Fluid [English]

Fluid

Note: I could talk about the symbolism of water in season 1 episode 11 forever. But why talk about it when you can write about it? Everything is canon compliant so I don't think I need to warn anyone of violence and all that jazz. Enjoy~

Also posted on AO3 and fanfiktion.de

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His mind was on fire.

That was the only thing Will knew for sure. His foggy mind, which was slipping more and more out of his control, had just enough insight left for that. It was like dreaming and being aware that you were dreaming, but still being unable to wake up. Will knew that the precious china of his head was cracking, and yet he insisted on continuing to work.

Jack had pointed at the door more than once and told Will to leave should he be breaking. But they both knew that he wouldn't do that. Jack tried to push Will away and keep him at his side at the same time. They performed a senseless round dance around the campfire of Will's breaking psyche. As much as his work was harming him and as unstable as he felt, it had given him a certain stability. And Will had a hard time giving up routines.

So he clung stubbornly and desperately to the belief that he was saving lives. He was Jack's precious porcelain cup that no one else could take the place of, wasn't he? If he wasn't out there, how many more victims would there be? And if he himself had to become a victim of his own mind, then so be it.

When Will wasn't being tormented by shapeless nightmares at night and woke up bathed in sweat, he would lie awake for hours, not knowing that hours had passed until he looked at the clock on his bedside table.

In one of those nightmares, Abel Gideon escaped prison, murdered three men, hung their organs on branches, scrambled their brains, and fled.

Only that that wasn't a dream.

Will knew that as soon as he stood in the middle of a long road, breathing in the remnants of Gideon's presence in the cold winter air. He had somehow managed to free himself, kill the guards who were sitting with him, and escape from a moving car. He had jumped into the cold morning air and taken Will with him. Away from the damp, cold sheets of his bed to an equally cold and cruel crime scene.

Will reached for Gideon, opened the doors of his mind for him, and let the wind wipe away everything else. Jack, who was standing next to him, was wiped out of sight, as were the police men and women and the crunching of their steps in the snow. Will was now alone on the asphalt and then he sat in the car and slipped into Gideon's seat. He slipped into the handcuffs around his wrists, into Gideon's arrogance, and into the plan of his escape. And all he needed was one hand free.

He broke his thumb and slipped out of the handcuffs, ready to defend himself with everything he had against the two men, who immediately launched at him. Adrenaline slipped into Will's blood and gave him the strength he needed to give one of the men a concussion and slit the other man's throat, and then his hands slipped in blood as he sliced their organs out of their lifeless bodies and hung them up with tight knots where the whole world could see them. Will felt energy, life and satisfaction, but no satiation. These men weren't the ones who had robbed him of his identity, but it was a start. A taste of what was yet to come.

Will had that taste still on his tongue when he and Alana visited Dr. Chilton in his office. The arrogance of the psychiatrist had the same colour as Gideon's. An ugly rusty red. Mixed with the silver of pride.

"I suppose this is my fault too?" Chilton said, laughing at the unspoken accusation that he might have arranged Gideon's escape.

He was still trying to deny any manipulation he had subjected Gideon to and spin the knife around so it pointed at Alana.