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—
Jack’s hand is between Will’s shoulder blades, pushing him up the stairs.
Beverly Katz’ stomach churns.
Z crosses his arms. “This isn’t good.”
Price gives him a sad look. One shared with Bev.
She wanted to say something. She did. But Jack was adamant he knew what was best for Will. He knew this wasn’t too far.
(Will’s far away eyes, uneasy breath, sweaty palms, begged to differ.)
So Jack put him in the room and closed the door. Then, he stepped away.
Bev shook her head. “I can’t let this happen.”
Z and Price regarded her with similar expressions. She took out her phone and left the house.
”Hello, Dr. Lecter? This is Beverly Katz of the FBI, I’m a coworker of Will Graham’s. Yes. Well, as of right now he is, but — he’s not himself today. I don’t know... Yes, yes I think that would be best... How soon?...”
—
She is, as it turns out, right. She’s used to being right, but this time it doesn’t feel good.
They’re standing at the top of the stairs: her, the boys, and Jack, when he comes bursting out of the room, covered in blood. There was little noise the seconds before, but with the door slammed open, Will’s panting breath is heard like a fog horn in the hallway.
Jack steps forward to him, and without truly meaning to, Price steps in front of him, putting himself between them and reaching Will first. He says his name, but the man doesn’t hear him. Price grabs his elbow; Z steps in to grab the other, and they take him down the stairs, away from the room, away from Jack.
As Bev glances into the room to see the damage, Jack only has eyes for the ceiling. He sighs greatly, then mutters: “Call Dr. Lecter.”
Bev turns to him, slouching in disbelief. Her eyes brows pull together. “I already have.“ She snarls, shouldering past him and rushing down the stairs.
In the kitchen, Will is still doing nothing but breathing hard. Price and Z are scrubbing hard at his hands under the water running red. Both of her colleagues are speaking gently to him, but neither Will nor her hear it.
Katz steps outside to wait for Lecter.
—
Jack must stay upstairs because they don’t see him for a while. Even as Price and Z collect Will, bundling him in a shock blanket from one of the police cars and squishing him between them on the porch swing, Jack is nowhere to be seen.
Will’s head is between his knees, Z’s hand swooping big circles on his back.
“He’s nauseous,” Price says, “the anxiety is probably making his back hurt.”
Will says nothing.
Bev keeps her distance, subconsciously standing to block the entrance to the porch. Anyone who wants in will have to go through her.
Thankfully, the only person who she would let see Will without a fight right now arrives quick enough to cause a few raised eyebrows. Bev approaches his car. “You were fast.”
“Where is he?”
Bev leads him.
—
Some part of her expects that Lecter will scoop Will in his arms and take him away. At this point, that’s the only thing she can think of that would fix him. He doesn’t do that, though. He tries something far more surprising.
As he gets closer and comes to stand in front of Will’s shaking frame, Price leans down to whisper in Will’s ear. Whatever he says gets the first bit of reaction out of the man that they’d seen all day. His head lifts just at the right moment to make eye contact with Dr. Lecter as the man sinks to a knee in front of him.
Bev will never not be surprised by his affect on people.
Lecter regards him with a gentle curiosity. Bev thinks even she would feel comforted by his presence, if roles were reversed, but catches herself.
“What’s happened?” He asks quietly. The wind roars around them, but other than that, it’s quiet.
“I touched her.” Will says. Z and Price look at each other over his hunched form, but Z’s hand never stops his comforting rub over Will’s back, even as he shifts to look Lecter in the eye.
Will continues; “I... I had her b-blood all over me.”
Lecter nods.
“Where are you, Will?”
Will shudders. “I don’t know.”
“What hurts?”
“My head.”
“Too much?”
“Yes.”
“Can I help?”
”Yes.” Will forces out. The word is nearly a sob.
With that, Lecter raises both hands to Will’s face and slides them into his hair. He shifts forward and pulls Will to him, pressing his sunken eyes into the meat of his shoulder. He rocks slightly, back and forth on his heel, counting quietly from one to ten, and over again. Will deflates like a balloon.
Then, and only then, does Z stop rubbing his back.
Bev realizes Will must have been overstimulated, and while bringing him outside was better than leaving him in the house, it was also brighter; the sun reflecting off the snow, and louder; the chatter of policemen and sound of vehicles. As Will is hitched forward and rocked gently, Bev realizes Lecter’s hands are blocking his ears, and shoulder is blocking his eyes. For Will, it’s quiet and dark.
They rock together, back and forth. The calming motion, like a ship on a gentle sea, brings Will back to life.
After a couple more sets of ten, Will pulls back. His hands cover his eyes, but he sits back in his seat between Price and Z, who fix the blanket back around his shoulders and cover his chest.
“Will?” Bev asks. He looks at her. “Are you back?”
Will nods, slowly but surely. “Sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry.” Price says, smoothing his blanket.
“You shouldn’t have gone in there.” Z shakes his head.
Dr. Lecter stands. “Where is Jack?”
Bev tilts her head towards the house. Dr. Lecter straightens his coat and leaves, sure that Will is in good enough hands for the moment.
Will’s shoulders drop. “I’m embarrassed.”
“Don’t be,” Bev mutters as she gets closer to them. Z and Price continue to hold Will in on both sides.
“Yeah, man,” Z starts, “that was scary. You were like, gone.”
“For a long time,” Price added.
Will shakes his head, sweaty curls moving. “I’m sorry to worry you. Really. I am fine.”
“It was just an episode, right?” Bev asks, crossing her arms.
Will rubs his arms under the blanket, an absent minded action of self-comfort. He nods. “I was just confused. Got lost.”
They are silent for a while. Inside the house there is frantic voices. Will slides down in his seat a little bit, making himself smaller, as the porch swing shakes. “I have autism. You know that, right?”
Price and Bev nod. Z doesn’t respond.
“I used to have episodes like this when I was a kid. Don’t really remember them, but... Anyways, I don’t... let them happen anymore. I slipped up.” He pauses, looks to Price, swings his head back to Z. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s just the stress.” Bev says, stepping in closer. She has an urge to touch him, try and help the way Lecter did. “We’ve had a couple bad ones recently. It’s just the stress.”
The boys agree, twin nodding on either side of Will.
He smothers a cough. “Thanks for... you know.”
Will leans into Price and grips Z’s knee. They get it. They do.
Perfect timing, as always, Dr. Lecter opens the screen door to the house with a flourish. He is agitated, lip twitching. “Come, Will. Let’s go.”
Will’s eyes are wide, but he gathers his blanket and stands. Dr. Lecter helps him up, and they leave with only a glance back from Will.
Dr. Lecter‘s hand is between Will’s shoulder blades, pushing him to the car.
Beverly Katz’ stomach churns.
—