#Wally stop being hard to draw please I beg of you

[sketchy-tour]

You'd think with how often I draw Wally, I wouldn't feel the need to adjust and redraw his hair a morbillion times

And yet here I am. Doing that. *resizes his pompadore a fifth time on one drawing.*

[superhero-boogie]

They can't know. Part 1.

(Okay, this shit is super long and not at all what I planned to be, but you know what? I'm still happy. For those of you who are waiting for the Jason Todd story; I'm working on it. I already finished this one so I might be posting it the other part today.)

Warning; Angst, Hints of anxiety, Cursing. ( I think that's it)

Request; None. ( You can send me.)

You weren’t a superhero like the rest of your family, but that didn’t stop you from hanging at the Batcave, the coolest place on earth, especially from using the gigantic screen of the bat computer to watch movies. Your brother Dick was spending days over to visit you and invited his best friend. You were watching your favorite tv show while Wally West, aka Kid Flash, was somewhere at the Batcave with your older brother.

- Wally? Wally? - Dick snapped his fingers on his face - Wally!

He jumped facing an annoyed Dick.

- W-what?!

- Are you listening? This is important, dude!

- I know, I was! - He said trying to distract Dick from looking behind his back at the direction he was staring; Yours.

- Were you seriously watching tv rather than listening? Really, man?

- I got distracted, sorry! What were we talking again? - Relief ran his body.

Dick scan his face with suspicious before turning to talk to you.

- Y/N?

- Yeah, Dickie? - You said still staring at the Bat-computer.

- Can’t you watch this back at the Manor?

- Sure. - You responded, eyes still on the scene, not moving an inch.

Dick waited a minute until speaking again.

- So?

- Huh? What? - You said making Wally smile at your concentration.

- Will you watch at the Manor? - He asked impatiently.

- Nope. Now shush.

- But you said you could!  

- That I could, not that would! Now shut up, the love of my life is talking. - You said, waving your hand at them, talking about your favorite actor.

Wally put his hand dramatically above his heart.

- But Y/N! I thought I was the love of your life!

- Sure, whatever floats your boat, dude. - You sighed dreamily seeing the actor taking off his shirt. - I thought you were talking about something important?

Dick turned to Wally again with a “see what I have to go through every day” face before continuing his speech.

- So as I was saying before being so rudely ignored, I was thinking about doing a YJ reunion. What do you think?

- Why? Is something wrong? - It confused Wally, he remembered none bad news involving his old team.

- No. Not at all. But I figure that would be nice for the new members to meet the original gang.

- That’s cool, bro. Have you talked with the others yet?

- No, not yet. I’ve been playing with the idea for a while now, so I figure to ask since you were already coming. What do you think?

- That’s a great idea, but you need to check with everyone though.

- I know. I was planning to do it today. Do you think you can stay with Y/N for a while?

- I’m still listening, Dick. And we’re not kids. - You said.

- I know, I know. I’m going now, see you guys later. - He said getting out of the cave.

- Bye! - You and Wally shouted.

He stood there for a minute before going in your direction. He got behind you and put his over your eyes.

- Guess who? - He whispered in your ear making you shiver.

- Ha, Ha, hilarious, Wally. Get off me. - You took his hands off your face.

- It wasn’t what you said last night if I remember well... What did you say? Oh, I remembered now. “Oh, yeah, Wal...” - You turned, putting your hands on his mouth keeping him to mimic you.

- Would you, please, shut the fuck up? This place has cameras, you know? Do you really have a death wish?

- Come on, babe. You know I love you. - He wrapped his arms on your shoulders and rested his chin on the top of your head.

You hugged and kissed him on the corner of his mouth.

- I know, I love you too.

And you did. More than anything. It hurt you couldn’t be with him around your family. You knew that eventually, they would find out or you would have to tell them, but the thought of fighting them about your relationship scared the hell out of you. The whole problem was with your ages. Even if you were eighteen, what you was, Wally was way older than you; he had Dick’s age, and, since little, your family protected you like you were made of glass.

Your father had an affair with your mom before Dick was Robin, and she was a model. When you were six, the police arrested her for being an accomplice of a corrupt Mayer that she was dating and sent you to live with your father. At the time Dick was already thirteen and Robin, but since you were just a baby, you didn’t understand it. Babs was your hero, she spoiled and played with you.

When Jason came, you were twelve and knew about your father’s double life. In the first weeks of his time at the mansion, Jason was quiet and seemed angry all the time, your ages were close so you tried to be his friend, not realizing that a fourteen-year-old boy would rather die than play with dolls. When he died you were fifteen and cried until you couldn’t breathe anymore.

You became sad and angry and wanted to take the joker down yourself and begged to your father to train you to be his next Robin. He said no, not being able to even think about losing you as he did with Jason, so you moved in with Dick for a few months and trained martial arts with him. It was a nice brother-sister bonding moment and gave you the time you need it to calm down and realize you didn’t want to fight crime.

When you came back, you found out that there was a new Robin, Tim Drake. And a new Batgirl, Cassandra Cain. At first, you didn’t know what to think about them. He wasn’t an orphan as Dick or Jason and didn’t live at the mansion with you but he was younger and fun to be around and she was peaceful and quiet so you decided that Jason wouldn’t mind if you took them as siblings. Then Jason came back, and you were extremely confused. All those feeling that came with his death came back with the addition of your anger towards him. How could he not come back for his family? For you?  

When things calmed down, you couldn’t be more happy for having your brother back and cried to sleep holding him. Stephanie was awesome, you finally had a girl around age and could talk about stuff you couldn’t with your brothers. Damian was hard. He knew you were his father biological kid too but didn’t understand why you didn’t want to fight. He more often than not was rude, and you grew very insulted when he treated Alfred poorly. When he moderated his temper, you suspiciously let him enter your heart. And became thrilled about having a baby brother. Duke was happy and cool and you came to care for him too. There were so many of them, so many that you would disappoint for lying and keeping secrets. Not only with you, but Wally was also Dick best friend, and you knew it hurt him as much as did with you. But you loved Wally so much and were not willing to let him go.

- Hey, babe, come back. - Wally kissed your cheek drawing your attention. - What were you thinking?

-About my family. Their reaction when they find us out.

- No wonder you took so long, you guys multiply like bunnies. Don’t worry, babe, we will be fine.

You looked around checking if no one were coming and stand up, wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms on your waist pulled you closer.

- So... Kid Flash, what do you think we get out of here?

- I would love to. - He smiled - What do you think about France?

- Wally, you’re not taking me to Paris on my pajamas.- You got closer, your noses touching each other. - I was thinking something closer like… I don’t know... my bedroom? - You smiled giving a little peck on his lips.

Suddenly your legs didn’t touch the ground anymore and Wally was carrying you in bridal style, making you laugh.

- Well, then why you didn’t say earlier?

XXX

You would kill him, he would have to super-speed his ass to the other side of the planet to run from you. You grunted frustrated grabbing your makeup case; the hickey looked like a neon sign on your neck, not even your hair covering. He was dead.

A knock on the door made your soul leave your body for a few seconds.

- Y/N? Are you in there? - Your baby brother asked

- Yes, Damian. I’ll be out in a few, okay?

- Okay, I will wait in the bedroom.

- Shit. - you whispered trying to cover the bruise in a rush. You did the best you could and hoped your hair would help you.

You got out of the bedroom seeing your brother sitting on your bed with his legs crossed.

- How can I help you on this beautiful day, my baby brother? - You said lying down on the bed.

- I’m not a child, Y/N, much less a baby. But you could do something for me, yes.

You pulled him down on the bed as well and turned to face him, your arm under your head.

- Tell me what.

- Can you ask Grayson to not do the ridiculous reunion on our house? I’ve tried but he won’t listen.

- Why? I’m excited to have the guys over. You’re not?

- No, I’m not looking forward to having a loud and uneducated crowd on our house.

- Oh, come on, Damian. You can’t be serious. - You faced the ceiling. - Think like this; In a few years, the people coming will be your old team. Would you like someone to stop you?

Damian stopped to think for a few moments and got up.

- Well then, I suppose there’s nothing for me to do. Do you want to join me for breakfast?

- I would love, Damian. Just give me a moment to get ready, okay? Go ahead, I’ll catch you in a few secs.

You watched him get out and close the door before running back to the bathroom, to perfect the foundation on your neck.

XXX

By the time you made to the kitchen, Damian was throwing blueberries on Tim’s hair who was too busy staring at his coffee to notice anything.

You hugged him and took the little fruits from his hair getting a nasty look from Damian.

- Hey, Tim. Why are you up so early? Did you came from Steph’s or spend the night at the cave?

-... huh? Oh, Cave.

You glanced at the bags under his eyes and shook your head.

- You know... You won’t be able to stay awake at the YJ reunion if you don’t sleep, right? Why don’t you give this... - You took away his mug- And go upstairs?

- I will, I’m just waiting for something to be ready down at the cave, and I’m going to bed. - Tim tried to reach for his mug back while you took out of his grasp.

- What is so important that’s keeping you awake?  

- I’m doing a backup of the camera recordings at the Batcave so I can have more space in the HD. - Tim rested his head at the table.

- Why you’re doing it? Is something wrong, Drake? - Damian searched for the cereal on the kitchen cabinet.

- Not really, but since Dick’s is throwing a party, I wanted to make sure nothing goes off my eye.

- That’s mean, Timbo. I know we are offensively rich, but no one will rob us. - You teased him. - And since when we’re calling it a “party”?

Tim straightened his back.

- I didn’t mean like that! I was talking about not letting us vulnerable to attacks! I... I didn’t...

- Relax, Timbo. I’m mocking you.

- You’re awful, Y/N, I’m too tired for this. And we both know it’s not really a “reunion”. - He got up and search for the milk in the fridge. - Also, I want to see if the new program I installed last week works.

- What does it do? - You asked taking a sip from his intact coffee.

- It shows the persons that visited the Mansion or the Batcave, but just Wally came so there’s not really too much to see. Did you drink my coffee? -Tim narrowed his eyes.

- ... No? - You stopped to think about what he had said before the question, choking a little - W-wait, You will analyze the records from while Wally was here? Like all of them?! - The scenes of you and Wally making out around the house while you were alone passing through your eyes, the panic making your voice higher.

- ... Yeah? Are you okay? - He asked skeptically.

- You know, Tim. You’re looking so tired, are you sure you have to do this right now? Why don’t you go to sleep? I call you when it’s ready, how about that?

- Yeah, Drake, you’re looking like a zombie.

Tim took his eyes from you and stared at Damian.

- Looks who’s talking, the real zombie.

- Well, at least I’m not a... - You turned their discussion off, trying to figure out what to do. Grabbing your phone from your back pocket, you text Stephanie.

“Hey, Steph. I need a favor.”

Her reply didn’t take long to show.

“Sup, what can I do 4 you?"

“I need you to take Tim out of the Manor. Can’t tell u why.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, just do it, please?”

It didn’t take long until Tim’s phone rang.

- Hey, cutie. You’re... what? - Tim looked around his face growing red. - Uhum... Yep... I’m coming. Bye.

You looked at him questionably.

- I have to go. - Was all he said before leaving.

- That was weird, wasn’t it?

You looked at your little brother doing your best innocent face.

- Completely. - You got up and ran to your bedroom.

[violetwolfraven]

Bluepulse Week Day 2: Dreams/Nightmares

Summary: M’gann experiences the boys’ nightmares, then attempts to make them talk about it.

.............................................................................

M’gann was running. She couldn’t run fast enough. The post-apocalyptic landscape was treacherous and M’gann’s shoes were barely together. Wait... why was she running when she could fly? M’gann looked down to see someone else’s—a human’s— body.

I’m dreaming, M’gann realized, Someone else’s dream.

It wasn’t uncommon. She’d shared one with Wally, where he was being chased by toast, one with Garfield where he’d been frustrated about not being able to turn into a regular-colored elephant, and various other PTSD-induced nightmares with almost everyone on the team. The only reason M’gann was still sane was because she knew it wasn’t real.

But real or not, M’gann was scared. She was more afraid than she’d been in her life. Or, whoever’s dream this actually was was that scared. M’gann listened in on their thoughts.

No, no, no, no.Not again. I prevented this. I was going to protect him. I need to go faster...

A hand went up to the person’s neck, where an inhibitor collar was stopping their abilities.

M’gann probed deeper into the person’s thoughts. This was... Bart?

Bart cried out as something hit him, hard, knocking him against a tree. M’gann knew it was a dream, but somehow, the pain was real.

Bart was crying, scared out of his mind, and blows fell on his back, on his head, on his arms and legs, and he was curled in too tight a ball for M’gann to see who the assailant was.

Whoever it was, they lifted Bart off his feet by the throat, and M’gann was shocked.

It was Blue Beetle.

But it wasn’t... really. It looked like Jaime, but this Blue was a lot bigger, with a homicidal gleam in his eyes. He didn’t look at Bart with compassion. Only cruel amusement.

“J-Jaime!” Bart gasped, “It’s me! It’s Bart! We’re friends!”

“We are not friends,” Blue Beetle said in a deep voice that could give most people nightmares.

“It can’t be- be you under there,” Bart choked. Panic was just making it harder for him to breathe.

Blue Beetle laughed, “You won’t know until it’s too late.”

He drove a sword through Bart’s stomach.

...

M’gann was immediately slingshotted into someone else’s nightmare. Oh no.

The most confusing part was that it was a similar scene.

It was almost the same—post-apocalyptic. But Bart was standing in front of whoever this was, hands up, terrified. He couldn’t run away. This him had an inhibitor collar on, too.

“J-Jaime,” Bart pleaded, “Please don’t hurt me! I’m your friend.”

This was Jaime’s dream.

“Scarab, don’t hurt him! I’m begging you, don’t hurt him!” Jaime’s shaky voice was in his head.

“The Bart Allen has to die, Jaime Reyes,” another voice said. M’gann had sensed Jaime talking to someone telepathically before. She hadn’t known it was the Scarab. All she could sense now was Jaime’s fear and pain. He was terrified of hurting Bart. He seemed to lose all hope. Was this what had been going through his head while on-mode? Hurting everyone and not being able to do anything about it?

“No, please! Bart, run!”

“I thought you were my friend,” Bart said, sounding bitter and angry.

“The Bart Allen can not hear you,” the Scarab said to Jaime, drawing swords.

M’gann could hear Jaime begging Scarab not to do it. He was fighting as hard as he could and M’gann sensed that if he could, he would be crying. And she sensed his horror as the sword was driven through Bart’s stomach.

...

“No!” Jaime sat bolt upright in bed.

“It was only a dream, Jaime Reyes.”

“Could you see it?” Jaime gasped, still panting.

“Yes, but it took me some time to wake you.”

Jaime shuddered, “Man, that was scary.”

“You should know that I would never do that.”

“If we were on-mode, you wouldn’t be able to stop it,” Jaime pointed out. Maybe spending the night at the Watchtower had been a bad idea. His parents had thought it might help, but tonight’s nightmare was as bad as always.

Jaime made his way to the kitchen, and was surprised to see Bart there, absentmindedly not-really making popcorn.

“Scans indicate that the Bart Allen is distresssd,” Scarab said, “He is scared.”

“Bart?” Jaime asked.

Bart jumped, “Hey, her-man-o! What’s up?”

“You okay?”

He looked guarded, but nodded, “Yeah, why?”

“You don’t look okay,” Jaime said. As he put a hand on Bart’s shoulder, he got a flash of pain. Fear. Betrayal. A deep voice laughing and telling him he wouldn’t know something until it was too late. Like his dream, but on Bart’s end.

Bart jumped, like he’d gotten something, too.

“What was—?” Jaime was confused.

“The M’gann M’orzz is behind that corner. That telepathic connection was her doing.”

“Telepathic connection?” Jaime thought, “You mean that was a dream Bart had?”

“Affirmative.”

“Did you just get a flash of me trying to kill you?” Jaime asked aloud.

“Yeah,” Bart admitted, surprised, “Except, you didn’t want to. How did you know?”

“That was the nightmare I just woke up from. Scarab thinks M’gann connected us telepathically for a second.”

Bart processed that, “Does that mean..?”

“Yeah,” Jaime confirmed, “Bart, whoever that Beetle was, he wasn’t me. He’ll never be me.”

Bart shrugged, “The dream was right. If he is, I’ll never know until it’s too late.” He sighed, “Jaime, you know the real reason I came back to the past?”

“Too keep an eye on me?”

“Yeah... no. I came here to kill you.”

Jaime felt a flash of shock, “Oh. Wait, why didn’t you?”

Bart chuckled, “Maybe it was stupid, but while I was trying to find your weaknesses, that wasn’t all I found. I found you. The mission stopped being ‘cross you off,’ and started being ‘save you.’”

Jaime didn’t know what to say. Had Bart really risked everything. Every horrible thing that had happened in his future, just to save him?

Turned out, Jaime didn’t have to say anything. Bart wrapped him in a hug, burying his face in the older boy’s shirt.

Jaime just hugged him back, trying to make up for everything the future version of him had done, even though he knew that was probably impossible.

Around the corner, M’gann smiled to herself and went back to bed. The boys were far from okay, but maybe they were starting to heal.

[bendywackyadventures]

Escape to the City Chapter 3

AU takes place in @ask-joeydrewstudios

Damien led the toons somewhere in the far part of the city. He looked around to make sure no one was around, and once the close was clear. “Come on in guys” Damien said.

The toons went inside Damien’s hideout and saw it wasn’t the best place, but it had beds and pillows. The mess was what kept everyone, especially Alice from saying anything bad about it.

“Yeah its not the best place in the world, but its something.” Damien explained.

Bendy chuckled. “Well at least its not my room, I haven’t cleaned it in weeks.”

“Eww.” Alice replied. “Didn’t Joey tell you to clean it last week?”

Bendy thought about it and had a flashback to last week.

Flashback:

Bendy was eating a candy bar he got from Wally, but instead of throwing it away in the garbage can he threw it at the wall, along with his other mess.

“Bendy! Don’t forget to clean your room!” Joey called out.

“I won’t!” Bendy replied.

End of Flashback

“Uh maybe?” Bendy replied.

Alice groaned in disgust, she knew Bendy was a troublemaker but never she would of thought he was a slob. Boris and Damien chuckled and relaxed for the time being.

“So you three want to go to the city right?” Damien asked.

Bendy nodded. “Oh yeah, we’ve been trying to for a long time!”

Damien chuckled. “Like I said before, you came to the right guy, but we have to wait till morning. If we go at night it could be dangerous.” He explained.

Alice gulped. “How dangerous?” She asked.

Damien chuckled. “Oh so dangerous, due to the hard times, people can steal, and attack you from every corner.” He explained.

Alice shivered in fear, she started to regret escaping the studio, and should have stayed. But, how can she get home now? Its dangerous for an angel like her.

“Hey! I can handle danger!” Bendy beamed.

“Yeah in cartoons.” Alice said back. Bendy glared at Alice, who replied with a smirk. The two then got into an argument, which had them butting heads and yelling insults at one another.

Damien leaned over to Boris. “Do they fight all the time?” He asked.

Boris nodded. “Yep, and it can get physical, sometimes.” He replied.

The argument got cut off when they heard someone coming up. “Damien, do you have anyone living with you?” Bendy asked.

“No.” Damien replied. The toons huddled in fear as Damien went over to the door wondering whom it was outside. Once he opened it, he was faced with a little girl.

“There you are brother!” A high voice shouted. The girl had dark brown hair tied into a ponytail, had fair skin and dark eyes and wore a lavender colored dress. “I’ve been looking for you!”

“J-Jenny!” Damien shouted. “What are you doing here?!”

“Looking for you.” Jenny replied. Jenny hugged her brother tight. “Oh I missed you big bro! I’ve been looking for you for weeks, and-“ She got cut off seeing Bendy and the toons.

Bendy chuckled. “H-Hi.”

Jenny stared at the toons, and with a big smile on her face ran up and hugged them tightly. “Bendy! Boris! Alice!” She cheered.

“Wait you know us?” Boris asked.

“Wait you know them?” Damien asked.

Jenny gasped letting go of the toons and going to her brother. “You mean you never seen a Bendy cartoon!”

Damien narrowed his eyes at his sister. “Well I’m not into old children cartoons anymore.” He replied.

Jenny and the toons gasped in horror. How could he, Bendy cartoons are all over! “How could you Damien!? Bendy cartoons are one of the best things ever!” Jenny yelled. “I’ve watched all the cartoons at the pictures, and they’re funny! I thought you would be watching picture films since you do like them!”

“She’s right!” Bendy spat back. Alice and to hold him back, this wasn’t his fight, this was a family matter.

“Look I’m 16 years old, you are 8 years old. We’re in two different worlds sis.” Damien spat back.

“It doesn’t matter. I see people your age seeing Bendy cartoons and other cartoon shorts.”

Damien groaned. He didn’t want to deal with this anymore, and still hasn’t answered his previous question. “So why are you here again?”

Jenny took a deep breath to calm down. “Mom and dad, they’re still looking for you, and they didn’t want me to look for you, so I did and found you here.” She explained. She then looked at the toons, “I wrote to you guys a few weeks back asking if you can help me find my bro, but I lost the letter on my way to the post office. I thought the wind or someone found it and brought it to you guys, and look,” She stopped to hug her brother, “You found him!”

The toons looked at each other for a second. They never got the letter, and it was probably lost somewhere. “What do we tell her?” Bendy whispered.

Alice looked at Bendy, “The truth.” She replied. “Listen sweetie, we didn’t get your letter, we ran into your brother and we just followed him.”

“Should have just lied.” Bendy mumbled.

“Oh.” Jenny sighed.

Alice gave a comforting smile and put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “But don’t be sad you found your brother and met us for the first time, so that shouldn’t be too bad, right?”

Jenny nodded. Alice smiled back. “Damien, please come back home.” Jenny begged.

Damien rolled his eyes. “Look. I’m not coming back home. You should be going home, it’s late!” He yelled.

Jenny glared. “Fine! Then I’ll stay!” She sat down not moving from her spot.

Damien growled. “Fine!” He shouted. He walked over to his side of the room and lied down.

The toons looked at each other, this argument made the environment around them awkward. “Guess we got to get some sleep too.” Bendy mentioned.

“Yep!” Boris nodded.

Alice yawned, nodding in response too. The toons went on one side of the room and fell asleep. Tomorrow they get to explore the city, they need all the sleep they can get.

At the studio, Joey couldn’t get any sleep. The toons we’re still missing and no one has info or anything about them. He got up, like the 6th time tonight and went into the toons room and saw it still empty. He wished is wasn’t empty, he wanted it lively with laughter, the yells of Alice telling Bendy to “Knock it off!”, and Boris snuggling up to him when he had a stressful time.

Thinking of them, made Joey chuckle a little bit. He went back to his room in hopes he can get some sleep. Joey turned around and looked at a drawing Alice made for him not too long ago, with a smile he held the picture and fell asleep.

[icanhearyouglaring]

Another Round

pairing: wally/artemis summary: Artemis will do anything to prove that her mentors are innocent, even if it means having to team up with her ex-fiancé. God, those old bastards better appreciate this. (An Indiana Jones-esque AU) a/n: some of you will recognize this! I’m finally getting around to posting. I hope you like it. This is the only chapter that will be posted on Tumblr, the rest will be on Ao3.

Slipping into Bolt during the evening rush and hiding in plain sight behind the horror that is college karaoke night had been the easy part. The hard part began when Artemis’s massive human shield of grad students letting off steam slowly dwindled down to a few regulars closing their tabs and bidding the stretched thin bartender goodbye.

When the last man leaves and the music turns low, Artemis pulls herself out of the corner she’s been tucked in all night, takes a deep breath, and quietly approaches the edge of the bar. She makes it into a seat before the bartender turns to face her fully.

“Well, well, well.” Wally stops cleaning the shot glass in his hand and places it on the bartop in front of Artemis. The blazing glare on his face stuns her for a second before she remembers it’s well deserved.

“If it isn’t Artemis Crock,” he continues, crossing his arms. “Always knew you’d come barreling back into my life like the one woman wrecking ball you are. Care to tell me exactly what it is you think you’re doing here?”

“Come on, Wally. That’s no way to greet a lady,” she chides, placing her peace offerings– a bottle of gin from Venezuela and a vintage can of petrol for his workshop decor– on the counter that separates them.

Wally snorts at ‘lady’. “I think I get a pass. So, what is it? Come to steal another one of my souvenirs?  

“Not exactly,” Artemis says, leaning forward in her barstool and narrowing her eyes, “and in case you forgot, I didn’t steal that arrow. I used it to save our lives–”

“And blow up my lab in the process,” Wally snaps, his hands hitting the countertop hard and shaking the empty glass between them.

Artemis doesn’t flinch.

“I know you’re not still mad about that,” Artemis says quietly, tentatively ghosting her hand over one of his. He doesn’t pull away when she touches him. Interesting, she thinks, running her thumb over his knuckles before meeting his eyes. “Wally…”

He swallows as she tightens her grip on his hand.

“I’m sorry,” she says sincerely, holding his guarded gaze. “I am. I never should have left the way I did.”

“No. You shouldn’t have left, period.” He pulls his hand away, as though her touch burns him like a branding iron, and he runs his fingers through his hair as if to rid them of the feeling. “And you shouldn’t have come back. There’s nothing here for you.”

“Actually,” Artemis says slowly, wincing slightly at his words, “there is. That’s why I’m here. I know I’m probably your least favorite person right now–”

“Right now? You’ve held that title for almost eight years.” He mimes a sad firework explosion with his hands. “Congratulations.”

Artemis bites her lip and exhales slowly through her nose, knowing the venom in his voice is one hundred percent warranted.

“Wally, I’m sorry,” Artemis repeats sincerely as she stands and reaches for his shoulder, but Wally moves further behind the bar, just out of her reach. “I can’t change what I did, but I really need your help, so if you could put a pin in our personal history and listen to me for one second–”

Wally shakes his head and cuts her off. “Just get out of here, Artemis. Before trouble finds you and I find myself out of a living– again.”

“It’s a mask,” she says quickly. “Looks a lot like the Cheshire Cat from the fairytale. Barry and I found it in Qurac and I know he gave it to you. I need it and–”

“I’m not giving you anything, Artemis,” Wally says, walking around the bar until he’s right beside her. He places his hands on her shoulders and guides her towards the exit. “Not a drink, not a mask, not another minute of my time–”

She turns around in his grasp, fists his loose sweater in her hands, and pulls him closer before she resorts to begging, “Please, Wally, it’s important. Some really bad people are looking for it and I need to make sure yo– it’s– safe.”

The door to the bar swings open, making the thin, plastic blinds shutter against it. A man with long, white hair and a patch over one eye strides in with a gun in each hand. Real subtle, Artemis thinks, gritting her teeth and placing herself between him and Wally. Her hand drifts to the inside of her jacket, where her knife hides in its holster.

“If you really wanted to keep the mask safe, Miss Crock,” the man smirks as more hired hands appear in the doorway behind him, “then perhaps you shouldn’t have led us right to it.”

Artemis can feel Wally’s hand hovering over her hip, waiting for her to make a move, but she knows who this mercenary is, knows what he’s capable of, and she needs more time to think of a plan.

Luckily, Wally’s mouth is just as big as it ever was.

“Bar’s closed, gramps,” Wally says crossly, redirecting his anger. “Get out, and take your friends with you.”

“Show your elders some respect, boy.” The mercenary raises one of his guns and points it straight towards Wally’s face.

Artemis’s hand slowly moves from her knife to her jacket’s inner pocket. Her fingers wrap around the antique lighter within and she mentally prepares herself for what she’s about to do. When it doubt, blow it up, Oliver’s advice flits through her mind. It’s do or die anyways.

“Slade Wilson,” Artemis calls for his attention as she presses her back (and backpack) into Wally. Her ex-fiancé gets the message to start moving and, as she talks, they walk backwards together until his back is to the bar. “Better known as Deathstroke. I’m shocked Luthor would go to such lengths to find little old me. What’s he paying you? A hundred thousand? Two-hundred?”

Slade points his other gun at her and laughs shortly. “I wouldn’t get out of bed for that. Rest assured I’ll be well compensated for this job. One million for your head, one for his, and one for the mask.”

Artemis grimaces and moves her hands backwards until they’re pressed against the bar on either side of Wally. She slips him the lighter and a stray napkin as she keeps addressing Slade.

“Wow. That’s flattering, but I’d rather keep my head on my shoulders, and I’m sure he would too, so maybe we can make a deal,” Artemis brings her hands up in front of her to slow Slade down (and give Wally more cover to work). She hears the clinking of glass behind her. Nice to see we’re still on the same page.

Artemis continues, “We can get you the mask and a map to where we originally found it, if you let us go. The location alone is worth much more than three million, let me tell you. Luthor will try to pay you double, but tell him you’re no fool. Accept no less than forty.”

Slade tuts, “I’m afraid your proposition isn’t as valuable as you think, Miss Crock. Luthor’s only one of my clients looking for this mask.”

Artemis narrows her eyes, even as she mentally rolls them and decries Slade’s tendency for the dramatic.

“If you start a bidding war within that circle, the Shadows will notice,” Artemis warns.

“Let them notice. Now, this is the last time I ask nicely: hand over the mask.”

Wally taps Artemis’s back with the bottom of the gin bottle and she braces herself against him.

“Hey, Bad Santa,” Wally’s arm wraps around her waist as he draws Slade’s attention to himself, “you want the mask so badly? Catch.”

He throws the lit bomb towards the mercenary and yanks Artemis along with him as he rolls over the side of the bar for cover. The force of the ensuing blast shakes bottles off of the shelves behind them and sends Deathstroke running out of the bar, very much on fire and not happy about it. A few of his goons shoot at the bar, but Artemis leads Wally towards the kitchen door.

“Wait,” he says quickly, before he rolls back under the bar and pulls out the very mask everyone is fighting over. A bullet whizzes through the bar and a bottle bursts right above Wally’s shoulder. Artemis gapes at him. “Okay, let’s go.”

They run through the kitchen and knock over cabinets to slow their pursuers down. Artemis takes the mask from Wally as they run out the back door into an alley. She carefully stows it in her backpack and shakes her head at Wally.

“If we get out of this alive, we need to talk about the way you treat priceless artifacts,” Artemis says.

He tosses her a helmet before straddling his rumbling motorcycle. “Less talking, more escaping.”

Artemis hops onto the bike and hangs onto Wally tightly as he makes his way onto the busy street. They pass Deathstroke being put out on the sidewalk by concerned, confused citizens.

“Where do we go?” Wally asks, speeding in between cars to put more distance between them and the people hired to kill them.

“Head east for now,” Artemis instructs him. “I can make some calls once we get out of the city.”

Artemis loosens her grip on him and takes a deep breath. This was not how the night was supposed to play out. She was supposed to get the mask, bring Wally to the safe house, and go help her friends. Now, there’s a bounty on both of their heads and a mystery still to be solved. Her racing thoughts slow until all she can think about is how nice it feels to be close to him again. She leans against his back and thanks every ancient deity she can think of for allowing him to make it out unscathed.

As they merge onto the interstate, his voice filters into her helmet and interrupts her murmured ‘thank you’s.

“Now, I’m trying really hard not to be ungrateful, Beautiful, but did we really have to blow up the bar?”

[elfnerdherder]

Where the Wicked Walk: Ch. 18

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Chapter 18: The System of Dr. Tarr and Prof. Fether

           Will was discovered hours later by a boy around the age of ten. Will recognized him almost immediately, from his light blonde hair to his too serious face. He paused a polite distance away from Will –four and a half steps, to be exact –and he tilted his head in such a genuine gesture of curiosity that Will found it amusing rather than off-putting.

           “You’re Molly’s son,” Will said when the boy gave no greeting.

           “Yes.” The boy huffed a breath and buttoned his jacket. It seemed Georgia was going to finally allow it to be cold, and it was a chill that sunk deep. “You’re Will Graham.”

           “I am,” Will agreed.

           “…Mom said that I can trust you. Is that true?”

           Will considered him, from his nicely laced shoes to his raglan sleeved jacket. It looked far too big for him, the jacket of an adult rather than a kid. He wore it with pride, though, that much Will could see. This was a jacket of heritage, of ancestry. At the tattered edges of it, he could sense nostalgia, a boy that worried over the threads of it whenever he was at his most vulnerable.

           “What’s your name?”

           “Wally. Wally Foster.”

           “…Is that your dad’s old jacket, Wally?” Will asked.

           Wally smiled a little and bobbed his head. He turned in order to show off the back, the name ‘Foster’ in a proud, arched cursive.

           “It was my dad’s, but he gave it to me,” he explained turning back around to give Will his undivided attention. “So it’s mine now. It’s my favorite. He played baseball.”

           “What…happened to your dad?”

           “Cancer,” he said after a beat. Will’s lack of disgruntled behavior bolstered Wally, and he sat down on the step that Will’s feet rested on.

           “My dad died from cancer, too,” Will revealed quietly.

           “Really?”

           “Really, really.”

           Wally nodded, and Will noted his fingers sliding along the cuffs of the jacket, worrying at the threads of it.

           “Your mom said that you can trust me?” he asked, and he silently chastised himself for the break in his voice.

           Wally flashed him a grim smile and nodded. “She said…we can’t trust anyone in this house, but we can trust Will Graham. If something happens, I’m supposed to find you.”

           Will focused particularly on that, on her words said in the mouth of a kid. “She said you can’t trust anyone here?” he whispered, leaning in.

           “Yeah.” Wally fiddled more with the sleeves, and he let out a sigh. “She said not even the other kids. ‘Cept maybe Abigail, but she’s not a kid. You and Abigail.”

           “Did she say why we can’t trust them?”

           Wally liked the comradery Will gave, saying ‘we’ rather than ‘you’. His face brightened, and he shifted closer, like he was sharing a secret. “She said they’re not nice people, Mr. Graham.”

           “Just Will is fine, Wally.”

           “’Kay, Will. She said they’re not nice, and they could hurt us if we’re not careful.”

           Will nodded thoughtfully and looked out over the front yard, a brilliant and loving display of hydrangeas and lavender intermingling into a garden of sorts. He wondered if that was five hundred yards, or if his newfound babysitter would start chirping at his leg if he went too far.

           “Do you think that?” Wally pressed when Will didn’t speak.

           “What’s that?”

           “Do you think they’ll hurt us if we’re not careful?” Wally pressed.

           Will thought of the blood down the back of his head that morning in the shower, the way Molly’s hands had felt at the top of his scalp, cold. Her once warm hands were cold, and he didn’t recognize her anymore.

           In truth, he saw more of her in her son than anything else since his arrival at the house. The parts of her kindness, friendliness, and light were all wrapped into a small, neat bow in her son. Will had wondered where she’d hidden the parts of herself that first drew him to her, a lighthouse when his world was crashing around him, and he saw it now in Wally. She made herself a fortress of stone, something cold, calculating, and willing to pull the trigger should the need arise.

           And all of her goodness she hid in Wally.

           “You know what, Wally, I do,” Will said with a quiet sigh. “I think your mom is awfully smart, and you should listen to her.”

           “I try to,” Wally assured Will. “My dad said the same thing.”

           “It sounds like your dad was a good man.”

           “Say, I’m going to go and see if they have a soda,” Wally said, jumping up. “Since…since I’m going in there, do you want one?”

           Will smiled a little and nodded. “That’d be nice, Wally. Only if it’s not too much trouble.”

           “Well, I was going to go there anyway,” he said, and he was up the stairs and running into the house the way only a kid could run when their mother was smart enough to give their kid the truth, but not necessarily the whole truth.

           Which begged the question: if Molly was really in on all of this, why would she warn her son away from the people that she should supposedly view as her family –the one place she could call ‘home’?

-

           Will was approached by a young woman that evening when he was attempting to isolate himself in his room. She stood at the foot of the stairs, wind-chafed and resolute, and he recognized her as the girl that’d first found him after Nate had died, hands bloodied and mind frozen in shock. She’d worried for him, for a breath of a moment.

           “You’re…Will Graham,” she said quietly, and he tensed.

           “Please don’t try to touch me,” he said warningly. He wouldn’t throw her about like he’d done with Matthew, but there was only so much a person could take before they began drawing lines by force. He imagined his hands around her throat, squeezing before tossing her aside, and his stomach turned. Violent thoughts pushed towards the front of his mind, begged entertainment. He blinked and banished them away. He’d been in the house for too damn long.

           “No, I’m…I’m sorry they did that.” Her smile was watery, wavering as she shifted and reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind one ear. “Some people here are…well, you know.”

           “Are you Abigail?” he asked. He thought of Wally, rambling about just who he was supposed to trust.

           “I am,” she affirmed. “I’m sorry to bother you, I know you’re…you’re having a hard time, I just…”

           She stopped talking and looked down, sniffling discreetly behind a hand. She looked to be about seventeen or eighteen, far too thin for a healthy diet. She carried sorrow in the dip of her shoulders, resolution in the set of her jaw as she looked back up at him with intent, blue eyes.

           “You’re not like other people here,” she said at last, and something in her voice made him tense.

           “Is it that easy to tell?” he asked dryly.

           “I heard a lot of people wondering why Dr. Lecter would bring you here.”

           “I’m wondering the same about you,” Will replied, and he rocked back on his heels as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “How old are you?”

           “Old enough to understand what I’m seeing when I see it,” said Abigail, and she sniffed again and looked down. “Did you ever hear of the Minnesota Shrike?”

           “I have.”

           “That’s my dad,” she revealed, and she glanced up beneath her lashes to study him. “He’s here, in this house.”

           “Well it looks like Dr. Lecter extends amnesty to just anyone,” Will sneered.

           “He killed girls that looked like me.”

           “I recall.”

           “I thought maybe being here would…stop him from that, but…Mr. Graham, it was either them or me, and now that he can’t go about to find them…I’m scared that he’s going to Change me.”

           Will thought of Red Dragon whispering his wants, his need to Change. Farther down the hall, there was the sound of plates clattering, glasses clinking as dinner was set. Abigail glanced from the sudden noise, then back to him, her mouth fluttering before pressing tightly shut. Despite the openness of the stairwell, she was divulging something much like a secret to him, and he softened his voice to recognize that.

           “Dr. Lecter wouldn’t stop him?” Will asked.

           “He would if you pretended to care about it,” she revealed, equally quiet. “If…you pretended to care about me, he’d pretend, too. Enough to stop my dad, should he decide to eat me.”

           Will thought about that, eye-to-eye with Abigail Hobbs on their respective stair steps, although they didn’t allow their gazes to meet directly. He thought of Wally, then Molly, then the reports he’d read on the Minnesota Shrike, the profile he’d drawn up as an essay in one of his classes when rumor had risen that the Shrike had a soulmate. The flash of her eyes screamed her penchant for manipulation, although the longer Will stared, the more he was convinced of her honesty. If he cared, then Hannibal cared. If Hannibal cared, then everyone else cared.

           “Just what are you trying to ask me to do?” he asked at last.

           “Sit with me at dinner? He always sits next to me and touches my thigh while we’re eating.”

           “And this isn’t a magical quest bestowed upon you by Dr. Lecter to ensure that I start participating in the endeavors of this place?”

           She had the grace to smile a little. “He asked everyone to leave you alone, actually. He wants you to come to us on your own terms, but…I just…”

           “You’re trying to survive however you can,” Will realized, staring at the turn of her jaw. He could smell the stench of it, the same as it was for him. They were survivors, something much the same as the other as they tried to survive their lot in life. Rather than submit to her father’s whims, she instead tried to find a way around it, to preserve herself however possible.

           Will could respect that, although he balked at the thought of having to sit down among so many obviously unstable people.

           “Please,” she whispered, and he cringed from it. “I see the way people here look at you, and I…please.”

           “…I’ll do it,” he said, and her shoulders slumped in relief. “Although whatever superpowers you think I’m capable of, I can’t guarantee.”

           “Thank you,” she said, and he was forced to follow her down the hall, towards the formal dining room where people were helping to set the table, their chatter amiable and excited.

           When they saw Will and Abigail, it was even moreso. He ignored the way their heads dipped close together, their faces alight –if they really were unsure of him and his place in the house, it didn’t show with how they looked at him. Perhaps Abigail was right: Hannibal wanted him, therefore they followed through with his desires.

           “Dr. Lecter would want you to sit down there,” Abigail said, gesturing towards the head of the table.

           Will eyed the spot with extreme prejudice before he meandered towards the seat, ignoring the stares pinned to his skin.

           “You sit there,” he decided, motioning towards the end seat.

           “But-”

           “Your father can’t sit on your other side if you’re on the end,” Will said, and he sat down pointedly in the second chair in.

           Abigail smiled and sat down on the end chair, relief oozing from her skin.

           “Thank you,” she said again.

           “Thank Wally,” he grumbled, and when someone swooped by to fill his glass with wine, he managed a grunt towards them, too. The house arrest bracelet chafed on his ankle. He’d have to find a way to get the fucking thing off of him. Maybe take Abigail and Wally with him when he ran.

           Just how many other people were there that were trapped due to the faults and failures of their parents? Their lovers? Their families?

           When Hannibal walked into the room, deep in conversation with Molly, Beverly, and Francis, he didn’t stop in his tracks at the sight of Will seated beside a quietly contemplative Abigail, but he took immediate notice. His gaze flickered briefly over them, analyzing, before a perfectly subtle smile graced his lips and he looked away. His incisors flashed as he seemed to taste the room before him.

           The space beside Will on the other side remained empty.

           “I’m so happy to see you here, Will,” he said as he stopped just behind his chair.

           Will took a long, pointed gulp of his wine.

           “I wasn’t aware that you knew Abigail,” he continued, and the voices coalescing along the table stilled to better hear him.

           Will had a wild urge to say something particularly nasty, what with the way everyone watched the two of them, waiting. He took another gulp of wine, swallowed it down, and wiped his mouth. Just behind Hannibal, a few steps back, a man with a halo of hair, a shiny head, and dagger-like eyes observed first him, then Abigail that sat just out of reach.

           Her father, then.

           “I do. She’s been showing me around the house.”

           “How kind,” Hannibal Lecter murmured. “Thank you, Abigail, for making him feel more comfortable here.”

           “I was more than happy to, Dr. Lecter,” Abigail replied, and it all felt rather forced to Will, this pseudo-conversation when the three of them were more than well-aware that there was something far larger at hand. “He said it may make it feel more like home.”

           Presumptuous. Will gave her a particularly dark side-eyed stare, which she returned with little to no guilt.

           “Dinner will be delicious tonight,” Hannibal Lecter said by way of reply, and he skirted the table to sit at the head of it.

           Without ceremony, the man with the balding head sat down on the other side of Will. He smelled of sweat contained beneath layers of jackets for a prolonged amount of time, coupled with the aftertaste of cold, dry dirt. The turn of his cheek screamed meekness, but the cunning glint in his gaze as he watched Will from the corner of his eye put Will on guard immediately. He thought of the women he’d only ever read about, people whose lives were cut short due to a covetous, hungry need. He’d have liked to have thought he could have seen someone like Hobbs in a crowd and known them for what they were, but it was a lie, something to self-soothe. In reality, Hobbs looked –at first glance –much like the sort of person you’d forget about immediately after seeing.

           Ultimately leading to your downfall.

           “Mr. Graham,” Garrett Jacob Hobbs greeted quietly. He had a well-mannered, salt-of-the-earth sort of speech, quiet and dignified.

           “Mr. Hobbs,” Will returned lightly.

           “I wasn’t aware that you’d met my daughter,” he said, and the way his tongue curled around the title was possessive while maintaining all forms of politeness.

           “She’s been by far the kindest person in this house,” Will said. “I’ve found her to be invaluable.”

           Hobbs had no reply to that. His mouth shifted and curled in on itself, as though it were fighting back the words he desperately wanted to say. A quick glance to Will’s hardened stare made him shift and busy himself with his glass of wine.

           There were no speeches, no pep-talks. The food was set out for everyone, and those that helped to cook it were thanked, everyone friendly and obliging as they patted one another on the back and thanked Hannibal warmly for such exquisite cuisine: paella with freshly foraged mushrooms, cuttlefish, and a velvety red wine to compliment the taste.

           Will picked his way around what he deemed to be a questionable and therefore undesirable meat.

           With Abigail beside him, those that snuck glances made no move to speak. Beverly and Molly sat across from him, and it was as easy to avoid their stare as it was anyone else’s. His eyes fixed to the corner of his glasses, and he fiddled far too long with his spoon between bites.

           “Abigail,” her father said, speaking around Will’s back. “I’d like to speak with you after dinner, before my night watch.”

           “She was actually going to take me to the library,” Will said for her, after he polished off the wine. He needed it to keep his mouth from becoming too sharp. “Sorry.”

           On the other side of him, Abigail shifted in her chair, uncomfortable. He felt her father’s stare against his skin, prickling and persistent, but he ignored it. She was one of the only things that could have brought him to the table, one of the only things to convince him away from the solitary room that brought him some form of respite. If the look in Hobb’s eyes was any indication, he’d made a good call. One of few, but still good.

           Despite the disquieting sensation of so many eyes on him throughout dinner, when Abigail reached out underneath the table and took his hand to squeeze it, Will didn’t recoil from her. Instead, he returned the gesture, squeezing just as tight.

-

           Hannibal Lecter was the one to walk about with him on the grounds that evening. It wasn’t so much an option, in truth; Will had waited until Hobbs saw himself off towards his shift of night watch, then left Abigail in the presence of a boy somewhat near her age that smiled with an awkward cheekiness. Standing there in the foyer and watching Abigail walk away left Will with something aching just at the space where his ribs met in the center of his chest –something painful and persistent.

           Then Hannibal appeared at his elbow and suggested a walk.

           He zipped his coat against the cold and huddled into the shell of it as he trudged through the damp grass. Hannibal followed, a whisper of a step behind, and if he had something in mind to discuss, it wasn’t voiced. He let Will pause just at the edge of the forest, and he didn’t give voice to the warning that the chafing ankle bracelet provided.

           Birds cried in the dying light, the sun sinking far too soon now that Fall was upon them. Will tracked fast, frantic leaps of bats dancing among the trees in search of bugs, and he stuffed his hands deep into his pockets to maintain warmth. There was the crisp smell of acorns and clover, coupled with the rancid bitterness of the dying leaves on the forest floor. Will inhaled it and held it inside of him as long as he could. When he exhaled sharply, great clouds puffed and curled about his mouth, wisping up above his head.

           “You once told me that you dreamt of a house in the middle of a forest,” Hannibal said quietly, disturbing the quiet. “That sometimes, if your dreams became lucid, you would walk to. Standing in the field beside it, you would look back to the lights and feel some semblance of peace. It appeared much like a boat adrift on the ocean, and it was one of the few times within your own mind that you could feel safe.”

           When Will said nothing in response, he continued, “Is that what you were searching for when you called Jack Crawford? Some semblance of safety?”

           “Some semblance of sanity,” Will muttered.

           “And you found a Great, Red Dragon instead.”

           “There were no speeches tonight. Are you trying to normalize these people to me?” Will asked. He glanced back to Hannibal, scowling. “Because I sat next to a man who’s murdered at least eight women and ate them during dinner.”

           “And you stand now in front of a man that’s killed fourteen.”

           “No, I stand in front of a man that was convicted for the murders of fourteen,” Will corrected crossly.

           Hannibal neither confirmed nor denied. He merely smiled, the faint moonlight above making his blue eye appear far darker than it was.

           Will looked back to the forest that contained the remnants of his panic, the aftershock of the fall of Randall Tier. He felt a scream building, but he didn’t want to let it out. If he started, Will figured he’d never stop –scream after scream after scream before he was swallowed whole by them all.

           “Who did you kill?” Will asked, agonized.

           “You refer to something recent?”

           “Who did you have these people kill?” Will reiterated, and he swallowed down a curse. “That has Jack Crawford sounding so tired?”

           “Thirty-two other people in this country held some variation of your name. My friends supposed that for me to be with someone, they should be utterly unique in every way,” Hannibal said after a long, pressing pause.

           His words stirred something in Will, something that made him round back on Hannibal, a snarl jerking past his lips.

           “Don’t call them your friends,” he hissed, and just beyond Hannibal’s shoulder there were faint shadows moving in front of curtains pulled across windows. “Don’t call those people your friends when you and I both know that you don’t give a damn about them. You don’t give a damn about anyone.”

           “Will-”

           “And don’t…don’t try and claim that you give a damn about me. You just want to possess me, control me because you don’t like being out of control. You have your pawns in there, and you have your lackeys, but when you’re out here trying to wrap me up inside of my own head, don’t try to bull shit me and tell me that any of those people are actually your friends, Hannibal Lecter. Not when just hours ago, you were content to inform me you’d kill any of them, should they stand between us.”

           The look on his face was impassive; it was his eyes, though, that made Will pause, made his breath suck back down his throat.

           God, he almost looked proud.

           “You see me in a way that no one else does,” Hannibal murmured. His voice was low, like he was revealing a grave, dark secret. “I’m glad that you’re becoming comfortable enough to speak your mind to me, all things considered.”

           All things considered being the fine line Will walked between living and dying, he supposed.

           “I shouldn’t be surprised that you could fool them all, considering how many of us you fooled.”

           “Some people just want a place where they feel like they belong, Will. Humans, despite everything, are social creatures. Pack creatures.”

           “Well, you may be fooling them, but you’re not fooling all of them.” Will watched a shadow pause before one of the curtains before they drew it open to stare outside. His smile was a snarl. “There are a few of those people that are well aware that the things you care for are in limited supply.”

           “You refer to Abigail?”

           “I refer to any of them that have to go to sleep with one eye open.”

           “I have Garrett Jacob Hobbs under control. Rest assured he won’t harm anyone here.”

           “His daughter isn’t so confident.”

           Hannibal smiled. “She’s resourceful, isn’t she? You’re so wary of my manipulations that at the first scent of an honest sob-story, you find your way to her and seek to protect her from not only Garrett Jacob Hobbs, but my presumed apathy to her plight. So sure are you of me, but you fail to see her in her entirety.”

           “She’s like me,” Will said, and he was suddenly aware of just how close Hannibal had become. A mere breath separated them, a strong breeze enough to make them touch. He stiffened his spine and wet his lips. “Sometimes…we have to do terrible things to survive.”

           “You led to the fall of Randall Tier.”

           “And whatever she’d done, it’s only so that she survives. I can respect that.”

           “Survive, survive,” Hannibal chanted, and his head dipped low, far too close. “That is your mantra, dear Will. To survive; not to live, not to Become. Just where are your lines, I wonder? When is it no longer survival, and instead basking within your own dark desires and fantasies?”

           Will thought of his dreams where he dipped hands in blood and licked them, thoughts when he wondered if he’d have to break Abigail should she dare touch him. Whatever his expression, it delighted Hannibal; his eyes brightened despite the gloom of the evening, and he withdrew, allowing Will his space, allowing Will enough air to breathe.

           “Just a thought,” Hannibal said, and he turned and headed back into the house.

           Will, despite everything in his bones screaming for him to run, had no other choice but to follow.

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