maskormenacelogs | we came out from the deep

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we came out from the deep

WHO: Will Graham & People (it's always people, gosh)
WHERE: All over
WHEN: Month of November
WHAT: All the things do not dead open inside
WARNINGS: Hannibal season 3 spoilers and everything that comes with the canon. Cannibalism and murder and bad psychiatry and worse lighting and terrible stuff I will update if anything else needs to be added.

All starters to be posted in comments. But as an important note, Will's returned from roughly four years gone by in canon and has visibly changed. He now has a scar along his forehead (picture one and picture two) and for the first half of November will be sporting a cut along his right cheek that's been stitched up. The scar on his forehead has been there for years now, the cheek wound is fresh.

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[He had to go home. A weekend was long enough. Too long, perhaps. Perhaps she'd have Words for him (or a Lack Of Words for him) once she found out he'd been back and gone elsewhere, but that was a risk he had been willing to take when he made his first stop Frederick Chilton's. Nothing to do for it now, the past being in the past and all. In more ways than one, his less customized wedding band damn near burning a hole in his back pocket. As tempting as it was to crawl home in clothes snagged from Chilton's personal closet, Will was neither suicidal nor quite that pathetic. He'd grabbed his usual of too-large jeans and baggy red plaid from the nearest second-hand store to make his triumphant ("triumphant") return home in. And rather than go through the front door like a normal husband coming home from the Porter war, if only because of who his wife was at heart, he took a different, better approach.

He took note of the state of the garden as he came to the window of their master bedroom, flicking open his pocket knife with every intention to unlock the window and climb in if it was necessary. If he couldn't get the absolute best outcome...and there it was. Will waved eagerly to the first pair of fuzzy, dark eyes that landed on him, smiling when he realized he happened to be Eduardo. Godfather of the bunch, the one Will had a couple of hang ups around but loved just the same, scurrying over to lift the window for him with an unusual amount of cheerful eagerness was something that just felt right. Felt right for them to be the only ones to witness it, too. And more than right, it felt perfect whenever Will barely got a leg in the open window before the little fuzzball all but jumped on him, wrapping his tiny arms around Will's throat in a welcome home hug, one Will immediately responds to by wrapping his arm around him with a short, quiet laugh and a loving, "Good to see you, too, old man."

The reunion doesn't take long, and then Will's slid into the room with raccoon in tow, gently putting him down before he asks (not tells, always asks) if Eduardo can fetch April for him. Bring her to the room. Only after he watches the old fellow's tail vanish does Will basically collapse on the edge of the bed, running one hand over his face and taking a moment to move his hair into the most unruly do imaginable as he waited.]

[Later that evening...technically, early morning, Will finishes going through his hierarchy. He's been careful, he hasn't wanted secrets to be spilled. It's so early in the morning the first glimpses of dawn are starting to creep out as Will does the same, as he silently moves through the kitchen so he can come bearing gifts. Two of those favorite teas clutched to his chest, a very simply made peanut butter and belly sandwich split in two equal parts on a leftover birthday party paper plate—those are the gifts he brings. Other than himself, of course, though arguably that's not a gift. Not for Abigail Hobbs. At least, not back home. Here things are different. He might be more of a comfort, but that's not saying much.

He assumes she'll be awake, or not quite asleep. Doesn't matter. For once, Will is more than willing to wake her up if that's not the case. With a balancing act that almost fails only one raccoon gets to witness, he eases her door open, waits for it to get about halfway open, and calls out a steady, borderline singsong:]

Room service.

[Abigail Hobbs has Will Graham at her beck and call, including times she does not beck or call. Some things never change.]

[After weeks of not being around, one morning, Will simply is. And he's not going straight back to work, either, oh no. Does he still have a job? Hell if he knows. Hell if he cares. He'll call them eventually, of course, he's not completely unable to function as an adult. But for the first few days, he's making his way around the nest to get settled again. He'll be easy to find in the kitchen, of course, always making the animal food from scratch is a routine he can appreciate. And after being gone for so long, he thinks it's time their diets went back to some structure as well. Or he may be found camped out in the glorious blanket fort, going through the Network on his device to catch up on what he's missed. Or in the attic, clearing things out as he has a design in mind for it, finally. Or outside, cleaning the storm gutters around the house. Usually, one might need a ladder for this. Not Will Graham. He can be found cleaning the outside of the house by carefully balancing on top of a feathered shadowed stag. The stag moves as he needs it to, and anyone who hasn't witness how Will and the stag interact before might find it more odd than just holy fuck what is that thing? Because despite dark, pointy antlers literally being right underneath him, Will appears perfectly at ease with the whole set up, and the two of them shift and amble about with the comfort of, well, a man and his shadow. They predict where the next step is without any outward communication, and if watched long enough, it's not difficult to realize Will chose this particular method for reasons relating to how effective he can get the terrible adult work done. A ladder, he'd have to climb up and down, move, have to take time out, and therefore be wasting it. This shadow creature? Not the case.]

[He's missed the first two weeks of class, unfortunately. And he misses the next one that happens since his return, but only once. The second one that pops up, Will's already gotten whatever books and materials are necessary, found a fittingly dark blue messenger bag at a thrift store, and sent a message to the teacher. Bag tossed over his shoulder with everything he'll need, Will makes his way in about five minutes before class is scheduled to start with a mind to pick out Jaime Reyes first and foremost. Which he does, it's not too difficult, sliding up to sit beside without making himself known until he does just that, quietly dropping his bag to the floor and looking over at the young man with a lopsided smile on his face.]

Teacher asked if I needed notes about what I've missed. Said I wasn't sure yet. You wouldn't mind filling me in, would you?

[That's his hi, good to see you, I'm back. Because hi, good to see you, I'm back is just so dull!]

[Second week of November, Will starts going back out in the world. To the bait shop, to the store, and thinks back to a Network post about cats and cafes. He'd said he'd stop by, and although he's got no ties to the owner herself, he ends up coming across the place on his way home from elsewhere. With nothing pressing that needs to get home as soon as possible, and with the fact he's positive he sees Ken working behind the counter, seems like as good a time as any to make good on that.

Decked out in his usual overly large dark jeans and plaid shirt, Will waits for the line to dwindle before he pushes the door open and slowly makes his way to the front, hands stuffed in his pockets. Ken has so much potential, but Will finds it good this is where he's put himself. Will has so much potential, too, and he'd rather hide in a bait shop. Of course he thinks this is a good match. Ken loves his coffee, after all. They are more than people who've had issues with taste, who can kill, and it's nice for that to be recognized and explored.]

What's good? [He asks, fondly smiling as he looks from Ken to the menu.] Not what sells well. What's the best you've got?

[Hey buddy. Cannipapa is back and happy to see you.]

[Shortly after his trip to the cat cafe, now with a delightfully warm cup of coffee in tow, Will spots a young man and his dog. He's not due home immediately, and the kid's going a similar route Will would take to get home if he didn't need to be there quickly. So keeping some distance and following without actually following him doesn't really feel like too much of a problem. And his dog is quite a dog, really, that is a very fine dog. It's just that after he's done this for four straight blocks, he might be overdoing it. Except Will Graham always overdoes "it" when "it" translates to "dogs" so he doesn't register this as odd at all. Until the crosswalks make it so foot traffic has to yield, and Will finally closes the distance to stand next to the furry little guy. And also the kid, but the dog is the important part here. This dog is such a doll Will just wants to take him home and give him a new collar, Goddamn. Those eyes are seducing him without doing anything other than existing.]

Well, hey. [He says to Koromaru, like he's only JUST NOTICED this magnificent dog instead of, you know, been watching him with stars in his eyes for the past five or ten minutes. Christ Jesus, Will, get your shit together.] You've got a cute little guy here.

[...he addresses to Ken but he's totally still staring at Koromaru. So.]

[ she is, for once, blissfully asleep, face pressed into the pillow, hair a waterfall across her face and fluttering with every breath, curled under a nest of blankets. her three raccoons are nowhere to be seen -- playing outside still, presumably -- but ziggy is curled up on the bed with her and doesn't even twitch at will's voice. the grey cat has known will longer after all.

what does acknowledge will's presence is the huge wall of fur that is laying down next to abigail's bed. the tibetan mastiff's giant head lifts when will speaks and he lets out a low "aroo?" as he lumbers to his feet, roughly the size of a mini pony. welcome home, will, you've been replaced with a furbeast. ]

[Oh God. He had been concerned that perhaps Abigail would fling herself at him and he might drop things, but dog. Will stares at the Tibetan beauty, taken aback by new dog!!! and what a dog it is, before he moves to gingerly place drinks and plate on her dresser. His steps are short and slow, his movements clear so the dog has time to absorb them without being frightened. Will's sporting quite a few raccoon hairs all over his clothes, hopefully the dog takes that as a sign he isn't a stranger just waltzing into Abigail's room.]

Hey there, hey buddy. [His voice is quiet as he squats, extending his hand for a sniff. Every part of him shows signs of friendless, of borderline submission, that he's fully accepting if the dog decides Will needs to be checked out before he's allowed closer to Abigail. That he's been replaced as an occasional teddy bear doesn't register, and won't bother him when it does. That's a mighty fine dog and Abigail should have nice things in her life, should have people and living beings outside of Will Graham. It's one aspect he does his best to sure continues no matter what the case, if only because that is something he knows Goddamn well Hannibal would never have afforded her. He didn't afford the luxury to Will, either.] Have you been taking care of Abigail while I'm gone? Look at you, hey, perfect guard dog. How can I ever repay you, huh?

[...so he didn't expect to end up sitting on her floor making friends with a new dog but here he is just the same, touches light and careful and doing everything he can to make sure any noises the dog lets out are quiet and happy.]

[ samson chuffs again, sniffing at will eagerly. he smells like peanut butter and april so the dog doesn't seem to find anything wrong with abigail's guest. it doesn't hurt that the house smells like will and the dog is still pretty new.

he's going to sleep outside, abigail swore. he's too big to sleep inside.

that obviously did not happen, but probably should have as when sam's tail starts wagging it whacks into abigail's bedposts with a series of loud thuds that cause her to stir lightly, shoving her face more into the pillow and muffling her protests. ] Go back to sleep.

[Will's hands keep to moving over the dog out of pure habit; Abigail's the one who's got his full attention. Nestled in bed with her hair all a mess, Will has never seen her look more beautiful. Not just because she's alive and because she is Abigail Hobbs, but because she's comfortable and, feeling a pang of guilt like fire in his stomach, safe. He's never been unaware why Hobbs wanted her to all himself, but he can see clearer than ever why Hannibal wanted her kept away and secret. To draw Will back in, of course, but she's the most incredible person Will can think of. He looks at her and sees potential, he sees hope, he sees the greatest love of his life, he sees home and health and happiness and it feels like his heart is going to explode or collapse or both in his chest and he wouldn't even care if he did, if he died again, if he died like that, because the last sight he'd have was Abigail.

And he sees her throat cut, blood spilling out over the sheets. He sees her die, he sees her face change into both sorrow and love in flashing turns, he sees pain and torture and knows without a doubt the last decision he ever made in his entire life was also the best one he ever made.

He waits a few moments, mostly to collect himself, before he shifts on the floor, putting himself at her bedside. Something he had so, so, so hoped he'd be able to do once he awoke in the hospital, despite having seen the body bag zipped over her, despite having seen dead eyes staring at him as he was carted out. Eyes full of questions, of accusations, and what Will eventually had to believe was relief. She could rest, finally, and Will's refusal to let her go for so long was something she indulged because she knew he needed it. She knew that when the time came, Will wouldn't be like Hannibal. He would let her go. Let her move on. He would let her do what was best for her rather than eternally keep her spirit by his side and act like it was acceptable.

He props his arm up on the bed, leaning his chin on his elbow, mere inches from her face, staring at her with fondness, with sadness, with the joy of seeing a lost love returned healthy and safe.]

I'd apologize for waking you, Abigail, but I didn't think you'd mind. This time.

[His focus is narrowed completely, his hand on the dog stilled. He needs her to open her eyes. He needs to see those baby blues with vitality, he needs to see the puffiness from having been woken too soon, he needs to see her alive like he needs air. He's a man drowning and the only thing in this world or any other that can save him before his lungs fill up and he dies, again, is Abigail Hobbs.]

[ Will is in the kitchen when Grey finds him. There isn't a lot of ceremony to this. He comes in, and there Will is, making food for the dogs as if he always was. Bark, hidden behind Grey's legs at first, yips cheerfully and runs past him to sniff around Will's feet. That's the first sign Grey is there, since he's otherwise silent.

It doesn't stay that way. Warmth fills his chest as soon as he lays eyes on Will. It's been a long month, and although he had not allowed himself to lose hope for April and Abigail's sake, he'd been worried.

Every time Will vanishes, Grey is worried that he won't see him again. He can't help it. What he knows of Will's world leaves a lot of space for anxiety. There's Hannibal to think of. There's Abigail's father. There's all the people Will deals with on a daily basis. There's a lot of space for Will to get hurt, even killed. And Grey does not want to lose him. He isn't sure he could bear that, really.

So when he sees him there, working like he always did, relief is immediate. He pads across the floor to him, every footstep as silent as Grey's voice. He reaches for Will, for his soldiers, and for a moment Grey just studies his face. He's here, and safe, but the lines around his mouth and eyes seem older, there's a new - but strangely, not fresh - scar on his head, and a cut on his cheek.

Grey doesn't say anything, not even with his tattoos. Not at first. Instead he just pulls Will into a hug. He doesn't really think there's a better way to say that he missed him, he was worried, he's glad that he's back. All of those things are conveyed like this. ]

[Bark doesn't just sniff around Will's feet for long. He might be busy, but he's always got time to run his hand over fur, to scratch behind ears, to pay a dog some lick of attention. He's no stranger to the dogs coming upon him and doesn't immediately think someone else must be in the room as well. No, he gives Bark a quick, hearty pat before he slips him an early treat with a quiet, light:]

Just between us, all right? Can't have everyone thinking they can get treats from me whenever they want. I'm not a vending machine.

[A joke, because every animal in this house should know full well if they sniff at his back pockets, Will's going to pull out a bag of goodies for them to indulge.

He gives Bark another ruffle before he goes back to the stove, and when he feels hands on him, the only surprise he shows is a louder intake of breath. He's been gone, physical contact as a greeting makes sense. He'll focus on learning everyone's scent later—he's already seen Jeff, April, and Abigail. Who does that leave in the house with steps silent as death and a voice that can't be raised to draw attention to himself? Only one.

He's easily led, turns, gives Grey the time he feels necessary to study his face, Will's lips twitching into a fond, pleased, small smile. Grey's a constant in his life Will is grateful for. He could bear him to lose him, he's sure, if it came to that he'd have to learn to cope, but he'd really rather not. People come and go like seasons and their changing wardrobes, but if Grey vanished never to return? He knows that April and he and Abigail would have a different sort of grieving. He's also grateful Grey has little concern for dirt and muck, because one hand's got bits of sticky, slippery mess from the cooking he's done, and Will doesn't even hesitate a second to return that hug. To wrap his arms around Grey's shoulders and rest his chin atop one, stupid smile wider than it has any right to be, grip strong enough to convey that it's been a while. He's happy Grey's out and about.]

Glad to see you, Grey. Garden's looking good.

[Handing out treats isn't reserved solely for the animals of the house.]

[ April is not hard for Eduardo to find, not in her new room of the blanket fort. Will might note the bedroom looks relatively unused from when he left- other than the fact an April Grade Hissy Fit had occurred a few weeks ago. Clothes thrown around, bed sheets torn off and cast to the floor, the works. The raccoons had wisely opted to just let this one go, choosing not to clean and risk April having a worse one in revenge, and so it still all stands as a testament to her displeasure.

Eduardo goes straight to get her, but raccoon gossip moves faster than April can be harassed into standing. The whole pack currently in the house is assembling to go see Will, leaking in through the doors and window. By the time April, dressed in her normal tank-top and shorts pajamas, makes it to the room, there's a small hoard.

All of which scatter when she comes rushing in to more or less tackle him to floor with the force of her embrace. How well that works is in Will's court, because April is clearly not wasting a moment to do anything like think that he might have come back with new and exciting stomach scars that shouldn't be agitated.]

[Every single raccoon in this house will be properly hugged and tended to with the utmost affection (especially EAR) soon. He listens to the familiar, comfortable noise with furrowed brow, wondering if Eduardo passed the message along, or if Will was spotted already, or if he just smells enough everything with a good nose can pick up on him. There's a minor pang of guilt he doesn't have anything in his pockets to share, and then that's all replaced with a mix of worry and joy at spotting April in her natural state.

Joy beats all worries out when her reaction is so favorable. He lets it happen, of course he does, has no reason not to. Even though his face has been hacked slightly, momentary pain is no longer concern. Not when the payoff if he ignores it, as he easily can, is April essentially trapping him between her and the floor. That's one of the best places to be in any world, he'd be mad to try wriggling out of it. Rather, he almost madly works to return it, bury his face against her shoulder and wrap his arms around her so tightly it's bordering on too much.]

Hi to you, too. [His voice is ridiculously fond and he goes down without a fight. He remembers how he left her. Poor April, she deserves a half-mustache ride, she could sit on his tummy scar and he wouldn't find it anything other than justified.] Miss me?

[He wishes he could say he missed her, but alas. They both know that's a fucking lie.]

I hate you so fucking much.

[ Emotions, Will. Her emotions. Her emotions and his stupid, awful, special place in them, so that for once April has to actually give in to her intense relief that he's back and be happy instead of being able to angrily lash out for all the pain of the past couple weeks like she wants to. Like she would with literally anyone else she cared about (just ask Grey).

Goddamn horrible, terrible, no-good, perfect Will Graham. She keeps her face pressed against the crook of his neck, not even straddling but simply collapsed on top of him for a long moment. He voice is a little thicker as all she can do is repeat.]

So. Fucking. Much.

[And he's just holding her so tightly it's quite clear however much she hates him is either being ignored or discredited as false. False! Or if she does truly hate him, too fucking bad. He's not letting go. He'll chase her to the ends of the Earth, he will seduce her, time and again, however much he has to. He has all the time in every world to do it now, after all. April's not getting away from him unless she sincerely wants to.]

If this is what you do to people you hate, I'm not sure I wanna know what you'd do to people you loved.

[Murmured, one set of fingers gently combing through her hair while the other grasps around her waist and Will ignores the track record established between him and people who love worse than hate. No room for Hannibal Lecter on the floor now, deal with it.]

[ her eyes fly open, jerking up, hair only falling more into her face until she shoves it back. ]

Will. [ there is a long moment where she just stares at him, half expecting it to be a dream, but he's not covered in blood or ashen and waxy like the figure of her father. she's safe, at home, and it's really will, right in front of her.

she stares and then with a literal squeal of happiness, lunges forward and tackles him in a violent hug that probably sends her flying off the bed and the both of them to the floor, samson backing away into her desk because there isn't much room for him to move around in her room.

oops. ]

Marry them. Sometimes.

[ Life was so hard. She wants to push up and move and get to a point where she can actually see him and welcome him back properly. But That would involve not being entirely pressed up against him, ear where she can hear his heart and know he's there. She should get clone powers. That would be a fair repayment from the porter for the past month of pain. Two Aprils that can cover all the conflicting things she wants to do at any given moment. ]

You left.

[Guess who has two thumbs and is so glad he didn't return with another life-threatening and horrible wound that would make these physical declarations of love actually painful? This guy.

This guy who lets out a quick, pleased laugh and wraps his arms around Abigail, fully accepting this glorious tackle. Never letting go sort of tightness, no surprise there. He has absolutely no problems with being taken to the floor, this is more than fine. He is more than down with this outcome, life is good.]

Good morning to you, too, Abigail.

[And dog, but dog can wait for later.]

I did not.

[For the first time, his hands move to push instead of pull, going to put some distance between the two of them so he can look her in the eye. Reunions are great, definitely, but that particular word choice is just unfair.]

You know I'd never leave you, especially not like that. [Why would he leave one of his favorite places? Not just because April's wrath would be an ungodly thing to witness, either.] That wasn't me, that was...you know.

[When Will approaches, Jaime's exactly where he'd expect him to be. He's at his desk, aimlessly doodling on the notebook in front of him - only abstract shapes and nothing more - and nursing a styrofoam cup of cheap cafeteria coffee. Honestly, class hasn't even begun yet, and Jaime looks ready to just plant his face on his desk and go back to sleep.

That doesn't last long, because seeing a good friend suddenly rematerialize beside him is better than any amount of coffee for putting a little pep back into his step. He half-leaps to his feet, which basically means banging his knees into the desk and spilling the dregs of the coffee all over the classroom floor.]

Holy -- Will!

[The thing about Will and Jaime is that they don't touch much. Jaime's a huggy guy, but he's only huggy with people who seem to directly invite it, and Will's never been one of those people. Jaime will hug Bart and Ken, he'll fling his arm around all of his pals' shoulders, but he and Will have never been like that.

But screw it, Will's been away for a while his time, from the looks of it, and Jaime had been worried that he wouldn't come back after all. This has been a rollercoaster of a month, with so many people vanishing and reappearing, and it only serves to show Jaime how transient these things are -- and how much they're worth celebrating while they're present.

Which is basically a long, roundabout way of saying that once the expression on Jaime's face changes from shock to happiness, he reaches out to manhandle Will into a hug, as tight and warm as all of his hugs are.]

You could have texted me or something beforehand, you jerk!

[Spilled coffee! Will pays it minimal attention, nothing past a quick glance. He doubts anyone would appreciate giving out a hug only to have it noted there is a spill, as if that's more important. No, Will hasn't been a touchy-feely type with Jaime at all, but he's not incapable of basic human interaction. He's helped by the fact he actually does quite like Jaime Reyes, makes it easier to return that hug. Wrap one arm around his back, nothing too clingy but definitely welcoming the contact just the same. Despite the age gap, there's something far more friendly, brotherly, than paternal. Don't nobody need Will Graham as their father.]

And spoil the surprise? [He's not even bothered by the jerk comment, why would he be? He's definitely a jerk, and worse than that when he wants to. He pulls back, one eyebrow lifting to keep a dumb smile off his face. It's there in spirit, though.] Good to see you again, Jaime. How's the class been treating you so far?

[Poor Jaime, abandoned and stuck with strangers. Strangers who can deal with calling someone to clean the coffee mess.]

[ she buries her face against the familiar warmth of his flannel, feeling the tickle of tears start, stinging her eyes that are squeezed shut so tight just in case this really is another nightmare. setting her up to feel content and then ripping the rug out from underneath her and dunking her into a sea of warm and sticky blood. ]

Edgar helped me make the dog's food and they hate it. [ not edgar's fault. not abigail's either, if she's being honest. the dogs missed will as much as the humans did if not more so, but abigail likes to blame herself for everything like a self-flagellating masochist so it's not a surprise she shouldered the burden for this as well. ] We should probably never do that again.

[ will should never do that again, never leave her and april ever again. or if he leaves her at least not leave april. there are sacrifices that abigail will make but only for april. ]

[She gets the additional warmth of those slightly calloused hands, one already taking to working through her hair. Not that Will really cares if he gets Abigail's hair in his face—in fact, he's quite fond of just that—but it feels natural. Like how he focuses on the feel of heartbeat between them, signs of life and health and everything Hannibal had taken from her. Everything he assumed Abigail Hobbs would never have again for nearly four years, having seen her life end while he watched, powerless. So she's not the only one having some eye issues, either. Will shakes his head and lets out another quick laugh at the implication they shouldn't try the dog food recipe again because Will shouldn't leave again. He can't. Made sure he couldn't. But how does he tell her that, or anyone?]

Then don't. I'm not going anywhere. [He has nowhere to go, just like Abigail, and finally puts some distance between them so he can look at her face. Try for eye contact, thumb gently running over her cheek in a manner he no longer cares if Hannibal had done.] You and I are the same now. I took Hannibal with me.

[Steady words despite the wariness he has about it all. Hannibal had kept her, had used her as a tool as he did everyone he came across. Would Will confessing to making Hannibal as dead as the two of them be something she found good? Or would it upset her, attached to the monster still? As much as he doesn't like approaching the fact Abigail is dead, she knows. She was there. She knows, and Will ignoring it won't change that. But now they're the same. Now they're both allowed to rest. What's the point in shying away?]

[The time has come. Cooler weather is upon them, and with a scar that takes up over half his forehead, the Era of Beanies has arrived. Not that Will doesn't own one already, of course he does, but his is a little tattered. Usually, this isn't a problem. And it's really not one now! He's just got extra cash and all the time in all the worlds to do whatever he damn well pleases.

Right now, wearing a faded dark blue beanie, what Will damn well pleases is procuring another, newer beanie. While wearing his old beanie. As one does.

He spares the rest of the clothing offered minimal attention. He can snag a hat at the bait shop any time he feels like it, he's here for one thing. As Will Graham, clad in his usual plaid shirt and ill-fitting pants, approaches the wall of beanies, he spots a figure he hadn't expected or thought about too much. Coming back from years gone by has left his mind in quite the mixed up state. Fantastic memory or not, he's needed time to pull things back together. To sort out people, events, his feelings towards them. So he takes a few seconds to recollect everything he has on Harrison Wells, to piece them together nicely and cohesively, before he takes the final few steps and reaches out to look at the price tag attached to a beanie that is, for all intents and purposes, the same as Will is wearing. Just new.]

Which one's got your eye, Doctor?

[Hey, buddy.]

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Page 1 of 16

we came out from the deep

April Ludgate;

Abigail Hobbs;

The House;

Jaime Reyes;

Ken Kaneki;

Ken Amada & Koromaru-san;

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Harrison Wells;