To Will Graham, life was a nightmare that he couldn't wake up from. Nights with adequate sleep were few and far between, he would fade in and out of awareness throughout the day, and far too often Garrett Jacob Hobbs invaded his mind. All of the blood shed at Will's hands was almost too much to bear at times. Will knew that the only way to stop Hobbs was to kill him, but it didn't take away from the fact that he'd ended another man's life. Killing someone, regardless of whether they deserved it or not, made Will feel hollow, as if his soul was ripped away from him.
He didn't want to feel this way anymore; the pain of the memories weighed heavily on his heart. The years of suffering caused by the curse of pure empathy was already miserable in itself, but shooting another man tipped Will over the edge.
Will no longer wanted this so-called "gift," as Jack would put it. People only wanted to use him for his ability at the expense of his mental health, and even when Will tried to escape from it all Jack wouldn't let him. He felt like a caged rat, used only for research and then cast aside when the negative effects of the experiment kicked in. Unlike a lab rat, however, no one would euthanize Will to put him out of his misery.
The only advocate for his wellbeing was Alana, but things were awkward between them. Kissing her, although pleasurable, was a big mistake and it only added to the endless stream of thoughts swirling through his brain. He no longer felt comfortable talking to her the way he used to. Will wanted their relationship to go back to its original form, but it was simply too late.
Hannibal was genuine and truly brilliant in Will's eyes, but he still wasn't sure whose interests the psychiatrist was looking out for. At times it seemed like he was on Will's side and almost acted like a close friend. In other instances he appeared to cater to Jack and the jobs he needed done, however. The emotional turmoil caused by Hannibal's behavior was more than enough to make Will's head spin right off of his neck.
At seven in the morning on a chilly Saturday, Will awoke with a start. His heart was pounding in his chest, his body and sheets soaked with sweat. After several minutes he managed to calm down and thought back to the nightmare. He was standing alongside Hobbs in his cabin. They were looking at Abigail; her throat was slashed and her abdomen was ripped open. Hobbs looked over at Will, smiled, and within moments the two were digging into her dead body with their bare hands, eating her organs without a second thought.
The nightmare was no more horrifying than any of the others, but Will was fragile. After the long days, lecturing on the murders and replaying them over and over in his mind Will was emotionally exhausted. If this was all life had in store for him, Will no longer wanted to keep going. His life was already a constant haze, and the numb, yet pained, feeling crushed him.
He crawled out of bed, slipped on a pair of pajama pants and walked downstairs. When he reached the living room, Will took a brief moment to look at all of his dogs. All of the strays were piled up in a heap, cuddling and fast asleep. It was clear that the little band of lost dogs were able to come together and behave like a true pack. Will smiled weakly at the sight, but kept on walking until he exited his home.
Will entered his car and reached underneath the passenger seat. He pulled out a small wooden box. It contained a moderately priced handgun and a small pack of bullets. Will grabbed the gun, ejected the magazine and carefully loaded it with ammo. When it was loaded, Will re-inserted the magazine. The safety was still on.
With the gun in his hand, he left the wooden box on the passenger seat and exited the car. Will swiftly made his way to the woods behind his house; he wanted to get this done and over with before any visitors showed up. The prospect of never seeing another human being again became more and more exciting as he walked.
When he reached the woods, Will walked a few steps in and hid behind a large tree. He wanted to make it relatively easy for Jack to find his body. Even though Will planned to take his own life he didn't want them to have to go through the trouble of a full-on manhunt.
With a twisted, almost maniacal smile Will disengaged the safety. He looked at the gun for several minutes; Will was positive that death was the only way he would find peace, but he wanted to take a little time to enjoy nature one last time. Will decided to sit down on the cold, leaf-covered ground and leaned back against the tree. The bark felt rough but refreshing on his bare flesh. He took a deep breath. He was ready.
Finally, this is my own design, Will thought to himself as he put the gun up to his temple.
As he was getting ready to pull the trigger, he heard something crashing through the leaves behind him. Will sighed and looked behind the tree on the right-hand side but kept the gun to his temple. There was no one there, but the moment he sat back up against the tree he felt the presence of something to his left. When he looked, he jumped a little in surprise.
"Winston, how did you get out of the house? And why did you co-"
Without warning all of the strays came rushing into the woods behind Winston. They all crowded around Will; all but Winston sat down. Winston came up to Will, lay down and put his head on his owner's lap. He began to whimper and looked at Will's face, though he avoided eye contact.
When Will looked at the dogs surrounding him, it was obvious that all of them were upset. They knew something was wrong with him; the dogs could never understand what, but from Will's body language it was clear. While Will did love all of the dogs, it took Winston's pained expression to make him cry.
He took the gun away from his head, turned the safety back on and set the weapon to his right. Will wrapped his arms around his favorite stray and continued to sob. All of the consequences of what he planned to do flooded his brain, and Will realized he could've made a terrible mistake.
Will couldn't care less about the people in his life; he never figured out how to truly connect with anyone anyway, and most of the time talking to people gave him a headache. Not his dogs. They loved him unconditionally, and each and every one of them relied on him. Who was going to feed them, bathe them, play with them, love them if he was gone?
They'd be sent to a shelter somewhere, scared and confused. Each one had already been abandoned for some reason or another, and Will couldn't believe he was going to put them through that yet again. For all he knew the shelter wouldn't have a no-kill policy and the possibility that they would be euthanized was high. Will couldn't stand to think of them suffering that way, and he felt immense guilt that he almost left them behind.
Will wiped the tears away from his eyes. "Who wants a treat?" Will asked.
As soon as the words escaped his lips all of the dogs stood straight up. Their eyes opened wide in excitement, some of them were drooling and some were wagging their tails. The dogs' enthusiasm for something so simple made Will smile, and he slowly got up. He motioned for them to all go back to the house; all but Winston went rushing away. Instead, Winston walked with Will.
Even though Will hated many aspects of his life and felt as if his mind tortured him every waking moment, he finally understood that he was worth more than just finding serial killers. Will was the leader of a pack, or better put, his family. They were worth living for.