Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Will Graham HATES CHANGE. And he especially hates moving. It was a cold, misty morning. The sun hadn’t even come up yet. Will could hear birds chirping in the distance and the low, steady hum of locusts singing their endless songs. It’ll be a long time before will, will ever step foot in this place again. "It’ll be fun,” cheered Katz.

“Hey! At least you’re leaving that freddie chick behind,” she said with a laugh.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Will replied with a dry tone. “Thanks for helping me get the boxes in the U-Haul,” he added while placing the last box inside.

“No problem,” she said with a huff, and they stood in silence.

“So… what does Jack think about all this?” Will asked, trying to drown out the quiet.

“Jack... he thinks you’re stupid,” she said, crossing her arms. “But… he knew this was coming. So he can’t really be mad at you,” she added with a sigh.

“I mean,” Will said with an annoyed laugh, “I’m getting paid more over there than I ever would here.”

He shut the U-Haul and started calling his dogs to the car. All but one came.

“WINSTONNN!” he yelled. “Here, Winston! Come on, boy!” he added with a whistle.

“Ugh,” Will groaned.

“Ah, just stay right there—I’ll go get him,” Katz said swiftly.

Winston was a lot like Will. He couldn’t stand leaving his home, let alone the backyard he loved to dig in and play in. He wasn’t ready to leave all of that behind.

“Thank you,” exclaimed Will. “He must think I’m an asshole for putting him through this,” he said as Winston jumped in the car. “Ah, he’ll get over it,” she said with a flick of her wrist. “I’m sure there are a lot more trees over there than in old Wolf Trap, Virginia.”Hey, this is my home you’re talking about, Will thought as He closed the back door and began walking to the front. Katz followed.

“Hey,” she said in a slow, soft tone, “how much for you to change your mind?” she teased, trying to lighten the mood.

They both laughed.

“I’m just... I’m just not good with saying goodbye,” she exclaimed, pulling him into a hug, tears running down both their faces.“Oh,” she said, pulling back quickly. “I forgot you didn’t like hugs,” she added, wiping her cheeks.

“It’s fine,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ll let it slide,” he replied, pulling her into another hug.

“I hope Washington treats you better,” she said as she hugged him back. “Welp—I’ll send you on your way,” she added as Will pulled back and walked to his car.

He got in, started it up, and rolled down the window.

“Hey—tell Jack it was nice working for him!” he shouted sarcastically.

“That’s such a big lie,” she laughed, jogging alongside him as he started to roll forward.

“I’ll miss you!” she shouted, keeping pace.

“CALL ME WHEN YOU MAKE IT TO FORKS!” she yelled, finally slowing down.

Will threw a thumbs-up out the window, rolled it up, and sped off. Will was so scared of being alone—he didn’t even know anyone there. Why am I doing this? Why couldn’t I just man up and stay home? All the thoughts were roaring in his head, but deep down, he knew this would be good for him. He needed to stop being a big baby about things and grow up, Maybe Katz was right. Maybe it would be fun. Will Graham toyed with that thought the whole trip.

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Welp. Home sweet home, Will thought to himself as he pulled into the driveway.

The house was what Will could only describe as Victorian. An octagon-shaped structure with far too many windows, it was wrapped in thick vines, as if nature were trying to reclaim it.

No one had lived here in months—maybe even decades. I can tell why this place sold so cheap, he muttered to himself. Will decided that maybe it was time to call Katz. He stepped out of the car, stretched stiffly, and opened the back door to let the dogs out. At the same time, he pulled out his phone and dialed her number. No response. Strange. He figured she was probably tied up working a case with Jack. Finally, he looked down at Winston. The dog was the last to jump down, landing with a soft thud. He lifted mournful eyes to Will and let out a low, distressed whine.

“I know, boy,” Will said, placing his hands on his hips as he looked down at his best friend. “What the hell, right?”

The air smelled like rain and pine—clean, damp, and unfamiliar, a blue Sunday. With a sigh, he started walking toward the back of the U-Haul—when suddenly, a tired voice called out:

"Hey, neighbor.”

Will turned, startled. A man was walking up the driveway.

“Uh… hello?” Will replied, confused. ugh here we go, will thought he decided the only way to go on with this situation was to put on a fake cheerful smile. and that he did.“Hi. Uh, my name’s Charlie,” the man said, offering his hand. “Charlie Swan,” he added. Will shook it.

“Hey, uh… do you need any help here?” Charlie asked.

Will looked up at him and smiled. “No, but thank you for asking.” The movers were coming tomorrow with the rest of Will’s stuff, so he didn’t really need help just yet. Okay, not used to this… first time with this..You know. Nice.

“Well, if you ever need a helping hand, I’m right across the street,” Charlie said with a firm smile, patting Will’s back. Will’s back stiffened giving a soft grunt.

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He gave a firm smile. “Likewise.”

“Hey,” Charlie said suddenly, as if just remembering something. “Aren’t you the new FBI detective or something?”

Ha, Will thought. There it is.
“Yes, I am,” he said, trying not to sound too amused as he wiped his hands on his jeans.

“Well, I’m the sheriff,” Charlie continued casually. “If you’ve got any questions about the new recruitment stuff or, you know, the area in general—you can ask me.”He looked at Will for a moment longer after saying that, as if trying to read something in his expression.

Will’s gaze drifted across the yard. On Charlie’s porch a young girl standing on one of the steps-probably his daughter, he guessed. She stood quietly, watching them with mild curiosity.Will turned his attention back to the man in front of him.This guy seems alright, he admitted to himself. Maybe I’ll talk to him on Monday…Well-duh. I have to.

“All right, catch you later,” Charlie said with a nod as he turned and headed back toward his house.

Will looked down at his dogs, who were all wagging tails and restless energy. “Okay,” he said dryly, “who’s excited to see their new home?” The sarcasm was lost on them, but it made him feel better. As soon as he stepped inside, he got to work. No time to think-just keep moving. He started by making the dogs comfortable. Beds out first, then food and water. A couple toys scattered across the floor to keep them distracted. Winston circled twice before flopping down with a heavy sigh. Once they were settled, Will finally sank onto the edge of an unpacked box, elbows on his knees. He exhaled.

Just him. The dogs. And a house full of echoes.

Okay, he thought. Now what?

He got up and stepped outside to get some fresh air. It had gone fully dark, and the only light came from a dim streetlamp flickering at the end of the road—and the moon hanging low and pale overhead.

Yeah… not creepy at all, Will thought. The last thing he needed from the U-Haul was his sleeping bag and the box of clothes. I bet I can take both in one trip, he muttered, climbing into the back of the truck and hauling them out together in one awkward load. But then—

A sound.

Something rustled in the woods behind the house. Heavy. Deliberate. Will paused.

Still holding his things, he backed into the house and set everything down just inside the door. His mind told him to leave it alone. Forget it. Go to bed. But curiosity tugged at him like a thread he couldn’t ignore. He stepped outside again and crept around to the back of the house, his eyes adjusting to the darkness.

That’s when he saw it.

A massive stag stepped out from the tree line—at least, it looked like a stag at first. Its antlers were far too wide, too jagged. Its frame was too solid, too still. And its eyes-Red.

Glowing, impossible red.

It stared at him without blinking. Will's breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t move. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t shock. It was something else. Something… was controlling him. This was no ordinary animal. No stag he’d ever seen. There was an aura around it, thick and unnatural, coiling like smoke. The air felt colder now. Heavier. Like death had just stepped into the clearing. It stunk. The creature moved closer, its hooves silent against the dirt, its breath hot and foul as it hovered inches from Will’s face. Then.

He woke with a gasp, drenched in cold sweat, heart pounding against his ribs. He was in the house. On the floor. Still alive. Will clutched his chest, breathing hard as he tried to steady himself. The shadows in the corners looked too sharp. Too real.

7:30 a.m.

He blinked at the clock, wiped a hand across his clammy face, and forced himself upright. Shit. I’m gonna be late. He shuffled into the bathroom, flicking on the light. His reflection stared back at him—pale, hollow-eyed, with an overgrown beard and dark circles under his eyes. Get it together, Will, he thought, splashing cold water on his face and quickly trimming his beard and rapidly putting on clothes he hasn't washed since leaving Louisiana still having the smell of the scruffy air of his old house had clinging on like a fading memories, clinging of what once was.

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Will showed up at an appropriate time—not too early, not too late.

He stepped inside, shoulders tight, eyes scanning the room. The space buzzed with quiet chatter and shuffling movement. Everyone seemed to know each other, or at least know how to stand.

Will didn’t. He looked around, trying to spot Charlie through the soft haze of morning light and the low hum of unfamiliar voices. Damnit, he thought. I feel like a sore thumb in this godforsaken town.

Will was lost in thought when he suddenly heard Charlie’s voice call out to him.

“There you are.”

“Finally,” Will muttered under his breath, more relief than annoyance.

Charlie greeted him with casual small talk—the usual: How was your first night? How are you liking Forks so far?
Will gave vague answers, uninterested in conversation. The dream from the night before lingered in the back of his mind like a shadow, but he didn’t think it was relevant. He always had intense nightmares. Ever since Jack had burned him out and shoved him onto the front lines, they’d become part of the routine. They walked down a hallway toward Charlie’s office.

“You’re really good at what you do,” Charlie said, glancing over his shoulder. “That’s why we needed you here.”

Okay, Will thought, uncertain whether to be flattered or worried.

“There’ve been a couple of gruesome murders down in Seattle,” Charlie continued, pulling up a file out of his desk as they entered his office. He flips through a few images—victims, all young, fit, healthy-looking.

“These aren’t just random people,” he explained. “Usually, the ones targeted are the forgotten ones. The ‘unloved.’ The mentally unstable. The homeless.”

He turned to Will, eyes serious.

“You see what I’m getting at?” Will studied the pictures carefully. There’s no blood? he thought, brows furrowing in confusion.

What the hell is going on here?

The victims ranged in age from twenty-one all the way up to their early forties. No obvious pattern. No signs of struggle. He flipped through the photos again, searching for anything he might have missed. “Yes,” he finally said aloud, his voice low but certain. “This has something to do with hunger—whether it’s about cleansing the unworthy from this world, or a more literal, primal hunger.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. Is this some kind of joke? he thought, staring at Will. He looked back down at the files, his expression shifting—worry creeping into the corners of his eyes. He scratched at the scruff along his jaw, then leaned back in his chair with a heavy exhale.

After a pause, he asked, “You think this is just one person?” His voice was steady, but Will could hear the tension beneath it.

Will looked down, his gaze flicking between the file and his lap. “No,” he said at last. “These murders were all done differently. If you look closely at the pictures—the bites—they’re not the same.”He picked up a photo from the far left of the desk. The body was covered in bite marks, starting at the neck and trailing down the left arm. Then he grabbed another photo from the far right, setting them side by side.

Will was right. Every murder was different—too different. Charlie leaned closer, taking both photos into his hands, studying them intently, overanalyzing each detail again and again.

“You’re free to go. Just make sure all your transcripts are in order, and I’ll be happy to work with you.” He rose from behind his desk and extended a hand for Will to shake. His smell was almost intoxicating—a cool breeze of pine mixed with the cheap aftershave he always seemed to get at Christmas.

Will stood, gave him a small nod, and left, leaving Charlie frozen in thought, still caught in his stance. “Okay then”.

Chapter Text

As Will was leaving the station, lost in thought, he collided with a young girl coming the other way. Papers spilled across the floor, fluttering like startled birds. She clutched a binder, the pages clearly filled with math problems and notes.

“Oh—my, I’m so sorry,” Will said quickly, dropping to one knee to help gather the scattered sheets.

The girl’s cheeks flushed as she crouched down too, her voice soft. “It’s okay. I should’ve been watching where I was going.”

Will looked up—and immediately recognized her. The same young girl he’d seen standing quietly on Charlie’s porch.

As he handed back a small stack of papers, he tilted his head slightly.
“You’re—”

Before he could finish, the girl cut him off. “I’m Bella,” she said quickly, tucking the last of the papers into her binder. Her hair slipped across her face and she brushed it away with a quick motion. “Uh… Charlie’s daughter.”

Her hands were still full—juggling her backpack and the binder—but she extended one anyway.

Will shifted the stack in his arm and shook it. “Oh—yes. Um, nice to meet you. I’m Will.” In that split second of contact, he felt an odd flicker of recognition—something about the way she carried herself, the muted tones of her clothes, even the quiet way she spoke.

Bella’s eyes flicked to his face with a look that carried a strange familiarity, as if she already knew. “Yeah,” she said lightly, pulling her hand back. “I could’ve figured.”

Will frowned, just slightly. “How’s that?”

“My dad’s been talking about you for weeks,” Bella said, adjusting the strap of her backpack. “Ever since you agreed to take the job here. He says you’re his best hope—maybe the only hope—to get closer to the leads, maybe even find out who’s behind all this.”

She started to walk away, then turned back over her shoulder.
“It’s crazy that you live across the street, though. Funny how that worked out, right?”

Before Will could respond, Bella slipped inside her father’s office, leaving him with an odd, unsettled feeling.

Didn’t even get to put my two cents in, he thought, chuckling under his breath at the strange little encounter. For a moment, he lingered, turning her words over. Was that really how Charlie saw him? No one had ever seemed eager to work with him before. Odd, being called someone’s only hope.

He turned—and was met with a hard shoulder that knocked him slightly off balance. His eyes flicked up to see a young man, tall, with a stone-solid face that revealed nothing. “Asshole,” Will muttered under his breath. He twisted around, ready to get a better look, but all he caught was the back of the guy’s head as he strode purposefully toward Charlie’s office.

For a moment, Will thought about saying something—just a sharp remark to let the kid know he’d noticed—but he brushed it off. This wasn’t his town, and he wasn’t here to pick fights. He narrowed his eyes, uneasy, but said nothing. With a quiet exhale, he pushed through the station doors and headed for his car.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Will sat there for a moment in silence. His mind circled back to what Bella had said about her father, how Charlie had supposedly been talking about him for weeks, calling him their only hope. The vibe Charlie gave off didn’t line up with that. Not even close. Still, Will couldn’t shake the faint, reluctant warmth in the idea. Someone, at least, thought he could make a difference. Someone had called him their only hope. He let out a dry laugh, rubbing a hand across his face. Flattered wasn’t something he knew what to do with. He shook the feeling away from him and began to start up the car leaving for home.

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Driving back was a blur. It took him a while to find the right street without running into traffic, doubling back more than once. (It had taken nearly an hour just to convince the GPS to cooperate and lead him home.) Finally pulling up to the house, Will remembered that the movers weren’t coming until later that afternoon. He hurried inside—only to be met with chaos. The dogs had torn into boxes, scattered trash, and left the place a wreck.

It’s not their fault. They don’t feel comfortable, Will told himself, though the thought did little to cool the frustration bubbling in his chest. “Ugh, guys, why would y’all do this?” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he bent down to gather the mess. And then he heard it.

A sharp knock. Will glanced down at his phone. 2:30. The movers weren’t scheduled until five-thirty. Who the hell could that be?Another knock rattled the door.

Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he hurried toward the noise. The dogs were already going wild, claws clicking against the floor as they barked at the door. “Alright—settle down!” Will snapped in his best dad voice. The barking cut off almost instantly, replaced by an eager whine or two.

He opened the door—and blinked.
“Charlie?”

The sheriff stood there in full uniform, cruiser parked at the curb. His shift wasn’t anywhere near done. For a split second, Will’s stomach tightened. Did something happen? But Charlie didn’t look distressed. “You’re still on the clock?” Will asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, uh…” Charlie scratched the back of his head, looking awkward. “I get off at five, but I was wondering—” His words trailed as his eyes flicked past Will into the house. The mess the dogs had made was impossible to ignore, and his gaze lingered on the pack themselves, milling around Will’s legs.

He cleared his throat, redirecting. “Are you sure you don’t need any help with anything? i couldnt help but wonder about all this stuff you have to do.”Will hesitated. He hadn’t really considered it, but the truth was he couldn’t handle the move alone. For a moment, a small flicker of gratitude passed through him. Charlie showing up here—asking if he needed help—it meant something.

And yet… it was strange. He could’ve just called. He had Will’s number. Why leave work in the middle of his shift just to stand here and ask in person? Damn, Will thought suddenly. I forgot to call Katz. I’ll text her later. She’s probably dealing with Jack and his bullshit anyway.

“Uhm… hello?” Charlie said, snapping Will back into the present. “Oh—my bad,” Will muttered. “Yes, I’d… I’d like the help, if it isn’t too much for you the movers are coming somewhere around five thirty.”

Behind him came the sound of claws scrabbling against cardboard, the sharp rip of tape tearing. The dogs were at it again. Will clenched his jaw, internally screaming, but didn’t move. Only Winston and Buster stayed put, planted firmly by his side, their eyes still locked on Charlie as if they were tracking something Will couldn’t see.

Charlie gave a half-smile, half-grimace as his gaze flicked past Will into the wreck of the living room. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full,” he said, scratching the back of his head. Will shifted his weight, feeling the dogs press closer against his legs.

“Yeah,” he continued. “They’re adjusting.”

He glanced down at them as he crossed his arms.

“Oh, I can see,” Charlie chimed in, smiling at the pack. Will let out a dry laugh—strangely enough, it was a little funny.

They stood there in awkward silence, both wondering if the conversation was over. Will was about to murmur his thanks and close the door when Charlie suddenly spoke up. “You know, maybe after all of this I could call up my buddy,” Charlie said. “We could have a few steaks at my house, maybe fire up the old grill.” He gave a little dance move at the end, a goofy flourish that didn’t land.Will just stared, caught between surprise and secondhand embarrassment.

“Yeah… okay,” he muttered, forcing a smile as he looked Charlie up and down. He tried to mask his real feelings, but the smile came out stiff and unconvincing.

Charlie noticed the flicker of disdain on Will’s face. He cleared his throat—too loudly—grunting out a fake cough to cover the awkwardness.
“Yeah, okay. Well, I’ll be heading off then,” he said with a strained chuckle, already backing away toward his car.

He turned at the door, forcing a lighter tone. “You’ve got my number—just call if you need anything.”

And with that, Charlie slipped into his cruiser, started the engine, and pulled out of the driveway. Will stayed there, the door half-open, watching the red tail lights vanish down the street before finally letting out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. When he glanced down, the dogs were already staring up at him, as if waiting for some kind of verdict. Will shrugged. "What a strange way to end a conversation," he muttered to them.

Turning back inside, his eyes swept over the wreck of cardboard, shredded tape, and toppled boxes. He cursed under his breath and rolled up his sleeves. Better get this place under control before anyone else set foot in here. With that thought, he went back to work, picking up where he'd left off before Charlie had shown up.

After a while, when everything was quiet and back in motion, Will had a sudden, uneasy feeling of being watched. He knew no one was there, but still felt as if someone were following his every move, a prickling anxiety creeping in. Before he could shake it off, three knocks sounded at the door.

Will looked up in confusion—Charlie had just left. Who’s at my door? He walked over and opened it with anticipation, only to be met by a thunderstorm. Grunting in worry, he pulled out his phone and checked the time—one more hour before the movers arrived. His eyes drifted across the front yard, past the wet pavement and toward the row of houses beyond. He stood there a moment, wondering how to kill time before they showed up.

But something wasn’t right.

The thought needled him. When he’d opened the door just now… had something come in?

Will’s pulse ticked higher as he turned back into the house, patting his arms and chest as if to reassure himself. A chill slipped down his spine, crawling into his legs. He shut the door firmly behind him. Outside, the wind had picked up, and the rain hammered the roof like a thousand gunshots. Then—click. The power dropped out. The sudden silence of the refrigerator, the muted hum of the lights vanishing—it was worse than the storm.

“Shit,” Will muttered under his breath.

He moved quickly from room to room, searching for a breaker box. Nothing. His chest tightened when he realized the only place he hadn’t checked yet. The basement.

He stared at the door that led down into it, every instinct in him recoiling. He hadn’t even taken the time to really explore this house yet—not the photos nailed to the walls, not the warnings the realtor had texted him weeks ago. He’d just seen the job, the house, and said yes.

And now he was standing here in the dark, with the storm pressing in, and the basement waiting below. A sharp crack sounded behind him. Will froze, heart thudding, and twisted back toward the doorway—only to see Harley, Max, and Ellie crowded at the top of the stairs. Their eyes were fixed on him, then on the shadowy room below.

“Ugh, guys, come on,” he muttered, his voice slipping into a half-whine. He turned back, forcing his focus on the steps ahead, the concrete floor yawning below. Finally reaching the bottom, Will scanned the room until his light landed on the breaker box. Behind him, the dogs began to whine—a low, uneasy chorus that echoed down the stairwell.

He frowned. Why wouldn’t they come down? Was something stopping them?

And yet… in some strange way, their whining comforted him. At least they were still there, waiting for him to come back up. “Alright,” Will muttered under his breath, squaring his shoulders as his light fixed on the breaker. “How—”

The basement door slammed shut. The sound cracked through the silence like a gunshot. Will’s head whipped up, and panic hit his chest like a hammer. He bolted up the stairs, pounding his fists against the door.

“Hey! Open it! Somebody—” His voice cracked into a ragged shout. “Oh God, let me out!”

“Will…”

The voice drifted from behind him. Low. Wrong. His blood iced over.

“Will.” Louder this time. Closer.

He turned, his phone trembling in his grip, and the beam of light caught it—something humanoid with antlers ingolfing him, rising higher and higher until it had to crouch to fit in the stairwell. The wooden steps groaned and cracked under its shifting weight.

It reached forward, impossibly long fingers unfurling, stretching toward his face.

Above him, the dogs went wild, claws raking at the door, barking themselves hoarse. The storm hammered the roof, each raindrop a gunshot against the house.Will’s breath came frantic and uneven, every instinct screaming at once, every muscle ready to break—

And then he blinked.

He was sitting on the floor.

The basement was dim but steady. No storm hammering the roof. No door locked. No monstrous shape filling the stairwell. The only sound was his dogs circling him, their claws clicking softly against the concrete.

“What the hell…” His voice came out hoarse. “What just happened?”

He pushed himself up, rubbing his arms and chest, grounding himself. The air felt cold and heavy. His head was spinning, and yet the world around him looked normal—no power outage, no thunder, just a thin drizzle pattering against the windows.

It was real. It was real. He knew what he saw was real. “Will!” The shout snapped him upright.

“WILL! OPEN UP!”

Charlie’s voice. Clear, familiar, and close. Will scrambled up the stairs, still shaky, and threw the door open. Charlie stood on the porch with two movers behind him, their eyes flicking past Will into the house.

“You alright, Will?” Charlie asked, brows knitting. “You look like you just got into a bar fight.” His voice was steady but laced with genuine concern.“Yes, I’m fine,” Will said in a huff, trying to steady his voice. He didn’t want to alarm anyone, but the image of that thing still clung to the back of his mind like a shadow he couldn’t shake.

“Alright…” Charlie said slowly, giving him a look that was part concern, part curiosity. Then his eyes flicked back to the two movers standing on the porch behind him. They looked impatient, arms folded, shifting from foot to foot like they just wanted to get this job over with.

Charlie cleared his throat, forcing the mood back to business. “Well—they’re here. Let’s get you moved in properly, huh?” Will stepped aside, letting them enter, but his eyes lingered on the doorframe as though expecting something else to slip in with them. While the movers hauled in the first boxes, Charlie piped up suddenly. “I hope you don’t mind, but I called my friend’s son to help out.” Will raised an eyebrow, smirking faintly. “Why would I mind?”

Charlie waved someone forward. “This is my buddy’s son, Jacob Black.” He clapped a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder.

The first thing that hit Will was the smell. Sharp, earthy—like wet dog that had been left too long in the rain. His face tightened in a flicker of distaste before he forced it away, smoothing his expression as Jacob stepped closer. “Nice place,” Jacob said simply, his voice low, even, unreadable.

Will gave a short nod. “Thanks.” He still couldn’t shake the scent clinging around the kid, but he shoved the thought aside, focusing instead on the rhythm of boxes thumping through the door and the dogs growling faintly from the corner, their eyes locked on Jacob with the same unblinking focus they’d given Charlie earlier.

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After everything was hauled in and settled, Will found himself in Charlie’s backyard with Bella, Jacob, and Charlie’s friend Billy. His little crew of dogs lounged close by, each gnawing on a scrap of steak. For a moment, it all felt like a dream—warm, easy, the kind of evening he hadn’t let himself imagine in years.

The tension in his shoulders finally unwound, and for the first time since arriving, he allowed himself to admit it: this new life might actually hold something good.

“So,” Charlie said suddenly, breaking into Will’s thoughts, his voice loose with drink in his hand and the other in his pocket walking towards him. “What made you take the job here?”

Will swirled the beer bottle in his hand, the amber liquid catching the light as he leaned back in his chair. Around them, conversation hummed in pockets—Bella laughing softly at something Jacob said, Billy muttering with Charlie about the game—but Will kept his eyes fixed on the grass at his feet.

“My boss just kept demanding more and more from me,” he said finally. “And I hit my breaking point. One day I spoke back.” Charlie, quieter now, turned his gaze on him, studying his face as though measuring the weight of those words.

“And that’s when he turned around and told me, ‘If you want to keep working for me, then put what you’re going through aside and do what I tell you to do.’” Will’s eyes lifted briefly to the grill in front of him before dropping to the ground. “That’s when I knew my time there wasn’t needed anymore. That’s why I decided to take the job here.” He took a slow sip of his beer, the sound of Bella and Jacob laughing somewhere in the background tugging against the heaviness of his words.

Charlie looked at him with a flicker of shock in his eyes. “Well,” he said, leaning in just slightly—close enough to show he meant it, but not enough to crowd him. “I’d like you to know I understand those needs.” He emphasized the last word, his tone deliberate.

Will frowned faintly, confused. “What needs?”Charlie met his gaze. “If you ever need a break—or if there’s something you’re not ready for—I won’t push you.”

In that moment, Charlie realized just how far out of his depth he was. He wasn’t used to conversations this heavy, especially ones that brushed up against things like mental health. Still, he meant every word, even if he didn’t quite know how to say it.

“Thank you,” Will said, the words quiet, almost like a prayer. They stared at each other for a moment. Then Charlie grunted and shifted gears. “Hey—about earlier,” he said. “You took a while to answer the door. And you didn’t pick up your phone. Did something happen?”

Will studied him, weighing his options. The last thing he wanted was to explain the nightmare, not when Charlie would probably just brush it off with some half-hearted reassurance. Better to keep it to himself. He looked back at Charlie and came up with something fast. “I’d just gotten out of the shower—lost track of time.”

Charlie’s brow twitched, his mouth tightening. “Oh,” he said, the word edged with a faint, almost disdainful note. “Well, okay.” He gave a soft chuckle, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and they stood there in the quiet for a beat.

“Alright, Charlie,” Billy said, rolling forward with Jacob trailing behind him. “I think we’re gonna start heading out.” He extended a hand toward Will. “And Will, was it? Nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy Forks.”Will shook his hand, offering a polite but restrained reply. “Yeah—nice to meet you too.”

Jacob gave Will a brief nod before following Billy out, the two of them disappearing into the night.

Will glanced down at his crew and decided it was time to head home as well. “I think it’s also time for me to go,” he said, checking his watch. It was definitely late now, and all he wanted was to finally sleep in his own bed.

“Alright,” Charlie said, turning toward Bella as she slipped back inside. Will started to gather his dogs, but before he could walk off, Charlie called after him. “Hey, Will?”Will stopped, turning back with a raised brow. “Yeah, Charlie?”

Charlie closed the distance between them with surprising speed. “How would you like to grab lunch with me?”

The question landed like a curveball. Out of the blue. Will just stared, caught off guard. Two days in Forks, and already someone was at his doorstep—wanting in, wanting to know him. He stuttered, fumbling for an answer, the thought flickering: Do I really want this? Should I let him in?

But before he could overthink it, the words slipped out. “Yeah. That… would be nice.”

Chapter Text

So, Charlie’s taking a liking to you or what?” Katz teased, her tone sing-song, like she was already enjoying the thought.

Will snorted. “No, Katz. I think he just wants us to ride off into the sunset together like Thelma and Louise.”

The joke landed—hard. Katz burst out laughing, practically wheezing.

“For what it’s worth,” Will added, his tone softer now, “he’s not that bad… I guess.”

“That definitely did not feel forced at all,” Katz teased, still grinning.

For a fleeting moment, Will considered telling her about the nightmares—the way they clung to him, the way they felt real. But he could already picture her response: a recommendation to get checked out, some kind of psychoanalysis. And right now, the last thing he wanted was to be dissected.

“Well, I think I might head off and go to bed now. I’m sorry I haven’t called or texted—Jack hasn’t been the best lately, and he’s making it everyone’s problem.” Will shifted on the mattress, listening to Katz still chuckling.

“Gotta love Jack,” Will teased.

“I think I’ll get to bed too,” Katz replied. “Text me if lunch goes well tomorrow.”

“Alright. Talk to you later.”

“Bye!”

The dial tone clicked, leaving Will alone in silence. He laid back, eyes heavy, the hum of quiet settling over him.

Suddenly, he was back in his home in Wolf Trap. Warm light spilled over the porch as he sat there, watching the stillness of the yard. But in the distance, a figure was walking toward him. Then. He was fishing, casting lines into the water. The reel sang as he pulled in a catch. And there it was again the figure. Closer now. Each time Will reeled in another fish, the man drew nearer, as though summoned with every pull of the line.

When the figure was no more than ten feet away, Will’s breath caught. The face was blurred, features warped, but the way the man carried himself was… eccentric? Will wanted to move closer but his body wouldn’t obey. The air warped instead, folding in on itself, dragging the two of them together until they were inches apart.

The man spoke. A buzzing, muffled voice low, distorted, impossible to understand. Will strained to catch even a single word, but it was like trying to make sense of static. Then movement. All around him, beyond the figure, a crowd appeared. Thirteen, maybe fourteen people, their faces blank, their arms slowly reaching out toward him.

Hands stretched closer. Closer. Until

The alarm blared.

Will shot awake, heart pounding, annoyed, desperately moving towards the alarm clock trying to turn the damn thing off. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock. 6:30 and already he forgot the dream. He had only remembered fishing and old Wolf Trap. With having a lingering feeling of what the hell the dream was about before having it slipped away from his mind. Hearing the commotion of cars and the dog barking crazy down stairs. He shrugged it off and soon got the morning over with.

.

.

.

.

Charlie and Will were at the diner having lunch. In Will’s opinion, the food was not that great, but he did not want to bring Charlie down. Charlie had seemed excited to take him there, and Will did not want to spoil the moment Charlie thought they were sharing.

Will was lost in thought, moving his grits around in his bowl and adding a little more Tabasco sauce, when suddenly—

“All right,” Charlie said. “We have a body: a woman in her late thirties, found in an old shipping container in Seattle. But this murder is different. Yes, it’s like the other bodies we’ve found, but this time her left breast was missing, and it looked as though her heart had been put on display.”

Charlie put down his burger and grabbed a napkin, wiping the residue from his face. He pulled a photo from his coat and hesitated to give it to Will, remembering the conversation they had had the night before. Will saw the worry in his eyes and reassured him that he was fine with seeing the photo—that it was part of his job.

Charlie gave Will a certain look before finally handing over the picture. Will took the photo and saw it screaming eternally. He was not prepared to be shown a mangled woman while eating grits. With one look, he was already imagining the events that had led up to the woman’s murder. Charlie sat there, amazed at seeing Will already at work, wondering how his brain functioned and how quickly he could slip into killer-mind mode.

Will felt Charlie’s eyes on him, staring hard. Uneasy, he spoke up: “I don’t like to be watched while I’m at work. In fact, I don’t like to be watched at all.”

Charlie relaxed, leaning back fully in his chair. “Right,” he grunted. “My bad, Will.” He grabbed his cup of coffee and drank it, trying to hide the embarrassment boiling in his stomach. At that moment, Charlie felt something. What kind of feeling was this? All of a sudden, the light from the window seemed to cast Will’s face in an angelic way—like he was some kind of angel. Charlie was caught in that strange, dreamlike thought when Will spoke, snapping him out of it.

“All right, I can’t think here. There are too many people around,” Will said, his voice edged with annoyance, still aware of Charlie’s eyes on him. “We’re gonna have to go to the site where she was murdered.”

Will’s tone was stern as he looked up at Charlie, making only the barest amount of eye contact.

Charlie sat up and grunted, “Yeah, yeah, of course.” He took another sip of his coffee, steadying himself before he and Will headed out. They both thanked the waitress and left her a crazy ass tip before heading outside.

“Will, let me drive you to Seattle,” Charlie said, unprepared for the protest that was about to follow.

“I can take myself,” Will replied flatly, already walking toward his car.

“C’mon, Will?” Charlie whined, his tone almost like a dog begging for a treat.

Will sighed and turned around. “All right, I’ll have to drop off my car first,” he said, a little annoyed, hoping his words might change Charlie’s mind.

“Well, duh, Will,” Charlie chuckled, sliding into his cruiser. He started the engine, then drove by Will, stopping just long enough to roll down the window and call out, “See ya!”

Will watched the car speed off, a little secondhand embarrassment boiling in his stomach. He found himself rethinking everything he had said about Charlie to Katz the night before. “His advantages are distasteful,” a voice spoke—low and dry—while Will was still lost in thought.

“Yeah, no kidding?” Will muttered, scrunching his face and looking down—only to realize he had spoken aloud. He turned around in horror. Nobody was there. What the hell? Now this shit is just getting weird, he thought. He looked everywhere -everywhere- trying to see where the voice had come from, even checking up and down his car, when his phone suddenly rang.

“You coming my way or what?” Charlie asked, sounding confused, wondering where Will was.

“Yes, Charlie,” Will sighed, rolling his eyes and hanging up before Charlie could say anything more. He got into his car and headed home to drop it off before meeting Charlie.

.

.

“Have you ever heard of Watercolors by Janis Ian?” Charlie asked, a slight smirk on his face and a hint of optimism in his voice as he stared straight ahead, driving through the wooded area toward Seattle. Will was silent for a moment, wondering if he should answer truthfully or not. To be honest, he wanted to know what kind of music Charlie listened to, so he decided to answer honestly.

“No, I haven’t,” Will said, a note of curiosity in his voice.

“I have a CD in the front glove compartment,” Charlie replied.

Will opened it and grabbed the disc.

“Just pop it right in. She’s kind of old school, but she gets it,” Charlie added.

Will slid the CD into the radio, and a sweet folk-rock melody began to play. He hadn’t listened to that kind of music since he was a little boy living in the hills of Louisiana. A soft wave of sadness washed over him—nostalgia raining down like a cool shower. Will was silent for a moment, wondering if he should answer truthfully or not. To be honest, he wanted to know what kind of music Charlie listened to, so he decided to answer honestly.

“No, I haven’t,” Will said, a note of curiosity in his voice.

“I have a CD in the front glove compartment,” Charlie replied.

Will opened it and grabbed the disc.

“Just pop it right in. She’s kind of old school, but she gets it,” Charlie added.

Will slid the CD into the radio, and a sweet folk-rock melody began to play. He hadn’t listened to that kind of music since he was a little boy living in the hills of Louisiana. A soft wave of sadness washed over him—nostalgia raining down like a cool shower.

He saw his family again: his father teaching him how to cast, his mother hanging laundry on the clothesline. The memories came rushing back in that short minute while Charlie talked, the music playing faintly in the background. Will tried to push the memories down, but soon he let them come. He didn’t want to cry—as stupid as that felt—but something in him loosened. He found himself laughing along with Charlie, listening to stories about baby Bella and how she never liked to wear clothes, just her diaper. Even though he had known Charlie for less than a week, somehow it felt as if he’d known him his whole life. Maybe just a little.

.

.

Charlie and Will pulled up, and the forensic team was already there. News reporters and journalists crowded the scene, trying to piece together the story. The moment Will stepped onto the site, conversations seemed to stop.

“Is that the guy that chick was talking about?” someone whispered. Murmurs rippled through the crowd as Charlie led Will deeper into the scene. When they finally reached the spot where the woman had been murdered, Charlie froze—his eyes widening as he recognized a face he thought he’d never see again.

Freddie Lounds.

With a cocky smile and pulled back expression, she spoke. “Well, hello, Will Graham.”

Will looked at her in disarray and confusion, his voice low.
“You know, Freddie, I think it’s pretty weird that you follow me around—but this is a new low.”

She stared back at him, her expression full of distaste—and maybe, just maybe, a hint of satisfaction? It was partly true, and Will knew it. But was he ever going to get the full story out of her? God, no.

“How else am I gonna get my people to read my story?” she shot back, stepping closer. “That’s all anyone wants to talk about. You—you.”

Will said nothing, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“I’ll see you around, Will,” she added, her tone dripping with smugness before she turned and walked off, leaving him standing there, jaw tight, and mostly.. Annoyed. Charlie walked up behind him and saw that his jaw was tightening Charlie walked up behind him and saw his jaw clench. “Yo, Will? Are you okay?” Will relaxed at the sound of Charlie’s voice. “Yes, Charlie. I’m okay. Just trying to see what we’ve got here.”

Charlie put a firm hand on Will’s shoulder. “What do you see?”

Suddenly everything around him blurred. He closed his eyes and the night returned in flashes.

It's a dark gloomy night. I meet her after work, promising her a new life and sweet talking her with my devilish demise.

 This is my design

I attack her by suddenly pinning her down and sinking my teeth into her soft skin, muffling her screams with my other hand. Killing in minutes. Then after the attack I cut her left breast off her body, I cracked open her ribcage to expose her heart–my broken heart.

This is my design 

Will opened his eyes to find Charlie staring at him—half in horror, half in awe—waiting for an explanation.

“So why is he doing this?” Charlie finally asked, his voice steady but low, eyes searching Will’s face.

Will took a breath, his tone measured. “He’s heartbroken. He did this for someone. He’s jealous, lonely... sick. But it’s more than that—he doesn’t think he has a choice. It’s like this man survives on blood.”

Charlie blinked, his confusion clear. He thought back to their first conversation, to the strange, haunted look that sometimes came over Will when he talked about killers—as if he weren’t just profiling them but channeling them. Will could see the question forming in Charlie’s mind before he said it aloud. He spoke first, voice low, almost to himself.

“This one’s different,” Will murmured. “This is no ordinary man. Whoever did this... is something else entirely. This is, for certain—”
He paused, his words hanging heavy in the damp Seattle air.
“a supernatural being.”