Chapter Text
I don’t believe in magic.
That’s okay.
You will when you meet him.
“I’m done in here, Jack. You can send in Forensics to work their magic. I won’t be able to read anything else from what’s left.”
“Thank you, Will,” Jack Crawford rumbled from somewhere behind him. “I’ll let Jimmy and Brian know so they get their butts in here.”
Will Graham nodded to nobody and worked on resisting reaching up to wipe away the sweat that trickled down his forehead. Even though it was making his dark brown curls stick to his skin, he really didn’t want to get any more blood on his skin. He already wasn’t certain it would come out of his clothes, especially the knee of his khakis where he’d lost his balance and dropped it directly into a deep maroon congealing pool. He could feel the magic it contained like a second heartbeat, pulsing somewhere just beneath his skin, making his own blood run cold.
Being an empath always sucked. Being an empath that chose to use his gifts to help the FBI instead of doing something safe, like helping folks find lost objects… it was almost suicidal. He desperately wanted to be away from the house of horrors to which he’d been summoned, away from the nightmares this newest crime scene was sure to cause. He’d been having a great evening, too, curled up with his dogs, about to binge the new book series that Beverly had recommended. He didn’t have many days away from the gore that seemed to encompass his life, and the ones he did have, he was fiercely protective of. Had it not been Jack, he would have pretended he didn’t know what the FBI or blood magic or murder were… as it was, he’d picked it up, just for Jack to utter two sentences before disconnecting the call, leaving no room for him to argue.
“Get to Neibright as soon as you can - end of the road. There’s been another one.”
Will had hastened his reluctant change into real clothing, his mind already spinning on what he was going to find at one of only four houses left in a neighborhood that, up until three weeks ago, had been quaint, quiet, and wholly without crime of any kind. He’d missed the laces of his left shoe as he’d hurried out the door, almost tripping on the steps of the low porch that surrounded his home. He was the second to last to be called in on any investigation - the Neibright murders or, as Freddie Lounds had decided to call it, the ‘Street of Blood’, were no exception. The name made his skin crawl, but he knew better than to cross Freddie over something so mundane. He’d been victim to her tabloid antics before; he did his best to keep out of her path these days. Instead, he waded through each crime scene, placing gloved hands on seemingly mundane objects, collecting their stories and their secrets to piece together what had happened at each crime scene. He did his best to avoid the actual victims as much as he could. There were some things that, no matte how much Jack pushed, he knew he’d never be able to wipe from his mind.
He cast one final glance at the mangled remains at his feet before turning his back to the gore their killer had left behind. The smell of copper hung thick in the air, cloying and as sticky as his hair in his sweat. He made his way from the room, desperately trying to keep himself from brushing back his hair with his arm. I don’t know how much has gotten on my shirt. I’ll need to remove my gloves before I can touch my face. I have to—
“How can you see anything with your hair in your eyes like that? I keep telling you to bring hair clips with you, but you apparently still haven’t listened to my keen crime scene fashion choices. You really should reconsider, you know.”
Will nearly jumped out of his skin. A small, delicate hand floated into his vision, and the offending strands were swept away, clearing his vision enough to glare at its owner. Beverly Katz grinned up at him, her smile wide enough to show off the sharp tips of her canines; a view only he and a handful of others were fortunate enough to see up close. Beverly liked to keep her ancestry to herself, but bits of it still showed here and there if you knew what to look for. Will, of course, knew what she was the second he shook her hand at their first introduction. Beverly had laughed and let her pupils fade to slits, their bright yellow sheen looking out of place in contrast with the rest of her pretty features. Will had explained his gift in awkward explanation of how he’d known. He and Beverly became fast friends, bonded in part by the things that kept them on the fringes of society. He loved her, even if she did still enjoy the occasional jump scare at his expense.
“Don’t do that,” he snapped, taking a small step back into the doorway of the room he’d just vacated, acutely aware of the squelch of blood and thicker things beneath his shoe. Beverly’s sharp smile grew impossibly wider.
“Do what, dear William of the soiled gloves and spooky visions that help you solve the tough part of cases the rest of us mere mortals can’t seem to crack?”
“Sneak up on me like that,” Will groused halfheartedly. “And you know damn well that the visions aren’t always spooky. That’s only because of our normal locations that they seem that way. These days, it doesn’t even make the list of special gifts.”
“Whatever you have to tell yourself, darling. It’s special enough that you’re still the Bureau’s golden boy, even when you’re regularly surrounded by people who could turn you into a frog or set your hair on fire if they wanted.” Will carefully clutched a bloodied glove to his chest, his eyes filled with mock hurt.
“Is that what this is? You want to turn me into a frog? You wound me, Bev. I thought we were friends, especially after I didn’t tell anyone about that time you and that foreign agent hooked up in Jack’s office.” Beverly flicked him on his nose.
“Would if I could, but cats only catch pests. We don’t create them.”
“And we are all grateful for your limitations. You’re enough of a menace as it is without magic to add to the list of things you can use against others.”
“Sure, sure. Anyway, the Forensics darlings sent me to see if you’ve gathered what you can from the main room. We can’t do anything until you’ve finished with your Shining.” Will opened his mouth to protest, but she waved him off and continued before he could utter a word. “Since you’re out here… does that mean we wrap things up, oh mighty profiler? Everyone is itching to go home and hug their families.” Will nodded and moved back through the doorway, gesturing her forward with a sweep of his hand.
“Help yourself, but take a bag with you. I don’t think Jimmy will make it out of this one without tossing his cookies. You know what delicate sensibilities he has.” Beverly’s gaze melted from mischief to sympathy in an instant. They both stared towards the open door, unconsciously controlling their breathing so they didn’t break the tense silence.
“How bad is it?” she finally asked quietly, all traces of humor gone from her voice. Will shrugged and peeled the edge of one of his nitrile gloves from his skin, selecting his words carefully without really answering her question.
“It’s the same killer from 1051. Bad is relative, but the magic inside is heavy, so be sure that everyone is wearing protection, and that they touch as little as possible. It feels parasitic, and I promise, it’s nothing you want to spread to your worst enemy, let alone anyone you like.”
“You’re a hundred percent certain it’s him?”
He nodded, balling up the thin material against the glove that still covered his hand, then peeled down the second barrier and twisted them together, effectively sealing in whatever trace fluids and residual magic might still remain on their surface. Beverly pulled one of the barrier bags the Bureau started supplying from her pocket and and held it open, allowing Will to slip the gloves inside. Instantly, he felt lighter, freer than he had since entering the home at 1055 Neibright. He knew the magic was heavy - whatever spell was being used for these rituals, he could feel it echo through his bones, reaching through him to pull him further and further into its clutches. Will need to see Jack about that charm dealer we just put on retainer. May not be a bad idea to ensure everyone has some kind of protection with them until we catch the fuck that’s doing this.
“It’s him — thanks,” he murmured, nodding towards the plastic in her hands. “I can feel him in the spells he’s lacing through the remains. Everyone else can leave as soon as you’re finished tagging and bagging. And… make sure not to touch any more than you have to, even if you’re wearing gloves.” Beverly put the bag back into her pocket, paler than he’d seen her since the werewolf case they’d worked 2 years prior. Those had been bloody as well, but this was a whole new level of messed up, even for them.
“Sounds good,” she replied, straightening her shoulders, effectively shoring up her defenses. “You headed out?” Will ran a tired hand through his hair, wishing the room was cooler - the air lighter.
“Yeah. I still have to write up my report from the last two scenes and drop it on Jack’s desk tonight so he doesn’t skin me alive. At the rate this guy is going, I’ll never be able to catch up on paperwork if I don’t do it today.”
“Sure thing. See you back at the salt mines.”
“See you.” Will hesitated, then turned back one last time. “Be careful in there, okay?” Beverly’s eyes softened.
“Yes, dad. Now get out of here before Jimmy catches you and talks your ear off about your weirdo visions.”
Will wound his way through the rest of the team still assembled in various parts of the house, nodding to those who acknowledged his presence with more than a glance in his direction. It didn’t bother him that most in the Bureau kept their distance from him. He’d gotten used to it a long time before magic or anything of the like turned the modern world on its heel. He’d been a freak with a gift when everyone else was mundane; when it had been discovered that his empathic bond was actually a form of psychic gift, everyone began treating him with more caution but no more respect than before. He didn’t try and make his colleagues understand what he was, he simply stayed out of their way as best he could and offered his expertise when it was required of him. His world remained relatively unchanged, even though the new bursts of magical talent gave everyone else a headache. People were still people after all; even those with power had motives human enough to keep him employed.
Will made his way back to his car, his mind sifting through the similarities from this crime scene to the house at 1051 Neibright. The symbols, the thin pieces of skin, the copious amounts blood - they all pointed to some kind of ritual, but he wasn’t versed enough in magical theory to know if that was true, or if the killer was trying to use the new fear of magic to mask his true intent. The profiler slid behind his steering wheel and glanced around before he closed his eyes and let the mental pendulum swing, falling into the mind of his killer with practiced ease. Images rose up around him like crests of a wave, providing him with all of the things they knew about the victims, the killer’s point of entry, the manner in which they were killed, everything that was taken. One by one, he sifted through the details, letting them fall onto the board in his mind, recreating the incidents from their inception to their bloody conclusions.
Just a little more - I just need to see a little more. Soon, I ’ll know all of your secrets, and you’ll be tossed into Doveport, just like all the rest.
The sharp knock on his window startled him almost violently out of his mental perusal. Will let himself drop the imaginary knife in his hand before opening his eyes, forcing them to focus on the stony-expressioned face of his boss.
Despite the fact that his mask of stoicism was still intact, Jack looked tired, disheveled and a little more irritated than usual. Will inwardly steeled himself. His superior’s cracks rarely made their way to the surface, but that look usually meant something unpleasant for him. Not that this entire business isn’t unpleasant. We just have to keep at it until we get everything we need to catch the guy. Hopefully before another family is butchered. He rolled down his window and tried for a smile, but Jack beat him to the punch.
“I’m glad I caught you before you left, Will. I—”
“I don’t know enough to tell you anything yet, Jack,” Will abruptly cut him off. “I’ll need a few hours to put my thoughts together before I can point you in the right direction.” Jack nodded, but didn’t back away.
“That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about, but thank you for the update.” Jack straightened his spine; a clear sign that whatever he was about to say, Will wasn’t going to like it. “Your appointment with Doctor Lecter was rescheduled.”
Will was about to breathe a sigh of relief, but something in Jack’s face told him that this was not good news for him.
“Not that I plan to go, but—”
“You are going, Will. Director Williams has made it crystal clear to us that attendance is non-optional, and to be frank—”
“If you’re about to say what I think you are, you might as well save it,” Will bit back before he could stop himself. Jack crossed his arms, a frown creasing his broad forehead.
“If you already know what I’m going to say, you’ll also know that there is no changing my mind,” he retorted. “Of all of my agents, you are the man who can benefit the most from some time in a therapist’s chair, and Hannibal—”
“Already on a first name basis, are you?” Will sneered. “How quaint.” Jack blinked slowly, his hands clenching hard around thick biceps. He was holding back - Will could see it in the indents he made in the arms of his shirt. Will suddenly, defiantly, wanted to force the other man’s hand. Force him to break - to drop the ridiculous idea that he needed therapy of all things. He didn’t want to talk to anyone about what he saw. It was bad enough to live through it once.
“There’s no reason you need to take that tone with me,” the senior agent finally responded quietly, loosening his grip on his shirtsleeves with great effort. “I’m trying to look out for you, Will. The way I would look out for any other field agent, even though you’re not the same. The things you see—”
“I don’t need a shrink, Jack. I just need you to butt out of my life when it doesn’t concern you or my work.”
“Your night terrors and the consistent bouts of sleepwalking are my concern,” Jack barked. “Have you forgotten I am your emergency contact? I am getting a little tired of being called to retrieve you three miles from your home in the middle of the night because you had an episode you couldn’t control.” Will blanched.
“It wasn’t an episode,” he argued vehemently. “It was just…” he fell silent, unwilling to finish his statement. Finishing it would probably prove his boss right. He wasn’t certain he could live it down. He remembered being found barefoot, shivering in his boxers and a t shirt in the middle of the road, all too well.
“The Furosa case got to you,” Jack offered quietly. “It happens to us all. I’m not asking that you commit to seeing a therapist regularly, but I don’t believe a single appointment could hurt, especially because this case is likely going to be just as bad, if not worse in the end. Doctor Lecter is a capable man. He has had nothing but glowing reviews from your coworkers, some who are just as hard headed about their feelings as you are. I’m hoping to hear the same from you.” Will wanted to roll his eyes, but he refrained. He hated when Jack used logic against him. He wanted to be mad - wanted to keep his indignation simmering on the surface, but the flame was already beginning to burn low.
Anger and indignation was preferable to fear, but Jack continued to hold his gaze and Will felt his resolve weaken. Damn it all.
“Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll go. When—”
“Tomorrow.” The anger was back in an instant.
“Jack I can’t—”
“You can and you will. I want no excuses or arguments, Will. Beverly has agreed to drive you there and home when your appointment has concluded. I don’t want to hear anything else about it.”
“You’re insisting on a chaperon?” Will seethed through his teeth. “You think I need a babysitter, Jack?”
“I wouldn’t, except I don’t think you’d show up without one.” He shrugged. “Beverly’s already agreed. Maybe the backup will help.” Will didn’t want to admit it, but Jack was probably right.
“Fine… fine. What time do I need to be there?” Jack’s shoulders visibly relaxed.
“Your appointment is at 2 o’clock. Don’t be late.”
Before Will could summon any kind of retort, his superior turned on one loafered heel and left. Christ. This is exactly what I need at the end of a long day… a long day amidst a sea of endless long days.
He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the cushioned seat of his car, wondering, not for the first time, if he could simply disappear - leave quietly and leave behind no trace of himself for others to follow.
No. In a world with magic, the world is no longer large enough to hide. Plus, Beverly would never forgive me if I took off and didn ’t bother to give her the opportunity to join me.
Will sighed and turned the engine, waiting for it to warm before pulling away from the house on Neibright Street - the newest that offered more horrors than he wanted to endure.
He still had a mountain of paperwork waiting for him at the office, not that it mattered. Sleep was bound to come slowly tonight, if it decided to come at all.