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“What about graduation?” Malcolm asks.

And now his mood is thoroughly ruined. Is that what Hannibal's trying to do? He's having mood swings, so he's putting Will through them, too. Will lets out a heavy sigh.

"There is that. Not that I see myself graduating anytime soon." He looks into Hannibal's eyes again, his own suspicious and calculating. "What are you getting at?" He's getting tired of this, whatever it is.

“I’m not Hannibal,” Malcolm says quietly, watching warily as he says it. “I’m not him.”

Will frowns even more deeply at that assertion. That didn't make any sense, with the conversation they were just--

There's a flash of light in front of his face, sweeping like a pendulum. And Malcolm's behind it, not Hannibal. Will's eyes widen and he backs up, almost tripping over the couch. "What- who-"

Malcolm’s expression crumbles and he gets up and opens his mouth to say something, then closes it, then opens it, then closes it.

Then he turns and runs out of the cabin, barreling blindly down the hall.

Unfortunately for Will, the flash continues, briefly changing the fleeing figure to Hobbs before showing Malcolm again. He sees- he sees--

He can't trust what he sees. He collapses to his knees and then sits on his heels. Winston walks up and licks his hand. Will hugs him, burying his face in the dog's fur.

It doesn’t take long after he stops running for him to realize he has nowhere to go. Neal is in a coma, Raylan is in a rage. He hasn’t seen Francis, but considering the state of his other friends, he’s afraid to.

He goes back to his cabin, steps inside cautiously, looks around.

“Will?”

Edited 2023-10-21 00:44 (UTC)

Will is asleep on the couch.

No, scratch that- Will is lying on the couch with his eyes open, staring blankly into the space ahead. When the door opens, Will sits up.

And he turns at hearing his name. "Malcolm...?" His shoulders relax when he sees the man.

“Oh, thank god,” Malcolm says, rushing over to drop onto his knees beside the couch, looking him over to make sure nothing happened to him while he was gone, fumbling for Will’s nearest hand with both of his own.

Will is wearing different clothes, but that's the only indication he did anything at all between Malcolm's departure and return.

He reaches forward and his Malcolm as soon as the man is in reach. He lets out a slightly shaky breath. "So much for not being that affected, huh?" he says quietly. "Did I...think you were...?" He can't quite seem to get the name out. His mind is telling with implications.

Malcolm’s posture stiffens slightly and he nods, but immediately waves it off.

“It was just an hallucination. It just… got really vivid. It’s the… whatever this is.”

It’s so sweet of you to lie to him, son. But what if he’s actually losing his mind for real? What are you going to do when the psychotic break happens and the line between real and imagined is permanently blurred?

Malcolm grits his teeth slightly and angles his body more towards Will’s head. Like he’s showing his back to something behind him.

“Someone needs to put a stop to the… curse… thing.”

Will notices the shift and wants to make some sort of joke about Malcolm's father to lighten the mood. But after everything that happened...they're both too shaken to make light of anything now. "Yeah. Someone really does."

He hugs Malcolm close, his fingers digging into Malcolm's back, and murmurs, "I'm sorry. I didn't want to see you...like that. I- he's gone now, at least. I think. Left a bunch of...flashes, in his wake."

Malcolm melts into his warmth, finally relaxing a bit. He nuzzles lightly at his neck.

“It’s not your fault. It’s… whoever did this.” He pauses. “What do you mean by ‘flashes’?”

Will lets a shaky breath out, as if he's been holding it the whole time Malcolm has been away. "Oh, you know...that visualization thing I do? It's not so optional, at the moment. But it's navigable, at least."

He'll argue the 'not your fault' portion of this once they're out of it, probably. That's not for now. But it all still came from his head.

“Are you getting anything from me?” Malcolm asks, a little muffled because he hasn’t lifted his head.

Will hesitates to answer. It's worse than it's been right now. "The living room is your dad's cell. Your head is covered in some sort of static fuzz- I assume that's our current affliction. Sometimes it takes the form of a figure behind you."

He takes a deep breath and lets it out. "I can usually see the layer of reality under it, if I'm paying attention."

“He is still lurking here,” Malcolm tells him. “Trying to drive a wedge between us like he always does.”

"He has a good opportunity for it now. I'd be surprised if he wasn't trying," Will replies. Probably not a good idea to refer to a figment as of it were real, but they both know the fears that these come from.

"I wish I had advice for you, but clearly I didn't handle my own demon all that well," he says. "Anything you want to try to do to settle, or distract ourselves?"

“It’s not going to work,” Malcolm tells him. In case he’s concerned. In case he’s concerned and Malcolm clinging to him like a life preserver in a choppy ocean doesn’t allay those concerns.

He lifts his head to look at Will’s face.

“I’m sorry that I ran. I thought if I kept talking to you, you’d… realize it was me and then… it started to feel like I was deceiving you, not saying anything. And then I said something and… it seemed like… when you actually saw me, you didn’t know who I was. And… that was the scary part that I couldn’t handle.” A beat. “But I should have handled it better than that.”

"It's not," Will confirms quietly (at least partially to himself).

As Malcolm pulls back to start apologizing, Will's brow furrows a bit in confusion. "No, I...I don't know what would've been better. I wasn't seeing you. Some part of me was trying, but my mind was fighting it. Like there was suddenly a crack in reality. I could see there was a distortion, but not what was under it."

Malcolm blinks surprise. "So when you could see it wasn't him, you couldn't see it was me?"

That's better, honestly. That's a relief.

"I saw you, briefly. And then I saw Garret Jacob Hobbs. And I wasn't sure about any of it."

Will's eyes lower, then, staring at Malcolm's shoulder. "It...felt similar to the encephalitis, before. But I could tell I wasn't sick this time. I just...didn't know what was happening."

"Like... a psychotic break?" Malcolm asks. In which case, he needed Malcolm's support more, not... down the hallway somewhere. "It's still not your fault," he reminds him.

Will nods, moving somewhat shakily, at the psychotic break question. Well, he knows what that feels like now in earnest. Lovely.

"I- I know it's not. It's whatever thing is going on with the Barge this week. But it's- it's all still from my head."

He smiles mirthlessly. "And boy, is there a lot to work with." A lot of sharp edges for even Malcolm to cut himself on.

"You could never scare me away away. A brief regrouping at most. I promise. I don't care what happens. Okay? I'll always end up right here." Clinging to his side like a giant chatty barnacle. "Always. It's had a lot to work with in my head too. It's just..... he's always been in my head. My whole life. I've been conditioned to battle him there all my life. I just have more practice. I'm not... more sane than you are."

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