Mind Games (Hannigram)

7 (willie boy's PoV)

Hahhahahhahha I fuckin ghosted y'all. Sorry. Not really. I have school. And sports. And YouTube. And better fanfics to read (y'all if you want some fuckin GrEaT Hannigram stuff, go on ao3). Anyway, I'm back. Thanks for sticking with it.

"Will?" A voice called tentatively.

No. Not in the fucking bathroom.

Fucking Crawford.

"Uh..." Will buried his head further into his arms. His ass was starting to hurt from sitting so long on the toilet seat. Disassociating was never a good sign. "Present?"

"What are you doing in the bathroom?" Crawford's voice was right outside the stall door.

"I enjoy the smell of urinal cakes."

"Haha." A pause. "No, really. You left. Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because I said so? Because I'm tired? Because the case hasn't even begun and I'm already miserable?" He sighed. "Pick one."

"Will—"

"Don't tell me that I'm saving lives. I fucking know that. I also know that I can't handle this. So I can be selfish, or I can be martyr, and destroy myself for this."

A stall door opened to the right of Will. Through the crack, he saw a trainee rushing out, his face red. It was almost enough to make Will laugh.

Crawford didn't reply. For a second, Will wasn't sure if he had left or not.

"I called Doctor Lecter."

Will's heart stopped suddenly. "You did what?"

"I didn't know where you were, Will."

Will climbed off the toilet seat and swung open the door. "You're not my father, Crawford! Stop acting like one!"

Jack squared his shoulders, taking a step into the smaller man's personal space. "Maybe I wouldn't have to if you weren't such a child! You run off, doing god-knows-what, from your job. You don't get to just sulk like a teenager because you don't want to do something! I'm considering firing you for being so fucking irresponsible."

"What did you even need me for?" Will hissed. He couldn't make eye contact, so he settled for Crawford's nose.

"You need to know what's going on with the case!" Crawford was shouting now, beating his words into Will as if force created obedience.

"Do I?" The words came out low and sharp. "I was under the impression that I was there to tell you whether or not the guy had daddy issues or not."

"Why are you so difficult?"

"Because!" Will's voice cracked. Don't you dare break down. If you cry in front of him, I'll take you to go get a lobotomy. "I... I can't see this guy. I lost it. I lost my touch. I can't. And it scares me. It's fucking scares me because if I can't do this, then I'm not saving lives." He didn't mention the dreams. He couldn't.

"This is why you go to therapy." Jack scoffed.

For a second, all Will could do is stare at the man. "Seriously? That's what you're going to say? I just shared something with you, which- in case you haven't noticed- I don't do very often, and you bring up therapy?" Fucking Crawford.

"Will." Crawford rested a hand on his shoulder. It felt like a roach. "I'm trying to help. I went to the best psychiatrist to help you and—"

The bathroom swung open and, without missing a beat, Jack threw back a hand and shouted, "USE THE LADIES ROOM!"