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Will could feel the beginnings of hysterical laughter rumbling its way out of his belly, up to his throat, and out through his mouth. There wasn't much else Will was capable of doing at this point. He had no self control over his own body, so when his madness laughed in his head, it joined together with the outside world. All other train of thoughts stopped dead, and his mind usually abuzz, was empty and silent, save for those distant words.
Will would of called it a relief (to have his mind quieting down) if not for the reason why his mind had come to a complete halt. Those words ringing loud in the spaces of his brain, echoing in the madness. Those words, that had reminded Will his whole life, he wasn't alone in all his darkness. There was someone right beside him, always. Unseeable, and untouchable, a silent figment in Wills overly loud brain, a stretch of hope that called to him. Always there; always reminding. Always his.
His last light in his nightmares. But, of course, his light, would also have to be a nightmare in itself.
When normal people hear their words, their first reaction is shock, joy, pure love, but Will was never normal. And this situation was not normal in the slightest.
Former cop–present Quantico teacher–active special agent–currently undercover Will Graham lost all sanity the moment his words–the ones he's always cherished in his low points–were spoken to him from the mouth of the Chesapeake Mafia's leader in an underground facility, while held to a wall in chains, and with growing bruises all over his body pulsing red hot pain through his already demolished psyche.
There was no more hope for Will Graham. He was completely alone in his darkness–wading away slowly. His one hope tainted red and chipped.
It is rude, Mr. Graham, to impersonate someone. Echoing-echoing-echoing. Always reminding-reminding-reminding.
Will gasped with the need to breathe, his body still racked with laughter. It took a couple moments but Will had finally calmed down to only a few chuckles here and there. One of the guards (Will believed him to be the escape, Abel Gideon) asked him a question that Will didn't quite catch.
His chains were pulled, mercilessly, on his chafed skin, and Will felt himself being dragged to unsteady feet. He didn't fight back–couldn't fight back. Not in this state of mind.
"What is it that you find so humorous, young, Mr. Graham?" The Ripper asked, his voice piercing through Will's cracked mind, and making him focus better on the situation at hand.
Will's eyes slowly climbed their way back up to the Rippers face, looking upon him in a new light. The menacingly polite man before him no longer brought a tremor of fear through him, of him. More of a fear of the dawning realization that he was oh, so alone.
Will met the mans gaze, crimson like the blood he spilled regularly. Inside was a monster, a familiar monster. It took the shape of his figment, only clearer, and more beautiful. Will thought it unfair. Will's vision blurred as the pain from his feat also broke through, stumbling, Will started to tip forward, and inwardly prepared himself for the yank at his chains. They would stop him from falling to the floor, but the pain would increase in his wrists at the pull. Will couldn't tell which outcome would be worse.
There wasn't much in the way of new pain, as his body toppled forward, as he expected. It wasn't until his brain registered that something was holding him up by the shoulders that he opened his, apparently closed eyes, and met crimson once more. Except, this time, he stood a step away.
The Ripper looked quite bored with him, so Will felt a vindictive pleasure as the shock filtered across his face at the words that came tumbling out of his mouth in a huff of laughter.
"Jack's not gonna like this."
The chains on him were unlocked and taken away quickly without even needing an order from the mans mouth. Or maybe he did say something, but Will was to focused on his pains to notice. He let out a small whine as the chains caught on his ankles, scraping at his skin. He felt a warm arm swoop around his waist, while another grabbed the nape of his neck pulling his head to the Rippers chest.
Will let himself be embraced by the man, it was. . . comforting. Being held in the arms of the Chesapeake Mafia's leader, The Ripper, the man he had been searching for for years, for God's sake made him feel comforted! It seemed the ball had dropped and just kept spiraling downward. He didn't even realize he was laughing manically, again, until he heard the soft shushes of the man holding him.
Calming, Will lifted his head to look up at the exotic man, meeting his eyes again, needing to ask a question, while he still had the courage to. Taking in a shaky breath Will asked. "This'll be a story to tell, won't it?" He tried to play it off sarcastically, but the weakness in his voice took the illusion away. There was a hidden question in his question. The question he really wanted to ask, but felt to scared to ask. Will I survive to?
The Rippers mouth twitch, and the hand previously slung around his waist came up to drag through his hair, gently. "It is an unfortunate basis to start a relationship," he amended. "But I do believe we will find great joy in it. Eventually."
Yes, you will.