Work Text:
Will picked up the phone blearily, accidentally dropping it off the side of his bed before he managed to scoop it up again.
“Fuckin stupid beeping goddamn ringer fuckin’ waking me up.” he grumbled, turning on the speaker and holding it vaguely near his ear.
“lo?” he mumbled, already sinking back into his bed, ready to fall asleep.
“Will.”
Oh fucks sake.
“Oh fuck’s sake.” he whispered. It was Jack. Normally he would be more alert by now, but he was really struggling to open his eyes.
Maybe because of his chronic sleep deprivation, or the utter lack of resolve to deal with anything work related. Or maybe it was the cones he’d sunk before bed. It was definitely less than ideal.
Will hadn’t been a big stoner since college when he had no idea how to deal with the racket in his head.
For the past decade it had only been a rare thing, during especially rough episodes or lazy sunday mornings. But recently he’d been struggling to get even two hours sleep each night, struggling to sit with his thoughts for more than a few minutes. It was so dark inside his mind right now. BSCI hadn’t exactly helped with his mental health, even with the encephalitis treatment. Before he’d at least been motivated to save lives, know there was a cause for his suffering. Now he was just lost. Along with losing the crutch he’d thought he’d had in Dr Lecter (y’know, when the man fucking framed him for murder and convinced him he’d finally lost it) the only semblence of peace Will could find nowadays was with the lingering nothingness weed brought. The lethargy that allowed him to have a dreamless sleep.
Still, he wasn’t exactly obtaining it legally, and he worked for the fucking fbi, who safe to say are pretty goddamn strict about drugs, so he was careful about it.
A cone or two after dinner, just enough to let him rest.
On weekdays at least.
He’d been so fucking overwhelmed all week, all month, and it was finally friday so he had let himself truly feel nothing. Relying on his old habits was all too easy but his tolerance was so much lower than it had been, something he struggled to remember. So after sinking four post dinner bowls, he’d fired up his trout adorned bong he kept under the bed (he left his pipe on the kitchen table) and had another two and a halfie at three am. It was 6 am now. It was safe to say he was still absolutely stoned.
He managed to play his lazier, slower drawl off to Jack as mere tiredness, but when it took five minutes to actually drag himself out of bed, and another five to actually do up his shirt buttons he knew he was kinda fucked.
He was sluggish the whole drive, but will had been driving stoned since he was fourteen and doing his dads work errands, he knew he’d make it just fine down the quiet roads to where Jack wanted him to meet.
There’d been a new murder, possibly the work of a serial killer they’d seen before or something. Will had kind of zoned out. Jack’s voice had sounded like a droning jackhammer. A relaxing one, but it hadn’t helped Will pay attention.
Will couldn’t be fucked to blame himself though. He was a goddamn professor, just trying to have some semblance of a relaxing, well rested weekend and Jack was dragging him out of bed to do his job for him. If he wanted Will to be up to scratch he should’ve called him on a monday, at least some time after nine.
And the half sized rollie on his dash was calling his name….
Before he went to meet the others in the woods, he sprayed on a bit more deodorant around his neck, just to be safe.
Fuck, he felt like a teen faking his sobriety for school again.
“Jack.” he greeted the man with a nod that felt awkwardly slow, going to stand next to him.
“Thank you for being here Will. They found him around an hour ago, and due to the urgency if this is indeed our guy and the … precariousness of the situation, you can understand why I needed you to come in now.”
The precariousness… Will let the word float in his head for a bit as he took in the scene. Precarious suited it. The body was posed on a thin branch overhanging a creek under a bluff. It had sort of been put right in the middle of the branch, balancing on his back, currently stable enough to remain in its arranged position, but the wind Will could feel so loudly brushing over his skin was also slightly rocking the body. It could really fall at any moment.
Will thought that might have been the point. The body was supposed to look like it had dropped out of the sky and landed smack bang here. Will knew he was supposed to see it falling, but the obvious sticky blood trail from the edge of the bluff along the log made it hard to really envision this killers design.
He blinked and scratched his face lightly, feeling like he was moving through molasses. Could everyone else tell he was acting weird? He felt like his hand was moving in slow motion, weirdly scratching his own face like a cartoon or something. Did sober people do that? Did they realise. Fuck he nearly stumbled stepping forwards. Surely they see how strangely he’s moving. God. Is he embarrassing himself? Do they suspect the worst?
It was only years of experience of how in your own head weed can make you that stopped Will from completely freaking out, counting his losses and fucking off before they pulled him to the side for a drug test.
He has to focus. See the killers design…
Fuck. Half the reason he smoked this shit was so he didn’t see everyone’s goddamn designs. How was he supposed to?
Jesus. Ok.
Will closed his eyes and tried to ignore the sensation of his eyeballs against his eyelids, the way every time he blinked it felt like he had to manually open them again.
The killer. He wanted this to be seen. It was a display, no doubt about that at least, y’know it was planned. But it was in the forest. Where no one goes. so he didn’t want every one to see. Someone specific.
Someone specific to see the body that had fallen out of the sky…
Fallen out of the heavens?
Yeah. Oh fuck yeah that was it. This body was like a goddamn fallen angel. The killer hadn’t worried about the trail of blood showing it had been dragged messing with the design because he didn’t notice it. Angels don’t have blood, so he didn’t see it.
Oh fuck yeah.
He could see it all clearly. Mostly clearly at least, but a little foggy. When he opened his eyes the light was so much brighter. Heavenly. The beach, just two hours earlier, would have been illuminated by the sunrise, hitting that specific spot through the gap in the foliage.
This wasn’t the serial killer they were hunting. He was a sadist, a pretentious artist. This guy was just really going through it. Maybe a psychotic or schizophrenic break. This killer was fairly young, inexperienced, so he could be the right age. Maybe a tumour.
Now hwo the fuck would he explain this to jack without sounding absolutely off his tits. he half wanted to call Hannibal to use as a social shield but the doctor had been such a bitch and he didn’t want to give him anymore ammo.
“Ah, Dr Lecter, you made it.”
Fuck Will’s life.
“I neglected to mention Will, I invited Hannibal to help with the profile, due to the urgency.”
“Mhm.” he murmured, keeping his eyes averted.
Thankfully his glasses and the excuse of tiredness made his too red, too squinted eyes reasonable. But still, the less they saw his eyes the better.
He noticed hannibal out of his sight, peering down at him, studying him.
creepy fucker.
“Is everything alright, will?” hannibal questioned.
He cleared his throat. “Mhm, ahh yes, yes, everything’s fine.” he replied noncommittal my.
He was blinking sooo slowly.
He really shouldn’t have had that extra joint when he got here, but he hated being halfway high. he knew he wasn’t sobering up anytime so mayas well go all the way.
still, that halfy was defo hitting.
and fuck, lector was looking at him again.
this was noottt good. he was really trying to keep this from dr lector, unwilling to allow the doctor to psychoanalyse his using.
he swears, if he knew dr lecter was going to be here, he never woulda smoked that halfie.
fbi work is stressful alright, and it was a fucking saturday, but if anyone was going to notice his behaviour change it was hannibal.
god, hannibal. now the man’s attention had shifted from him, will had been unable to take his eyes from hannibal. his hands, the back of his face, his voice… his shoulders… his ass.
will snapped his eyes forward.
he swallowed slowly. his mouth felt like cotten balls.
he glanced at hannibal again, forcing his eyes upwards when he realised he had strayed, looking at the supple curve of his ass, the dip in his pants as his legs began…
woah. he had to get out of here.
Shit, they were talking. Jack and the doctor.
what the fuck were they saying?
goodddd his vision was lagging a bit again.
they were looking at him though.
fuck, profile, ok.
“Hm, this guy is young. Mid twenties, recently suffering from some kind of break.” fuck him he hoped he sounded proper enough. he summed up all his other thoughts, aware his lazy drawl made his old accent more prominent.
he breezed over it all quickly as his leaden tounge would go before saying, “now, if you don’t mind, I have business to attend too jack, i’m not just at your beck and call.” his annoyance was genuine, but played up as much as he could manage to eminate his usual sober pissiness.
“Will, how d-”
“No, jack, really, you can’t just sign me on as a first consultant to a random case like this! I’m not on your payroll. If you wanna request a meeting, you’re welcome too otherwise I will see you on monday.” he said firmly.
he thought it was a good way out. showed confidence and growth from awkwardly accommodating like he used to be which didn’t compromise his manipulations of hannibal. and while he was entirely in the right to refuse work under his contract, it showed a real change from his over empathetic compromising before.
wow that was a lotta thinking. but being high wasn’t an excuse for fucking up hannibals perception of him. even if the doctor did realise he was high later, he seemed like the new and improved, colder, more dickish will.
He’d gotten away with it, at least from jack.
he could really do with another cone, to evaporate any smidgeon of stress that managed to sneak through.
he wasn’t so lucky though.
around the corner, walking past his car was freddie fucking lounds.
she perked up as soon as she saw will, recorder shoved into her pocket like she thought he wouldn’t notice.
“will! have you begun consulting for the fbi again?” she asked, surging forwards to meet him head on.
he held out a hand, making sure she kept her distance and squinting a little now he was out of the foliage.
“No, freddie, I was just leaving.” he ground out as he blinked slowly, paying her no attention and continuing towards his car.
she stepped in front, cutting him off, and stared at his face intently, before her eyes widened and her teeth appeared.
“holy shit. you’re high.” she breathed.
wills cheeks coloured instantly, blinking three times in short succession.
“hooollllyyy shit. you’re a fucking stoner. why didn’t i see this before?”
will scowled. what a fucking pain. now she’d write about this. and he was pissy, and weed didn’t help with his common sense.
“takes one to know one. at least i’m not a coke head too. you keep my secret i’ll keep yours.”
she gaped at him.
will felt he should regret that. using an addiction against her he could tell she struggled with was low, but fuck her. she’d never cared about his feelings why should he care for hers.
he pushed past again, heading to his car.
“wait.” she said, turning as he opened his door. “do you have any on you. it’s 7 o clock on a saturday and i have to fucking work, so do us a favour will you?”
will blinked again.
***
he had pulled off the road, hidden from clear sight as he took a puff of his new rollie, before passing it back to freddy.
will might hate her, and she might feel nothing but disdain for him, but he’d always been very strict on himself about these kind of manners. smokers code n what the fuck ever.
besides, when she isnt shittalking him, she could be kinda funny.