide apart as he swayed.

"Good. Now where are you."

"I don't know ..."

"YES! You do" Hannibal was ruthless firm. "Think."

"I'm ... I'm ... in Mathias ... Mathias Township."

"What is the time."

Will looked mechanically at his wrist but even if he was wearing a watch, he couldn't focus on it, so he looked up at the sky. The flashing between day and night slowed, solidified and he blinked at the sun, high in the sky.

"Day ... afternoon. My name is Will Graham. I'm in Mathias Township. It's the afternoon." He chanted the words twice before his gaze lifted to Raylan and he blinked tiredly.

"Marshal?"

The rear back wasn't enough to free will but the stagger got him out of Raylan's hands. Raylan let him go but he wasn't going anywhere without a tall shadow behind him, one hand hovering behind him as a worried face tracked what he could see of what was going on inside Will's head.

He recognized the litany, the habitually repeated action. He was Will Graham. In Mathis.

Raylan blinked in return as Will came back to the land of the here and now, face pinched in concern. He wasn't going to waste time and pointed in the direction of Will's house.

"That way. No argument. We're taking you home." His tone was much softer than before, the indignation of his murder set aside for the time being. Will's well being was more important than any of Raylan's feelings or trauma. No matter the indignation, that wasn't enough to make Raylan discard his human life values.

An apology wasn't going to come tripping past his lips any time soon, but Will's own anger and frustration from just moments before was likewise diffused. He turned without comment, following Raylan's direction without so much as a peep of disagreement.

His focus was on moving, one step in front of the other. He was peripherally aware of Raylan's presence but kept his attention on leading them slowly back to 1399. His path was drunken at times but sheer will kept him upright on legs that wanted to buckle. He was physically exhausted but with each step his head felt clearer.

By the time he reached his little porch Will was aware enough to reach out a hand to grip at the railing before he even attempted to navigate the stairs. He had one foot solidly set on the bottom step when he stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"I know you expect an apology," he began in quiet tones. "But I would do it again." Leaning against the railing he turned his head enough to look back at Raylan. "Malcolm needed to be able to focus on his grief and burying you. He needed to be your friend, not the rest of it."

With those words Will began to climb his steps. He moved like a man who expected Raylan to -having delivered him to his house- take himself on about his business.

Good, he was moving on his own. Raylan followed him closely, not fully trusting the man to bear his own weight but allowing the attempt nonetheless. Pride was meant to be kept, not broken, even for kindnesses sake. Raylan's housemates might disagree. He would let Will try until his knees gave out, if needed.

Pausing behind Will as he stopped, Raylan's eyes narrowed oh so subtly at Will's explanation and followed him up the stairs. No, there was no getting rid of a worried Marshal that easily.

"There's no point in tellin' everyone else what we looked like when you found us. The conclusion is enough. It's still up at the Town Hall. Still useful." Raylan opened the door in front of Will and gestured for him to go in.

"Normally, the dead don't get to come back to complain, but since that's a reality here and I know you can't not do what you do, we gotta put down some ground rules for bodies." Once Will was inside, Raylan would follow, finding a place to put his hat as he shrugged off his coat.

"Lay down. I'll make you some weak coffee since we ain't got tea."

"Bodies are evidence. How they fall, the state they are found in. It all goes to building a profile," Will spoke with a conviction that suggested he may have used those words to kick off more than one lecture.

Raylan might notice that the little house was still neat and tidy. The fireplace appeared to be very well used and if anything looked a little out of place it might be the fact that Will was obviously sleeping on the couch, rather than taking a bedroom.

Speaking of the couch. Will wanted nothing more than to lay out flat but he caught himself before he could complete the action of stretching out. He had a visitor after all. Pushing himself back up to a sitting position he folded his hands in his lap and laid his head back.

"Water," he countered. "Best not put even a weak stimulating chemical into my bloodstream just yet. But help yourself to a cup if you'd like."

"You can't profile what's got us here," he replied, knowing full well that Will couldn't help it, much like Malcolm couldn't help it. It was part of them, part of how they interacted with the world.

Already in the kitchen, Raylan didn't see the adjustment of Will's position, but he heard the direction well enough and collected a glass to fill with water. After a half minute, Raylan was returning with only the one glass in hand and setting it on the coffee table.

"Take a drink and then lay down," he suggested again as he took a seat himself in a free chair, fingers rubbing at his forehead.

"I know you can't help it. Profilin' things. Write it if you have to. We'll give you a file and a cabinet in the town hall to store them til I burn it down. Sate the need without providing practically useless information to the people here. They don't think like you do."

No one he knew did, not even Malcolm. Malcolm was his own weird basket that didn't quite align with the profiler in front of him.

Will wasn't sure how to respond to the idea that he couldn't profile what had gotten them here, so he decided to shelve that statement for further consideration later. He took the glass of water and carefully drank a couple of sips, pacing himself.

He did not lay down. It wasn't anything personal, he wasn't trying to be difficult with Raylan. Will was a man who was used to having to be constantly on guard when others were around him. He hadn't been so bad with Molly and Walter but that had taken time and any ease with people he'd developed with them was obliterated when he'd returned to Hannibal's sphere of influence.

"I should not be the definitive voice on conclusions like those," he countered. Oh no doubt he was an arrogant sod and would readily argue that his conclusion was the right conclusion. That said, he recognized the contributions that other perspectives could bring to the evidence. "Someone else may be able to see something in a way I missed. It is vital that we all work as a team."

Will Graham advocating working as a team. Pigs were somewhere overhead soaring beautifically through the sky.

Raylan wouldn't ask again. A man could only do so much.

"You won't be. Malcolm saw those sights too, though he made no paper record of it. Doc Henry too. Everyone else doesn't care about our bodies, the whys of why we were hunted. Alls that matters is that we died," he said, breathing the words out as he finished out his face massage with a rubbing of the bridge of his nose. Sighing again, his hand draped over the edge of the chair arm.

"You can talk to them too. Relay what you need to. People are gonna find out I died, that's fine but.. They don't need the details of my body. You can discern plenty without that."

Silence was going to fall across the room for a few minutes as Will sat there with his water.

After a moment he looked down at his clasped hands.

"It must be a hell of thing," he said quietly. "To suffer the trauma of death, then find yourself having to live with those memories."

He was fine with silence. Comfortable in it where others would squirm and find a place to put their eyes, their hands. The only squirming Raylan did was the rhythmically soothing gesture of fiddling with the horseshoe ring on his finger every handful of heartbeats.

"If it were just the one, I might be able to set it aside in the daylight hours." The night was a completely different story, one he was sure Will didn't want to hear. "Some of us died twice that night. It wasn't darkness that took us after the first one. Some of us woke up in this..." He took a deep breath. "Another Mathis. One that didn't have the rest of you. One that was.." His jaw worked as he eyed the floor. "Soaked with our blood. Everything was red. Even the air had an iron kinda taste to it.."

As he had with Jack Crawford, Will sat with a calm and almost peaceful sort of stillness. It was a fine line between making oneself a presence without tipping over into creepy doll, or restless fidget. For all Will's twitchy, erratic nature, in this instance he had the settled calm that came from what some would call an old soul.

It couldn't even be called a predatory patience. Oh he had that in spades, but what he did with Raylan was not that. This was a peaceful patience neither pushing nor expecting. Merely waiting and letting the Marshal explore the memories and draw them forth in carefully chosen words.

With no words or anything to distract him, Raylan found himself continuing. Maybe it was Will's peaceful demeanor or maybe the cowboy just wanted to pick at that seed in his craw for a few more minutes, maybe get Will's view on it as strange as it might be.

"It was the weirdest shit I've ever experienced. Death is supposed to be peaceful once it's over.. Instead we were told to march on like good little soldiers. Our bodies were whole, no scars to speak of. Just whatever we were freshly burdened with.. We looked for everyone, of course, but.." He shook his head.

"Only bit'a good news is that I think I found the lodge. The one everyone's been seein' in the pictures, the one I found you in.. It's in the forest, protected by the fog on this side..."

Years of dealing with Hannibal, as well as keeping his face neutral when the hallucinations were at their worst, allowed Will to maintain that same neutrality when Raylan spoke of death and peace.

'Would that be considered a mic drop?' Hannibal inquired in that wry tone that was designed to get under the skin. The one where he was amused, smug and superior in your general direction. Will did his best to ignore Lecter as well as the desire to pick at his own scab.

Because he knew exactly the sense of offense Raylan indicated feeling when death had failed to be peaceful. It was a jarring sensation, one that brought a sense of anger and even disappointment, that was hard to describe; even to your own consciousness.

"How did you die the second time?" Will asked with soft curiosity. He set aside the topic of the lodge for the time being, circling back to a throwaway comment Raylan had made when he first started talking. Keeping them in the environment of what had happened in that other Mathias, for now, rather than let Raylan come back to the present just yet.

Edited 2021-03-21 18:26 (UTC)

After all that silence, a voice coming back out of Will was passingly strange. Silence laid a dangerous trap and he was just fucked up about his deaths enough to fall into it. His thumb fiddled with the horseshoe ring on his finger as he answered, the only give to the restlessness that thinking about it still put in him.

His jaw worked a little as he took a breath in, patience pasted over his face that, a minute ago, had been calm and worn out enough. "Clinically? By fire reacting to the napalm that wasn't on my jeans. Unless there's an explanation out there for live fire.."

He didn't mean to sound short but Raylan was very much the kind of man to be angry at the things he didn't understand. "A lightin' storm rolled into town. Nasty one. Lit the Town Hall on fire. Caught me on the way by."

Now it was time to go back to the comfortable silence. It was a technique he had used, as an investigator and had used against him, as a patient. Silence was powerful. It was comforting, especially when the horrors were coming from within the house so to speak. Will suspected that Raylan's talking now had less to do with who Will was and rather who he wasn't.

He wasn't Malcolm, Neal, or any of the others for whom Raylan strove to be strong.

Sitting silent, especially as the Marshal worked that ring, was akin to giving Raylan the opportunity to talk out loud, as if to himself. A chance to pull those dark thoughts squirming like a knot of ichor within his mind, out into the open.

Where the dragons could be slew.

He couldn't say why he didn't just get up and leave. Give into the itch in his palm to wrap it around a bottle, burn the edges of the memories away. But that did little good when the faces that were so vividly screaming at him in his head were at home to greet him. No, he wouldn't have handled the pressure quite so gracefully, if his position with Will was reversed. Quite the opposite. He would have murdered his way out of it. A much different story.

Instead, his mouth opened and spilled more useless words.

"I wasn't the only one either. Neal too. Stupid softhearted bastard came back to try to save me... Instead he watched me scream and... and burn-" His voice softened and cracked a little, forcing him to stop and start again. "Before joinin' me in it." He cleared his throat and pushed to his feet, thinking for what felt like the hundredth time that he needed a drink.

"Is this the first seizure you've had?" No more of the past for just now.

The redirect was not particularly subtle but Will didn't figure Raylan was going for subtle.

Off to the side Hannibal was wearing his inquisitive I want to hear more expression. The doctor eager to probe at the beautiful horror suggested in the confession of Neal's involvement. The burning alive.

Will ignored him.

"There are some beers in the fridge." He offered. No he wasn't reading Raylan's mind. He was remembering their first meeting, the whiskey being carried about, he knew the man would partake of a drink. Add that to the assumption that anyone who was reliving burning alive would need a drink and that was where Will came up with his offer.

"No." He answered the question directly. "I suffer from Anti-NMDA encephalitis." Will reminded the Marshal with a little half smile. "Seizures are a symptom of a flare up."

Edited 2021-03-21 22:36 (UTC)

No, subtle was long in the review now. Raylan hummed at the offer and turned on his heel to head that way, too hard pressed to think much of it beyond scratching the itch. Will had offered so there wasn't any misstep in manners.

"Next time it happens, I'm tempted to just toss you over my shoulder and carry you back here. Think you'd give me much of a struggle?" The beer popping seemed to echo around the house to meet the clink of the cap hitting the trash can that preceded the steady thunk of his bootheels. The ask hadn't just been for his own sake, it was also another door to allow Will to change his story or give Raylan some insight into why the man ticked the way he did. It didn't matter that he'd heard the whole story; there was some indescribable thing he hadn't figured out yet.

"I'm sorry that you suffer 'em. I suppose I oughta say that I'll pull off my questions when it happens but I didn't get much warnin' besides you snappin' at your ghosts."

No misstep at all. For all his antisocial behavior, Will was more than happy to share his alcohol supply.

Whether by accident or design Raylan had picked a good time to ask his question. Will was still tired from the seizure, too tired to lift his guard of prickly quills. In addition he was feeling a little guilty for having drawn so much out of Raylan in this conversation. It seemed only fair to return some of the vulnerability.

...

Perhaps a little guilt for what he'd written and posted on the bulletin board as well.

"Hallucinations," he corrected. "They're hallucinations. Projections of my own psyche laid atop the memories of the monsters I constructed within my imagination when I was hunting them." He waved a hand, suggesting he could go into further clinical detail but he didn't expect Raylan was up for that much depth. "However, you're not wrong in it being an indicator. I can usually function around their presence without making it obvious. If I'm openly interacting with them, then the gears have slipped." Such as they time he contaminated a murder scene.

"I would struggle," he continued after a brief water break. "This is the messed up part of the whole story, Raylan." Was that the first time he'd used the man's name? Perhaps. "The only person who has ever had my back, has been Hannibal." He flicked his eyes to a spot just behind Raylan's shoulder but said nothing to the hallucination preening back there. "Granted it was more about Hannibal's own screwed up code of honor, keeping his word, then any sort of altruistic motivation, but he could have easily left me to die in Verger's basement."

Another sip of water, this time a stalling tactic as Will struggled to sort through his next words.

"Outside of that one instance everybody I thought was a friend..." the words tapered off as Will wrinkled his nose, annoyed at what he felt was close to his own belly aching. He took a deep breath and then turned back to Raylan. His expression was oddly kind and even friendly in a way.

"I am more inclined to trust your hostility as genuine, rather than your attempt to aid me."

The look that Raylan turned on him was gently amused around the edges. "I feel like the south would confuse you quite a bit." Hallucinations were technically, the functional generalization, but they were still his ghosts. The hallucinations had to come from somewhere - those faces that followed him haunted him for reasons Raylan wasn't going to bother digging around in. There was no fixing what was wrong with Will.

"Had your back...." Raylan echoed. "Didn't you tell me he cut you open at the stomach? Didn't you take him off a cliff?" He shook a hand, face pinching. "Never mind. I never liked shrinks, myself, though the profession is useful." Continue..

His expression stayed pinched for a long moment before he shook his head, huffing a gentle breath. "I'm not here to hurt you or break you or use you the way Jack did. You know that what they did was wrong, right? All of 'em. Hannibal too, if you want my opinion." And even if he didn't, Raylan was giving it to him anyway. Will would learn that Raylan's glowering faces and stern voice that never really raised didn't lead to much unless given warnings were ignored.

"My bein' upset is genuine, don't get me wrong. But it ain't gonna end with.. End the way you're used to. It's three sheets of paper for godssake."

Will's lips twitched. "I was born and raised in Louisiana," he remarked and perhaps for the first time he sounded unhaunted.

He sobered and did as Raylan asked, letting go of the conversation about Hannibal having his back. For a few minutes Will was quiet but it was a thoughtful sort of quiet that he broke in a calm voice.

"Do you remember how you felt when you died but then found yourself tossed into that alternate Mathias?" He slowly sat forward bracing his arms on his knees, fingers folded together. "I struggle with that ... anger and confusion every time I open my eyes here. I didn't take Hannibal off that cliff out of some misguided sense of martyrdom. I was done, Raylan. I was done with the fighting, the pain, the broken edges I live with ... I wanted peace."

Lacing and unlacing his fingers he looked down at Raylan's knees.

"You got a taste of that. Tell me, as you struggled with the disappointment, having to shift gears from letting go to being trapped, what instincts did you follow? You ran on what was routine, didn't you?"

Will stopped, exhaled and leaned back. He was tired of trying to unwind his own thought processes.

"Your complaint is lodged and registered. I won't repeat the mistake."

cw: cannibalism, gore

Just. Ya know. Never doubt your ability to play this man. Ever. /chefs kiss

/blush!! You are incredibly kind <3

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