Will doesn't remember getting out of bed and he's sure that he went to sleep, but here he was standing idly in the threshold of his front door. The night air nipped at his bare legs as they trembled from an unknown exertion, like he had just ran a mile. He felt groggy and disoriented as his eyes flicked across his porch that was only illuminated by moonlight.
There was a brief moment of clarity as a shadow eclipsed one half of Will's face and he shivered subtly as if he wasn't alone. Will slowly brought his gaze up from the wooden boards of his porch but found nothing there except miles of solitude. Still, there was the creeping sensation that someone or something was hiding in a dark corner, watching him. Stalking him.
Will retreated back into his house and shut the front door with a soft click, locking it securely shortly thereafter. He really didn't see what purpose this served, though. Maybe to give himself a false sense of security or perhaps it was more out of paranoia, but either way it did little to put his mind at ease. Will had a splitting headache and a pang in his stomach that dared to induce vomiting if he so much as breathed the wrong way.
Will wasn't even sure what time it was but it felt late. Definitely well past midnight but no closer to the sun coming up. It was in the dead of night and Will's house felt even more looming and thick as ink. He casts a gaze over towards his dogs to see that they are in the living room, sleeping soundly without a care in the world. This filled Will with some comfort, trusting his dogs to alert him of anything out of the ordinary.
Then again...
His head is pounding with the onset of a migraine, throbbing incessantly and demanding some sort of relief. Will staggers into his moonlit kitchen and turns on the faucet and cups his hands underneath the steady stream. He raises his hands up to his mouth and drinks the water graciously, dampening his parched throat. Will even splashes some water on his face but it doesn't feel right somehow. It feels like a caress of cold silk more than anything, but soothing in a sense.
Legs weak and still shaken from a recent endeavor he can't remember, Will silently pads his way to his room, hoping he'll be able to fall asleep without aspirin. He keeps losing track of how many pills he has left and inevitably ran out earlier in the day. For now, Will would have to suffer through the incessant throbbing in his optical cavities.
The short distance to his room feels arduous, like he'll collapse from exhaustion before reaching his destination, but he makes it with much effort on his part. He stills instantly when he sees a looming shadow in the form of a man standing at the foot of his bed. Will immediately thinks of Garrett Jacob Hobbs, freezing in place, but the shadow shifts slightly to reveal a much less harmful figure.
It was Nicholas Boyle, somehow, in the flesh and looking as if he was alive and well, though this could just be a trick of the darkness mixed with moonlight flooding in from the window. Will was aware that Nicholas Boyle was dead, he had seen him lying motionless on a slab just the other day, but somehow here he was in Will's bedroom.
"What are you doing here?" Will finds himself asking.
A set of antlers converge on Nicholas, shrouding him in black ink as they stretch up against the walls and ceiling. It's in this moment when Will realizes that he is asleep. He can feel the bile perched just underneath his adam's apple, wondering why this being that has been haunting him always came in the image of Nicholas Boyle.
"It's your dream," Nicholas replies with a slight deviation in his voice, unmoving from his spot. "You tell me."
"You're dead," Will says out loud, trying to reassure himself that Nicholas is, in fact, dead. "You're just a shade."
"You don't sound too sure these days," Nicholas observes, serving as Will's subconscious by relaying messages to him as an outside source.
"I know what's real."
"You know that I'm dead and you know who murdered me, yet you refuse to acknowledge it because of personal feelings."
"Self-defense isn't murder," Will recites, though there's little conviction behind it.
"I was murdered in cold blood and you let that stupid cunt get away with it!" Nicholas yells with such hatred as the sharp points of antlers contort around him angrily.
"No!" Will screams, banishing the shadows of antlers as they swarm him.
The shade of Nicholas seems taken aback by this sudden outburst as Will gains some control over his dream. He still feels as if he's sinking into a shallow grave with no hope of escape, but Will fights to claw his way out inch by jagged inch. Will can feel the darkness shifting around him, lurking in the corners of his mind as it waits to engulf him again.
Nicholas walks towards Will, moving for the first time because Will's mind allows it to be so. The memory of the Nicholas stops short just before Will, taking a moment to observe the unstable man. For a moment, it almost feels as if Will is looking at himself through the eyes of Nicholas Boyle and he can see his head crowned in a silhouette of antlers.
"I have no illusions about my reality," Will lies with little finesse. "I know the truth."
"How can you possibly know the truth?" Nicholas asks after a moment when Will's mind reverts back into his own perception. "You were wrong about me, and look how I ended up."
Will can see Nicholas' face more clearly now that the shadows have receded into the lesser parts of Will's dream state, letting him find some ease knowing it was just Nicholas and himself. It was true though, Will had been wrong about Nicholas. In fact, Will was never a hundred percent on that theory anyway, especially as of late. He felt he owed Nicholas an apology, but knew it would do nothing to undo what happened.
"I won't insult you by denying it any further then," Will murmurs, hanging his head slightly away from Nicholas' scrutiny. "But I will express my condolences for your sister, Cassie. For what it's worth, at least. Not an awful lot I'm sure. I mean, it's not as if any of this really matters since both of you will still be dead when I wake up."
"It matters," Nicholas assures. "It puts your mind at ease and keeps dreams like this at bay."
Will nods shortly at this, swallowing thickly at the bitter residue forming in his mouth. Apologies never tasted too sweet on his pallet and always risked sounding disingenuous, but Will did feel a staggering amount of responsibility for Nicholas Boyle's fate in a way. After all, he promised Hannibal to keep Nicholas' murderer a secret. Now... Will didn't know what to do.
"Why are you here?" Will asks, though it's whispered in a barely there tone.
"You're feeling guilty for keeping important information from Jack and your subconscious is trying to help you cope," Nicholas states, matter of fact. Will's face drops marginally at this, turning pink with shame, and his subconscious picks up on this. "You're not going to tell Jack about me, are you?"
"I'm sorry," is all Will can say.
It's not exactly a direct answer but there is a pained look of understanding in Nicholas' dead eyes. It's an obvious "no" and the way Will mumbles out his pathetic sorry is an utter insult. He truly is sorry but it hardly makes up for his willful ignorance to the facts. Abigail killed Nicholas Boyle, for a reason that still remains uncertain, but it was far from being justified.
Nicholas was an angry young man but he wasn't capable of murder. His visit at the Hobbs' residence was desperate, if nothing else, and now he was dead all because he wanted justice. Even now in death, Nicholas Boyle was still denied that right because Will was too attached. Too unstable. Too obligated in choosing the lesser of two evils.
"How long is this going to last?" Will inquires, referring to Nicholas Boyle's presence haunting his dreams.
"That's entirely up to you."
Will didn't know how to respond to that.
All he knew is that he wanted to lay down, because even in sleep he felt ridiculously exhausted. Will feels as if he's floating towards his bed with numb feet until, finally, sinking into his mattress. His body is drenched in perspiration but the wet sensation is somewhat overpowered by the frigidness that drapes over his frame like a thin sheet.
His eyes flutter open, forgetting that he even closed them for a second, to find the genesis of the cold embrace. Nicholas has his arms wrapped around Will like silken shadows, eclipsing him in darkness to keep the silhouette of antlers at a distance. It was as if Nicholas was trying to protect Will from something, but Will couldn't articulate what it might be at this exact moment. Though, he had a good idea.
Will shivers in a cold sweat and despite Nicholas' frigid embrace, it's oddly reassuring in the sense that it keeps his body from igniting with unwanted and fevered heat. Will lays there, staring into foggy eyes and basking in Nicholas' phantom aura. Nicholas has visited him on many occasions but it was the first time they had actually gotten this close.
Maybe it was his mind's way of comforting himself, or perhaps it was an unconscious desire of Will's. Either way, Will felt safe in shadows that composed the form of Nicholas Boyle. Even when his deathly pale face is mere inches away from Will's.
"You'll have to wake up soon, or else Hobbs will show up," Nicholas informs, whispering into the intimate space between him and Will. "You can only keep him away for so long."
"I know," Will murmurs, fearing the inevitable but not wanting to let go just yet. "Just stay with me a little while longer. Please."
And Nicholas does for as long as he can, acting as an anchor for Will and there's some solace he finds in that. He lets Will idly cling to the darkness that surrounds him and holds desperately onto the shade of Nicholas' memory. There's some comfort in the idea of Nicholas Boyle being his guardian angel and protecting him, so to speak. Unorthodox, but otherwise beautiful.
As they lay there for an immeasurable amount of time, Will lets himself relax for the first time in a long time. He tries to keep his eyes open for as long as he can, concentrating on Nicholas' pale face, but eventually succumbing to the darkness of his mind. The last thing he sees are shadows of antlers stretching up and converging on them and Will's body goes rigid, trembling harshly. Will's body is doused in a thin sheen of sweat and he fights to wake himself up before the inevitable can happen. But his attempts are in vain.
Because there are some things Will can't change. Not yet.