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Something is wrong with him, very wrong. Will knows this. The headaches are worse and antlers stab at him and everything is melting around him and he's not sure if he's fighting against the current or being pulled by its wake. What he does know is that the gun stays steady in his hand.
Hard.
Cold.
And shaking.
It's shaking because he is shaking. He's losing who he is, where he is, what he is. He knows it, he can feel it and it terrifies him. He needs an anchor, something to steady him, someone to tell him that what he sees is real. What he knows is real. That Garrett Jacob Hobbs is real.
Hannibal.
What he needs is Hannibal.
Hannibal knows. Hannibal sees what he is. Who. Who he is. Hannibal would never categorize him as too unstable for intimacy or pigeonhole him as unique talent needed merely for his ability to interpret even the most gruesome of scenes. He's Hannibal's friend.
Hannibal is his friend.
Hannibal will help.
If he can get to Hannibal, he'll get help. And he needs help he knows this because he's dangling over the precipice, being washed away with the tide, by the blood (so much blood), by the water spilling everywhere washing dead men in its wake but Hannibal will listen. Hannibal will keep him together and Garrett Jacob Hobbs far, far away.
Hannibal will keep him HIM.
He has to.