#this was a dumb doodle from a gesture drawing session

[haedraulics]

if your watson can't join you on a case, store-bought is fine too

[scentedpepper]

Oranges

EDDIE MUNSON X MALE READER

Summary: This HAS to be Eddie's year.

Content Warnings: (Spolier) Character Death

Other Pairings: Billy Hargrove x Male Reader

AUTHOR NOTE(S):

Fuck ya'll for making it cringe to like eddie

On other, more important notes, some background info and sincere warnings for ya:

This scene takes place s4 era. Reader graduated last year (s3) currently 18 going on 19. Felt like this was important to note given that our dear little failure here is a grown ass man and it'd be a tad bit strange to pair the little fucker with a highschool student.

Reader works as an intern at the school, hence, Eddie Munson.

Could possibly turn into a series (I have big dreams and not enough energy)

For those of you who have NOT seen s3, you will get spoiled by the end of this little thang so yk proceed with caution or wtv

Ummmmm

Oh right so, I know it says x Reader but this scene was in fact written with the intentions of putting an OC into the series. So for now, you're Joey.

That's it 🫶

_________________________________________

"No- No! See? This is- 'and it is'. Use an adverb to explain the connection and create... emotion. "

Eddie sinks in his own posture and slides a hand over his face, knocking his fringe sideways and out of the way. They have been at this for a while, and he's had enough. "You're not connecting the dots like I'm connecting the dots. "

"Those are literally dots. " Joey gestured towards the piece of paper that sat between them, littered with penmarks, of Eddie's choosing. He couldn't quite decphier why the man was lazily scratching the paper with color in certain areas. He peered closer at the margin on the left, words written across the blank surface that seemed made up. "How are you gonna connect something that wasn't written... this is an argumentative essay, Eddie. You're not allowed to just make up facts. " He wants to jab those pens underneath his eyelids. "What're all these marks for?"

"Alright, say, say this little orange, " Joey watches Eddie move his pen towards the tiny round doodle with squinted eyes, "what if it was in an orange?"

He's going to fail this.

Joey stares at the man unimpressed. "I've been sitting here trying to teach you how to write an arugmentative analysis on an article for the last hour, and you're drawing oranges on your paper?"

"With faces!" Eddie counters, pointing his orange pen– Joey's orange pen in the opposites face.

Joey snatches the pen from his hand abruptly and drops it, clattering down and across the wooden floor.

The pair of them have only gotten so far in this session of teaching. 'This session' being 1.5 hours, and Eddie had yet to pick up on the technique Joey had used to teach himself the tricks and secrets to these things years ago. Though, maybe he was giving him too much credit. The way the doe eyed mans head tilts to the side when he goes to the page and scans the lines for his answer seemed too much to bear.

They're in his trailer, surrounded by textbooks on the table that once belonged to Joey. This place, now that their studying system wasn't some figment of Joey's imagination brought to life, was a lot messier than he'd have liked it. But Munson came first.

Eddie wasn't dumb. Far from it, really. But in this moment he was. Maybe not, if you don't count the fact he wasn't listening. For the last hour. Or two. Joey definitely couldn't count because that sounded too depressing and he really did need to rethink his strategy.

"Sometimes doing homework is like sticking a fork in an electric socket. "

Nancy's words, not his, but either way he believes that now as well.

Joey stared at the older man's frame as he lay with his back against the rug on the carpet, eyes closed, another pen, teal, or at least the closests thing to it, hanging out of his mouth and some paper resting next to the upper half of his body.

"Eddie. "

"Yes, kind sir?" He quickly gets up, the second he hears his voice. He rests his arms on top of the surface of the round coffee table. "I'm totally paying attention, go on. "

Joey manages a breath before he rips the pen from Eddie's mouth and places it aside. Eddie gaped like a fish for a few moments too long and then took his pen back.

"You can't draw oranges in an analysis essay, please pay attention. "

Joey can feel his hair stand on end when he turns back to the English work.

"Yeah but hear me out, everyone is an orange. "

Joey's eyes flee back up to the man. "Eddie–" He protests.

"Just..." The man's mouth opens and a hint of an apology graces his soft facial structure but is soon replaced by his stubborn stance, his leg jolts slightly with his arms as he pushes his palms forward to the table. "C'mon. I'm smart, right?"

"...Yes?"

Eddie smiles triumphantly. His hair, resting in beautiful knots beside his ears. "Think about it. " He puts a finger up to his temple, tapping it twice. "People are oranges, and each orange is unique. Alike, but totally different. Maybe the ones with the nugget are rotten, or they taste more bitter or whatever. But someone likes 'em–"

"For their orange flavour?"

"Orange flavour. " Eddie grins at him. Joey has his suspicions about that grin.

"Sure, Ed. " He picks up his pencil and twists it around. "Now sit down. " He deadpans, eyes scanning the book passage in front of him.

Nonetheless, Eddie prevales. "You're my favorite orange. "

Joey gives him a look, his features remaining blank but there's a strange– almost longing tension to his jaw.

"You know why?" He drags out the last word while simultaneously circling the others nose with the orange pen he'd reterived without notice before giving the tip of the mans nose a prompt 'boop!'. "Because. "

A pause. Longer than Joey would have liked.

"..What?"

His eyes trace down his face.

"You're bigger. "

"Bigger?" He stares down the man incredulously. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means–!" Eddie's eyes turn back into his and he smiles coyly, "that you give me bigger... biggaaa— heart boners. Every time we are alone. Y'know? Just us. " He pauses to watch the anger burning in the others eyes, "You... bein' all tall and broad and... strong. "

The end of his sentence is like a purr but it lacked the proper 'o' sound to make the word seductive. –The ridiculous flexing didn't do much to help him either.

"Heart boners?" Joey cracks a smile, unable to keep his face muscles strewn tight. "Jesus. Shut up. "

"We could play house. I wouldn't mind being a house wife. " Eddie tucks his hair behind his ear, sitting pretty. His eyes reflect a perverse joy.

In turn, Joey rolls his eyes, teeth peaking out from beneath his lips. "Analysis first –then you can cook and clean for me all you want. "

Not a minute later does Eddie get on his knees before lunging forward, throwing his arm around his shoulder and ruffling the brunettes hair. Joey struggles, laughter spilling out in unsteady puffs of air. "Hey, what the hell is your problem?!"

Eddie let's him loose after a few more moments of struggle and the sight Joey offers makes him beam. "It's nice to see you smile. " He admits. "You've been all, edgy, lately. "

Once again, it's always so very easy to lose this man's train of thought with simple distractions such as putting his hair up in a high bun and pushing stray strands behind his ears.

"Used to be all kind smiles and doe eyes. "

Somethings got to give.

"Ever since the mall fi–"

"Didn't realize you paid so much attention to me, Eddie. " He interrupts.

"Well, you just make it so hard not to. " Eddie grins widely at him, his eyes practically twinkling.

Eddie tries not to get too sore over things. Least of all with Joey. Especially since he's got a knack for tip toeing his way out of things himself. Today isn't the day for that, apparently. Because Eddie isn't having it. Which is annoying.

"Look, " he tries again, "I'm not saying you have to –ya know? Say anything. You've just been different...than before. "

That much he knows, Eddie's always noticed things. Because that's who he is and all the time he spent to by himself over the course of his many highschool years has taught him to be an observer, and it just so happened that he had the knowledge to tell when and how things were off.

But there was always something about the way the brunette carried himself, stiff on his feet and jittery like a trapped mouse, no one gave it much thought.

Not even Eddie really.

"You didn't even know me before, Eddie. " Joey's looking at the man with tired eyes, he wonders where his reasoning is coming from. Had they talked more? And how did he manage to create this image of him into a person he had no inkling of a memory towards?

"Hey, I beg to differ. " Eddie counters, "I've known you for like..." He counts on his fingers, recalling he was supposed to garduate two years before Joey. "Six years!"

Joey scoffs. "And out of all those years, we've only had a real conversation in these past few months. "

Eddie goes a little quiet after that.

"So you can wipe that memory of... whatever you have in your head. " His chest swells with an unwelcome pain and he holds his breath.

The man doesn't waver. "Thats not how this works. " His brows furrow, etching serious lines into his forehead. "I've seen you. You've changed since then. "

"No I haven't. " Joey's gaze flickers towards the man, eyes stern but deep within them stir the turbulent anger Eddie had become quite familiar with his whole life.

"You have. " Eddie continues. "Your laughs not as loud, " He gestures vaguely towards the brunettes chest. "You seem more sad than, -than you usually are? Is what I mean..."

Eddie draws his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down nervously.

"Eddie, just drop it. " He's turning in his place, pulling one foot beneath him on the floor as his butt brushes the fabric beneath his thighs.

Eddie goes silent but for only a few minutes because without much reluctance he's lifting the forgotten orange pen from the wooden floorboard again and twirling it between his fingers.

"...Joey. " He says softly after a few long moments. "This town's shitty. "

And if he'd said this to the man about a year ago, he wouldn't have agreed. But now, he feels like he's being stabbed in the chest at the mere sight of it.

Eddie, himself, makes him forget sometimes. The bad and all it's misery.

He's not all that happy about that.

Not as much as he should be. Would've been.

"You know, I'm here. " Eddie leans in a bit, in hopes his friends words along with his guts may spill right out from him, "As much as you are for me with these–" He lifts one from the table before promptly letting it fall from his fingertips. "shitty textbooks. "

Joey swallows roughly, the lump in his throat straining but after a few seconds, he can't help it.

He lets out a long sigh, containing himself all in one breath. "I knew someone..." He starts slow and doesn't seem keen on finishing.

"In the mall fire?"

A huff this time. "Yes– the mall fire. " It felt funny to adress it as such. A false statement.

He feels tense all over, skin rubbing against the denim pants he wore like sandpaper against dry wood.

"My friend–" He pauses to scoff. "If you could even call the asshole that. " And of course, he's still trying to conceal it, the fact that those months apart had been the worst months of his life.

Billy. Fucking, Hargrove. Who would've thought he'd end up on his mind so often?

"He– passed. " The words come out heavy, sitting cold on his tongue and tasting bitter when the admission leaves him. "In the fire. "

Bullshit. Fucking fire. Really?

...

[coulsons-fullmetal-cellist]

The Noses Have It

(Dieter x horror loving female)

Words: 643

Summary: Dieter gets caught doodling, so a drawing session is in order

Warnings: teeny tiny bit of angst, loads of cute fluffy stuff

Check out masterlist here

Dieter was doodling. He hadn’t found himself randomly drawing or painting pictures since before he went into rehab. He never felt any artistic urge to create anything with his hands, focusing too much on his mental health issues. Lately, he found himself randomly sketching on a napkin or on the corner of a script.

You caught him in his random doodling and wanted to see more of his artistic skills. Now you and Dieter were sitting opposite each other on your couch, sketching pictures of each other, occasionally nudging each other playfully with your feet.

“Didn’t you do art in school?”

“I did but got kicked out of art class. The teacher found my style too…” he gestured wildly, unable to come up with an appropriate word.

“Too Dieter?” you suggested.

“I was a total goth at school. I used to draw a pentagram on my palm and mumble random shit to scare everyone away.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the image. “I wish I was goth; I was just a general nerdy weirdo.”

“I bet you were cute though.”

You shrugged off the compliment, “I was always compared to my perfect older sister and then when my perfect younger brother came along, I got compared to him. I stuck out as the weird one who played with makeup.”

“Nothing wrong with being weird.”

“It also meant everyone treated me as stupid because I didn’t want a career in the medical field.”

“I’ve met stupid and you’re not it.”

“I was stupid enough to be stuck in a bad relationship.”

“That wasn’t your fault. It took me a long time in therapy to accept that the drug addiction wasn’t my fault.”

He squeezed your foot in assurance. You were both finished in your sketching and shuffled on the couch to sit together. Dieter showed you his drawing. The face coming at you from the page was a Venus in pencil.

“That’s not me.”

“It is, there’s your cute little nose.” He could read the uncertainty on your face. “Did no one ever tell you you’re beautiful?”

You shook your head, “It was always followed by a but: ‘You’re pretty but you could lose some weight’. ‘You’re pretty but you need to smile more.’”

Dieter scoffed, “Sadly I know what you mean. I’m an actor, of course I’ve had it happen to me. ‘You’ve got a nice figure, but you could lose a bit more.’ ‘You have a nice profile, but you could benefit from a nose job.’”

“What? I love your nose.”

“You don’t think it’s too big?”

“No.”

“I’ve been told it’s a villain’s nose.”

You flipped over your book to show Dieter your creation. “Or a werewolf!”

He moved over to take a better look. “You drew me as a werewolf?”

“I think they’re the most romantic horror character.”

“More romantic than vampires?”

“Well yeah. They have no control over their powers, they have to obey the power of the full moon and wake up regretting their night of raw, feral insanity.”

“And they get naked,” that brought a laugh out of you “I look good as a werewolf.”

“And your nose very much suits it. You have a nice regal nose and��it’s dumb.”

“What?”

“No it’s stupid.” You closed off to the idea, but Dieter was eager to know and drew close to you.

“What? I want to hear it.”

“It’s kinda the opposite of mine, so they fit together like a puzzle. A two-piece puzzle.”

“Do two-piece puzzles exist?”

“See, that’s why it’s a dumb idea.”

“No,” he hugged you in reassurance, “You know those necklace things that have that heart that’s broken in two but then go back together? That’s what we are.”

“Really?”

“Really really. A broken pair of hearts halves put together as one heart. It doesn’t sound that romantic but…”

“No, it’s very romantic.”

Lovingly tagging @boliv-jenta @simpingcowboy @ellenmunn @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @chaithetics @brilliantopposite187 @myloveistoolittle @cevans-is-classic

[jbbuckybarnes]

Distant Connection - 2/11

Pairing: Bucky x Harmonia (OC) Warnings: a bit of angst, a lot of domestic fluff Summary: After an unknown group of goons took her mom’s life and tried to get her for the dark magic powers she possesses, this untaught witch is saved by the Avengers and brought to the compound where her new life unfolds.

MASTERLIST || Distant Connection Masterlist

Harmony was about to see the student area of the Stark Tower for the first time. Tony provided all the kids with wifi, laptops, food, medical help and tutoring there. She overheard it in a few conversations and she really wanted to draw in an environment like this again and also learn more about her witchcraft.

As she walked in she could see a lot of concentrated students sitting on laptops and others sitting together talking. She walked into the little laptop area with all the desks to see Steve sitting there drawing concentrated. There weren’t a lot of students in there and most of them had headphones on so she sat down beside him with a “Looks beautiful.” His head went up and he gave her a soft smile back “Thanks. Still trying to get into all the new markers from this time.” He had drawn a pink Starbucks drink with alcohol markers, the page he was currently working on was a view of a NYC street and he was painting with gouache. “Can I join your little art session?” she asked pulling out a watercolor sketchbook and watercolor from her backpack. “Of course. What’s your art project today?” he asked after finishing another window. “You…...that sounded like I was flirting. I was not. Just need to get better at watercoloring humans.” she chuckled. They both looked down and worked on their little projects for a while. “I heard you called me big energy ball?” he said and couldn’t take himself serious. “Yup, the outside finally fits the mindset.” she giggled with him. “You changed something in James’ mind?” he asked a bit softer about the thing he overheard. “I tried to bring more positive memories in the main focus again. You were doing a lot of dumb shit in the 30s and 40s” she smiled at him because he had stopped to listen to her. “I was...I can’t even lie about the fact that I wasn’t much different back then. A little less mature, but now I’m just that with the actual body fitting to the mind of a tiny human taking on the world alone.” he laughed about himself. “I saw some of the memories. They were hilarious.” she was thankful that it was way easier to talk to him than she expected.

“Can you...do that with me too?” he asked curious. “Yes, but that means I see everything you saved into your long term memory.” she said a little more awkward. “Oh please don’t tell me you saw all of the assassin stuff...please…” he was concerned for her and looking at her frowning. “I did...that was my first try. It was a spontaneous thing.” she went back into shy mode but he pulled her onto his lap to give her a big hug. “Don’t do it with Nat, Sam or Tony. They are good people but that would hurt you more than you could probably take.” he mumbled against her forehead. “Do you still want me to do it?” she looked up at him. “Only if you’re comfortable with it...why does this sound like we’re talking about something different.” he realized all of a sudden and both started laughing. “Something’s still off about the painting.” he said pointing towards it trying to change the subject. “I think you just need to feel out the colors better. Darker gouache tends to dry lighter and lighter gouache tends to dry darker. Should’ve done a color test. But I think you need to correct the glass reflection on the ground floor here a little bit.” she gave him advice still sitting on his lap. “Would you stand up, or?” he gestured at her initial seat. She reseated. “Hmpf, was so comfortable for once,” she said with a fake pout and got a chuckle back.

After correcting his painting in silence he put down his brush and looked over at Harmony doing her second painting which made the first one fully visible to him. “Simple but I can definitely see it’s me.” he said smiling at it. “Just the first layer. Needs another one or two.” she smiled while painting her flower. “You wanna draw something into my notebook?” he asked a little bit more shy. “Like a notebook switch? Sure.” she said finishing her last petal before turning to him and interchanging the notebooks. He grabbed some normal pencils and an eraser before leaning over the next page while she grabbed some of his alcohol markers to start drawing one of the memories she saw in James’ mind of young and small Steve. There was a comfortable silence between them and the only thing audible were the laptops of some of the students around them and the kids laughing outside of the computer room. He made sure she couldn’t see what he drew with his pencils and was way too concentrated to look over at her beautiful 40s painting.

After about 30 minutes both of them finished their drawings almost in sync and looked up at each other. They put both of them between each other and held their breath for a second. “You drew me? Wow. That’s...so detailed.” she said in awe before reading the little note below “for the small energy ball, from the big energy ball ❤” “This is the cutest thing ever.” she said while giving him a hug and he was so concentrated on her liking it that he looked at her drawing just now over her shoulder while breaking the hug again. “You drew me from Bucky’s eyes?” he was in awe, this was a gift so rare that he couldn't grasp it. Seeing through someone else’s eyes was almost impossible but she put it into a drawing. “When I went through his mind this is one of the memories I made clearer for him again. I think it’s very you.” she said soft and with her guard up. “Wow. I remember that day. We got in big trouble for spending all our money on unhealthy stuff but the whole day was so much fun.” he smiled down at his notebook with the most genuine smile in weeks. “You have such an unique bond. I wanted to put that into a drawing.” she said fidgeting with her fingers. “You two also have a very different connection. I’ve never seen him protect someone like that.” he tried to look into her eyes but they stayed on her hands. “I feel like he’s the only person that can relate to how I feel and also keep me save, you know?” she said very vulnerable. He grabbed her hands and made her look up at him, “I might not be able to relate but I would definitely keep you save too.” A weak smile formed on her lips and a slight nod gave him an answer.

“Can I see the rest of your sketchbook?” she ask shyly again and he grabbed it and put it on her lap with a smile. She grabbed it and slowly went from page to page. There were a lot of 40s related paintings but also a lot of new ones. He drew James and Natasha a lot, sometimes the whole team, there was a little sketch with all of them sitting at the kitchen table laughing, a drawing of her and James when they sat in the corner of the common room, food with recipe notes, a page filled with uniform designs, a sketch of Peggy Carter, a watercolor painting of Grand Central Station, two hands holding each other, a bruised Thor and a closeup of his hammer, a street in Brooklyn back in the day. He didn’t seem to use the notebook chronological and just opened a page and started creating. Meanwhile he looked at her notebook. The outside was filled with stickers of potions, black cats and flowers. She was into witchcraft before she knew she was gifted.

There were a lot of watercolor and marker drawings, her mom, the campus of Syracuse University, a stranger in a coffee shop, part of what looked like her room, two people kissing, fashion sketches, crystals and moons, braided hair, two people hugging, a collage of the different parts of her outfit, sneakers, a sketch of the library in the compound, a sketch of James, an unfinished sketch of what happened to her mother, a sketch of sleeping James, a detailed painting of hands doing blue magic, a painting of James with black eyes and a smile, a sketch of the common area, the flower she just painted, the first layer of the painting she made of him and the sketch he made of her. She was very organized in the way she drew. 

She looked at his concentrated face and noticed he finished going through the sketches but showed him the last page of the notebook. There was a big sticker of his shield on the little pocket in the back of the book that held little nicnacs. He looked at her with a smile and a little bit of pride “Was that always there?” he asked. “Yeah.” she said smiling back at him, taking her sketchbook back. The moment was interrupted with a 10th grader coming into the room looking straight at them. “Could you help us with world war stuff? We’ve been sitting here trying to get it into our heads and…” Steve smiled and nodded.

He left his stuff with Harmony which started doodling little things onto another page. A little shield, a bit of magical stuff, hearts, stars, moons, dots and a little note. *Always prefered you over Stark. Thought you wanted to know. Guess I have a soft spot for old grandpa Avengers. -small energy ball* After looking around at the concentrated students she picked up her brush again and started doing the second layer of her painting of him.

“Harmony?” she heard from a computer voice above. “Yeah?” she said a bit weirded out. She still wasn’t used to FRIDAY at all. “Captain Rogers has been called to the compound for a mission and asks if you could bring his belongings with you back to the compound.” the voice asked. “Sure. Tell him to stay safe.” she said with a little smile. “I will make sure to do so, Harmony.” the voice stopped. Once of the students had took his headphones out to listen to the interaction and got a shy smile from Harmony. “You are allowed to take his things with you?” she asked in awe. “I’m just bringing them back where they belong, I guess.” Harmony answered softly. “Can I ask you something?” the girl, probably around 16, asked. “Uuuh, sure.” she smiled. “Is he really as serious as everyone thinks. He seemed to be very childish and funny with you.” she asked with a nervous voice and a shy smile. “Nooo, he is a total dork but he knows when to be serious. If you ever have a problem with anything just ask him. He’s super nice and wants everyone to feel comfortable.” a smile came across the lips of both females. Harmony continued to put his sketchbook and art supplies into her bag, stood up and grabbed a bottle of water and a pack of chips from the food shelves behind her before turning around. “See you around?” she asked the girl and got a smile and a nod back before she walked out of the room and made her way back to the compound.

[elfnerdherder]

Where the Wicked Walk: Ch. 2

You can read Chapter 2 on Ao3 Here

If you’re interested in becoming a patron on Patreon for my work, click Here

Huge shout out to @hanfangrahamk, @matildaparacosm, and Andrea! You guys are the best!

Chapter 2: A Descent into the Maelstrom

           Having FBI agents in and around his home wasn’t so much a comfort as he thought it’d be.

           Next to a frazzled, hungover Molly, Will sat on the couch and watched Jack pace, his heartbeat keeping time with Jack’s fingers that tapped against his pant leg.

           “We can escort her home-”

           “I’m not leaving Will,” she said fiercely. Clad in Will’s pajama bottoms and a spare t-shirt, she was a force to be reckoned with. Her arm was looped through Will’s, and she’d tossed her hair up into a messy bun on her head to keep it out of her face as she glared at Jack. “This is a bad situation to be in, and I’m not leaving him to go through it alone.”

           “If Hannibal Lecter-”

           “There are four agents just outside of the apartment and two inside, Agent Crawford. I think we’ll be alright.”

           Her protective instinct was soothing, if Will was being honest. There was something calming in the way she traced idle doodles into the soft spot of his wrist, just over his pulse. He didn’t deserve someone like Molly, but there she was. Even hungover, she was placing his needs and problems over her own. He was pretty sure she had an online test to take.

           “Will,” Jack said wearily. Molly had been stubbornly resisting him for the better part of the last ten minutes.

           “If she wants to stay, I’m alright with it. I have a roommate, too, named Beverly Katz. You can’t keep them all out,” said Will with a shrug.

           Jack looked half a breath away from a slew of filthy curses, but as his mouth opened to vehemently object, his eyes traced over Molly’s arm looped through Will’s protectively, how she leaned into him and how he leaned back.

           “I’ll… let Agent Dolarhyde know,” he said, and his shoulders slumped in defeat at Will’s acquiescence.

           “How did he get out, Agent Crawford?” Will prompted when he said nothing more.

           Jack suddenly looked ten years older. Subconsciously, his hands passed over his stomach where a lopsided, unhappy smile resided, raised and discolored beneath his crisp button-up shirt.

           “He complained of stomach pains, and he was taken to the infirmary to have tests done. God knows why, and I’m going to be questioning Chilton about this once I leave here, but security was lax. They stepped out to take a smoke break, and when they came back in, they were ambushed.

           “I don’t know he paid these people off, but one nurse loosened his straps. When the other nurse turned, Lecter got a hold of her.” Jack let out a world-weary sigh, and he placed his hands on his hips. “They managed to save one of her eyes, but the other is gone, and so is her tongue.”

           “Oh my god,” Molly whispered.

           “Two guards entered the room, and seeing the scene in front of them, one rushed to subdue Lecter. The other shot his partner in the back of the head. Lecter was strapped into a wheelchair and wheeled out through the back where two visitors had a van waiting. They loaded him into the van and had pulled away by the time another nurse entered the infirmary.”

           “How long did it take?”

           “Under five minutes,” Jack replied.

           Will nodded, accepting that information. Dr. Lecter had always been meticulous, down to the second-hand on his watch during sessions. He never hovered over it, watching the time tick away, but he always knew the exact moment that it was time to begin their session, and without ever having to look, knew the moment that it ended. Time in a prison cell would ensure that he wouldn’t waste a single second in getting out.

           “What makes you think he’s coming for me?” he asked. “Did he say something?”

           “I have agents and local police officers going to check on all of his patients that still live in the general vicinity,” he assured Will. “Where you were one of the main testimonies during his trial, though, I’m not taking any chances.”

           He stepped out of the room when someone called his name, and Will slumped back into the couch, squelching down the bubble of laughter that crawled up his throat. It was a hysterical sort of laugh, one he didn’t want to frighten Molly with.

           “You were the main testimony in his case?” she asked. Her hold on his wrist tightened, then relaxed.

           “Just one of them,” he said quickly. “…It’s because I found Jack in his office, and I knew personal details about his life that he’d shared. There weren’t many testimonies because they caught him with forensics and sheer, dumb luck, so mine just…stood out. It was more of an emotional testimony to present the kid that was stuck finding an FBI agent bleeding to death in Hannibal Lecter’s office.” He gestured with his free hand and stared morosely at the television. He didn’t want to turn it on and see the news panicking about Lecter. He didn’t want to take what little shred of self-control that he felt like he had and toss it out the window.

           “That must have been horrifying,” she murmured.

           “You don’t have to stay, Molly,” he said. He tracked her hand as it slid down, fingers interlacing with his and squeezing tight.

           “I’m not leaving you like this,” she snapped. “Alone with no one but Jack Crawford to keep you company. He stresses you out, even I can see that.”

           “He sometimes can,” Will agreed.

           “You stress him out, too.”

           “I think that there are some memories he’d probably like to forget.” Things like being stabbed and all. “Every time he sees me, he’s forced to remember. Those are things I’d like to forget, too.”

           Jack returned with a man that exuded calm, quiet confidence. Despite being dressed in a suit similar to Jack’s, he wore it with a sense of purpose that made his shoulders straighter and his back stiffer. His dark blonde hair was close-cropped, his jaw square, and apart from the faint scars reminiscent of a cleft palate, he was relatively attractive. Matching brown eyes rested heavily upon Will with an intensity that made the back of his neck prickle.

           “Will, this is Agent Francis Dolarhyde. He’s the head of your security detail, and he’s going to make sure that everything is alright until we can get this situation under control,” Jack said.

           Will stood up to shake his hand because he felt like it was proper to. There was a hesitation, then after a beat Francis followed suit, shaking his hand with a firm, steady grip. Will could feel callouses from hard work and ease around weaponry, a slight comfort in case of violence to come.

           God, he hoped that no violence would come.

           “We’re going to keep you safe, Mr. Graham,” he said. He spoke slowly, mouth fumbling over the ‘S’ with a painful attention. “Nothing will happen to you.”

           “Thank you, Agent Dolarhyde,” Will replied. He couldn’t look at his face for very long, disquieted as he was by the intensity. He could feel utmost sincerity rippling from his skin, a hungry desire to do his job with no mistakes. Underneath Will’s skin, the responding emotion curling out from him chafed.

           “I’ll have four men patrolling the area outside, one by the door, and I’ll remain here,” he continued when Will sat down once more. “Try to pretend I’m not here.”

           “Okay.” He bit the inside of his mouth hard enough to draw blood and tried again. “Thank you,” he said to the both of them.

           “I’m going to be heading to the crime scene to get a head start on the manhunt, Will. If you need anything, just let Agent Dolarhyde know.”

           The look he gave Will said more than words could. Will blinked, he was kneeling before him, trying to hold his intestines in. He blinked again, and Molly was back to drawing soothing designs against his clammy skin.

           “Thank you, Agent Crawford,” he managed to say.

           It was going to be a long day.

-

           He tried to watch the television, but he couldn’t concentrate on it. He tried reading, pacing, and playing cards with Molly, but thoughts slid away like rain down a windowpane, collecting at the bottom to turn stale and muddled. Try as he might, he couldn’t focus on anything in front of him. Every creak of Agent Dolarhyde’s shoes on a faulty spot in the carpet made his muscles clench, and every breath that huffed from him sat in the air and made everything sour.

           When Beverly got home, Will had to visually confirm that it was her before they’d let her come in. She broke through the defensive stance of two agents at the door, and she dropped her backpack in order to properly give Will a spine-stiffening hug, her arms tight and her mouth pursed.

           “Leave it to me to finally bring Saul here for you to meet, and this happens,” she groused, pulling back to look Will over critically.

           “Saul is here?”

           “You were complaining that you hadn’t met him, and I thought that now was as good a time as any.” She glanced to the agents standing in the doorway, then looked over Will’s shoulder where Dolarhyde waited near the kitchen. “Will they let him in, or…?”

           Will looked back to Francis. “Can her boyfriend come inside?”

           The look that Agent Dolarhyde gave Beverly could have melted butter. He mulled the question over with a dark, foreboding expression verging on almost hostile, before he came to a decision and gave a slow, even nod.

           “Bring him up.”

           Saul was a wiry, red headed mess with one bright green eye and one black like Beverly’s. Unlike Will, whose discomfort gave way to monosyllabic words and internalizing, he spent the better half of the afternoon commenting on just how ‘wild’ all of this was. It was bad enough that even Beverly had to kindly ask him to shut up, and by then Will had made his escape to the kitchen where he feigned hunger and hid behind a tall glass of Jack and Coke.

           “Sorry,” Beverly apologized, leaning against the counter. Will took a long sip of his drink and shrugged, his smile nothing more than an awkward grimace. In the living room, Molly made awkward conversation and tried to keep an eye on the news for any new information.

           “He’s charming and honest,” he said.

           “Charming? Telling lies to make me feel better?” She snickered and made herself a drink as well, much more Jack than Coke. “I don’t need you to tell me what you think right now. I wouldn’t put you in that position.”

           “Does he make you happy, Beverly?” he asked. She studied her glass with far more intensity than was necessary, turning it about before she turned her back on Will in order to add ice to it.

           “I didn’t think I’d be happy with a soulmate,” she said. With her back to him, the words were hard to catch, and he moved closer. “When I met him, I…was so angry. He wasn’t angry, but I was, and he could feel it. He tried.”

           “Five years now and you’re still together,” he noted. “He must be doing something right.”

           “Five years now and I think he makes me happy, yeah,” Beverly replied. She closed the freezer and looked at him, taking a sip of her drink. “Do you ever think about yours? What it’d be like to have one?”

           “…I don’t think I’d be a good soulmate. I can hardly maintain a normal relationship with Molly, and we’re not soulmates.”

           “Maybe it’d be easier with one than to try and have a relationship without.” She wrinkled her nose lightly. “Especially since you usually just end up turning her into some kind of booty call.”

           “She came into my room last night,” he protested.

           “Had you messaged her, first?”

           “No,” he snapped. At her shit-eating grin, he added, “I even told her we weren’t good together.”

           “If you still had sex with her, though, that makes your point null and void, to be honest.”

           Beverly was right, but he didn’t always like it. They eyed one another over their drinks before her pleased, shit-eating grin placated him, and he sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

           “I’m sorry about this,” he murmured. “I’d have liked to meet Saul when he had a chance to be…”

           “Less cringy?” she offered.

           “He’s pretty cringy,” he agreed, and they both laughed, time kept staggered by the occasional clinking of the ice inside of Beverly’s glass.

-

           He was woken in the middle of the night by Agent Dolarhyde. It didn’t take much; Will’s dreams were such that he slept in a mostly semi-conscious state where there was awareness about him, even as he dreamt of Lecter taking a linoleum knife to his skin just to see what the muscle looked like underneath.

           His hand touched Will’s shoulder, and he instantly sat up, concern a knot that twisted inside of him, ugly and cloying. The side of the bed that Molly had been sleeping on was cold, the sheets twisted up in a pile.

           “We need to go,” Agent Dolarhyde said, and as Will stretched, he let go of him and stepped away, tucking his hands behind his back.

           “What’s happened? Where’s Molly?” His voice dropped to a whisper, an odd sensation of the air around him pressing until it felt too heavy push through.

           “Molly is okay. I need you to get your bag and come with me.”

           His urgency shook through the fog, and Will twisted out of bed to follow his lead. When he went to grab the light, though, Francis stilled his hand, and the dark shape of his head shook slowly.

           “No light, Mr. Graham,” he said quietly.

           “Where’s Beverly?”

           “Beverly is okay, too.”

           “Agent Dolarhyde-”

           “Mr. Graham,” he interrupted, tone firm, “there is no time. We need to go. I will keep you safe.”

           His mouth fumbled with the ‘S’, uncertain of it. Will thought of the way he’d stared at him before, as they shook hands and considered one another. Focused was a good word for it, as well as desperate –that sat just underneath, lurking within his awkward speech. He was desperate to keep Will safe.

           “You’ll tell me on the way?” he asked, shuffling through the dark to grab his bag.

           “I will.”

           When they left the room, the hallway reeked of wet pennies. Dolarhyde kept them pressed tight to the wall, shuffling down it with Will just behind him. When an odd noise tried to escape from Will’s lips, he pressed a fist to his mouth to silence it. His tongue sat heavy, and spit pooled just beneath it at the taste in the air. The urge to gag was strong.

           The smell grew in the living room, although in the darkness Will had to depend upon Agent Dolarhyde to lead him through whatever had happened while he’d slept. When his shoe slipped into a particularly spongy part of the carpet, he cringed closer to the man and shuddered. Blood. He’d just stepped in blood.

           Once outside, he gulped in the cool night air and scrambled after Francis, grip tight on his overnight bag.

           “What about Winston?” he asked, voice grating.

           “He will be okay.”

           “I want to take Winston,” Will protested.

           “I will get him if I can, Mr. Graham.”

           Will thought about running back for him, but when they hit the bottom steps, Francis’ hand slid to the dip of his shoulders and urged him forward to one of the SUV’s. The sound of shouts carried across the parking lot, and shots rang out, muted, odd things that spit at the pavement around them. His gait shifted from a harried walk to a run, heart stuttering.

           “Get in and put your head down,” Francis urged him, and he shoved him towards the car as he whipped around and returned fire.

           Heart pounding, eyesight narrowed with the fear that stepped on his shoulders, Will dropped to a crouch and skirted around the car. It took far too long for him to realize that the wheezing, rattling noise was his breathing, and when another bullet ricocheted just beside his feet, he jumped and climbed into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him.

           “Will?”

           “Beverly?”

           “What the hell is going on?”

           “Where’s Molly?”

           A hand touched the back of his shoulder, and he jumped.

           “I’m here Will,” Molly whispered to him. Her voice quavered with mortal terror.

           “This doesn’t look good,” Saul commented. If his voice hadn’t sounded so strained, it’d have almost been funny.

           Seconds passed like hours before Dolarhyde climbed in and started the car, pulling out of the parking lot with a steady grip on the wheel. As they took a corner, he turned the lights on, the reflection from streetlights bathing his calm expression with streaks of reds, yellows, and oranges from passing signs. He made no mention of the gunshots in the parking lot.

           “Buckle up, Mr. Graham,” he prompted in that same strange, calming voice.

           Will managed to buckle himself with only the most minimal of trouble, his hands shaking.

           “What the fuck just happened, Agent Dolarhyde,” he asked when he trusted his voice.

           Agent Dolarhyde’s face twisted, became ugly as he tried to find the right words to say. When they passed under another wash of streetlights, it took the shadows and colors from his skin, leaving him sallow and foreboding.

           “They tried to take you, Mr. Graham,” he said at last, rounding his words up. “And I do my job very well.”

           “Where are the rest of the agents?”

           The grief-stricken look Dolarhyde gave him was his answer.

           “Where are we going, then? Have we called Jack?”

           “We’re going to the house where you will be…safe.” He struggled with the word, although it seemed to stem more from a lack of desire to use any word that didn’t have the letter ‘S’ in it. “Then we will make the call.”

           “Agent Dolarhyde-”

           “Do you trust me, Mr. Graham?” he asked lightly.

           “I trust Jack Crawford,” Will replied after a while. “If he trusts you, then I trust you.”

           “Jack Crawford trusts me to keep you alive. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you.”

           “And my friends?” Will pressed.

           “And your friends,” Dolarhyde agreed. “I apologize that we didn’t have time to retrieve your dog, Mr. Graham.”

           Despite the situation, Will found himself heaving a short, dry laugh. “They’re not animal killers, are they?”

           “No, Mr. Graham.”

           “You can call me Will, Agent Dolarhyde,”

           “No,” he said, and his grip tightened on the wheel. “That’d be…rude.”

           Will was too tired to fight that. Off to the side, in the far distance, he saw the beginnings of sunrise, fingers grasping to peel away the layers of the dark in which Hannibal’s followers had used. Followers. Somehow, Hannibal had gotten himself some followers.

           “I’m sorry,” he said miserably to Beverly and Molly in the back seat.

           “It’s alright, Will,” Molly said. Despite the tremor in her voice, it came out stronger than he’d expected. “It’s not your fault.”

           “As long as my teachers get an e-mail, I think we’ll be okay,” Beverly said dryly. “And hell, Will, Saul is already asleep.”

           Will turned around to see, and sure enough, Saul lay with his head sprawled in Beverly’s lap, fast asleep.

           “Your presence releases serotonin,” he informed Beverly.

           “That’s what I’ve been told, Dr. Graham.”

           “It’s ten hours to the safe house,” Francis informed him. Will turned back around and adjusted his seatbelt. “Try to…rest.”

           It would be a futile effort, Will knew, but he’d try. Rather than force dreams where he knew he’d wake with the sensation of what it’d be like to bleed to death, Will tracked the rising sun, each blink of his eyes a gunshot that’d just narrowly missed both him and Francis.

           It seemed he hadn’t run out of time just yet.

-

           He dozed between two gas station stops, and by the third the sun was well into the sky. When they stopped again, Saul was finally awake, although the chatter that’d filled the apartment before was sorely missing. Will wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse.

           “Do you want anything inside?” Beverly asked. They were climbing out of the back seats, herding around Dolarhyde as he gassed the SUV up. Will watched them, expressions varying from exhaustion to grim determination, and he shook his head.

           “I’m not sure that I can eat right now,” he admitted.

           Francis didn’t like him waiting alone in the car, but Will promised to lock the doors and slump down in his seat. He wasn’t entirely confident that someone had managed to follow them all that way, but Francis’ paranoia was something to wonder at. In between bouts of small, two-minute naps, Will would watch his face. The calm, steady assurance remained, but he glanced to the rearview mirror for more than just cautionary checks of the traffic around them. More than once, Will noted how he’d grip the steering wheel so tight his knuckles would whiten. He wondered how many agents had given their lives, just so they could get away.

           He wondered why anyone even thought he was worth the effort.

           Once the doors were sufficiently locked, Will slumped down in his seat. The silence pressed in, heavy with accusations at him, and he let out an uneven breath of air. He counted seconds by the muted clicks of his eyelids. He counted minutes by the sensations that crawled along his skin, reminding him that even if he lived through this, many more would die as a result. Was his life worth it? Who was he, in the grand scheme of things?

           Needing some sort of distraction that didn’t involve people, he turned on the radio.

           “…and that’s all for the weather today! Right now, we go to Darren and Clara for our news reports during this noon hour.”

           It wasn’t just the FBI agents. Will glanced down to his shoe whose rim was red with the blood he’d had to step through to get away. Beverly, her soulmate-boyfriend Saul, and Molly were in danger because of him, because he’d saved Jack Crawford’s life so long ago. It wasn’t right for them to be in danger, nor was it right that they were stuck in a potentially fatal situation.

           God, who was going to feed Winston?

           “Thank you and yes! I mean, they’re kids, but come on…”

           The shock must still be strong for them not to complain about what he’d inadvertently done to them. That, or they were far better people than he deserved, to have their lives at stake and still find the grace to smile.

           “You know, Darren, I’m hearing a lot of complaining about millennials, but let’s talk about baby boomers, shall we?”

           He shouldn’t overthink it, but he’d once gone to therapy due to his horrific ability to internalize to the point that the emotions were his and his alone. He’d once sat across from a serial killer who spent a good half of his hour-long sessions peeling away the dark thoughts from his head in order to organize them in neat piles for discussion. The tools given then to compartmentalize his feelings were put to use now –not with much success, but at least he could say that he was trying.

           “Y’know, I’ve got a rebuttal for that, but right now we’re getting something from federal authorities, a follow-up to our earlier discussion. There is currently an east-coast wide search for the missing Will Graham of GWU in Washington, DC.”

           The sound of his name from the radio pulled him from his dark, roiling thoughts.

           “-where authorities are telling us that early this morning, Will Graham was abducted from his apartment complex by people who are suspected as accomplices to the escape of Dr. Hannibal ‘The Cannibal’ Lecter yesterday morning.”

           “Now, wasn’t it just the other day that a woman in Baltimore, Maryland murdered someone in Hannibal the Cannibal’s ‘name’? I think I remember her gutting someone, right?”

           “Yes, and it looks as though several federal agents lost their lives this morning trying to protect this guy from the same fate. Listeners, we’re going to put the photos of these wanted people on our website, as well as the last vehicle they were seen in. If you happen to see these guys, give us a call, give authorities a call, but do not engage them. They are considered armed and dangerous. Let’s bring Will Graham back to safety, yeah?”

           “Can you imagine being a victim of a kidnapping like that?”

           “I can’t! I mean, the closest I’ve gotten to that was a girl in a bar that just wouldn’t let up, you know? She kept asking for my number, wondering if I was single…”

           “I’ve seen you in bars, buddy, and I’m going to call bull on that one.”

           Their words rebounded inside the bone arena of his skull, left Will reeling as he realized that it wasn’t a joke. Once they sunk deep enough to bruise, he didn’t hesitate. He was out of the car before he could process what his next move would be, the radio turning off as the door opened. He closed the door behind himself, heart pounding each and every word further and further into his skin as he was forced to realize the truth:

           Dolarhyde was one of them.

           “Will-”

           “We have to go,” he interrupted Molly, whirling around to face her. “Molly, we have to go.”

           “Will, what’s happened?” She looked frightened, her brow creasing as she took in his shaking hands and sallow skin.

           “I just heard the radio, Molly. Dolarhyde is one of them. He’s working for Lecter.”

           “Oh, Will,” Molly said with a sigh. She suddenly sounded nothing like herself, her tone shifting as her expression of dismay fell. “Why’d you have to turn on the radio like that?”

           Her words made his skin go cold, his muscles tensing. “…Molly?” he ventured cautiously.

           “Get back in the car, Will.”

           He hesitated, his mind refusing to accept what he was seeing, what he was hearing. When he didn’t move, she sighed and stunned him further when a gun was removed from her purse. With perfect, calm assurance, she leveled it at his stomach.

           “Please get back in the car, or I will shoot you.”