Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The days filled with paperwork and corpses were wearing Will down. He'd been involved in the Minnesota Shrike case; he'd been caught, and now... wasn't consulting

But Hobbs’ nightmares kept tormenting Will. He barely slept, and when he did, it was bad. Alana thought he was getting worse, Hannibal watched him with that unreadable stare, Price and Zeller gave sideways glances, Jack yelled, and Freddy the fuck

It was one of those terrible days

Where he could hardly sleep.

Then he heard a knock at the door. It was past midnight, and he lived in the middle of nowhere. Maybe he really had gone insane.

He ignored it.

Then came crying.

Not animal.

Human.

God, he really was losing it.

But the dogs were barking?

He peeked through the peephole. Nothing. No one.

He opened the door.

On the porch sat a typical wicker basket with a light blue blanket that was moving. Some idiot dropped off a dog knowing I already have a bunch? he thought. He stepped closer—and saw a hand.

Shit. It was a damn baby.

It was freezing out. Shit. He looked around, but enough time had passed since the knock and the crying—no one was nearby. He brought the basket inside quickly before the baby froze in the night air.

The baby stopped crying as Will checked for injuries.

He was beautiful, with gray-blue eyes.

There was a letter.

“He’s your son.” Attached: a DNA test. And fuck—it had Will’s name, and a 99% paternity match. What the hell.

The same envelope included a birth certificate with all of Will’s information—except his signature.

Who the hell did I sleep with over nine months ago? The baby didn’t look more than a month old. The birth certificate confirmed: born September 29. It was October 17nd now.

The letter continued, “His name is Adam.” And nothing else.

Saying Will was stunned would be putting it mildly.

The baby started to fuss. Will picked him up, still in shock. The baby stopped crying and—

Will did the most sensible thing.

“Sir, could you repeat exactly what you just told me?”

“I’m Will Graham. I’m from Wolf Trap. Someone left a baby at my house with a note.” The person on the other end said a patrol would be there soon. The police asked for more details. He gave them, including the DNA test, and said he didn’t remember anyone from ten months ago.

The police arrived an hour later—an hour in which the baby had slept in his basket. Will had only adjusted the blankets, nothing more.

The officer continued after explaining the usual procedures:

“Well, it’s very late, and a strong windstorm is about to start. Mr. Graham, it’s not standard, but the nearest child services center is over two hours away. We don’t think it’s safe—for the baby or for us to transport him. We can’t keep him at the station. Could you keep him until morning?”

Will was still in shock.

“I have nothing for babies.”

The police understood. But they were right. The wind was picking up. Even Will knew this was ethically questionable but practically unavoidable.

The police—unprofessionally but kindly—convinced him. They drove ten minutes to get baby essentials.

Will was hallucinating.

He’d be spending the night with six dogs and a baby belonging to God-knows-who—maybe even him.

Life’s good. Fuck.

He looked at the baby with a glass of whiskey in hand, the fireplace crackling. The baby slept like the world didn’t exist—maybe for him, it didn’t.

God, what the hell was he going to do?

A DNA test, obviously.

And then?

Then, see what happens.

Lost in thought, he heard some whimpering.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he said in the gentlest voice he had. The baby cried harder,He inhaled air

He was hungry. Great.

He knew the theory of bottle feeding but didn’t want to risk it. He searched for a tutorial.

As he autopiloted to the kitchen, brain dulled by alcohol, he instinctively grabbed the basket with the baby. He wouldn’t leave him alone somewhere he couldn’t see.

Still foggy, he made formula as explained by a blonde woman in an apron. He tested the temperature and braced for danger

He held the baby.

He thought to lay him down, but the lady had said a newborn could choke if not fed carefully. God, he wasn’t going to be a baby killer.

He cradled him, head supported, pressed to his chest. Warm. He offered the bottle. The baby latched on like his life depended on it.

The tutorial played: how to burp a baby, how to pause if he’s too hungry so he doesn’t get a stomachache.

Will followed it exactly. It wasn’t hard. The baby only fussed when the bottle was taken away. But fuck who doesn't mind having food ripped out of their mouth when you're hungry?

The baby started squirming. Will realized it was exactly as the woman described. He grabbed a makeshift cloth, patted the tiny back—and was conscious: his whole hand covered the baby’s back. This small, defenseless thing, cold and abandoned on a doorstep—by someone of his own species. Worse—possibly his own blood. Will was part of this cruelty.

Just then, the baby burped—.The boy softened as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.—and settled against Will’s chest.

Will did the next logical thing.
He looked up a tutorial on changing diapers.
One of the officers had warned him night changes would be fast and brutal and gave him a bag with diapers, wipes, and good luck.

He wondered how diaper sizes worked.

Then backtracked—future diapers? He wasn’t cut out to care for another life.

The tutorial—same woman—was surprisingly clear.

He tried to put the baby back in the basket, but he started crying. Will didn’t have the heart to leave him in a chair surrounded by six dogs. He wasn’t that stupid.

So he’d stay up all night, with warmth on his chest and gentle breathing against him.

It wasn’t so terrible.

He sat with the baby on his chest. He didn’t dare drink more whiskey. Every time he tried to move him to the basket, the baby woke and cried, upsetting the dogs. Will couldn’t take away that only comfort.

At too young an age—far too young—this baby had experienced abandonment by the one who should matter most.

Now he was here. But what had he been through in this month of life? Had he eaten well? Been held? Loved? Anything? Will didn’t want to imagine the darker possibilities, but his mind kept going there.

He tried to recall someone from ten months ago. But nothing. The alcohol blurred everything. His frayed nerves weren’t helping.

Will finally looked down at him.

And maybe, just maybe, he saw an angel. A tiny creature, with soft light chocolate brown hair, a little nose, long lashes over closed eyes, the faintest brows, a small mouth, pale skin and slightly rosy cheeks from the heat of Will’s chest. He slept peacefully, fists balled.

God—he was the sweetest thing Will had ever seen.

Before he knew it, his face hurt from smiling. It had been so long since he smiled—especially like this.

He knew it was a basic human reaction to cuteness—to keep us from harming something. But the thought that this child might actually be his?

Men always said parenthood changed you. He thought they were exaggerating. But now…

Now he was reconsidering. That something of his might have produced this perfect being.

Will Graham, a man chased by horror, might have brought something good into the world.

God, what an idiot he’d been to think people exaggerated.

But he pushed the thoughts away. It had to be the alcohol. There was still a chance the kid had nothing to do with him.

And even if he did—a 30-something man raising a baby in isolation with six dogs?

Come on. He could barely care for himself.

His dogs were a different matter. He knew how to care for them. Even if they relied on him, they could survive. This baby couldn’t. Will couldn’t add more suffering to his life. The baby was beautiful. He’d find a stable, functional family who could love him in all the ways Will couldn’t.

But what if the baby was his—and inherited his oddities? Empathy, autism, strangeness?

What if the adoptive family decided he was weird, not the baby they wanted?

Would he grow up knowing no one ever wanted him?

Feel alone, like Will did?

People who didn’t understand or accept him. A father who didn’t even know what was going on. Crowds of psychologists telling his father the kid was “strange.”

Abandoned—by his own blood.

If he ever learned the truth, saw how he was passed from one father to another to an orphanage…

Before he realized it, a tear had fallen on the baby’s cheek.

He was crying.

The baby woke from the sudden dampness, and apparently Will crying was good enough reason to cry, too.

“No, no, don’t cry, little one.” Will wiped his tears, stood slowly to keep from getting dizzy, and started pacing gently.

“Shhh, it’s okay, you’re safe.”

He didn’t know what the hell he’d do if the test came back positive. His mind raced. The baby quieted into soft gurgles. Will pulled him off his shoulder to look at his face.

The baby looked into his eyes.

Those huge gray-blue eyes on such a small face—and then he smiled. Will, with all his empathy, saw pure joy for no reason. And God—it was the best feeling. No thought, just feeling.

He smiled back. He decided to go to the guest room upstairs, lay down next to the baby—not to sleep, just to watch, think.

Someone knocked on the door.

There was light in the window.

Did he fall asleep?

Everything came rushing back.

“Shit—the baby!”

He looked to his side, and the baby was still sound asleep, resting his tiny head on Will’s wrist.

“Jesus, kid, you gave me a scare… whew.”

The knock came again.

Shit—it must be the police.

Carefully, he slipped his hand out from under the baby’s head.

He stood up and picked him up in his arms. When he opened the bedroom door, Buster was there, watching.

“All good, boy.”

He went downstairs, and there was another knock. He wasn’t going to yell—

the baby was sleeping. He reached the door and opened it. Two officers—a man and a woman—stood there, along with what seemed to be a social worker.

“Good morning, Mr. Graham. I’m Officer Cooper.

This is my partner, Officer Jones, and this is the social worker assigned to the case, Mrs. Smith,”

the officer said, before the woman added:

“Good morning, Mr. Graham. May we come in?”

He didn’t react immediately, but once he processed it,

“Of course,” he said, stepping aside and walking toward the kitchen, assuming they’d follow him.

And they did—now all four of them were in the kitchen.
“Please, have a seat.”

The officers remained standing, but the social worker sat down, calmly observing everything.

“Well, good morning, Mr. Graham.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Smith."

“Kate, please.”

“Well, let’s begin.”

She said this while organizing a handbag and a portfolio in front of her on the table.

“Could we see the note?”

“Sure, sure.”

He moved around, trying to hold the baby properly—he was still sleeping.

He handed the note over, and the woman read it quickly.

“Well, first, would you mind handing Adam over to the officer?”

She said it calmly, and he approached the woman as she held out her arms. But when he tried to pass the baby over, Adam woke up and started crying. That didn’t stop Will from giving him up.

The woman began bouncing the baby gently to soothe him. Will watched with concern.

“Don’t worry, sir, he’s fine.”

Kate continued, “Alright, let’s begin with an explanation of how the process will move forward.”

Will kept glancing between Mrs. Smith and the crying baby, who was clearly upsetting the officer.

“As you know, the first step is to verify the DNA test and locate the mother, who will face charges for child endangerment and abandonment. The child will undergo a medical examination and be taken to a government facility while the process is underway.

You will be subject to questioning, and based on the evidence and the condition of the child and mother, we will inform you of how the case proceeds and what decisions you can make.”

Will swallowed hard. The baby was still crying—though not as loudly now. Maybe his throat hurt, or maybe something else—but it made Will nervous.

“Of course. May I ask what the possible outcomes are if the result is positive or negative?”

The baby kept crying.

“Can I make him a bottle?” He kept crying.

The officers looked at him like he’d said something absurd, but Kate remained calm.

“Of course. The baby is hungry. According to the officers’ report yesterday, you bought him a few things, didn’t you?”

Receiving her approval, Will turned to the clean bottle and formula. He began preparing it from memory, as per the tutorial.

“Yes, ma’am. Diapers, powder, wipes, bottle, formula, and a pacifier.”

The woman watched him calmly while Adam cried.

“Could you tell me what would happen depending on the results?” he asked, still preparing the bottle. Kate remained completely composed.

“Of course. If the test is negative, once the mother is located, the child will be placed with a capable relative who’s willing to take him. If there’s no one, he’ll be placed in an orphanage.”

There was a brief silence as he finished assembling the bottle.

“And if the result is positive?”

“If you are his biological father and claim to have no knowledge of his birth, you will be evaluated for fitness, and you’ll be given the option to keep him. If you don’t want him, he’ll be placed with a maternal relative or, failing that, into state custody.”

He approached with the bottle, and the officer took it. The baby began to drink.

“Well, we’re heading to headquarters now where the child and you will undergo the necessary testing and a few questions,” she said in a gentle tone—non-intimidating unless you had police training and recognized the structure of an interrogation.

“Of course.”

The woman stood and walked outside.

“Give me a second—I’ll feed my pets and grab my keys.”
She nodded as if it were a daily routine—which, perhaps, it was. Will stepped outside to take care of it.

He fed the dogs and locked up the house, leaving the pet door open, which he usually kept shut at night so the more restless animals wouldn’t escape.

He went out, and the police car was still there.

He got into his own vehicle, and the police car began to drive. He followed it, sighed, and called his job.

He requested sick leave—they granted him two days, saying it was fine as a sudden cold and didn’t require a medical note. The woman who answered was kind and understanding, seeing he hadn’t taken any leave in over two years.

He turned off his phone and kept following the police car, trying to think only about the road ahead.

Chapter Text

The only sound he could hear was his heart beating, like it was underwater under pressure.

The spot where the cotton ball had been on his arm itched; it felt like he was going to crack the floor open from how hard he kept tapping his heel. His lip had been bitten far too much—he’d been tasting blood for a while now. His nails were practically gone. The pristine white environment was lifeless and silent. He could only see feet passing by from the corner of his eye. His mind focused on the outside noise, but his heartbeat drowned everything out.

A hand on his shoulder snapped him out of his trance

It was a fairly young woman.

“Mr. Graham, right?” I nodded and looked her in the face, hoping not to miss anything she might say.

“Well sir, I’m going to ask you to follow me to another section so we can ask you some questions.”

“Sure,” he said, standing up and starting to follow the kind woman.

They left that waiting room to enter another, facing a long hallway filled with identical doors that seemed to stretch on forever.

The woman spoke again as they walked. “Mr. Graham, the results of the tests will be ready in 48 hours. It’s a shorter period than usual, but for cases like this, it’s necessary. You’ll need to come back the day after tomorrow at the same time. We’ll also ask you more questions and explain the process clearly.” She stopped as she finished the last sentence. “Here we are,” she said, pointing to a door on her right.

“Thank you,” he said. She opened the door, he stepped in, and she left with a rehearsed smile meant to convey calmness she didn’t truly feel.

He was still processing her words—two days until they told him what would happen.

The room looked like an office, but it had the typical two-way mirror. It was small—most likely empty. Inside were Kate and Officer Coper, though the latter had his face buried in his phone, watching who knows what.

Kate noticed him only when he moved.

“Please, have a seat,” her voice calm like the first time he heard it. He followed the order disguised as a suggestion
.
“Well, Mr. Graham, let’s get to it.” He swallowed hard, but Mrs. Smith continued.

“My colleague must’ve already informed you about when the test results will be ready and that you’ll need to come pick them up. After that, we’ll speak again.” There was a brief silence, and Will nodded.

“If you don’t come pick them up, we’ll go to your home. Just to be clear: as long as this case is open, you may not leave the state.” A sweet way of saying he couldn’t run. He already knew the protocol.

“Well, Mr. Graham, tell me a bit about yourself. Just a quick introduction—don’t worry.”

It felt completely unnecessary, and he was pretty sure interrogations didn’t use to be like this.

“Well, you already know my name. I’m Will. I’m a behavioral analysis professor at Quantico. I occasionally consult for the FBI on cases. I’m not very social, I don’t have any family present, and there’s not much else.”

He really condensed his whole career because he already knew where this was going

“Right, you were also a police officer according to your file, so you already know how these interviews go.” He nodded.

It felt like he was a kid in the principal’s office—maybe that’s why they changed the questions to catch him off guard.

“Well, Mr. Graham, let’s start with what we already know. Tell me exactly what happened last night, with as much detail as possible.” She stared at him just for a few seconds. He knew what she wanted to hear. He began speaking:

“Well, I was really just trying to sleep. I’d had some whiskey, being honest.” He noticed the guard perk up. “Honestly, my job isn’t the kind of thing you want running through your head all night.”

“Nights are uncomfortable, so I was trying to sleep, but I couldn’t.” The woman was watching him closely. “Then I heard a knock at the door. I thought it was the wind or something, but then I heard crying and the dogs started barking. I looked through the peephole, but saw nothing. When I opened the door and saw the basket, I thought maybe it was an abandoned puppy or something. But then a small hand peeked out. So I brought it in, checked that he wasn’t injured, and called the police. Everything after that should be in the report.”

She stared at him.

“Sir, I don’t mean to be rude, but please tell me…” She paused, adjusting her hands on the desk, interlacing her fingers.

“Because of the strong windstorm, the officers left the child in your care that night. Tell me how that went.”

He continued.

“Well, after the officers left, he slept for a while in the basket. And I… honestly…” The guard sat up straighter, waiting for a confession. Will knew he wasn’t choosing the best words, but damn it, he was nervous. He’d seen situations like this, but never thought he’d be in one. Nervousness was a part of him, but today it was amplified.

“I know I shouldn’t have, but I finished the whiskey I had. I know it wasn’t the right thing to do with a child there, but I had no idea what to do or how to react. After a while, the baby started crying. I took the basket with me to the kitchen, made him a bottle, burped him, held him for a while, and when I tried to lay him down, he cried again. I couldn’t just leave him like that, so he ended up sleeping with me. I took him to the upstairs bedroom—away from the dogs—and laid down with him. Then they came and brought me here.”

The guard seemed to relax. He was saying what the guard wanted to hear.

“Do you assure us you did nothing inappropriate with the child?”

That was the bold question.

“I assure you, I didn’t—and would never—do anything like that.”

That last part came with a touch of bitter emphasis.

He knew the question was practically mandatory, but it still annoyed him. He wasn’t being rational, but today he figured he had an excuse. Today, reason wasn’t on his side.

He was odd, a bit off—but not in that deplorable way.

Kate pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Well then, back to the child and his mother. You’re sure you weren’t with anyone approximately ten months ago?”

“I’m sure—or at least I don’t remember anything at all.” That was the truth.

“So you had no awareness of the child’s existence?”

A minimal raise of the eyebrows.

“Until last night, no.”

She sighed.

“Back to some more personal questions… Hypothetically, if the child is yours…”

If she didn’t have all of Will’s attention before, she did now.

“Would you take responsibility or be present in the child’s life?”

There was no hesitation.

“Yes.”

She tilted her head slightly, questioning.

“Sir, besides this brief interview, on the day the results come in, you will also undergo a psychological evaluation.”

“I understand.”

He knew they’d read his records. It was obvious they’d keep a close eye on that aspect.

“Your willingness to care for the child based on blood relation surprises me. Most men—even with a positive test—still deny it.”

He was silent. He didn’t know what response she expected. To retract? To hesitate?

“Though it may sound odd, these questions help us gauge how to proceed—how to be better prepared, in other words.”

“We’re working on locating the mother.”

Will had been holding back one question since arriving.

“How is the baby?” he asked, his voice uncertain.

The woman’s expression softened slightly.

“Adam is in better condition than we expected. We can’t share much, but I noticed you seemed worried.”

“Poor Adam arrived dehydrated and hungry—not severely, but undernourished. His lungs are doing okay despite the cold he endured. Physically, he’s not injured, but we’ve had him on oxygen for a potential pneumonia, just as a precaution.”

Will’s body relaxed a little. He was thankful there wasn’t more.

“Well, Mr. Graham, we’ll ask again…”

Will tensed up again.

“Are you absolutely certain you have no information about the mother and didn’t know anything about the child?”

“I assure you, ma’am. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

She smiled.

“Alright, then. In two days you’ll need to come pick up the test results. After that, you’ll be directed to another room to discuss the next steps. We’ll see you soon. Have a good day.”

He took that as a clear sign to leave.

“Thank you. Goodbye.” He nodded to the officer, and in that moment, really looked at Kate.

He’d kept himself from reading into anything, shielding his empathy, too stressed to process the faces around him.

But now he saw it—serenity as a mask for a deep, contained rage. Not directed at Will, nor the baby, but at the world itself. A woman who does her job out of vocation, who is outraged by cases like this. A woman who tries to bring justice legally. Peace as a perfect mask for the disgust she feels toward those who harm the defenseless.

She already knows this world and its types. She feels comfortable saying she knows Will isn’t lying (and he isn’t).

He left the room, and the headache returned with full force. His mind had been racing nonstop, with no time to even feel hungover.

He sighed and thought about calling a cab, but didn’t feel like saving money on that. With that weight on him, he left the building and headed to his car. It was still relatively early—around noon. He had two days to think about everything. What joy.

He stopped at the supermarket to buy food, including ingredients to prepare his dogs’ meals—he wouldn’t feed them processed food, no way.

He did buy frozen mozzarella sticks for himself, but that was a different story

Then he realized he had free time—something he didn’t usually have. He thought about what he could do, and went back home.

He did the most sensible thing.

Buster was going wild, tugging on one end of a branch. Elli was rolling in the leaves scattered by the autumn wind.
Jack was trying to bite the flying leaves, and he—he was genuinely happy, playing with his dogs.

It was the perfect way to forget everything for a while. He spent about four hours wandering through the woods behind his house with his dogs. From time to time, he stopped, like right now, when little Elli decided to take a break and lie down. He used those pauses to look for little things to use as fishing lures—pretty leaves, bright feathers.

He sat on a fallen log and looked around. It was about 3:30 in the afternoon. He’d broken a record: forty minutes without thinking about the morning.

But then the thoughts came back—what would happen with the baby?

He kept thinking. Ten months ago—without the headache of alcohol or stress—he started remembering.

Not anyone in particular.

The only time he might have slept with someone ten months ago would have been at the FBI’s year-end party. But that seemed unlikely. He drank very little and went home alone.

But thinking, and thinking… there was another party. He had no idea how it ended. It was some sort of leftover celebration in January. Beverly had invited him—they weren’t best friends back then, but cordial enough that it would’ve been rude to refuse.

The party was fine… until someone showed up with a lot of alcohol. People started mixing drinks, and he didn’t have the willpower to resist when they started chanting “chug, chug.”

He drank nearly 15 shots, and who knows what else.
He only remembers waking up the next day on some couch, Beverly not too far from him.

That night was never mentioned again.

And he definitely didn’t sleep with Beverly—he was sure of it. He’d seen her, and in his opinion, it was impossible she’d been hiding a pregnancy that well.

Buster barked, and he felt something on his hand.

The tree had ants.

Lots of ants.

And they were all over his arm.

“Shit.”

He got up quickly and started shaking his arm desperately. The amount of bites he had was overwhelming—they burned.

“Fucking ants.”

He tried to shake them off, and Elli too—apparently, they were bothering her as well. He decided it was time to head back, but not before walking a little farther to the stream so the dogs could drink.

He liked this stream—it wasn’t too polluted, and hardly anyone knew about it.

His neighbors ignored it—just another random hole on Google Maps. With his dogs now hydrated and his arm numb from all the bites, he headed home.

He took a much-deserved shower. He was pretty sure he used up all the hot water. He took an antihistamine and covered the bites with ointment—they were seriously inflamed.

He fed his pets, made himself some mozzarella sticks, and did the other sensible thing:

He slept. A lot.

He deserved it.

It had been a long time since he took time off. And god, he needed sleep.

Thanks to all the stars, he slept without nightmares… until he didn’t.

His phone was ringing. Of course.

Dear Jack Crawford apparently hadn’t gotten the memo that he had the day off.

He checked the time. Almost 9 a.m.

God, this man has no boundaries.

He answered, still groggy.

He didn’t even get a chance to speak before a barrage of words hit him.

“Will, you weren’t in class—I know you took time off, but the bad guys don’t rest, and neither do we.”

Was that supposed to be an apology?

“I need you to look at some statements I sent you by email. I need your opinion on whether these two guys are guilty or not.”

“You’ve got the case summary. We can’t fully charge them, but we know there was an accomplice, and their statements don’t match. I want to know who’s lying.”

Will sighed.

“Oh, right. How are you, Will?”

Will smirked and was glad Jack couldn’t see his face.

“I could be better. I’ll take a look at the files.”

That was enough to satisfy Jack. He said goodbye, told Will to work as fast as he could, and hung up. Wonderful
.
Will sighed again and looked over at Harley, who had snuck into bed with him and was now staring expectantly
.
“Well, looks like it’s you, me, and the case.”

What a disappointment.

He got up, made some coffee, and grabbed his laptop.

He opened the email.

There were two videos and a document explaining the case in detail.

In summary: two men, cousins, accused of extorting a woman who owned an electronics store. They were caught on a security camera.

The reason the FBI—and Will—were involved was because at one of their homes…

The tall one, the one with glasses…

They found pieces of fingers.

Old ones—too old to identify quickly without a more thorough process.

The guy with the glasses said he had no idea whose they were. Claimed they might have belonged to a previous tenant. Also insisted his cousin had nothing to do with it.

The other one, nervous, said it was something his cousin might have mentioned… but he didn’t know where the fingers came from.

Clearly, they were both lying.

Will read through all the files and couldn’t understand how the FBI didn’t see it.

There had been missing family members—men, older than the two suspects. One of them had been the subject of an anonymous report of child abuse years ago.

Will looked up more info on the man.

An older man with nieces and nephews—and a daughter now living abroad. He was the great-uncle of the two suspects. Years ago, he was reported for abuse. His family didn’t respond to the accusations, and when another anonymous report came in months later…

He vanished.

No one made much noise about it. People assumed he fled from the charges and was forgotten.

Seeing a photo, the picture became clearer.

An older, stronger man. The kids were small and defenseless—what could they have done?

Will thought about his own daughter in that way.

But he could never hurt his own blood.

These kids had no one.

Their parents were attentive—but not attentive enough.

They trusted him to look after the kids.

One was small and a crybaby. No one believed him.

Probably, the older one was also abused. He joined the younger, tormented one and decided to take justice into their own hands.

Their family likely knew something but didn’t interfere. Maybe, over time, their relationship… “deepened,” but Will didn’t want to go there. He refused to descend into that idea.

One felt more guilty than the other.

The one with glasses believed he was delivering justice, protecting his younger cousin

The younger one felt, somehow, that everything was his fault.

If he hadn’t been so weak, his cousin wouldn’t have gone down that path.

Will could’ve dug deeper—but with just a summary and a couple of statements, there was only so much he could do.

He wrote down all his thoughts in a document and sent it to Jack.

At the top, he wrote: “They’re both lying.”

A few minutes later, Jack replied with a thumbs-up and a smiley face emoji.

That actually made Will smile.

God bless Bella’s nieces for teaching Jack how to use emojis.

It really brightened the day—almost like that time he asked Beverly what the eggplant with water droplets meant, after she accidentally sent it to the lab group chat
.
Zeller went from serious to cracking up.

Beverly turned red and, between laughs, explained it with a vulgar hand gesture.

It was just before 2 a.m.

Will wouldn’t be able to sleep, but he’d lie there and stare at the ceiling, pillow over his head.

He had the nagging thought that Jack had stayed awake, just to confirm he’d done what he was asked.

Goddamn it.

With the pillow on his face, he just hoped tomorrow would come fast.

Or not.

He really didn’t know what he wanted anymore.

He wasn’t ready for the results.

But his mind was still stuck on that track.

Goddamn it.

Chapter Text

He wasn't completely sure if he slept at some point or not, he spent a long time staring at the ceiling and when he realized it was 8 in the morning, he supposes that he did sleep...he wants to believe

The day was very nice for this time, his mind had only reasoned that until that false amnesia disappeared... damn. Everything returned in seconds, that glory, with a sigh and a sudden headache he left the warmth of his bed and went to his kitchen to turn on his coffee maker with a sigh missing the oblivion he has when he first wakes up still lost.

While the coffee was brewing she grabbed the laundry basket and went to her small laundry room. She had too many towels and sheet sets to wash her clothes. They weren't in any better condition.

Today I would try to be a productive day

She put the first load of washing in and went back to the kitchen. The coffee was almost ready. The dogs were slowly getting up, so she opened the back door and went to the refrigerator. She took out two eggs, beat them with sugar and a little cinnamon from who knows when, a splash of milk mixed everything together, and placed three pieces of toast to soak. She put a pan on to heat with a little butter and poured herself a cup of coffee. She normally drank it bitter, but she added two teaspoons of sugar and spent a while stirring.

The toast was ready and you couldn't even tell it was almost burnt. He wasn't a great cook but he was a functional adult. He didn't really cook much, he didn't always have the time but when he did he didn't have a bad time. His breakfast was the most elaborate in a long time and it was coffee, French toast and a banana, but to be honest he didn't have that much fruit either, he should eat more vegetables but they went bad very quickly.

The dogs had been staring at the plate of toast for a while, indicating in a very indiscreet way that they were hungry, so Will started cooking his pets' food.

He normally made a good amount and froze it, defrosting it a little each week and keeping it in the refrigerator. Normally, with the larger dogs, he would mix it with a little bagged food (a decent brand, for God's sake, not from supermarkets) to his nutritious homemade recipe, so he prepared himself. He took out a pot and took a lot of chicken breast; sometimes he made it with meat, but he had forgotten to buy for this purpose.

Separately, she cooked brown rice and added vegetables to the breast that was boiling, grated carrots, chard, and squash. She let everything cook for a while.

At that point, Buster was the only one controlling the manufacturing process. She was peacefully asleep, and the others were outside doing who knows what. While it was boiling, he went to put another batch of clothes and the previous one in the dryer, and even then, there was still one or two more batches missing. Great, God.

The chicken and vegetables had already boiled, he let them cool a little to mix them in a very large bowl and added a little fish oil, stirred everything and let it cool on the counter, washed his hands and went to fulfill his teaching duties.

With a sigh, he sat down on the sofa in his living room, put his computer on the table in front of him, grabbed the pile of papers with terrible spelling, and started correcting essays.

I had sent these quite a while ago, but with Jack coming in and doing whatever he wanted, I didn't have much time to be. Well, being a teacher.

He had entrusted them with doing a report on a murderer who wasn't too difficult for his taste. He had helped in the case about three years ago. The media had called him "allergic zero." Ridiculous indeed. At the time of the investigation, his purposes weren't clear. His victims were constantly changing patterns. It wasn't because of their appearance, it was something physical, but not in that sense. The only pattern he followed that was visible was that they were all from lower to middle class, and he killed them in the same way, hanging them and cutting off their noses and mouths.

But in the labs, the story was different. The only other coincidence was that they were all taking anti-allergy medication, a particular brand whose name she honestly doesn't remember, but she does remember the orange color of its box. It was the only thing they had in common.

At first they assumed that the killer's motivation was that allergies didn't exist and people were lying to themselves by buying them, supporting consumerism. Will simply didn't see it. He probably didn't care at all about consumerism. If that were the case, he should go after the companies that produce and distribute it. If he was smart enough to not leave visible traces, he was capable of reasoning that out.

When he participated in the case, his theory at the time had been that the murderer was a pharmacy delivery man or a pharmacist himself.

With this information, the search was narrowed down to pharmacies in the areas where most of the victims lived.

Three days later, in an undercover operation, they caught a man staring into a pharmacy, looking from outside the cash register, and when a woman bought the orange box of anti-allergy medicine, the man began to follow her, and at that moment the agents intervened.

The man denied everything until the interrogation, when he entered for no apparent reason he began to say that he had done everything and that his mother had made him believe all his life that he was allergic to oranges and strawberries by giving him those same anti-allergy pills and that he had tried them in a cake and they were incredible and that they did not cause him anything his whole life he deprived himself of that and that he would have taken revenge on his mother if it were not for the fact that she was already dead.

Poor man if he knew that some allergies disappear with age or just stop being so serious.

His intentions weren't really justifiable at all. I mean, no murder is justifiable, but really? My mom told me I was allergic to strawberries, and I wasn't? I'll strangle people anyway.

But no, the man had no reason, it was simply that he already wanted to kill and used a very mediocre excuse. He genuinely knew it was stupid but he gave it that reason to kill for the sake of killing.

That was assumed from the end of his statement when, insisting more on the subject of his allergy, he said that at 14 he had started eating again, but he knew that nothing had happened. At the moment he retracted it as if it was going to save him from having killed people with the fact that they had lied to him, but it didn't work like that.

His students were provided with all the information including his final verdict of the case and without the last part of the statement which was that the killer's motive was only to kill curiosity, pleasure ignore that just kill

His students

Well, some of them achieved it at some point and others simply went off on a tangent or just didn't think it was a sufficient reason.

Others genuinely said anything. Didn't they accept him for a job at a pharmaceutical company? Anyway, his red pen was spent writing explanations, but excluding that, I appreciated the reasoning. Some just didn't hit the nail on the head. But his explanation was so well defended as a hypothesis that it won the point anyway.

His intention as a teacher was not to simply give the correct answer, but to reason what they did. His reasoning was correct. The human mind takes paths that are unknown. You can take the past into account with the present and predict possible reactions, but it is not always certain. Your knowledge of someone's past is not always certain either. An action and reaction that you do not know about someone's history changes everything, therefore, the answers with the information given can also be certain. The truth is not absolute and that answer deserved praise. If that student had been with him in the case, he probably would have taken that point into account as well.

He is happy to know that future agents will be well trained. Many hate him as a teacher for being demanding, but he genuinely wants his students to succeed.

At some point they encountered more complicated cases without knowing how to react, but if they already have an idea they will be more prepared. He doesn't care if they hate him as long as they learn something.

A student, quite immature to be in that class, had started to say that he had joined because they said that “Professor Graham was very demanding but he didn’t show up half the class.” To summarize, he wanted to prove that they were wrong and it wasn’t that difficult.

Serious mistake, the boy barely fulfilled the assignment.
There were simple things that had nothing to do with the FBI but rather basic knowledge such as simple spelling, ways of writing and basic reasoning. He didn't have it, I wasn't calling him an idiot or anything like that, but really, when Will sees each of his students, he assumes competence. It will be difficult, but they must know something to see how far they are.

He knows that reforms in education are not always for the better, but he really doesn't know if it's just that boy or if the educational institutions are providing poor material.

They are supposed to give a good education for a better future but he knows that it is not like that the people at the top do not genuinely care

His mind went back to the baby, in a school that doesn't teach him the basics or if he has any difficulty they don't take it into account and he continues on without support and without ever having learned it.

If the child is given up for adoption by parents who do not bother to teach him until he learns, frustrated by not understanding something, or perhaps a brilliant child who understands everything and is simply bored and the boredom makes his work unattractive to him and he does not like it.
Interest

In all possibilities you need someone to guide you but school and secondary school are very far away

The kindergarten where he dedicates himself to socializing
And if he turns out like he did when he was little, too shy to talk, very awkward to approach anyone to talk to at home, practically alone with a tired father who was never home and from a very young age he had to manage on his own.

Lost in his mind but when he heard the sound of the dryer announcing the end of the cycle

The washer had finished a while ago so I took out the old clothes and put them in another basket to fold and moved the wet clothes to the dryer and put another load to wash.

That change of environment made him think that an ideal nursery in this time is different from his own. It is more normal for a child to have difficulties integrating and now there are more alternatives. The teachers know how to react, not just go to the parent and say "something is wrong with him." The progress in that sense calmed him down. The world is more adapted to all possibilities.

A sigh and his mind went to an inevitable place

What would a first day of preschool be like? Would the child cry? Didn't he want to say goodbye or would he just leave because of the excitement of more children? Would he be a naturally integrated extroverted boy or a shy and quiet little thing? Would his personality be explosive or peaceful? And another question: Would he cry when he saw the little one grow up and go in alone? Would it hurt more to see him cry because he didn't want to leave or because he didn't even look back to go in?

Did all parents go through this rethinking?

He wanted to get the ideas out of his head, he wasn't even sure it was his and he lived with him or yes, if it is and he doesn't pass the tests what the fuck would he do fuck up

He went to the kitchen to wash his face with cold water.

Packing the dog food and freezing it was done, now she would dedicate herself to cleaning the house.

The dogs outside

And to clean dust from everywhere

The first floor was practically spotless. His vacuum cleaner (which had to clean the filter more than he'd like to admit) had finished off the dog hair. He was pretty sure that much hair counted as a separate animal.

The kitchen was clean, the dog food was stored, and the second floor had a small office, a bathroom, another bedroom, and a storage area. And one room that was completely empty except for some boxes and the small laundry room next to the bathroom. Normally, I wasn't on that floor much because there were areas where the ceiling was very slanted and it was uncomfortable for a grown man.

The rooms were what he started with, he inhaled everything and opened the windows despite the cold. .

The office was clean, the bathroom was the same, only the mess room was left. There were many boxes that were never unpacked and things from the previous owners. I really didn't have much to do and I opened one at random.

There were very old newspapers, scrapbooks, news, albums… albums?

He loved his father but he wasn't the kind of man who liked to immortalize many memories other than in memory, he really doesn't remember having saved that, it was an old book made of battered leather, it wasn't very big or anything but it had some other things.

The first photo was of a newborn will red as tomato and a little hair was asleep

He stayed for a while, passing things by. It had been a long time since he had seen his father's face in any photo. God, they were too similar.

He had come across a photo that he remembered vividly.

A little will in a yellow rain suit and boots with a trout in one hand was smiling and you could see he was missing a front tooth and a fang, he was about seven he was smiling just like my dad he was my first big fish, I remember with that my dad taught me how to cook them how to scale them and salt them it was too much fun for a mini will, a memory I treasure very much

Nostalgia had slapped him in the face. He put the album back without finishing looking at it and started walking towards the stairs, closing windows and doors as he went. Outside there was still a bit of sun, the atmosphere was cold and he couldn't help but think about what it would be like with company, a little one that wasn't a dog.

Would a child brighten everything up? Someone to worry about excessively? What would it be like to have a child? He knew it was a sacrifice, but he never knew if the sacrifice was worth it. He always saw his father trying hard and understood that he couldn't receive much affection. His father was focused on other things, but he genuinely never knew if his father had been satisfied with him.

He didn't believe it, he was more of a burden than a valued investment.

An audible sigh in the quiet house went down to the first floor and sat down on his bed and began to fold the dry clothes.

Fuck

The day was slowly coming to an end. He wasn't very hungry but he hadn't had lunch so he made himself two peanut butter sandwiches.
The dogs were lying down and he didn't feel like doing anything.

Tomorrow I would know
Damn, I'd know tomorrow.
I would know if the child was his or not, what the hell would I do if it was his?

That was a problem for Will Graham. He turned around tomorrow and prayed there were no dreams.