#Alana and will actually had a conversation (fight ) about it. She gets will needing space

[backpackingspace]

Hey s1 au where will gets a second opinion and does not connect the dots to serial murder and just thinks hannibal is another unethical doctor wanting only to study him. This ends up alienating him from hannibal, Alana (dr. Lecter after is her friend her recommendation), and jack (did he know? Will can't be sure)

[melodyalanaroster]

Welcome To Weathering

Disclaimer: This takes place after The Implementation Of Protocol 216.

"I love you Nathaniel. Don’t ever forget that.” Alana’s voice began to waver, despite her desperate attempts to keep it steady. Nathaniel was doing everything in his power not to cry. “I promise you, I wont.” He choked. He took his jacket off, placed it around Alana’s shoulders and kissed her. “I love you more than anything in this world Alana. And when I get home, I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you.” Alana turned to Sam and Ken. “Take good care of them.” She pleaded. Sam hugged Alana. “You know damn well we will.”

The car ride to Weathering was mostly quiet. Kentin drove and did his best to catch up with Nathaniel and make small talk, but Nathaniel wasn’t having it. It was nice to see his friend again, but he was too upset over having to leave Alana. Amber attempted to apologize to Kentin and Sam for how she acted in High School, but Sam cut her off before she could finish. “If Mels believes you to be redeemed, then so do we. My sister wouldn’t forgive and protect someone like you if you hadn’t changed.” She stated. “Oh, okay.” Amber muttered and looked down. Nathaniel stared out the window. “The last time I was in Weathering, Alana was leaving for Toronto.” He thought. Sam got on her phone. “Rini? Are you near Amouria? Good. I need you to get to the Black Tower and keep Mels company. She’ll know why I sent you and will tell you if she feels like it. Because you and I both know she’s insanely stubborn and will fall back into the abyss if someone from her innermost circle isn’t there to keep her out of it. I have no idea how long. The Black Tower has plenty of spaces to do that, I’m sure Mels won’t have an issue with you using a room to perform that action. Viktor can handle that, it’s not a difficult task. Trust me, you still won’t meet Nathaniel until the moment she’s decided upon. Thanks for this Rini. No, seriously. I’m not as worried for my sister... But I do know Nathaniel will rest easier knowing that Mels is being looked after during this. Alright. Love you too. Later.” She hung up and put her phone in her lap. “So, Severina is going to be with Alana?” Nathaniel piped up. “Yeah. Trust me, if anyone can keep my sister from falling back into that pit of depression, it’s her.” Sam replied. Nathaniel continued to watch the scenery pass by. It had been forty five minutes and they still had a few minutes left of the drive before they would arrive at the Roster Family Home. “Wow, I didn’t know Weathering was so far away from Amouria. This town is so cute.” Amber commented as she watched the town begin to pass her window. “It’s gotten a few face lifts over the years. It was a bit smaller when Mels and I moved to Amouria... And even smaller when we were kids.” Sam explained. “What type of people live here?” Amber asked. “It’s a mix. Neighborhood wise, the farms are to the East, the upper class is to the West, and everyone else lives in the North And South. The Roster Family Home is to the North...” Sam explained. 

The car swiftly passed through the city and began to enter a slightly wooded area. “We’re here.” Ken stated as he pulled up to a gate and put in a pass code. As the gate opened and the car pulled through, Nathaniel and Amber looked at the house. “Woah.” Amber commented. When the car came to a complete stop, they all got out and looked around. Ken popped the trunk and Sam immediately walked up to the door, unlocked and opened it. “Come on.” Sam encouraged. Nathaniel and Amber got their bags and walked inside. “Welcome to Weathering guys. Until Purification is complete, this place is your home. You can move about freely within the city, but you cannot go to Amouria. Nathaniel, you will be in Mels’ room. I trust that you remember where it is.” Sam clarified. Nathaniel nodded and walked to Alana’s room. When he got to her door, he sighed. “It’s strange being here and not having you with me.” He muttered as he opened the door. The room was covered in geeky items. The bed was black and deep blue, like her bed in Death’s Domain. He sat his bag down on the floor and sat down on the bed. 

His mind wandered to what was going to happen. Each and every member of the Cartel was going to die. The Police Force was going to be made aware of the R.D.R’s decision, as well as why he was no longer an issue. Eric had tried to call him at least twice in the past couple of days, but he ignored him. He knew what Eric was bound to ask and say... And he really didn’t want to be interrogated again. Alana had told him that she would contact Eric and tell him everything that he needed to know. Because of Sam, Alana would have Severina to lean on during this time. He kicked his shoes off and laid down.

“Hey Nathaniel! Wake up!” Sam shook him awake. “What’s going on?” Nathaniel gasped as he sat up. “Dinner is downstairs. Come on, you need to eat.” Sam stated. “Aren’t you not allowed in here?” Nathaniel asked as he sat up. “Under normal circumstances, Mels would kill me if I came in here. But, I am allowed to come in and check on you if it involves a meal being ready.” Sam explained. Nathaniel got out of bed and followed Sam downstairs. 

Kentin had ordered take out and placed it on the table. “There’s tacos and nachos for everyone but Amber.” He stated as Nathaniel and Sam entered the room. “Thanks for the salad.” Amber did her best to smile as she sat down in front of it. “You made sure to get sweet tea, right?” Sam asked as she sat down. “Of course I did, love. Come on Nathaniel, sit down. Make yourself at home.” Ken smiled as he sat down next to Sam and motioned to Nathaniel. “How can you two eat? Knowing what Alana is doing right now?” Nathaniel asked Sam and Ken. Sam sighed. “Right now, my sister is currently watching Sailor Moon with Severina and intends on doing a live stream of some of her play through of Kingdom Hearts 3 tomorrow.” She stated. Nathaniel blinked, a little caught off guard. “What?” Ken checked his phone. “Yeah, it’s on both the Family Forum and Instagram.” Nathaniel took out his phone, checked Instagram and the Family Forum, and sighed. Sam cocked her head a little. “This isn’t the first time my sister has watched over a Purification. This is simply the only time she’s ever been the one to enact it. She doesn’t have to take part in some elaborate plan. She just can’t leave the city until it’s over.” Sam explained. “So? She’s not gonna do any of the killing? Or be present to it?” Nathaniel asked. Sam face palmed. “I know she explained this to you. YES. She will be present for the death of the final boss. Once he’s dead and Purification is officially over, she will probably come out here and pick you up herself. Geez boy. I get that you’re upset, but please don’t waste my time being dense.” Nathaniel looked at Sam, annoyed. “Do you always have to be like this?” He asked. “YES! Nathaniel! As my brother, you are entitled to being treated how I see fit to treat my siblings. When you and Mels act like dense fools, I will happily call you two out on that. For fuck’s sake! I told you the exact thing the first time you two were together! You think that’s changed? Fuck no! So, sit your ass down and eat!” Sam boomed. Nathaniel looked at Sam, shocked and sat down in front of a plate of nachos and tacos. His mind didn’t want him to eat.... It wanted him to do his best to make his way back to Amouria and make sure Alana would be okay... But, he knew Sam was right, and his stomach needed him to eat... So, much to his brain’s dismay, he began to fill his stomach.

After dinner, Sam and Amber began walking around the property, talking. Either Alana had notified her sister about Amber’s condition, or Sam had instantly recognized it herself. Nathaniel pondered as to which option was the one that took place. “Mels told us the other day about Amber’s diet.” Ken walked up behind him. “Am I really that easy to guess?” Nathaniel asked. They began walking through the house. “For the past few years, I have had to be the sane one for both Sam and Mels. You can’t do that without picking up a few tricks.” Ken explained. They began talking about some of the events of the past few years. Alana had told Nathaniel a lot, but Ken was filling in some of the blanks. The rumors of the treaty between the Military and the R.D.R were true. Alana and Sam had had a fight so vicious that the organizations made it illegal for them to ever fight as enemies ever again. Everyone hated Azrael and blamed her for worsening Alana’s depression. “I don’t need to hear your side of Azrael forcing Alana’s and my separation.” Nathaniel interrupted Ken as Ken had begun to talk about it. “Sorry.” Ken replied.

After a few minutes of walking in silence, they met up with the girls, who had also ended up walking in silence. “Hey, guys, do you think we could go into the city and wander around a bit tomorrow?” Amber asked, doing her best to break the silence. “I’d rather not.” Nathaniel stated. “Well, that decides it. We’re all going.” Sam declared. “Why?” Nathaniel asked. “Because, you’re not gonna sit around this house and mope the entire time my sister is saving your ass! There are a shit ton of things to do in this city, and frankly, it would be good for all of us to actually enjoy our time here.” Sam emphasized.

It didn’t take long for the conversation to end and Nathaniel to go back to Alana’s room. He checked social media to see if there had been any updates. Eric was still trying to get a hold of him, demanding to know the answers to several questions. “I will discuss things with him.” Alana had told him. He knew he had to have faith in her. As he logged onto the family forum, he noticed that Severina had posted a video. She and Alana were laughing and eating pizza. “Come on Mels, why can’t I meet him before that gala?” “Because! This will be the first time my best friends meet my boyfriend! It’s going to be a historic event! Not to mention how Nathaniel and I will look like royalty and be able to have a romantic dance.... We haven’t done that since Prom....” “And what about that party you two went to a while ago?” “That was different... Nathaniel pulled me into a tango, and I was wearing a dress that amounted to little more than a napkin. At the gala, he’s gonna wear a custom suit, which he looks BEYOND SEXY in, I’ll be wearing a really cool dress, and we’ll have a chance to slow dance. God, the mere thought of it is magnificent!” Alana blushed. Nathaniel chuckled. She seemed fine, but he knew that with Severina there, Alana wouldn’t get too depressed. That didn’t stop him from missing her and worrying about her.

As he took off his clothes and got into her bed, he looked at the ceiling and sighed. “This is going to be interesting.”

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I had the option of keeping Nathaniel and Amber in The Black Tower, but everyone told me that it would be better to do some world building. And because of that, here we are. Nathaniel and Amber are in Weathering with Alana’s sister and Ken. This completely derails from the in game canon. I’m definitely out of my element in the sense of writing from Nathaniel’s point of view... But, I feel like it’s necessary. I was really unsure of how long this one should be, because it doesn’t go with the game canon... But, I’m happy that it’s much shorter than the other ones....

Credit goes to:

Unnieverso for the Kentin Sprite

FNAFfanart67 for the base to Sam’s sprite

andanguyen for the background

[ittasteslikeiron]

Part One: Hypermnestra

Chapter 1

“Still falling

Breathless and on again

Inside today

Beside me today”

-Mazzy Star, ‘Into Dust’

The sharp, salt-scented air bit at Will’s face and cut into his lungs with cold, serrated claws. The pain was the least of his worries, however. A heavy sigh snuck passed his lips in a combination of fatigue, contentment, and guilt. He had made up his mind the moment he leaned his head against the doctor’s chest, eyes fixed on the churning waves below the cliff, reflecting the darkness hidden beneath them. His heart twisted painfully in his chest when he felt Hannibal gently move his head closer to Will’s. Will curled his fingers around Hannibal’s shirt, ignoring the damp patches even as they clung to his touch. The blood of The Dragon still plastered their skin and clothes, clouding the air with the dense smell of metal.

The profiler’s mind was repeating back Dr. Du Maurier's words without mercy. “Can’t live with him, can’t live without him,” she had mused, her expression revealing how much she believed she understood. Just the thought of her vacantly smug expression filled his stomach with lead. She thought she knew everything; everything about Hannibal, about Will. Bedelia Du Maurier would never completely comprehend the deadly dance the two killers were trapped in, but she did manage to end up right when the dances concluded.

Hannibal was infatuated with Will in a way he hadn’t been with anyone before. His actions over the many years that he and Will had known each other were more than proof of that. So why had Will been so blind? He seemed to have been drawn to Hannibal despite never deliberately taking a step down the path he now stood at the end of. Maybe he had known, at least to a degree, that his friend’s feelings towards him had been more than conventional. The crooked scar across his abdomen could tell him that. It was as if every sign and hint had been completely obscured until then… or maybe Will had purposely obscured them.

He had let Hannibal go where no one else could step foot; Hannibal was allowed to look behind the curtain, to see Will’s mind without any barriers. Did Will know then? 

He realized Hannibal’s true nature while behind bars and yet his only issue was that the killer used him as a scapegoat, not that the killer had killed. Did he know then?

He dined at Hannibal’s table under the guise of the person Hannibal clearly wanted him to be. Did he know then?

Of course, these instances don’t really clue to Hannibal being in love. Will had been the one making questionable decisions in those situations. Those decisions indicated a certain… fondness on his end. This realization made Will pause, swallowing thickly. Was Will- Did he… share Hannibal’s sentiment? Part of him was saying that was obvious. Trips to Europe and certain corpses lying mere feet from him just then gave that away completely. 

But of course, that made this so much harder to do. A stab of guilt pierced his heart and he bit down on his tongue to quiet his discomfort. He relaxed in the psychiatrist's arms, fighting back a sob when he felt Hannibal do the same. He took a deep breath and tipped them both off of the cliff. All it took was a gentle redistribution of his weight and they were suspended over the sea, plummeting at a concerning speed. Hannibal didn’t say anything, nor did he fight back. His arms remained wrapped around Will, as if to say that he understood. The two men just held each other tighter and Will braced himself before they hit the water.

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The gravel of the driveway crunched beneath Jack’s feet as he approached the house. The sound of it seemed to be replaced by words that had been spoken to him many years ago. Waves of conversations with Alana, Katz, Hannibal, and even Will himself were filling the empty spaces of his skull. He knew, He knew that something was off with Will when he left. There was something in the man’s eyes that gave away his guilt, but Jack had said nothing. Jack had assumed he was overthinking. He pulled Will from a happy life with a happy family only to throw him back into the viper pit that was interacting with Hannibal Lecter. Whatever he was about to find would be his own fault, wouldn’t it?

His thoughts were interrupted by an officer from the local department stepping forward to show him to the front of the house. Once he had stepped inside, an unnamed forensic called for Jimmy Price and Brian Zeller to come back inside the house. They didn’t greet Jack with their usual mild and cheery demeanors. Jimmy’s eyes hadn’t left his feet and Zeller seemed to find a spot on the wall more captivating than the task at hand.

“So,” Jack prompted, his voice leaving his throat in a rougher state than he intended. He cleared his throat before he continued, “what’s the damage?”

Jimmy grimaced and looked away, leaving Zeller to do the introductions. 

“Well… it might be easier to explain if we do a walk through,” Zeller offered reluctantly, knowing Jack would take the situation hard. He headed towards a bedroom to their right with Jack and Jimmy in tow. He gestured vaguely to the on suite bathroom and the folded jumpsuit on the bed as he repeated his and Jimmy’s findings. “We can assume that Hannibal showered and changed, Will did too if you look into the guest bedroom across the hall. Then they had dinner,” he headed out into the dining room and pointed towards the kitchen, “not sure what… or who… they had just yet.” There was an uncomfortable silence after Zeller stopped talking. It was quite obvious that everyone was desperately trying not to think of the man they considered a friend eating what used to be a person with the man that killed their coworker… the man that had murdered the ever-witty Beverly Katz.

Since Jimmy could handle awkward silence the worst out of the three of them, he decided to continue where Zeller left off. “They were about to have a glass of wine,” he nodded in the direction of the shattered glass that littered the floor, “but a surprise visitor interrupted them.” He stepped through one of the broken windows and stood next to Francis Dolarhyde’s body. “There was a fight, Dolarhyde dropped here, and we don’t know where they are now.”

“Well,” Zeller interjected, “we know where they went…” He pointed to the trail of blood that led to the cliff face. “We have no way of knowing if they’re alive or not.”

Jimmy shrugged and said, “we can only guess the extent of their injuries, but there’s a chance they would have survived the fall.”

“Not a big chance,” Zeller scoffed, crossing his arms.

“It’s a sizable chance!”

“Twenty percent is not ‘sizable’...”

“Twenty-eight percent, actually, and-”

“Enough!” Jack’s booming voice echoed off of the pavement and the side of the house. “If there’s a chance they lived, there’s a chance they’ll take more lives. Tell me something that’ll actually help me find them.”

Jimmy and Zeller fell silent, their expressions both exuding a sense of overall unease. They didn’t have anything that could help find Hannibal or Will, but they did have a video camera. Once they get whatever footage was left on there, maybe something will surface. This information didn’t make Jack any happier, but it sure didn’t fill him with more dread so he took it as a positive. 

He excused himself from the group, instructing them to keep working, and headed back to the front of the house. The gravel was poking up against his soles enough that he could almost feel it through his shoes. Maybe he just needed new shoes… The pair he was wearing was from back before Bella-

He stopped that thought from getting any further. It still pained him to think of Bella, and he couldn’t handle any more guilt just then. Of course, knowing who he had to call, he was sure he wasn’t escaping any of the guilt he deserved. He took a moment to psyche himself up for what would most likely be the lecture of a lifetime.

Dr. Alana Bloom was the first person, other than Jack Crawford, to know about Hannibal’s initial escape from the transport vehicle. She promptly fled to an undisclosed location, her wife and son at her side. She had a strong proclivity to wariness, especially when it came to Hannibal Lecter… and Will Graham. Dr. Bloom knew she was living on borrowed time and she wasn’t interested in returning that time at any point in the near- or far- future.

Because of this, it was perfectly understandable for her outrage to be at such a velocity as it was when Jack Crawford called. Of course, she tried to be courteous and remain calm.

“Jack,” She said once she had answered his call. Her voice was dripping with faux politeness. “Please, tell me you’ve called to let me know that my family and I fled our home for no reason and that you have Hannibal Lecter in custody.”

Jack Crawford’s silence was the first of many things to set her rage in motion. From just a second of hesitation, she already knew what Jack was about to inform her of. The man cleared his throat before finally admitting to what Alana suspected.

“No, Alana, that’s not why I’ve called. We’ve recovered Dolarhyde’s body at a cliff-side house that Hannibal owned. We don’t know where Will and Han-”

“You know for sure that Will was with him?”

“... yes, we’re certain.”

“How do you know?”

“Clothes, a meal set for two, a body with evidence of at least two attackers… I could go on,” he sighed, listing off the things he learned mere minutes ago as if he was an expert on them.

“Clothes? What do you mean clothes?”

“I mean, both Hannibal and Will changed into clothing that was stored at the house and left their old clothes behind.”

Alana fell silent, biting her tongue to keep herself from falling back into ‘I-told-you-so’s. At that moment, Morgan ran into the room, shrieking excitedly. Margot wasn’t far behind him, a large grin on her face. She scooped up the small boy in her arms, teasing him with a cheerful, “I got you!” 

Crawford fell silent as well, hearing the sounds of Alana’s family interrupting. He assumed Alana wasn’t interested in discussing these topics in front of her son. For once in his life, Jack was right. Alana’s expression softened and she smiled bittersweetly in the direction of Margot and Morgan. Margot paused to give her a concerned nod and carried their son back to wherever he had escaped from. Once the noises of childhood innocence had faded into the background, she returned her attention to Jack and his disappointing news.

“Alana, I understand that you’re upset and I-”

“Upset? Jack, upset doesn’t even begin to cover it,” She snapped harshly. “From the beginning of this whole ordeal, from the first time you looped Will into your world, I told you it was a bad idea. I told you!”

“You’re the one that suggested Dr. Lecter in the first place!”

“Right, it’s completely my fault he wasn’t keen on people knowing he was a goddamn cannibal…”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“Then what do you mean, Jack? I’ll take the blame for not being a fucking psychic but you are the reason Will was able to get as close to Hannibal as he did. Hannibal wouldn’t have been given the opportunity to escape yesterday if you could have had the common sense to say no to Will’s plan, especially knowing the nature of his and Hannibal’s relationship!” Alana’s tone had fallen into a bitter exasperation. Jack didn’t see merit in replying in that moment; he didn’t know what to say. After a few moments of Alana seething silently, he finally spoke up.

“Alana, I’m sorry I-”

“Great, Jack, I’m glad you’re humble enough to apologize,” She mused sarcastically. “Call me back when you’ve actually caught them, alright?”

Before Crawford could even recollect himself, the monotonous sound of the dial tone was droning in his ear. He sighed, defeated and regretful, before pulling up the next contact on his phone. Unfortunately, his calls would never be answered and he wouldn’t see who he was trying to contact until their corpse was in front of him.

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Five hours earlier, Will’s eyelids snapped apart and he leaned over, his esophagus burning as salt water was harshly pushed out of his lungs. He coughed, gently holding his throat, and tried to get his bearings. Hannibal Lecter was kneeling at his side, having just resuscitated the previously-lifeless ex-criminal profiler. Once his coughing fit had passed, Will laid back down against the chilled sand. His gaze remained linked with Hannibal’s, only breaking once Will let his eyes fall closed as he took a deep breath.

“You tried to take my life,” Hannibal’s voice broke the silence, sounding rough and exhausted. “I believe that was… the fourth attempt?”

Will remained silent. He knew that, deep down, he hadn’t wanted Hannibal to die. The only life he meant to take was his own. But, clearly, that plan had failed.

“If I didn’t know any better,” the doctor continued, amused, “I’d suspect you don’t actually find me interesting”

A chuckle forced itself past Will’s lips, despite his best efforts, and he finally opened his eyes again. His gaze was met with the sight of Hannibal smiling gently and good-naturedly. 

As he sat up he croaked a feeble assurance, “Believe me, doctor, I find nothing more interesting than I find you.”

“Not to be redundant, Will, but our soaked clothes suggest otherwise…”

“You being interesting does not mean you’re immune to attempts on your life, Hannibal,” Will replied in a lighthearted tone. “Besides, doesn’t it keep you entertained?”

Hannibal, his face reflecting Will’s sly demeanor, opened his mouth to reply but he was interrupted by approaching footsteps. His gaze snapped to the source of the noise, tensing as he did so. However, his shoulders quickly relaxed and his expression softened.

“Chiyoh,” He hummed, pleased. “I had expected you sooner.”

The woman glanced at Will, who had whipped around the second he had heard her approach as well, and coldly replied, “The car is ready.”

Will turned his attention back to Hannibal, confusion and suspicion creeping onto his features. He was looking for an explanation but his companion gave him none. Hannibal merely thanked Chiyoh and rose to his feet. She began to walk away, headed in the direction Will assumed ‘the car’ she had mentioned was in. When Will focused on Hannibal again, the doctor’s hand was extended towards Will. He took it without a second thought, groaning as Hannibal tugged him to his feet. Due to how injured the two of them were, they found it necessary to lean against one another as they followed after Chiyoh.

The gunman tugged the back door open and moved to the driver’s seat, her movements eerily fluid as usual. Will let his attention retreat into his mind and focus on his thoughts. Unfortunately, his thoughts were about as bleak as the tumbling sea Hannibal had dragged him from, only filled with a lot more regret and confusion. He regretted… well, that list was far too long to go over then. For the time being, he tried to focus on his most recent regrets. He glanced at the man sitting next to him. Hannibal seemed to be completely consumed by observing the passing pine trees outside his window. 

Will turned to look outside his own window and fell back into his thoughts. He… had most definitely missed Hannibal. He missed the evening dinners preceded by pseudo-therapy sessions in the doctor’s home office. He missed the subtle jokes they had shared and the complete understanding of one another. But the realization of how much Will had missed Hannibal didn’t stop him from regretting going with him. After Europe and nearly losing his face, he had focused on healing himself; repairing his morality over the three years he hadn’t seen Hannibal. He had fallen back into old, malicious habits within just a day of being around the man again. 

Will’s train of thought made its way to Molly and his jaw clenched. He loved Molly, he really did. But what he had become, especially now, wasn’t something that should be around Molly. He had a feeling she would get hurt if he continued living the way he had before the appearance of the red dragon. After all, she was currently lying in a hospital because of Will and the work he did. It would be painful to wake up every morning without her by his side. He wouldn’t be making breakfast with her in the morning or joking about their dogs’ anatomy. She wouldn’t be there to help him back into reality by drying his tears when he woke from the nightmares. His heart twinged at that realization and he closed his eyes, hoping to block out the pain. 

     Hannibal’s thoughts weren’t nearly as conflicted as Will’s. In fact, they were quite nearly the opposite. Hannibal had officially decided that the three years of incarceration he endured were completely worth it. He watched the elegant pine trees flicker by and he smiled to himself. Killing Francis Dolarhyde with Will was… ineffable. He started to understand why people were so entranced by religion; by their idea of God. If Will were a deity, Hannibal wouldn’t hesitate to worship him. The sight of Will, face painted in his own blood and the hands of death reflected in his eyes, was the most sacred image he had seen in his entire life. It had reminded him of the first time he had taken a life for a reason beyond vengeance; it reminded him of the power that had awakened in him. He saw that power in Will’s eyes on the day that Garrett Jacob Hobbs died in his own kitchen. He saw it when he came home to find a corpse on his table and a bloody-knuckled Will standing beside it. It was in Will at the Verger estate and it was in Will when he first visited Hannibal from behind the glass. Each time he was granted a glimpse of that look, that realization, in Will, it had grown stronger. Now it was ready to finally be set free.

    Within thirty minutes, Chiyoh had pulled the car up to a secluded cabin and turned the engine off. Without a word, she stepped out of the car. Hannibal and Will moved to leave the vehicle as well, but they paused when they realized that their hands were still linked together from the moment Hannibal had helped Will to his feet on the beach. The two men stared down at their entwined fingers for a moment, Will with an expression of puzzled embarrassment and Hannibal appearing curious and pleased. Once Will and Hannibal brought their gazes up to one another, Will hastily let go of his companion’s hand and stepped out of the car. Hannibal remained inside the vehicle for a moment afterward, his gaze cast downwards and a flicker of disappointment crossing his features.

     Once he had finally left the vehicle, he stood on the front deck of the cabin with Chiyoh while Will headed inside. Once he was certain Will was out of ear shot, he turned his head slowly to look at her. Her gaze remained focused on the horizon, scanning the trees with her usual melancholy expression. A songbird cried out from the treetops, catching Hannibal’s attention.

     “I’ve done all I can for you, Hannibal,” Chiyoh murmured softly, still looking out at the forest around them. “This is the last time I will help you.” The gentleness of her voice held an obscure, sinister tone to it. Hannibal raised his brow and turned to her once more, a surprised smile on his face.

“Where will you go, now that you’re free?”

“I will never be free,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Memories and patterns will still dance in my head. But I can free myself in the ways Will Graham cannot.”

“You do not find solace in the power one has when they take a life. You only ever kill when you see it as absolutely necessary,” he hummed, his smile softening. “You never did change quite as much as any other, Chiyoh. You’ve stayed true to your nature; you didn’t adapt it despite your hardship.”

Chiyoh neglected to reply, choosing instead to stare at her feet. “By hardship, you mean yourself, don’t you?” She hummed, more of a correction than a question.

“I’d wish you luck on your path to freedom if I wasn’t confident you’ll be fine without it,” he chuckled. “Your resiliency is astonishingly strong.”

“Goodbye, Hannibal.” She looked at him, conflicting expressions twisting her features, for a moment longer. Hannibal nodded once and she stepped off of the porch and headed into the line of trees. Hannibal watched her silhouette disappear until she was completely obscured by the forest and it’s tangled arms. He took one last deep breath of the sharp, pine-filled air.

By the time Hannibal entered the cabin, Will had explored the first room quite thoroughly, taking note of every detail. To the left of the door was a comfortable living area, complete with a large and rustic stone fireplace nestled into the far corner. The furniture was either upholstered with a dark, nearly black, brown leather or it was composed of polished wood of the same hue. Will had walked over to the fireplace, sliding a finger across the mantle and smiling at the thin layer of dust resting there. He almost felt triumphant that for once Hannibal wasn’t perfectly maintaining something he owned. 

The mantle had various framed pictures and wood carvings on it, each of which caught Will’s eye. They were pictures of lakes and carvings of wolves. His heart grew lighter when he realized why Hannibal had decorated so very out of character. Hannibal had tried to create some semblance of Will’s home within his extravagant aesthetics. 

Above the fireplace, a watercolor painting of a human heart, submerged in water and suspended on a fish hook, was hung in a dark frame. It was beautiful, though morbidly so. Could Will have expected anything different from the Chesapeake Ripper? He smiled fondly, amused, and sat down on the sofa.

     He turned his head to observe the right half of the room, which had been consumed by a kitchen and dining area. It was reminiscent of Hannibal’s home and for a moment it reminded Will of a time he’d prefer to forget. The scar across his stomach throbbed and he swallowed thickly. Luckily, that moment had been interrupted by Hannibal’s entrance.

The doctor stayed motionless at the door, just watching Will with seemingly no intention of moving. Will had stood up when he heard the door and was now practically a mirror image of Hannibal. They observed each other with a silent sense of contentment and awe. So much had changed in the past few hours, and the minds of the two men were still trying to catch up. 

As Will’s exhaustion started to wear off, the dull throbbing of his wounds became more apparent. His discomfort must have shown because Hannibal’s brows drew together in concern. Will looked down at his bloodied hands and asked, “you don’t happen to have a first aid kit, do you?” An amused grin tugged at his lips despite the gaping wound in his cheek.

“There is a suture kit below the sink,” Hannibal replied, almost absentmindedly. 

Will nodded sharply and headed to the kitchen. He opened the dark cabinet below the sink, ducking his head to look inside. He crouched down to retrieve the cabinet’s only contents, a tin box and a bottle of clear liquid that Will assumes was some form of rubbing alcohol. Hannibal had followed him into the kitchen area, washing his hands at the sink once Will had stepped away from it.

“Set those on the table, please,” he instructed with a steady and seemingly cheerful tone. Will obliged and took a seat, watching Hannibal finish washing his hands. The doctor had smiled more in the past two days than he had nearly the entire time Will had known him. It was… endearing? Will wasn’t sure why exactly, but it certainly made Will smile nearly just as often. Hannibal’s good mood seemed contagious.

The doctor walked over to the table and opened up the tin box, laying out suturing tools and supplies in an organized manner. He gestured vaguely towards the table and hummed, “if you wouldn’t mind, Will?”

“You want me to lay on the table?” Will almost laughed as a mocking expression of fake severity settled onto his face. “You aren’t going to try to eat me again, are you, because I thought we were passed that…”

Hannibal chuckled and shook his head. He grinned at the younger man and hummed, “No, it just would make tying sutures easier if you were laying on a table.”

Will nodded, a silent ‘I know, I know,’ being spoken through his expression. He sat on the edge of the table before turning and laying on his back, head just a few inches from the supplies Hannibal had set out. Hannibal gently tucked a rolled dish towel beneath Will’s skull to support it. He was closing his eyes, listening to the ambient sounds of the forest clouding the noise of Hannibal opening up the rubbing alcohol and starting to clean Will’s cheek. 

The younger man sucked in a sharp breath between his now-clenched teeth. He opened his eyes again and looked up at Hannibal, watching his expressions change as his level of focus varied. The doctor then picked up a pair of tweezers and removed any foreign material from the wound, causing more irritation as the debris was pulled through damaged tissue.

He moved on, preparing the remaining tools in the kit to be able to sew up Will’s cheek. Hannibal paused before pushing the needle through Will’s flesh, first warning him of the amount of pain this would most likely cause. Of course, warning someone won’t make it hurt less so Will still flinched and hissed a few expletives.

“If you stay still, this will be much easier”

“Oh my god, you’re right,” Will said, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “Why didn’t I think of that!”

Hannibal’s movements stilled and he shot a displeased and unimpressed glare at Will before muttering, “well, there’s no need to be rude…” 

“I thought you said you weren’t going to eat me,” Will joked. “Are you saying the whole laying-on-the-table thing really isn’t for making stitches easier?”

The struggle of suppressing his chuckle showed quite clearly on Hannibal’s face. He had to stop for a moment, his head turning to the side and his eyes closing, before his composure was completely regained. He finished tying Will’s sutures without another word, still trying to hide how amusing he had found his companion’s antics. 

Will grinned up at Hannibal triumphantly and they remained frozen in the high of amusement and contentment for a moment longer. Will’s expression softened as he became distracted by the way the sunlight was illuminating Hannibal’s irises. His mind began to wander, studying the components of Hannibal’s eyes; from their biological makeup to why Hannibal learned to hide his emotions behind them. He didn’t realize he had spaced off until Hannibal had said his names a couple times, making him blink and shake his head back and forth.

“Sorry, I- what were you saying?”

“Your shoulder, Will,” Hannibal answered softly. “You’ll need to remove your shirt for me to be able to work freely.”

“Right, right,” Will hummed in reply and sat up, trying to remove his shirt without making the stab wound hurt too much. Why was he always getting hurt in the shoulder? A rotator cuff injury, Jack shooting him, then Chiyoh shooting him, and this time getting stabbed… at least it wasn’t just the one shoulder, though. He probably would have lost more mobility if some of the wounds hadn’t been received by his opposite shoulder.

As he pulled his shirt away from his wound, he noticed that it peeled away rather than simply sliding off of him. Will’s partially-dried blood had glued the shirt to his skin. It probably would have been more disgusting to him if his years assisting the FBI hadn’t utterly desensitized him. After seeing mushrooms growing from the skin of corpses, he wasn’t sure he’d ever find anything nearly as disgusting.

Hannibal worked considerably slower this time, his touch seemingly lingering more often than before. Will was unsure of whether it was because Hannibal’s own wounds were starting to exhaust him or if... Either way, it didn’t matter. He had never been uncomfortable with physical contact from Hannibal. Which, now that he was thinking about it, was almost odd.

Will had always felt an aversion to being touched since he was fairly young. It had always felt so overwhelming, especially when coupled with his tendency to get lost in the details of his surroundings and the intensity of his empathy. 

The final suture being tied pulled him away from his train of thought and back to reality. Hannibal was sanitizing the supplies and laying them back out in the organized manner he had before. 

“This will be,” Hannibal paused, trying to choose the right words to say, “challenging, but I have confidence in your abilities, Will.”

Will raised an eyebrow and an expression of confused intrigue settled onto his features. Hannibal gestured for Will to get off of the table, which Will did, before taking his place and rolling up the hem of his shirt to expose the gunshot on his stomach. Will’s face fell.

“Hannibal, I don’t think I can-“

“There’s no internal bleeding as I am still fully conscious,” Hannibal interrupted in a reassuring tone. “All that I need you to do is make sure the wound is sterilized and bandaged. It’s a relatively small wound, you will do fine.”

“But-”

Hannibal reached out and grabbed Will’s hand. He tugged him closer and rested his free hand on the uninjured side of Will’s face. Will’s words died in his throat and he merely stared at Hannibal, brows twisted into a concerned and anxious expression. Hannibal continued reassuring him, softly saying, “My dear boy, you’ve no reason to worry. If it helps, this isn’t going to be a permanent solution to our wounds.”

Will swallowed thickly and looked down at his feet, nodding slowly. Hannibal’s hands drew away after tentatively brushing a stray curl from Will’s forehead. Will rolled up his sleeves and made quick work of washing his hands. He returned to the table and gently picked up the rubbing alcohol, turning it in his hand. Will’s eyes lifted from the label to meet Hannibal’s.

“You sure you trust me to do this?”

“I trust you with my life, William.”

“Bad move on your part,” he mumbled.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 >> Chapter 2<<

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

OT3FIC: Irish Wolfhound

4 - calm knife wolf

Will had noticed something very strange about the pair after a few months. It had taken a while for him to pick it up and really see how different it was to their other behavior, but as soon as he’d seen it he couldn’t unsee how they acted around Jo’s massively huge beast of a dog.

He had always known that Jo was a dog person, ever since the first time they met and Winston of all dogs had laid his head on her thigh. Clearly, something about her spoke to canines in and uncanny way that Will dreamt of achieving.She had a way with them, the ability to calm and soothe as well as excite and energize them. She always took the time to bend down and pet and cuddle and rub whichever noses, heads and bellys were presented to her every time she visited and then subsequently every time she came home after their worlds had shifted into the one space. She always made dog-friendly cupcakes and even had baked a dog-appropriate carrot cake for Buster’s birthday. Will had noticed her snooping in his medical records for each of his babys and was thoroughly expecting that there would be more carrot cakes from here on out. Jo was just a dog person.

He had also recognized very quickly that despite Grey’s love of the animals and affection for them. They very rarely held the same in return for him. It had been three months to get to the point his own dogs wouldn’t growl at the shadow’s presence, and the most adventurous - Minxy the dalmatian cross - had finally moved towards actually willingly allowing herself to be pet by the shadow. And only after Nana and their other dog had been brought by a while back and Minxy watched the way the shadow and the Bernese mountain dog interacted. Grey was always so patient with Will’s dogs, he’d noticed that immediately, and never once tried to touch them without their initiating the cuddles - in stark contrast to the way Jo practically fell upon them the moment she saw them every time. He was considerate in a way that Hannibal, Jack and even Alana had never managed from Will’s perspective. Grey wished he was a dog person.

Both of those could have been construed as mostly normal and totally fine behavior - nothing out of the ordinary or weird at all when Will would watch them interacting with the canine portion of his family - but the way they interacted with Jo’s other dog was borderline insanity.

Will had noticed it when he overheard Grey asking Amon how he felt about spending some time at the farm after Will has suggested they come stay for a week during the break in his lectures. The way Grey had tilted his head and nodded and thanked the giant, wolf-like dog for his opinion as if the animal had responded. Will had noticed it when Jo was taken four full sized steaks out of the freezer to defrost and then given a whole steak to the ginormous beast of a dog without giving any such benefits to the rest; and then made a joke to the dog that he was very lucky she found a fourth one for him.

It came to a head for him though when he and Jo had gone out actually hunting that morning for deer or rabbits or whatever they happened to come across; and she had stilled his hand from drawing a knife in defense upon coming upon what looked like the hulking form of a wolf over the body of a doe they had shot in their sights over twenty minutes ago and they had been stalking since.

“Will! No! It’s fine!” Jo’s voice cut over him and Will did not hold back at all the pressing need to protect her, pulling the fighting blonde in close to him before twisting to place himself between her and the snuffling wolf’s form. It was truly large for it’s species, a hulking black amount of fur as it’s tail slashed in warning through the air. “Will!”

“Jo, shh.” He hissed the words into her ear as he kept a fixed eye upon the wolf as it began to shift and turn it’s attention onto them rather than the downed doe. Jo’s shot had been better than Will’s despite Garrett Jacob Hobbs’ encouragement as he’d lined up his own shot, and the ground below it was slowly begun to grow red from the thick arterial blood pumping out in slowing pulses. Will didn’t notice any of that other than the way the wolf turned it’s snarling muzzle towards them and the unearthly yellow to it’s eyes. “Now, we’re going to have to step quietly bac- Jo!”

Will’s cry cut through and echoed through the woodland they had been stalking through as the blonde roughly shoved her way past him towards the beast. She was too kind, too trusting, too fearless, too- affectionate? Jo was standing beside it, a hand out stretched in a way that Will felt should have been shaking violently from anyone else before the wolf batted it away with a massive paw.

He watched on in surprise as the wolf sat back on it’s haunches as it dropped it’s paw and stared at her - eyes on a level with her own as she stood before it as it blinked it’s eerie yellow eyes at her. Jo for her part seemed completely nonplussed by the observation as she nodded to the mammoth creature before turning her attention and her precious and unguarded back to it as she squatted down near the downed doe and smiled. Her fingers were red when they pulled back from the animal’s neck with a soft smile.

“Jo.” “It seems to have died from the blood loss-” “Jo!” “-which I guess is a slightly nicer death than mauled by a wolf-” “Jo!” “- on which point, I didn’t know you were goin’ to be out here today. Work all finished for the day?”

Will felt his eyes get wider and wider the more Jo talked as the large form rose back to it’s feet and began padding around her and the catch with far too much focus in it’s eyes for Will’s comfort. The last words she said however sounded like complete gibberish, and he felt his mouth twisting into a confused scowl as her eyes moved from the doe to the wolf without once acknowledging the person she was talking to. And the entire idea he’d been at work when all he’d done that day was wake up to the shadow’s mouth around his cock and the sound of running water from Jo’s showering, made them all bacon and eggs while Grey’d showered and said he had planned to do some painting along the creek that day, and helped Jo pack up the few hunting rifles for their planned game hunting day seemed nonsensical. “Jo...” The man hissed the name out again, eyes alert and hands readying to raise his gun towards the beast as he moved as quietly and gently as possible not to spook it.

“Oh my god, Will, shut up, I’m havin’ a conversation here!” Jo snapped the words back with a roll of her eyes as she rose upright and wiped the blood off on her leg and seemed unphased at all as the wolf lent towards her thigh to sniff at the mark. Will found himself aiming the end of the rifle into the thick mass of fur before the other hunter let out a frustrated sound and appeared to lunge from where she was. Not towards the wolf, or away from the wolf, or anything that would make sense to him, but towards the end of his rifle, pointing it skywards. “Will, you can’t fuckin’ aim at Amon!”

“Amon?! That’s not Amon.” “Sure it is.” “No, it’s really not, now get back here quickly.” “Will, it really is. I swear.” “No, that’s a giant wolf and it is going to eat you like out of a fairy tale.” “It’s Amon, Will. You’ve only ever seen him sitting down from afar!”

Jo’s voice had gotten shriller and shriller the more they bickered as her hands had wrapped around the rifle and she had fought to keep the barrel pointing upwards even as the wolf seemed to double back towards her open back with a speculative, cunning look Will knew that such wild animals possessed. Will found himself dropping the gun and his hand going for his knife again before the blonde’s own hands had dropped the other end of the gun and caught his arms up in hers before he could reach it. 

There was a long, silent moment between them before the inevitable happened. Jo laughed, as she always did, and shook her head as she drew his hands towards her instead.

“Will, it’s Amon, I swear.”

The empath ran an eye carefully over the hulking size as the wolf’s lips had pulled back into a threatening snarl at the movement of the gun and appeared to be sizing him up himself as Jo spoke. Will felt like he was staring at a completely different creature, right until the wolf appeared to almost sigh - a thought that Will would need to revisit later - and sat back down on it’s back legs before laying down as the big, dark dog always did, and looked up at him in a mix of what Will somehow knew was frustration and annoyance. The size seemed so much smaller all of a sudden in the lowered position, and the dangerous pull of it’s muzzle seemed less threatening and more passive even if nothing had changed. The horrifying black wolf with the golden eyes which Will hoped would not appear in his dreams that night, seemed to suddenly click in his mind with the same giant if aloof black dog that followed Jo and Grey around on occasion.

“But why do you own a wolf, Jo?” Will found himself staring back at the wolf with a newfound concern and realization that he did not know nearly as much as he thought he had. “How on earth did you end up with a wolf following you around?”

“Oh, babe, we have so much to talk about.”  Jo’s voice was tinged with such amusement as she caught his hands back up, and let out a crisp laugh to match the crisp, cold air that surrounded them and bounced back at him and haunted out from them like a ghost through the dark trunks of the trees around them. It was joined as Will caught up to his thoughts but what almost sounded like a laughed growl from the massive black wolf, it’s golden eyes still focused entirely on him as Will let out a nervous laugh in return - the calm from the hunt returning as the fear faded away.

[zoemurph]

to have a friend, chapter two: $40

on ao3 1

here we are again. hope everyone had a good october, mine was....something. sorry if the writing style/tone changes a bit throughout, i basically wrote this in two sittings, just two sittings with a month between them

warning: discussions of mental health, mentions of suicide/suicide attempts, suicidal thoughts, let me know if other warnings need to be added

enjoy!

Connor is starting to run out of places in town where he can be alone without someone in his family finding him. Zoe is a little too perceptive and his mother has eyes everywhere. It’s kind of creepy and Connor’s sick of it.

Still, they’ve yet to find him at the old elementary school playground so far. Maybe it’s because the playground is hidden behind the school and is surrounded on two sides by tall trees. Or just because it’s in the rundown part of town, abandoned until the town can think of something better to do with a building almost as old as the town itself.

Connor is pretty sure people have broken into the school before. There are definitely serious drug deals that take place under the biggest tree on the edge of the fields. But mostly it’s just empty.

Connor’s been here before to smoke. Yeah, he’s been the creepy teenager smoking on the swingset at three in the morning before. Who the fuck cares, no one comes by here to get him in trouble. But more often then not, he just comes here to think.

He sits on a swing and holds onto the rusting chains and just stares at his knees and thinks. Or dissociates. Or both. He can’t tell anymore.

It’s been a fucking day. He definitely hadn’t planned getting yelled at by Evan Hansen into his schedule.

For one, he didn’t think Evan had it in him. For another… Connor doesn’t actually know what he’d been expecting when he sat down in the computer lab instead of going to last period. Maybe that one thing in his life would be easy. He could apologize to Evan or something and they could maybe slowly make it seem like they were drifting apart or something.

Connor doesn’t know how friends work. It’s been years since he had a real one.

And Evan isn’t even a real one.

He walks the swing in circles, twisting the chains together until he can’t twist anymore, then lifts his feet from the ground. He lets his toes drag along the ground as he spins in slow circles, the chains groaning as they untwist.

He can still hear Evan’s voice in his mind, shouting at him.

I just jumped out of a fucking tree!

He tried to backtrack so quickly. Take back the truth he’d released to the world. But Connor saw it. There had been a moment of clarity.

That was Evan Hansen.

That singular moment of honesty says more about Evan Hansen more than he will ever say about himself. He’s awkward, anxious to a fault, and suicidal. He looks at the world and he doesn’t see a future. He sees in grays and muddled tones and doesn’t see something worth fighting for.

Or maybe that’s just Connor projecting.

The swing dips a little as it stops untwisting, moving back and forth with the remaining momentum. Sometimes, sitting on these swings, he feels like a little kid. Mostly he just feels out of place.

But it’s better than home. Home, where he has no bedroom door. Home, where his mom is desperate for him to get better but doesn’t know how to help. Home, where his father doesn’t want to face the facts or him. Home, where his sister has given up.

Home, which is a building and not much more.

Connor closes his eyes and rests his head against the old chain. Childhood doesn’t feel real anymore. It’s hard to believe he was a little kid. That he was happy. That he constantly didn’t feel like shit.

His entire life has been overshadowed and stained by his present. He wishes he’d been able to wipe it out— that he’d been able to wipe him out.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Only twice. A text.

His other only calls. She leaves frantic voicemails and voicemails with forced cheer. Nothing else.

No one else contacts him.

Connor sighs and opens his eyes. The sky is starting to get dark already. As it gets closer to winter, night comes faster and god he can’t wait for the darkness to just swallow him whole.

Dramatic depressing stuff like that.

His phone buzzes in his pocket again. He leans away from the chain to pull his phone from his pocket. He squints at the overly bright screen as his eyes adjust.

From: (522) 114-8119 To: Connor      Im s o soryr I shoulnd t have  yelled a t you or said thos e things      And IM s orry that I ran out and tha t happend a dn

Connor stares at the screen. A few moments later, he gets another text.

From: (522) 114-8119 To: Connor      Cna  we talk tomorro w      After sc hool computer lba      IMs or y I can ttype righ tnow

Connor hesitates, fingers hovering over the screen. Part of him forgot he gave Evan his number. Part of him thought Evan would never try to contact him ever again.

From: Connor To: (522) 144-8119      its fine      and ok      ill see you there

—«·»—

Connor slams the front door to announce that he’s home. He doesn’t bother actually using his voice, he’s tired and ready to just lay in bed and stop existing for a while.

“Don’t slam the door,” his father says from where he’s sitting on the couch, reading a newspaper.

Connor rolls his eyes. There are only so many doors he can slam in this house nowadays. He’s going to take advantage of what he can get.

His mom leans out from the kitchen, a smile plastered onto her face. She looks tired, even though she’s trying not to. Connor knows better. As the cause of most of her stress and frustration, he absolutely knows better. “How was your first day back, sweetie?” she asks. And she’s trying to be so excited for him.

Cynthia Murphy is attempting to hold her household together with pure faked optimism alone. She is the only positive force in the family, but it’s wrong and plastic.

Connor shrugs and makes his way toward the stairs.

“Answer your mother,” Larry says. Sort of mutters, sort of uninterested sounding, sort of irritating.

Connor stops on the bottom stair with his hand on the railing and turns to look at his mom. “It was whatever.”

“Is that all?” She twists a dishrag in her hands.

He sighs. She probably deserves more than that. “It was boring. Missed a lot. I’ve got homework. Probably going to fail out of math. Lunch is still shit—”

“Language,” Larry mutters.

“And the guidance counselor only talked to me for seventeen minutes this time.” Connor glances to his mom. “So yeah. It was okay.”

Cynthia smiles again, a little less forced. “I’m glad. I’ll call you for dinner, see what you can get done, okay?”

Connor nods.

He’d rather not deal with dinner.

—«·»—

“How’s Evan?” is this first question Cynthia asks when Connor sits down for dinner and puts half a spoonful of tonight’s vegetable of the day on his plate.

“He’s fine,” Connor mutters. He needs to end this conversation as fast as humanly possible.

“That’s wonderful, he seems like a nice boy.”

Larry hums in agreement and Connor tries not to grimace. Zoe just looks bored.

“He’s…cool.” Maybe vague compliments will work until his mom gets tired of this line of questioning.

“You’ve never told us about Evan,” she muses. “You aren’t even friends on Facebook!”

Connor’s brain goes into panic mode because oh shit. Of course Cynthia checked Facebook, that’s possibly one of the most predictable things she’s ever done. Which— fuck, Connor definitely should’ve seen this coming.

“People don’t use Facebook anymore, Mom,” Zoe says flatly, staring down at her plate.

Connor glances at her and then does a double take, gesturing to her. “That.”

Cynthia purses her lips. “I still use it.”

Zoe flicks her gaze to Connor before looking back to their mom. “You know what I mean.”

“I can ask him if he has one if you want me to,” Connor says, because if this conversation doesn’t end he’s going to come up with some sort of escape plan and he does not have a good track record with those.

Cynthia smiles and, god, does Connor feel guilty. This better be worth it in the long run.

Connor goes to school like he doesn’t have to drag himself out of bed and force himself into the car. He pretends he doesn’t hate Zoe’s music choices or notice that she stops more suddenly than she has to. He just grits his teeth and focuses on the cookie cutter houses they’re passing.

He hates the suburbs.

“I have rehearsal today,” Zoe says when she parks the car. “Figure out how to get home or wait.”

Connor rolls his eyes and slams the door harder than he knows he has to. “I’ll walk,” he grumbles.

The thing about high school is that it’s boringly and horribly constant. It’s also just fucking awful, but it’s mind numbing and dull. Even if Connor actually tried, and he can’t exactly remember the last time he did, he would not be having a good time.

He’s pretty sure the only people who have a good time in high school are the people whose lives will only go downhill from here and the people who are fucking lying to themselves.

The bells are piercing and make him grimace and the awful rotating yet standard schedule is one of the worst things to ever happen to him. He hates seeing the same people in the same space every single day. He can hear Alana Beck talking his ear off about the factory system and how the American education system creates people who follows rules more than anything else as she conformed to the system and followed all the rules back when they were sophomores in a boring, standard english class that left Connor feeling tired and bored.

He stalks down the hallway, glaring whenever anyone gets too close. One of the few perks of being known as the kid who may actually try to kill someone. People leave him the fuck alone.

The last time he really did homework was the end of sophomore year. All he has to do is not fail. And that doesn’t require doing homework.

If Connor tried, he could probably be a half decent student. But Zoe tries hard enough for the both of them and he would rather just get high.

At this point, his biggest problem in school is staying conscious through the whole thing.

He spends lunch in the library, hiding in a back corner where no one ever goes and pulls a random book off the shelves and reads about someone he’s never heard of until the bell rings and he forces himself to go back to a class that makes his eyes glaze over as people discuss readings that he absolutely did not do.

Connor finds himself getting almost anxious as the end of the day nears. He’s not sure why, sure Evan wants to talk, but it can’t be that bad. Evan holds the cards at the moment, but they’re both in this mess together. The worst Connor can think of is Evan bringing Kleinman and Kleinman being…himself.

Connor stalls in his last class for a few minutes while everyone clears out. His teacher ignores him to talk to a student that actually tries and once the hallways have cleared a bit, Connor gets up and takes the long way to the computer lab.

The long way is away from the school entrance, meaning the hallways are almost empty aside from a few laggers. No one wants to spend any more time in this hellhole than necessary. With it’s annoying posters and rows and rows of never ending lockers that no one ever uses. They’re pointless, just there for show and storing things kids aren’t supposed to have on school grounds.

When Connor pushes open the door to the computer lab, Evan Hansen is awkwardly standing in the middle of the room, gripping the straps of his backpack in his hands.

Connor raises his eyebrows at him. “Hey.”

Evan takes a shaky breath. “H-hi.”

“So.” Connor drops his back on the floor and kicks it closer to one of the tables. “You wanted to talk.”

“I-I wanted to apologize,” Evan says quickly, “for yesterday because I didn’t mean to— I shouldn’t have assumed or, like, implied that you were, I mean, that you wanted to—” He shakes his head. “That you were. Using me? That was— I was…confused by— confused because of, of the timing but that doesn’t mean it was…okay.”

Connor crosses his arms. “Yeah, well, if I kill myself it’s not going to be fucking performance art.”

Evan winces.

“If my family is going to mourn something they’re going to mourn actual me, not the me some stranger makes up because my mom thinks we’re buddies or something even though we aren’t even friends on Facebook.”

Evan frowns. “F-facebook?”

Connor waves a hand. “Never mind. The point is, I was using you. Just not…like that. I am using you. Currently. Present tense. If…you’re still in?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out another twenty dollar bill. He holds it out to Evan.

Evan stares at it. “Y-you still want to…to do this?”

“I have three choices,” Connor says. “One: we keep doing this and then slowly break it off. Two: we fake a big fight and never speak to each other ever again. Or three: I tell my parents it was a lie. Haven’t thought that one through yet.”

Evan chews on his bottom lip. “Okay.”

Connor raises an eyebrow. “You’re in?”

Evan nods.

“Good.” He walks over to Evan and shoves the money into his hand. He yanks his hand away and shoves it in his pocket before Evan can tell it’s shaking.

“W-why—?”

“It’s been a week,” Connor explains. “There’s your twenty. We agreed to that.”

Evan stares at the bill in the palm of his hand. “Um…right. Right. Do we,” he glances up at Connor, “are there…other rules? Or like? A plan or are we just…?”

“Winging it?” Connor suggests.

Evan makes a face. “Let’s— can we not do that? That sounds like a bad idea.”

“Okay fine. Rule number one, we don’t tell anyone else about this.” Connor gestures between the two of them. “If no one else knows, it’s easier to keep it a secret.”

Evan grimaces. “J-Jared will know.”

“What?”

“He— Jared can always tell when I’m lying, he’s-he’s really good at it. It’s…kind of scary, actually.”

Connor scowls. “Seriously? Are you that bad a liar?”

Evan shakes his head quickly. “We’ve just known each other— it’s been so long he can just…tell.”

Connor sighs. “Okay then. Can we trust Jared?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“We’re fucked.”

“I-I think…” Evan trails off.

“You think what?” Connor prompts.

Evan takes a breath. “I think…if we tell him an-and explain everything, we have a better chance of him keeping it a secret. Because then he— he’s included in it or something? Since he’ll figure it out anyway it might just be best to…to tell him right away.”

If someone has to know, Connor would not have chosen Jared Kleinman to be that person. But if he has to do it…

“Whatever,” Connor decides. “We swear him to secrecy and threaten to hurt him if he tells anyone.”

Evan tugs on his shirt. “Um…yeah th-that— okay.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “I won’t actually hurt him.”

“I knew that,” Evan mutters.

“We can come up with other rules on the fly,” Connor offers.

Evan opens his mouth and then closes it quickly.

“What?”

“I…” He shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

Connor groans. “It’s not nothing! Just tell me!”

“I don’t know anything about you!” Evan bursts out. “H-how do we—? We’re supposed to be best friends? How long have we been friends? What do we do when we hang out? What if people ask us questions?!”

Those are good points that Connor hadn’t considered because he’s been doing this on impulse. Obviously, Evan has thought this through a bit more. Connor runs a hand through his hair. “Are you free right now?”

“N-not right now,” Evan stutters. “Later tonight?”

“You still have my phone number?” Connor asks instead.

Evan nods.

“Text me when you’re free, we can figure stuff out then.” Connor moves to leave. “If…you’re cool with that?”

“Fine!” Evan says quickly.

Connor eyes him before shrugging and turning away. “Okay. I’ll see you later then.”

“Yeah…s-see you”

—«·»—

Connor walks home from school, because Zoe is at rehearsal for another hour and he’s a.) not hanging around school for that long and b.) not spending more time in the car with her than necessary. It takes a while and his mom is still somehow worried about him crossing a highway, but he doesn’t care. The walk is strangely nice. Kind of calming and gives him some time to think. Mostly about Evan Hansen.

Knowing his mother, they’re going to need a hell of a backstory. She likes to dig until she hits rock bottom. And then she pulls out a pick ax and starts swinging.

“I’m home!” he shouts as he throws open the front door. He closes it and waits for the usual “how was school, honey?” to come from the kitchen before he starts making his way up the stairs.

“It was fine,” he answers. “Doing homework.”

Connor didn’t think either of them believed that, but whatever. He threw his bag onto the floor and kicked off his shoes before flopping onto the bed.

Now he just has to wait for Evan.

—«·»—

Connor wakes up with a jerk when his phone starts buzzing repeatedly. He rolls onto his back and pulls his phone out of his pocket, squinting at the screen as his heart tries to calm down.

From: (522) 114-8119 To: Connor      Im hom e      Sorry if htis is a bad item for you

Connor changes the contact name from the number to Evan’s name before he responds.

From: Connor To: Evan      its fine im not doing anything      can i come over yours?

Connor glances around his room, eyes settling on the doorframe. They definitely can’t do this here. He hopes Evan is cool with them sitting in an abandoned playground if all else fails.

From: Evan To: Connor      Thats fine!!!      You need my address don t you that would probably be helplfu

He keeps laying in bed until Evan’s sent the address and Connor has found it on Google Maps. He can walk, it’s not too bad.

The world spins a little bit when he stands up from his bed, swaying and darkening as the blood rushes from his head.

Connor stumbles out of his room and down the stairs, figuring he probably doesn’t need to bring anything with him to Evan’s. All they’re going to do is talk.

He glances at the time. Hopefully his mom doesn’t care if he skips dinner tonight.

Connor takes a pit stop in the kitchen and steals an apple from the bowl on the island on his way to the front door.

“Dinner is soon,” Zoe says pointedly from where she’s leaning against the counters.

Connor ignores her. “I’m going over Evan’s,” he says to Cynthia.

She looks up from the frying pan in surprise. “You are?”

He shrugs and takes a bite of the apple. “Yeah we’re going to…” he should’ve thought of an excuse earlier, “play a video game. Or something.”

Cynthia claps her hands together. “That’s great! Have fun and let me know when you get there and when you’re on your way back, okay?” She presses a kiss to Connor’s cheek. “And make sure you eat!”

“I will,” Connor mumbles.

“You don’t even know him,” Zoe mutters.

Fuck. He should’ve known Zoe backing him up last night was an outlier. Connor glares at her and flips her off.

“Zoe, be nice,” Cynthia says firmly. “Text me when you get there, Connor.”

He nods and leaves before Zoe can make any more commentary. He can only hope she doesn’t press it while he isn’t there.

Connor eats his apple as he follows the directions on his phone. Evan’s house isn’t too far, but it’s already starting to get darker and this town is shit, so the streets aren’t exactly well lit.

He stands on a street corner and watches a truck go by with complete disregard for a stop sign before he crosses the street and turns onto Evan’s road.

Connor pauses outside the house that matches the number and description Evan gave. He sends a quick text as he walks up the walkway to the front door.

From: Connor To: Evan      outside what i think is your house      gonna knock

Connor knocks once before the door swings open. He blinks in surprise as Evan stares at him.

Connor clears his throat. “Hey…can I come in?”

Evan steps out of the way. “Y-yeah of course you can— just. Yeah, take off your shoes here that’s… You can do that.”

Connor steps inside and takes off his boots as Evan closes and locks the door. “Parents home?” he asks.

Evan shakes his head. “No my mom’s— she’s working late tonight. Long night.”

“Dad?” Connor asks absentmindedly as he drops his boots by Evan’s shoes.

He looks up when Evan doesn’t answer.

Evan is staring at the floor with his eyebrows furrowed, picking at his cast.

“Oh shit, I didn’t mean—”

“I-it’s fine,” Evan interrupts. “He’s not here. It’s just— just me and my mom.” Evan gestures down the hallway. “Let’s just— follow me.”

He leads Connor into a kitchen, smaller and older than the one in the Murphy household. There’s a twenty dollar bill sitting on the table and a pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

“I-I don’t have any—” Evan shakes his head. “I have money to order pizza if…you want.”

“Maybe in a bit.” Connor leans against the counter. “I uh…never apologized for taking that letter, did I?”

Evan laughs awkwardly. “N-not real— I mean it’s fine! It’s fine it’s, it’s not a big deal it’s just…”

“What?” Connor asks slowly. “What was it?”

Evan takes a deep breath and tugs on the hem of his shirt. “I-it was an assignment for— for therapy.”   

Connor raises his eyebrows. “You go to therapy?”

“Yeah? I, um, I have… severe anxiety?” Evan gestures to himself. “And depression but that’s kind of— to a lesser extent usually? But yeah. It’s um…the letter— it’s supposed to make me more positive about my day? Uh, dear Evan Hansen, today’s going t-to be a good day and here’s why…” He trails off and glances to the sink.

Connor hesitates before he says his next thought. “My parents… They thought it was a my suicide note.”  

Evan closes his eyes tightly and opens them. “Uh yeah well, I-I mean it’s…it’s supposed to be a positive thing but it’s— it’s almost never a good day? In fact it’s usually a very bad day and the first day of school was a— it wasn’t…There wasn’t much positive in it. And Zoe, I— The letter was— It wasn’t meant for you it was for this assignment. And Zoe is— after you, you know.” Evan gestures to Connor and Connor tries not to grimace.

“Zoe saw me and-and she talked to me and she’s— Ihavethisreallysillycrushonher which is silly because I don’t even know her! The letter says I don’t even know her cause I don’t, she’s just— she’s a girl who’s pretty and nice and she smiles a lot and she doesn’t seem bothered by anything.” Connor raises his eyebrows. “She seems to have herself figured out and that’s— she’s just a girl I see sometimes and I guess that’s—”

Evan ducks his head. “She saw me and she helped me up. That doesn’t happen. Not— not to me.”

Connor looks away. There are a lot of things to process in that and his mind doesn’t want to process any of them. His eyes land on the money on the table.

“What kind of pizza do you like?” Connor asks.

“W-what?”

Connor steps forward and picks up the bill. “Pizza,” he repeats. “What do you want? I’ll make the call.”

Evan blinks a few times. “Uh…cheese is fine?”

“Cool.” He pulls out his phone. “Let’s see how much food we can get for twenty bucks.”

Evan gives him a weak smile. “O-okay.”

Connor paces around the kitchen as he places the order at the pizza place. There are places in town where you can order online, but their sauce isn’t as good and their breadsticks are shitty. Once he’s hung up, he sits down at the table and gestures for Evan to do the same.

“You wanted to figure things out, right?” Connor asks, tapping his fingers on the table.

Evan nods.

“Let’s do this then.”

[junker-town]

Chennedy Carter is a future legend hiding in plain sight

Everything you need to know about the future WNBA star you’re not talking about.

When you’re watching Chennedy Carter play, it’s tempting to look up. She has, after all, averaged over 20 points a game since her freshman year playing in one of the toughest conferences in the NCAA, with shots from all over the court that tend to scrape the top of your TV.

Regular-season games take on the intensity of tournament matchups thanks to her relentless, risky attacks. NBA threes swish as neatly as mid-range jumpers and under-the-basket buckets. Listed at 5’9, and more like 5’7, she’ll get around anyone, thanks to her superhuman quickness, or just jump over them, temporarily en pointe as she propels herself straight skyward, releasing the ball at the very top of her reach. None of Carter’s decisions make sense until after they happen, at which point you’re left agape.

“Nobody is a better scorer under pressure or when the game is on the line,” says Texas A&M head coach Gary Blair. “That’s her strength: she’s not afraid to miss the last shot. She’s willing to take that last shot, and live with the consequences or the rewards.”

And don’t get her wrong: Carter loves to shoot. Sometimes, when a bucket is just undeniable, she’ll allow herself a little shoulder shimmy to celebrate — like last year in the Sweet 16, when she scored 35 points in a close shootout that wound up going Notre Dame’s way.

The loss still stings, as does the fact the junior was robbed of redemption in this year’s tournament, thanks to the Covid-19 pandemic. But the feeling of scoring those 35 points is evident in Carter’s suddenly rapturous tone.

“That game, the rim just felt so wide open,” she recalls. “I was so focused and locked in. Just hot — I felt it everywhere, so [the shimmy] was a natural thing.”

But as the Texas A&M guard prepares for the WNBA Draft where she’s more than likely to be chosen in the top five, anyone who knows her — including herself — will tell you her game was built from the ground up.

“I think having an incredible handle is essential in the game today,” she says. Hers was cultivated below the hardwood by her father Broderick, who first taught her to dribble with a tennis ball on the grass in their backyard in the Dallas-Fort Worth suburbs. That handle has been the stuff of YouTube mixtapes since she was in high school, her best weapon in carving out space that would be invisible to anyone else. “You have to be able to get by a defender and create your own shot,” she explains patiently. “The ability to do that separates players from each other.”

The Handles of Chennedy Carter

Texas A&M Women’s Basketball's Chennedy Carter has the best handles in the game

Posted by SEC Network on Saturday, March 30, 2019

Allen Iverson, unsurprisingly, was her original inspiration (just check out her shooting sleeve). But with her own particular set of talents, her remarkable athleticism and eye for the game, Carter has a chance to set herself apart from both her heroes and her peers, writing a new basketball legend from inside the W.

“I think Chennedy is often left out of conversations because people don’t know what to make of her,” says ESPN analyst LaChina Robinson. “She has a gift — she’s very different, and very special. A lot of it has to do with her ball control. Overall talent-wise, without considering team needs, she would go no lower than No. 2 in the draft.”

It’s the shooting, and the ball handling, and the tiny details that make both of those things look so smooth. “You’re always having to work with girl and women basketball players to get lower, to swivel the hips and make that turn quicker,” adds Kit Martin, head coach at Carter’s alma mater, Mansfield Timberview High School. “That was never the case with Chennedy. Her shoulders get so low, and she’s so quick that it’s just on a different level.”

There’s also the passing: Carter had a 27 percent assist rate this past season, and her feeds tend to be as fun to watch as her buckets (none other than Atlanta Dream coach Nicki Collen noted in a pre-draft press conference that she thought Carter was an “underrated passer”). “The speed off the bounce into a pass is exceptional,” Martin adds.

She pauses, understanding she sounds a little biased — after all, Carter will be watching Friday’s draft at her house. So she lists some of the players she’s coached and coached against: Lisa Leslie, Tamika Catchings, Alana Beard, Dawn Staley. “Nobody wants to hang their hat yet on Chennedy; everybody wants to wait and see. But I have seen a lot of the best talent close up,” Martin concludes, “and I really believe she’s going to blossom against one of the best players that’s ever played.”

Carter never saw herself doing anything else. “I’ve always wanted to be a professional basketball player,” she says. “I’m really ready to fulfill my dream.” Along with those backyard tennis-ball drills with her dad, she spent her youth playing alongside her three brothers — two older, one younger. “I used to just try to play until I could win, over and over and over again,” Carter recalls. Her older brothers were bigger than her, but it didn’t make a difference — she would triumph eventually. ”They still really think they can beat me,” she adds with a laugh.

It’s those endless hours hooping outside with her siblings, Carter says, that partially account for her approach to the game, which fans might describe as swagger and critics might characterize as a bad attitude, or see as a potential challenge to coach. It’s the kind of fiery, occasionally confrontational demeanor that fans relish in the NBA — and that there tends to be a lower tolerance for in the women’s game.

“It’s more of a chip on my shoulder,” Carter says. “It goes back to where I grew up, and how hard it was for me and my three brothers. I was also the only girl, and I kind of had to fend for myself and really build toughness.”

She was a standout early — Blair says he remembers watching her play with top local EYBL program DFW Elite — but that chip, that feeling of being overlooked and underrated, of having to fight twice as hard for every W, persists. I ask her when she first knew she was good, given that she’s been so good for so long.

“I don’t think I was the top tier,” she says, correcting me. “I didn’t see it in middle school — of course I won a middle school championship, and in that game I scored 46 points. In fact, I was actually kind of underrated coming out of high school: I was ranked No. 2 at point guard and No. 6 overall.” (UConn’s Megan Walker, who also declared early for this year’s WNBA Draft, was ranked No. 1 overall.)

Scoring 46 points in a middle school game and being ranked No. 6 in the country (the highest-ranking player ever to sign with Texas A&M) is unimpressive, you see, when you know you can be better. Never mind that she’d also already won a gold medal with the Team USA U18 team, and led her high school team throughout her years there to a combined 70-4 record.

“It only actually hit me once I played my first game in college,” she insists. “That’s when I kind of realized I had a little potential and talent.”

Carter’s decision to stay in College Station, which is relatively close to home, came in large part because of her trust in Blair not to make her, with her swagger and her shooters-shoot confidence, into something she wasn’t. She’d also loved watching the 2011 title-winning A&M team led by Sydney Colson, another star guard who currently plays for the Chicago Sky. “It was going to take a coach and teammates who were going to allow somebody to be that dominant with the ball as a freshman,” Blair says now.

As it turned out, allowing Carter to be dominant as a freshman paid off: Not only did she average almost 23 points a game and become the unanimous National Freshman of the Year, she won in spectacular fashion, forcing the spotlight her way. Like with her 46-point performance in an Aggie victory over USC in which she also sank the game-winning shot. Or the 37-point game she had vs. DePaul in the second round of the NCAA tournament, willing her team back from a 17-point deficit to win. When the bright lights came on, there was no question which player you wanted to be watching — or which player you wanted on your team.

“You want to talk about somebody who had swag, I can go back to swag at its best,” Blair quips, mentioning his time coaching Kim Mulkey and against Cheryl Miller. “The game of women’s basketball needs players like that to push the needle, and I think that’s what Chennedy does.

“Yes, the women’s game needs [presumed No. 1 pick Sabrina] Ionescu, but it also needs that exciting talent that a Chennedy Carter can bring.”

But Carter has so much more to offer, somehow, than the swagger and the preposterously confident shots and the juke-them-out-of-their-shoes handles. She’s happiest talking about the game, whether it’s how she regularly rewatches the Game 7 of the 2016 NBA Finals — sometimes all the way through, sometimes just the shots LeBron James or Kyrie Irving took — or her favorite victory while at A&M. “I don’t know, because a lot of our games were really, really lit,” she says, landing on an upset of Oregon State during her sophomore year. “I saw my team hit on all cylinders. Everybody was just ridiculously hot that game, and we pulled a big upset. And we were in Hawaii so it was pretty fun. I got to walk the beach after and just live it up.” The attitude that helps her put on such a great show dissipates, and what’s left is a woman who loves basketball so much she’s spending quarantine dribbling around her house.

Even her Twitter display name — Hollywood — isn’t exactly the Big Baller Brand-style flex it might seem at first glance. (“She’s gone 3-0 against USC … maybe that’s where she gets her handle,” Blair had joked.)

“In high school, I was social — but when it was time to go out, to the football games on Friday nights or to parties, I was like ‘Nah,’” Carter says. “I couldn’t. I always wanted to work out, because I wanted to be successful. I had to keep myself locked in. So because I was staying focused, my friends called me Hollywood and it kind of stuck with me.

“Plus I graduated and went to A&M, and left all my friends. Sort of doing big things. I just had a dream and a goal, and wanted to get to it.”

Carter knows that as much attention as she’s gotten, as much fun as the flash is, there are still plenty of people who don’t see that side of her yet. The serious side, the side that spent hours dribbling in the dirt because that’s how badly she wanted to be great.

“There are some doubters, some detractors,” Martin says. “Now it’s up to her to answer all of them. It’s the case, to me, of whether you want to be the underdog or the front runner. Heck, everybody likes to be the underdog because then you’re fighting for something!”

In other words, bet against Carter and watch what happens next.

[greerbaiting]

Nothing According to Plan

Summary: 

He didn’t know what to do without a plan. It had never happened before. He planned out everything, thought up every possible thing that could happen, and knew how to get out when something went wrong. But he hadn’t seen this coming. He especially hadn’t been planning on watching his hand evaporate into thin air. 

(post-episode 47 angst with a side of Kepler character study) 

Ships: Kepler/Jacobi (though it’s mostly towards the end)

Warnings: minor violence

Notes: I couldn’t help myself, okay? Also, like it says in the summary, contains spoilers for episode 47 

Read it on AO3 

The door slammed shut behind Minkowski but Kepler barely heard it. His gaze was fixed on his hands - hand. His hand. And that… stump. It was the only way to describe it really. A stump. There was no blood, no scarring, no exposed bone. His hand was just… gone. And all that was left was the pain shooting down his arm and up into his jaw.

What happens now?

They were stuck here, Jacobi still handcuffed and him with only one hand. He had no use anymore. He couldn’t do anything. All he knew how to do was how to fight, how to kill, and how to survive. And now he couldn’t do two of those things anymore. He could throw a punch with his remaining hand, sure, but not much beyond that. And his arm hurt too much to move it. Maybe if Maxwell were here he’d still have a chance, but she wasn’t. Not anymore. Not ever again.

As for surviving, it didn’t look like they’d be doing much of that for much longer. That thing was still on the station. Still capable of being hacked into by the others. Still a weapon about to go off. And since the rest of the crew refused to deal with it, it’d probably be going off soon.

And he had no plan. 

He didn’t know what to do without a plan. It had never happened before. He planned out everything, thought up every possible thing that could happen, and knew how to get out when something went wrong. But he hadn’t seen this coming. He especially hadn’t been planning on watching his hand evaporate into thin air.

What happens now?

He was still staring at it. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like it was doing anything. It wasn’t changing. Nothing else was disappearing, nothing was growing back. There was just… nothing there. Just a stump and seemingly endless pain.

Pain had never bothered him before. But pain had always been planned before. He had always been expecting it. It had never come out of nowhere before. Had never left him frozen long after the aliens had let him go, never left him gasping for breath, unable to think straight outside of a long string of swear words.

What happens now?

He was dead either way. Either he died up here in the cold expanse of space, killed by aliens or this idiotic crew or he died when they get back to Earth. He failed. Cutter would have his head for this.

No. What was it that he had said?

“I’m going to hang him.”

That. He’d hang him for this. A complete and utter failure with no end in sight. Or rather, there was an end in sight, but it was a brutal and bloody one, that would cause him even more unspeakable pain.

It was only a matter of time. Just a question of when. And possibly where. Up here in space, killed by aliens, or back home on Earth, killed in whatever “fun” way that Cutter could come up with.

What happens now?

He was startled out of his thoughts when Jacobi took the stump into his hands. The cold metal of his prosthetic made Kepler flinch, Jacobi frowning when he noticed.

“You still with me, sir?” Jacobi asked, voice scathing. It was then that Kepler realized that Jacobi had been trying to get his attention for the past couple of minutes. He hadn’t even noticed.

Shit, how fucked up was he?

“Yes.” His voice was quieter than he’d expected.

“Great. I need you to stay still for a minute, okay?”

Kepler nodded, only to regret it a moment later when Jacobi punched him in the face. It’s not as hard as he usually hit, due to his hands still being handcuffed - more like an awkward slap really - but it still startled him.

“Jacobi! What the-“

“What the hell was all that about?! You knew she was an alien?! And you never told us?!”

“It’s not the first time I’ve lied to you Jacobi. And you know that. You know that there are some things that are ‘Need to Know’ only.”

Jacobi sulked slightly. “You still could have told me. Especially after-“

“I did tell you. I told you that you weren’t an alien, didn’t I?” Jacobi glared at him in response and Kepler sighed. “This isn’t what you’re really upset about, is it?”

“You killed her.”

“Yes and I’ve killed people before. Many times. You’ve never had a problem with it before so I don’t see why you’re-“

“Not Captain Lovelace. Maxwell.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Maxwell. You know, Doctor Alana Maxwell? The third member of our crew?” Jacobi was practically steaming with anger.

“Yes, I know who you’re talking about. I just don’t understand why you’re claiming that I killed her. Lieutenant Minkowski was the one who shot her. Because you blew up Hilbert, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“On your orders!”

“That you chose to carry out.” All of the fight that Jacobi’s hit had given him finally left his body and he sagged back against the wall, exhausted.

Jacobi instinctively reached out to help him, but he grabbed his sore shoulder by mistake. Kepler let out a brief cry of pain before gritting his teeth. Jacobi’s eyes widened and he let go. “Sir?”

“I’m fine, Jacobi,” he managed to hiss out. The pain was shooting up his neck and jaw, making it hard for him to talk. It was unlike anything Kepler had ever felt before.

“I really don’t think you are, sir. You just lost your hand.”

“Your… point?” Even breathing felt painful.

“My point is that you’re probably in immense pain right now, even if you aren’t currently gushing blood. I lost my arm, remember? I know what it’s like and that’s why I get to say that you’re kind of being a bit of a wuss right now.”

Kepler laughed at that. He couldn’t help it. He regretted it a second later though when he was gritting his teeth in pain again.

“Alright, you need to stop talking. Or laughing. Or anything really. Just shut up completely.”

“Jacobi…” Kepler tried his best to get out the most threatening snarl he could manage at the moment. Jacobi seemed unimpressed.

“Sir, with all due respect, I mean it. You should probably stop talking. It hasn’t exactly been helping you so far today.”

Kepler sighed and closed his eyes, trying not to think about their impending doom or the pain that was making the spot behind his eyes ache. They float in silence for a minute, before Kepler gets bored and tries to fill the silence.

“Was it this bad for you?”

“What?”

“Losing your arm. Was it this bad?”

Jacobi hesitated before replying. “I’m not sure. It’s a different scenario. I mean yeah, I lost my entire left arm, but I was also knocked unconscious when it happened. And when I woke up, I had a shit-ton of painkillers pumping through my body. You only lost your hand, but you watched it happen. You felt it go. And we don’t exactly have any painkillers in this lovely cell that Minkowski was kind enough to provide us with.”

“So that’s a…?”

He made a noise somewhere between a huff and a snarl. “It’s an I don’t know, okay Colonel? Is that alright with you?”

“No… Nothing about this situation is alright with me.”

Jacobi shrunk back somewhat at the slight reappearance of danger in Kepler’s voice. He didn’t bother to tell Jacobi that he didn’t have the willpower or energy to yell at him right now. It was taking everything he had just to keep having this conversation with him instead of continuing with his internal meltdown.

“Let’s take a look at this then.” Jacobi gently took the stump in his hands again. “No scarring. Lucky you.”

“Did you just say that I’m lucky? Need I remind you that I lost my hand?”

Jacobi did his best attempt at a shrug with handcuffs on. “Just looking on the bright side. Are you able to lift your arms at all?” Kepler shook his head, wincing at the pain that the movement caused. “Okay. That should hopefully go away soon. This is a… really clean cut. You can’t even tell that there was anything there before. It’s like they cauterized it.”

His voice came out quiet again. “Yeah.”

Jacobi studied him for a moment before saying, “You’re actually scared, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what happens now,” Kepler said softly.

“Welcome to what the rest of the crew has been feeling this entire time. Isn’t it fun?” His voice was laced with sarcasm.

“What do we do?”

There’s a slight pause before Jacobi lifted his arms up and wrapped them around Kepler’s neck the best he could. It was a tight fit between his cuffed arms, but Kepler found himself tucked nicely underneath Jacobi’s chin. “Jacobi?”

“What?”

“What are you doing?”

“Attempting to comfort you. Sir.”

“Why?”

“Because you did this for me once. And I wanted to return the favour. Alright?”

Kepler sighed but buried his face into Jacobi’s neck, planting a soft kiss on his collarbone. “Alright.”

“We’ll figure a way out of this one, okay? We always do.”

“I’m not so sure. We’ve already lost Maxwell and we have nothing we can use to fight back.”

“We’ll figure it out. We’ll get out alive. Just like always.”

Kepler sighed again. “I don’t think so, Jacobi. Not this time.”