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(no subject)

who: Will Graham & Open prompts
what: Taget Practice | Class on Monsters | Floor 1 in the dead of night.
when: The month of September
where: Various locations
warnings: Will's mental instability?

A - Target Practice

[ At some safe target range within the city walls ~~perhaps near the Perimeter Guard barracks~~ Will was attempting to practice on the pointers he'd gotten from Beverly, and more recently James. He was in his Weaver stance, the Sig Sauer settled in his two handed grip as he muttered softly to himself. ]

Relax the elbow to absorb the recoil ...

[ And ... bam bam bam. He fired off three shots. The first struck the target, center mass but the other two spread wide; evidence that he hadn't been able to absorb and adjust for the recoil.

Exhaling a frustrated breath, Will dropped his head and tried to ignore the way his overly long curls fell into his face. He may have muttered a curse before lowering the Sig Sauer and setting the safety. Staring at the target for a long minute, he set down the handgun and reached for a shot gun that he'd picked up somewhere.

Expertly racking the cartridges, he lifted it to his shoulder and unloaded two shots back to back into the targets, obliterating the cardboard into confetti. Will smiled -in a vaguely unsettling manner- and lowered the weapon, cracking it open to secure it. ]

There we go. I'll just walk around with this shoved in my waistband. [ The bite of sarcasm was high. ]

B - Perimeter Guard Barracks: Will's Classroom

[ As he'd discussed back in the beginning, Will had finally put together enough material to start holding a class on monsters.

He had some details on the monsters known to the immediate area and gave tutorials on what was known about their habits, habitats and what was effective against them in order to keep one from becoming lunch. But he also spoke to what it meant to be a monster.

Yes it was a bit of psychology sneaking in. He couldn't help it. Too many years teaching about the psychologically challenging monsters he hunted back home.

Despite his general aversion to anything resembling socialization, he wasn't a bad lecturer. Will made sure to give his voice lifts and drops, rather than simply droning on and on. He used visual aids and most importantly, he asked questions. They weren't always intended to be answered in the lecture, but rather to help his listeners start thinking through their own scenarios.

Today's lecture was about understanding monsters vs simply killing on sight. ]

I'd like you all to take a moment and try to put yourself in their perspective. Look inside yourself, think about who you are and what sort of monster you would be. How do you imagine you'd be perceived from the outside? How do you feel your actions, for survival, would be perceived by those who didn't understand your design?

C - Floor 1 Communal Housing

[ Will was close to being in a position to move out, but he hadn't yet bothered to pursue it with any serious intent. He was barely around as it was and so far the other people on his floor seemed as often absent as around so there was no rush.

Of course it helped that he didn't spend a lot of time sleeping. This night (or early morning, however you wanted to mark time) was no different.

Nightmares had woken Will up. They were old friends in so many ways, but still disturbing and he was fairly certain if anyone else was on the floor and trying to sleep, they didn't need him screaming down the walls; again. So he'd gone ahead and gotten up, taken a shower and gotten into dry clothes, before taking himself out to the common area to make some coffee.

Coffee in hand, he walked over to one of the walls. It was a spot that was out of the way and sheltered by some chairs. Sitting down, cross-legged, Will sipped his coffee and then reached into his pocket for the pencil he had stashed there. Taking a small knife out of his other pocket he carved down the point on the pencil until satisfied and then set the knife down on the floor next to the coffee mug.

Leaning forward, he began to sketch lightly on the bland, industrial off-ivory colored wall.

This was not the first time he'd done this, he had an eraser at the ready and would scrub out his marks just after sunrise, before he set off to start his day. But now, in these silent hours of true dark, he could be caught sketching nightmareish images in loving detail. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Me too, I was a sniper.

[That always had been his speciality, even before the Soldier, and it still was. He's made some incredible shots from distance before, though somehow sniping always feels more personal than a handgun.

He deliberately ignores that question.]

So why doesn't the recoil bother you on a shotgun?

Even with a rifle, my aim has never been that good. [ Snipers were rarefied air, as far as Will was concerned.

As far as his BAU profiling skills were concerned, snipers were an animal all their own, but he firmly shut the door before he could start analysing that too much. Not that he'd forget the tidbit of information, just ... shotsguns.

He looked down at the weapon and then up towards James and simply shrugged. ]

More evidence that whatever is wrong with my handling of a handgun, is psychological rather than physical, but I couldn't tell you what that might be. My last psychiatrist didn't like to discuss guns; he felt they were crude, impersonal weapons.

I'm not gonna be able to tell you why it is, I'm no psychiatrist myself.

[He struggles enough with his own issues, let alone trying to analyse the problems of others.]

I didn't think a guy like you would have a psychiatrist.

[ 'I didn't think a guy like you would have a psychiatrist.'

It took a couple of minutes for the words to sink in fully and for Will's brain to confirm that he'd heard James right. A number of responses came to the forefront, some less kind than others (both towards himself and James) but in a rare moment of self-awareness, Will didn't blurt out the first words he thought.

Instead he gave it a moment's thought and then gave a small, genuine half smile. ]

I believe that may be one of the kindest things anyone has said to me in a very long time.

[Oh.

Well now that Will has said that, taking it so obviously as a compliment, Bucky can't really tell him that the reason he doesn't think a guy like him would have a psychiatrist is because he'd end up analysing the psychiatrist too much and drive them off.]

...sure.

[Now he just looks uncomfortable.]

[ The rather flat response, combined with the uncomfortable body language were a quick tell that Will had read that wrong.

Rather than become flustered, he took it with a certain level of grace and walked over to set down the shotgun. ]

James, I have a laundry list of psychosis that at best, the psychiatrists can only term as 'pure empathy'. [ He turned and leaned against the counter, looking up at the man. ]

I can assume the point of view of almost anyone I encounter, feel what they feel, understand their motivations, their needs, where they come from where they're going.

Where I am particularly useful, is getting into the heads of serial killers. I go to crime scenes and I process them in my head as if I were the killer. What they wanted, what they did, how they did it. From design, to execution -if you'll pardon the unfortunate pun- I can process the tiniest bit of evidence into a profile that catches even the most prolific killers because I literally become them in my head.

[ He reached up and rubbed his hand over his face. ]

But you spend enough time with all those thoughts in your head, untangling yourself from the killers gets challenging. So when the FBI put me out in the field, they gave me an anchor, a psychiatrist.

Only it turned out this psychiatrist was the most notorious serial killer and cannibal on the FBI's most wanted list. Just the kind of individual you want tinkering around in your head. [ Will finished this with a waggled of his hand up by his temple. ]

He's also the individual who gave me the permanent smile on my abdomen.

[ Pushing away from the counter, he turned to begin to clean up his station. ]

So you say you can't imagine me with a psychiatrist. I wish I could I could have agreed with you, because I ended up with a doozie.

[That's... horrific.

He would be more uncomfortable at the idea of Will being able to put himself inside anyone's head with unerring accuracy, if he hadn't already tried it on Bucky and got only the broad strokes right. Still impressive, but not enough to twitch him completely out of the conversation.]

Those are the kind of scars that don't fade.

[He doesn't mean the physical one, but more the mental ones that come from having someone you should be able to rely on tinkering with your head.]

[ It had always been something of an inexact science, at least with people he had face to face interaction with. Evidence was easier.

Turning back to where he could look up at the roof as he reloaded the clip for his Sig, his lips twitched. ]

No they don't. [ He agreed. Which was probably why, back when they last talked, Will hadn't tried to tell James that he would be able to go back to being the man he'd been before the war, before the fall, before the Winter Soldier.

Will knew better. ]

But I gave back some of what I got. Don't mean to stand here and act a victim. The problem was, a mind like his ... he sees beauty in the horror. It meant we were always a zero sum game.

Last thing I remember we'd fought and killed another serial killer, a family annihilator who was trying to kill us. We were on the top of a cliff injured but alive and I put my arms around him and threw us both off the cliff, over a hundred feet down towards the Atlantic Ocean.

[ The last bullet went in place and Will moved to set the slide in the Sig, chambering a round and flipping the safety on. ]

I was in the midst of that fall when I ended up here. So your guess is as good as mine, if I succeed in killing both of us or ... [ Will just shrugged, setting the Sig into the back of his waistband and then crossing his arms protectively over his chest.

After a moment, he straightened up. ]

I need a drink.

Edited 2017-09-14 20:45 (UTC)

[He doesn't want to be the bearer of bad news, but he knows for sure that falls like that don't always kill a man. He's the proof of that, with the metal arm to show for it.

But that isn't for him to say. Not now, maybe not ever. Not when Will doesn't know if it worked, when he might have sacrificed his life, or be about to sacrifice his life, back home to rid the world of a psychotic serial killer.]

I don't drink.

[He shrugs, but after a moment he does offer a slight olive branch.]

But I'll sit with you if you want the company.

[ Will considered the offer, the olive branch and then nodded. ]

Having company will help me feel a bit less pathetic, yes thank you. [ He was not above drinking on his own but eventually he got fed up with the pitying looks from the other barflies.

Picking up the shotgun and the box of shells he nodded towards the campus of buildings. ]

Let me secure this in my office, so I can clean it later. Do you know any better places than that small joint two blocks down from communal housing?

I told you, I don't drink, that means I don't really know any bars.

[The only one he's really been in was the big dance club at one of the festivals, when he was trying to stop Tony Stark from drinking himself to death.]

Somewhere quiet would be appreciated.

[ He lead the path along through the buildings, turning at one of the doors and holding it open for James. ]

Some bars serve decent food. [ He explained, though really he was just trying to cover his gaffe. ] Or so I've heard.

Quiet would be infinitely preferable. Which suggests we cut out the middleman, I buy a bottle of something and we find a ruin without a resident monster hanging out in it.

[Bucky doesn't refute that bars might have good food, but the look he shoots Will quite clearly illustrates that he doesn't think much of those fabled deduction powers if he can't even tell that Bucky isn't the sort of man to enjoy sitting in a public space for any reason.]

Sure, I know a few buildings that are usually pretty safe.

[Mostly because he spends his time living out there.]

[ Will returned the look with one of his own. ]

Give me a break. I spent most of my time living in the middle of nowhere with seven rescue dogs. I do not do sociable.

[ He lead the way to a set of gun cases where he could temporarily secure the shotgun. He'd have to clean it later.

The handgun was re-loaded and secured in a holster at his hip, the Sig somehow looking oversized on Will's frame. ]

Edited 2017-09-23 15:14 (UTC)

[He follows Will peaceably enough as he heads to put the gun away, eyebrows hitching in surprise.]

Seven dogs? How the hell do you look after seven dogs?

I mentioned that I don't do sociable, right? Outside my teaching schedule and when I went out in the field on a case, I had nothing but time on my hands.

[ Will responded, as if that should be the answer in and of itself. Look, he was a crazy lonely cat lady; only male, with dogs and not lonely. Definitely crazy. ]

But if you must know, it was because I had them very well trained.

[Bucky is an antisocial crazy man with a lot of time on his hands, but even he doesn't think seven dogs is a good plan.]

How big are we talking?

[Because seven tiny dogs and seven large dogs are somehow a bit different in his head.]

Various sizes. [ He answered, hands in his pockets and eyes cast downwards as they walked. ] They were all mutts and strays.

[ He gave a small shrug of his shoulders. ]

People often abandoned dogs out in the middle of nowhere, where I lived. Never understood it myself, why they couldn't at least take them to a shelter, not leave them lost and confused in the middle of nowhere.

Is that why you took them in?

[Will seems sort of like a stray himself sometimes, maybe it gets to him seeing these lost and confused animals because that's what he feels like a lot of the time. Bucky nearly snorts at himself, this psychoanalysing is catching apparently.]

[ It's not like an airborne disease, James!

Well okay, maybe kinda. Will caught it, but rather than snapping and snarling -the way he usually did when psychoanalysed- he glanced over with a quick grin. ]

I took them in because I like dogs, James. [ Will explained. Though after a breath he did clarify. ]

I like dogs, I always have. But you're right, that I'm drawn to the strays I come across and I can ... relate to how they feel; bewildered.

But it was more than that I think. Being able to provide them with a sense of structure and normalcy and maybe hoped would rub off on me and they were good companions, kept me grounded without any judgement or expectation.

Winston, he was one I picked up on the side of the road, one night he followed me and stayed at my side for almost four miles when I was sleepwalking.

Sounds like one of those service dogs.

[Isn't that their job, to follow people who might be in mental distress and keep them out of danger? Hadn't that been the job of the dog that Clark had got for him, with the exact same intention of keeping him grounded and giving him structure?

He hadn't been able to keep her, he'd been too afraid of hurting her.]

Except he wasn't specifically trained. [ Will said.

He'd noticed the lack of James' shadow but didn't comment on it. Though he missed the opportunity to interact with a dog, Will suspected the answer was none of his business. ]

Another time, it took the whole pack standing at the windows and barking to get me to wake up and recognized that I'd crawled out onto the roof of my house.

Sounds like you need to sleep in a more secure space.

[He knows what nightmares can do, but even he has never gone sleep walking. That's a good thing, he dreads to think what sort of carnage he could wreak without him even knowing about it.]

Or get a dog here.

I just don't bother sleeping much. [ Will countered with a small shrug. ] And there were ... extenuating factors causing the sleepwalking.

[ Like a raging case of encephalitis and a sociopath for a psychiatrist who was messing with his mind; literally and figuratively.

He did smile at the idea of a dog. ]

When I get my own place, there will be more than a dog. But for now, I doubt those sharing the floor of the community housing with me, would be too impressed if I brought home the strays I keep finding around here.

I had a dog, you could get one from the same place. Pretty sure nobody would give you crap about that.

[A service dog is, after all, a bit of a special exception and that dog would be able to keep Will in check if he decided to start up his midnight wanderings again.]