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Stale and cold air ruffles the hair of the boy as he walks down the dark dimly lit street, watching the shadows dance across the snow covered ground as the moon light illuminates the earth he walks on. Everytime he exhales the steam from his warm breath meeting the cold air twirls against the dark background. As he walks, he can't help but to smile knowing he doesn't have to be at his parents place anymore. In away, they freed him from them, no longer having to deal with them and their issues. His feet are slowly becoming numb, each step sending a small electrical jolt through his legs. He softly sighs and continues walking down the dark street, miles away from where his home was, a new desolate landscape taking it's place. He can't tell if he's grateful for the last part. He supposes they can't hurt him anymore, can't shame him for normal teenage things, or ridicule his appearance anymore. As he continues to walk,the more hazy things get, providing it difficult to stay present in time.

By the time he notices headlights, he knows it's too late to hide, they've already seen him so there's no point in trying. He doesn't know how long he's been walking, or how long the headlights have been visible, he does know that he's cold and shouldn't stay out here much longer if he plans on greeting a new day. The sound of a car approaching snaps him out of his thoughts, turning to see how close the car is. He's shocked when he realized the car is just behind him, rolling to a stop beside him. There's a man in the car, small and a little scruffy looking do to the almost vacant light source, who has a slightly unnerving demeanor.

"What are you doing out here this late? Where are your parents?" The man asks, calm and docile. He looks at his feet, contemplating what he should say. "It's a long story, sir." He replies, looking at the man. He scoffs lightly and peers at the younger boy. "It's snowing out here and you're rather small, so if you could make long story short that would be great." His calmly spoken words snap him out of it. "I got kicked out, sir. My family didn't and still doesn't want me." He states, his unease coming through in his words, unable to hide the fact that he's sure about any of this. The man looks at him, his expression unreadable, like a slab of room temperature marble.

The silence is broken when he parks his car and unbuckles his belt, angling himself to look at him directly. "How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?" He asks, his tone showing confusion and a hint of frustration. "I'm sixteen, sir." He replies, looking at the man. The man mumbles something under his breath and looks at the boy. "Well, you can't stay out here. There's not a chance that you'll last out here." He says, opening his car door and stepping out. The light from the car offers a little better glimpse of his appearance. The man has a head of loose curls, puffing up on top of his head, his glasses sit on the bridge of his nose nicely, and he's wearing a pair of jeans and a ranch style button down. 

"My name's Will, I apologize if this seems weird but I'm not going to let you stay out here," he pauses, "I'll take you to the station in the morning, but for now you'll be with me." Will states, standing Infront of him as he guide's the smaller man to his car. Will's warm, not necessarily personality wise, well, that too, but he's radiating body heat. It feels nice to stand next to him given that he's no longer cold when he's next to Will. His car smells like fresh water, after shave, and something Spencer thinks is just Wills scent. It's not a bad scent, not at all, rather the opposite. The scent soothes Spencer's anxiety, making his mind a little fuzzy.

When Will notices Spencer's current expression, he smiles at how out of it he looks. He doesn't hold the worried yet determined look he had before, it was replaced with something softer, more relaxed. Spencer's oddly coloured hair is messy yet somehow kept tamable, his glasses a little crooked on his face, and his clothes pressed against him in a way that can't be comfortable if he was present mentality.

The drive was short and filled with a comfortable silence, the warm car and soft movements lulling Spencer to sleep. Will let's out a soft snort when he looks over at Spencer, the car now off infront of Will's house in wolf trap. Will can't help but to smile as the boy sleeps peacefully, watching as his chest rises and falls. He thinks about what he should do, wake him up or let him sleep, though the second one would mean he'd have to carry a kid he's not familiar with. Will ultimately decides to wake Spencer up, watching as he slightly startles and calms down when he realizes that it's just Will. "Come on kid, let's get you inside and away from the cold." Will guides, grabbing Spencer's bag and walks beside him, leading him into the house. As Spencer walks into the entry, the scent that lingers in Will's car is much more prominent here, wrapping him in an invisible blanket of comfort. He's never felt so at ease before, always on edge and ready for something to go wrong, but it feels like that can't happen here. As if he's invincible to anything bad happening again, at least, that's what he feels like that the moment. Will shuffles around, setting Spencer's bag on one of the chairs by the door, then going into the kitchen to make some coffee for the two of them. By the time he's done and bringing out the mug, Spencer's sitting on the floor, petting Winston with a small grin on his face. It warms Will's heart to see the interaction, though he quickly snaps out of it, telling himself Spencer's just visiting for a short amount of time before he's handed into state jurisdiction.

Will calmly hands Spencer the mug of coffee, sitting beside him on the floor. "So, how long have you been walking?" Will questions. Spencer, now with a mug of coffee in his hands, thinks for a moment before responding. "I don't really know, I remember that it was still light out when I started, and that I'm no longer in my county." He meekly informs, leisurely drinking the warm coffee. It warms the cold, slowly spreading the warmth all throughout his body. Will stares at the boy, the concern and worry written on his face. He can't imagine how far he's walked by himself, not to mention in the cold. Anger boils in Will, angry at the fact a sixteen-year-old boy has walked in the freezing cold for hours, the fact that he no longer has a home, even if it might be for the better for Spencer from the small portions he's heard. He thinks about what he should do, not sure what to do before they go to bed. "Spencer, after you're done with your mug, take a warm shower. Hopefully that'll help you warm up." Will tells him, watching as he gets an awkward expression on his face. "I-I don't have any clean clothes besides some boxers." He shyly tells Will, which he softly sighs. "Just go shower, there's clean towels in there for you to use. I'll wash the clothes in your bag." Will states, getting up and walking into the kitchen.

Spencer finishes up his coffee, getting up and walks to the kitchen to put it the sink. He then walks down the hall, towards the light from a open door that ends up being the bathroom. He shuts the door and grabs a clean towel and sets in on the closed toilet lid, noticing how soft the towel is. He starts the shower, letting the water get nice and warm as he gets undressed.

As he steps out, he grabs the towel and dries himself off. He grabs his boxers and slips them on and opens the bathroom door. He's met with a dark sage green t-shirt, probably a little too big. Spencer gently grabs the shirt, unfolds it and puts it on. As he suspected, it's a little too big, but that's to be expected when you're rather small for a teen boy. He walks down the hall and back into the living room, coming just in time to see finish putting fresh sheets on his bed. As Spencer walks into Will's view, Will faintly smiles at seeing his shirt drape over Spencer. "You'll be sleeping in the bed tonight." Will informed him, walking over to the chair closest to them and turns it around to face the bed. Will likes the set-up, Spencer can get a proper night's rest and Will's close, if anything goes wrong Will end up with the upper hand that way.

Spencer nods in acknowledgment, walking over to the bed. He takes a seat, watching Will grab a blanket and walks back over to the chair he'll be sleeping in for the night. Will looks tired, the dim lights of his house accentuates the face, his sleep heavy eyes looking at Spencer. He settles in, getting comfortable in the padded and round chair, blanket wrapped around him. Spencer does the same, getting comfortable in Will's bed, the scent of fresh sheets, and Will's shirt that holds his scent soothes him even more, the fatigue catching up with him. With the dimly lit room, warm environment, and comfort, Spencer drifts asleep. Even if his anxiety about being with a stranger is prominent, the soreness and fatigue from walking that long is much more prominent, overpowering the anxiety.

Will watches, deciding to get up to turn the light off. He grabs the little switch; a little clink can be heard. With that, the room is engulfed in darkness, the room is almost pitch black. 

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Warm light pours into the living room, illuminating the room with a soft glow as the morning light kisses Will and London. Will stirs first, groggy with his curls everywhere and in his face, his face a little worn as he's just waking up. He stretches his limbs in his chair, sighing lightly as he gets up and starts his day. He pads his way into his kitchen, starting the coffee pot and walking over to his now fully charged phone. Will picks it up, opening it and going to message Jack and Hannibal, hoping they can help him with the situation with the teenager. He's a little unsure about how they'll react to the fact that Will brought home a sixteen year old in the middle of the night and kept him there for the time being. Considering that he really only does that with the stray dogs he comes across, not a child. 

After messaging them, Will sets his phone down and takes out two mugs for him and London. He pours the coffee in the mugs then some creamer, satisfied with the hot mugs, he picks them up and walks back into the living room. He can't help but feel a pang of adoration as he sees that London's still asleep. He can get a better look at the boy with the warm morning light shining at him now. The longest part of his hair is on the top of his head, dyed a spearmint green, the rest of his hair is auburn, and he has a pair of sliver glasses set on Will's nightstand. Will sighs as he sets down the mugs on said nightstand next to the alarm clock and London's glasses. He gently places a hand on one of London's shoulders, lightly shaking him awake. With a few light shakes to London seems to do the trick, the light blue eyes peer up at Will sleepily, showing a little fog as he starts to gain a small grasp on his surroundings and who's in front of him. Will gives London a soft smile, giving him a bit of reassurance of his safety.

Will grabs one of the mugs of warm coffee, handing it to London, letting the boy grab the mug and bring it up to his lips to sip the warm and fresh liquid. Will then takes the other mug from the nightstand, doing the same as London.

Will and London pull up to a rather large building, kinda intimidating to London. Will puts the car in park and shuts it off, glancing over to London. They both unbuckling themselves and get out of the car, London walking beside Will as they head up to the building. They walk in a slightly uncomfortable silence, the walk was a decent one, meaning they walked in the silence for at least ten minutes. By the time the pair had gotten through the all of safety measures, London has gotten quite nervous, starting to jitter with nerves. Will seemed to notice, putting a hand on his back as they walk into a different area of the building. London appreciates the gesture, soothing the anxiety that's starting to simmer inside him.

The two them walk into a roomy office, it's pristine, a large desk with a white dresser type filer behind it, and three chairs across the desk facing the office chair. London's eyes widen as he sees two men he's never met before, one sitting in the office chair, and the other in one of the chairs across from him. He starts to get perturbed, leaning towards Will, feeling the two new men aim their eyes at him. He wants to fold into himself, the weight of their gazes are uncomfortable, putting a little too much pressure on London. He looks at Will, grabbing onto a small part of his shirt. He knows it's childish, he knows he shouldn't do it, he's sixteen and he's grabbing onto a grown mans shirt like a toddler for fuck sake! London quickly retracts his hand from Will's shirt, clasping them infront of him and looks at his shoes, embarrassed that he would do something like that, never less to a man he barely knows, infront of men he doesn't know. 

Will realizes what's upsetting London, shooting a look at Hannibal and Jack before moving to stand infront of him. He gently grabs one of London's hands, unclasping them and taking his hand in his, lightly guiding him to walk further into the office, and into the seat directly across from the man behind the desk. Will places a hand on London's, noticing that London's shaking, most likely from the anxiety of the new situation and people. Jack and Hannibal look at the scene before them, never seeing Will be this gentle with someone as he was being now, being calm and gentle with shaking teen before them. Hannibal's (non existent) eyebrows furrow together, not sure what's so special about the boy for Will to be acting like this, throwing off the notes he's taken so far on Will. Jack looks a little taken aback, never seeing his agent being so soft towards another person, he's usually sassy, sharp and quick with his words, distant, dare say guileful and iron-willed, willing to ignore others who he doesn't seem fit for his attention. They've never seen him being soft with his tone and words, giving reassuring touches, being any bit of a parent to anyone. To say they're speechless is an understatement.

Will sits down next to London, who's in the middle chair, directly across from one of the men he doesn't know. London's a bit calmer then he was before, but still a bit shaky and generally nervous. One of his hands is covered by one of Will's, his other hand clutches his pants. He's looking at Jack, his expression shows how nervous he is, and they can see he's quite timid. London's demeanor piques Hannibal's interest, the psychiatrist part of him wants to know if this is a learned thing or if that's just how he's always been. Jack's eyes flicker to Will, wondering why he brought the kid to them. Hannibal and Jack had only been told that Will would be bringing in a teenager to discuss some things with him, that they needed their help with him. They know it's serious considering Will went to them, especially with the fact that they're seeing a completely different side of Will with the kid. 

Jack takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts and making sure he doesn't say the wrong thing. "Will, where did you find the kid?" He questions him, looking at him with a straight face. "I found him on my way home, he was walking alone, in the snow." Will responds, moving his face in a odd manner as he speaks. Jack looks at London now, his dark eyes taking in the boy, London doing the same to him. Jack interests London, he'd be a person London can see mean mugging someone, someone who's generally intimidating. His peppered hair giving him an age range, which London guess he's in his fourties. His goatee a nice touch, at least it's not a full beard. Jack takes another deep breath, gathering some more words. "Kid, why were you walking alone in the middle of the night?" He questions London now, his eyebrows scrunched together. London looks at him, worried about how they'll react." I-I was kicked out, sir." He answers his question, both Jack and Hannibal's faces turn to ones of shock. They don't speak for a moment, trying to wrap their heads around the words he just said. After a good moment, Hannibal speaks next. 

"And how old are you?" He asks, looking at the boy. His accent is something London hasn't heard before, but it sounds rather posh. "I'm sixteen, sir." He informs them, their faces turn to ones of shock again. Jack and Hannibal can't believe a sixteen year old was walking in the middle of the night, in the snow, because he was kicked out of his home. Seeing their responses, London's legs starts to bounce nervously. "Why were you kicked out? If you don't mind me asking." Hannibal asks, looking at London with his almost maroon eyes. London hesitates, not exactly happy to tell them something like that, but he understands why they need that information. "They found m-my journal, and they didn't like what they read. They said it was 'ungodly'." London softly says, not making eye contact with Jack nor Hannibal. That makes Hannibal want to pick London's mind apart even more now. "What was in the journal, London?" Will query's, looking at him with soft eyes. London sighs, knowing that he has to tell them. "I wrote about how I started to have feelings for men, and they didn't like that. They accused me of sleeping with older men, and they didn't even have proof." He informs them, an awkward silence hanging in the air for a few minutes after. Jack and Hannibal look at Will, who's still holding one of London's hands. London can't really tell what they're thinking, and it unnerves him, unsure about what they'll say.

Will sighs, crossing his legs before speaking up. "Well, have you, London?" He questions, his tone soft but concerned. "N-No sir." He answers meekly, his face flushing at just the thought. Will let's out a soft chuckle as he sees London's flustered face at his question. Jack slowly stands up, looking at Hannibal and Will, gesturing them to go outside of his office with him. "We're going to be right outside the office, we won't be long." Jack tells the nervously fidgeting boy, the three walking out of the office after London's told.

Now London's alone in Jack's office, the three men most likely talking about him privately. He waits for several minutes before they come back in, sitting back in the chairs. "Alright kid, we've decided what'll be done until we can start to get your documents. You'll be staying with Will for the time being, he'll be keeping an eye on you. We've also decided that you'll be seeing Dr. Lecter here," Jack informs him, gesturing at the man that's sitting next to him. "We have another man that'll come in to meet you in a few days. His name is Dr. Chilton, and he'll be working with Dr. Lecter for a psych evaluation." Jack informs him, his hands now folded together on top of his desk. London nods, letting every word soak in. A small sense of anxiety rolls over him, having to meet another man in a few days. A different thing gives him anxiety though, and it's the fact that he doesn't know what'll happen after they get a hold of his documents, what'll happen to his family once they find out who they are. Will they just throw him into foster care? Or will one of them keep him?

London's snapped out of his thoughts when Will gently shakes his shoulder, peering down at him as Will's standing now. "Come on, we're going home." He tells him, his voice soft. London stands form the chair he's been sitting on, then following Will as he exists Jack's office. They walk back out of the BAU building and to Wills car. London opens his door and gets in, shutting the door and buckling himself as Will does the same.

Will starts the car, puts the car in reverse, and starts to drive. Once they pull out of the parking lot and back into the main road, heading back to Will's home. 

Chapter Text

After meeting Jack and Hannibal, London was in fact taken back home with Will, where the teen would stay for the next handful of days, and continues to stay as of late. London has been set up in the guest room upstairs, having that part of the house to himself since Will still occupied the downstairs living room area. The two fell into a rhythm fairly quick, a sweet and simple one. London comes down for breakfast and coffee in the mornings, meeting Will in the kitchen. Will's the first one to wake up in the mornings, meaning he's the one that sets up the coffee pot and makes breakfast. Will doesn't mind, not at all really. Making breakfast in the mornings for the teen has gotten him into the habit of eating in the mornings instead of just having coffee and calling it good. He also finds it nice to have someone to share the house with, well, besides the dogs but they can't have conversations with him. After breakfast, both Will and London get ready for the day. The teen showers first, then getting dressed in his room while Will's in the shower. Yet again, sweet and simple.

Now, London's taking his morning shower while Will cleans up after breakfast. Todays the day he meets the man Will keeps talking about, Dr. Chilton. He's nervous, really nervous, he doesn't know who he is or what exactly he'll do. He knows Will knows Dr. Chilton, but that doesn't seem to calm his fried nerves at the moment. He doesn't know who he is, no telling signs from Will when he talks about the other man, no papers he can find on him, nothing. He tries not to think too much about it, to stay out of his own head. London wraps his shower up, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around himself before he leaves the bathroom. Once he's in the safety of his room, he pulls out a nicer set of clothes and sets them on his dresser, like Will had told him to earlier this morning. It's a pretty effortless outfit, but better than what he normally wears. After he gets dried off and dressed, he looks in the mirror, smiling at the reflection he sees staring back at himself. He's wearing a sage green undershirt with a heaver plaid jacket, one of Will's old ones, a pair of wrangler jeans and one of the pairs of shoes he had brought in his bag. He looks nice, but he thinks he looks like a smaller version of Will (Which he actually doesn't mind, he finds it a little amusing). London walks downstairs and into the sitting area in front of the fireplace, waiting for Will to come back down. The dogs are all laying on the rug in front of the fireplace, making the teen smile as he sees the dogs snoozing away.

After a few moments, Will comes back downstairs dressed and seemingly ready to go. Will's hair is a bit neater then normal, normally fluffy and unruly curls are now combed back and neat, and his overall look cleaned up a bit more. Just like London thought earlier, he and Will look similar. Well, as similar looking as they can get. Both of them are wearing dark undershirts accompanied by a heavier plaid coat, a pair of jeans, and scuffed up but clean shoes. It seems as if Will's appearance is neater to impress Chilton, and in turn getting London to do the same. Will knows Chilton, knows what kind of man he is, what he's like to deal with. From the few times Will has had the pleasure, or rather displeasure of conversing with Chilton, Chilton's not the best. Wills noted that Chilton's over flattering and fake, seemingly trying to be placed on a pedestal by his peers. In other words, Frederick Chilton is an incredibly smarmy man. Knowing that, it worries Will to bring London around him. He's worried that Chilton will frighten the teen, that he might back the teen into a metaphorical corner. But what choice does he have? Jack asked him to do something, and Jack being his boss means he'll have to do it whether he thinks it's a good idea or not. 

"Alright, you ready to go?" Will asks, his voice laced with genuine curiosity, yet portraying the fact he's already done with this even though it hasn't even started. It's funny really, Will's annoyed and London's anxious about meeting up with Chilton. London nods and heads for the door first, standing up from the round plush chair he was sitting in and making his way around the dogs and to the front door. Will follows, walking behind the teen and reaching over London's shoulder to hold the door open. They step outside onto the porch, the dark winter morning greeting them, the cold air nipping at their faces and ears. Thankfully, Will's SUV is next to the house in the driveway. The only thing is, the drive from Wolftrap to the BAU is longer than either of them would like to admit.

Once they get to the BAU, the two of them unbuckle themselves and get out of the car. Yet again, they go through the security and walk to the wing Jack and the rest of them are. The reason Will and London are at the BAU at the moment instead of heading over to Baltimore is that Jack finally got London's records, meaning they can also sort through other issues while Chilton is doing an evaluation on London. A few new faces greet London as he walks into Jacks office for the second time with Will, all speaking to each other and Jack. Jack notices Will and London and clears his throat to gain the others attention, doing so successfully. When the three realize Jack's looking in the direction of his office door on purpose, the three shift their gazes to the office door as well. London gets a clear look of the three people, two men and a woman. The woman is the shortest, noticing the raven black shoulder length hair and the maroon shirt she's wearing is a stark difference to her white lab coat. One of the men is taller than the other, with the shorter man being presumably older. London looks at the three strangers and back at Will, being a little confused and nervous. London then looks at Jack, trying to gage the situation he's been thrown in, which seems like it was on a whim to the teen. It's weird, London only really knows Will, he barely knows Jack, and he doesn't know the other three adults at all. It's starting to make London really nervous again, he's not liking it.

Someone else walks through the door, pulling London's attention away from the five adults. Hannibal and someone else walk through the door, the other guy looking formally dressed like Hannibal, though he's a bit shorter. London looks at the two, kinda forgetting about the three other adults talking to Jack. He looks at Hannibal then at the other, actually taking in his appearance and his attitude. To London, the man looks a bit unfriendly, kind of like a peacock who wants to be noticed. This makes London intrigued yet even more nervous. London looks back at Will, a confused looking dawning on his face. The look is soon noticed by Will, realizing London hasn't drawn a connection to the man who's supposed to come in the man standing with Hannibal, which is the same man. He quickly walks over to them, coming to stand next to London, looking at the other two as well.

"Alright London, you already know Hannibal." Will states, pausing briefly. "The other one is Dr. Chilton, he's the one we were talking about last time." He informs, looking at London then at Frederick, glaring at him. Hannibal sees this, and the expression London has, and smiles. Hannibal then turns his attention to the four behind Will and London, to which he promptly walks over to Jack, Zeller, Jimmy, and Katz, leaving the other three to themselves.

Chilton sticks his hand out to Will to shake in a greeting, which Will ignores it like has the few times he's met him before. That makes Chilton's cocky smirk falter just a bit, but quickly regains its place on his face. Will nudges London forward a little, even though he doesn't like Chilton all that much, he knows that he's the one to do the psych evaluation, which he thinks is stupid since Hannibal could do it, but he gets why Jack wants Frederick to do it. 

"London, can you come with me please?" Chilton asks, sounding suspiciously sweet to the teen. London hesitates, thinking very briefly about it, then he agrees and walks towards Chilton. Chilton smiles at him and turns around and starts walking out of the room, making London follow him. As he walks out the office door, London looks back at Will with a worried expression, disappearing around the corner before he can turn his head back.

London walks with Chilton, the two walking towards a more private sector of the wing to have their conversation. As they walk, London realizes just how big the building is. Multiple long and winding hallways in each wing, multiple levels occupied by so many intelligent individuals that work on a specific category for the BAU. It's mind boggling to him honestly, that he's in such a huge and infamous building. Some of the hallways are dim as the two pass by them, the two getting closer to one of the coroner labs. It's weird, it's dim and the only thing you can hear is the sound of London and Chilton's footsteps ring out as the make contact with the floor. Soon enough the two make it to one of the coroner labs, Chilton walking into the lab and holds the door open for London, closing the door after he walks in.

Chapter Text

London walks into the coroner lab, noticing how dim the lights are, seeing how Chilton's face becomes more angular, getting a little scarier to the teen. He doesn't know how to feel, he feels nervous and apprehensive, but he also knows that there's not much he can do. He feels like a dog trapped in a corner, shivering out of fear if they'll be kicked then told to obey once again. The teen looks at Chilton with wide eyes, watching his walk around him in a circle to get a view of the teen at every angle. London knows that Dr. Chilton is trying to intimidate him, and worst part is that it's working.

"How do you know Mr. Graham?" A sharp and nonsensical tone cuts through the air, jolting London out of his thoughts. He barely meets Chilton's eyes, getting nervous.

"He...He found me walking outside, late at night and in the snow." He whispers, adverting the older, crude gentleman's eyes. It seems so odd, being alive and a coroner's lab at his age. He can't seem to wrap his head around this, how he got here.

A snap of fingers shot him back to reality, fully meeting Chilton's eyes from the sudden recall to reality. The green eyes are a mix of harsh judgement, skepticism, and...pity? Chilton's not one for pity, and the teen knows that just by the way he carries himself. 

"Why were you out in the snow, especially out at night?" Chilton asks, his voice still sharp and non-wavering. London realizes that Chilton's voice won't betray the look he holds in his eyes.

"I-I didn't really have a choice, I had to get away from my family..." London whispers as his voice cracks just a smidge. He's getting nervous, he's never liked explaining his family history in any way. Chilton just stares at him, as if he's expecting the teen continue.

"They had bad people around, and I found out the family consists of abusers and enablers. They just left me alone for days at a time, and when they were home, fights would happen, plates got shattered, pictures got thrown, and threats were made." The teen nervously informs the older man in an almost inaudible volume. London's hands are starting to get shaky, and his ears are bright red and burn, he's not doing the best at the moment.

"Your family, tell me more." The older man demands, his gaze narrow and focused. He's so serious, all the time. It's nerve wracking.

"What...what else is there to say?" London asks softly, his face nervously twitching.

Chilton steps closer, his eyes never leaving London's, narrowing in on the teen. He leans in just enough to make the teen feel the weight of his presence, undeniably there and impossible to ignore, as if he's sizing London up, making him feel small with no mercy. The florescent lights above flicker and hum, making everything feel worse, almost exaggerated. The angle casts a shadow above and around Chilton's eyes, nose, and upper lip. It's enough to make London shiver.

"Everything, London. You've given me nothing but the bare minimum. What else is there to say?" Chilton's voice is low but rather instant. London brings his sleeve up to his face again, feeling the uneasy weight of his own silence press onto his chest and ribs. His hands tremble with nerves, as it's not easy communicating with a grown man who's now making his personal goal to make him crack in some way, or make him unbearably uncomfortable, London can't tell. 

"They...they never cared. Not really anyway." London finally speaks, the words coming out in an awkward whisper that seems far too loud in the quiet, sterile room. 

Chilton doesn't blink, his eyes fixed on London like a predator tracking the prey it deemed its next meal. He takes a slow exaggerated step forward, his shoes clicking against the cold tile floor, echoing throughout the room. The sound and the fact Chilton's approaching makes him reflexively flinch, his grip on his flannels sleeve tightens, as if it'll offer him some sort of protection from the intensity of the older man's gaze, really just the older man as a whole. 

"And you think he cares?" Chilton's voice holds a hint of disbelief, oozing with skepticism. He leans in a tish more, close enough so the teen can feel the heat the older man's body radiates. 

"Mr. Graham, a man you barely know. He found you in the snow, and you really believe he's the one who cares?" London swallows hard, struggling to look at Chilton, much less meet his gaze with his own. His thoughts are scrambled, a weird mix of a rare pang of the feeling of safety Will Graham provides, and somehow still does knowing he's not too far away, and the pressure being put onto by the man in front of him. But the older man's words hit harder than he thought was possible given he's heard much worse from family. It's making his mind start to fog over, like everything is settling into an uncomfortable haze that covers every fold of his brain. 

"I-" London starts, cutting himself off as his voice cracks. He nervously bites his lip, trying to figure out the right words to convey what he thinks is the way he feels. "I don't know. He...he helped me. He didn't ask questions. He just listened." He gets out, even though, he really didn't say much to Will.

"Listened." The older man echoes, as though dragging it out to convey some sort of inadequacy with the word choice. "Interesting. But is it really enough to call it care? Or is it simply the absence of cruelty? The bare minimum of human interaction?" The teen clenches his non flannel covered hand, feeling the distinct feeling of shame and confusion wash over him like a title wave. He doesn't want to talk about this, he doesn't want to explain himself. And yet, Chilton still presses on, metaphorically circling him like a predator coming in on their prey, looking for any noticeable crack in his defenses. 

"Tell me, London," Chilton continues, his tone almost a purr of delight as he sees a way in, whispering, "how does it feel, knowing that he's the only person who hasn't turned his back on you? The only person who looked at you and decided that you weren't too much to handle? That must feel...nice." 

The teen's chest tightens. His head drops ever so slightly, and for a moment, a oh so slight moment, he feels like he's being gutted. He doesn't want to admit how much the attention meant to him, how much it made him feel like an equal, how much it made him feel seen. But Chilton, Chilton's voice is like a blade cutting through his crafted defenses. It may even be the one gutting him. "It feels better than nothing." He mutters in admittance, almost inaudible in volume. 

A low chuckle escapes Chilton's lips, cruel and sharp, almost degrading in a way. He takes a step back, seemingly satisfied with the response given. And the teen can't even look at him, not having the courage to look up at him, to face the rest of the things he feels, knowing they'll hit him with a force he's not sure he can recover from. The insinuations of the man's words press and dig against his ribs, making each deep breath feel like a stab. And Chilton's rolling in some odd satisfaction at knowing he's getting under London's skin, in his mind.

"Better than nothing..." The older man repeats as if he's savoring the way the words feel on his tongue. "How terribly low your expectations must be." He states, and even tough London's not looking at him, he knows Chilton's smirking. 

The teen flinches at the condescending bite in his tone, and yet, says nothing. He can't bring himself to argue, to defend himself against the scrutiny and crass words aimed at him. He's been cornered again, and he knows it. And in some way, he knows he's just given Chilton the very thing he wanted-a glimpse into, a glance at how fragile he truly is. Chilton, in turn studies him for a moment longer, as if he's weighing the consequences of pushing further, or simply leaving London be for now. Finally, after mentally debating the options, he takes a few more steps back and straightens up. The tension sits heavy in the air, making it unreasonably tense.

"I'm not sure you realize, London," Chilton says, his tone changing back to his usual cold, cynical tone. "That even the smallest crack can crack wide open. People like Mr. Graham...they don't help you because they're noble. They help because they're broken too." He states his words and the way he says them giving a very pompous air to the discussion.

London's pulse quickens, his throat tightens. He can feel the ever so pressing weight of the statement, and something in him reflexively recoils. He doesn't know, as he can't tell if Chilton's trying to get into his head even more than he already has, or there's a twisted truth to the words being spoken that he doesn't want to admit. He feels his stomach flip, and not in a cutesy way, more like he's gonna hurl.

"But," The older man adds, his expression returning to be a sharp as it always has been. "I'm sure you'd rather be broken with someone than be broken alone. Isn't it true, "London? We all have a desire for acknowledgement, to be seen, to be known. To be loved." London stays silent, too scared to speak, too scared to acknowledge what the older man is suggesting. His heart hammers against the inside of his ribs, the feeling sort of grounding, yet anxiety inducing. All he wants to do is flee, to run back into the arms of Will, to be held and told everything is okay, and everything is going to be okay. But he stays rooted to the floor, his body unable to move, unable to flee. 

Chilton, seemingly content with the dense and uncomfortable silence, finally turns on his heel and moves to one of the desks, flipping through the papers in the teens file with practiced ease. "You may sit," he says as if to dismiss him, twirling his hand in his direction. The teen hesitates, sitting down on one of the stools in the lab.

After another moment of uncomfortable silence, Chilton speaks up again. "Says here that you've been admitted to two psychiatric facilities. Care to explain?" He inquired, looking over at the sixteen year old.

London shifts uncomfortably on the stool, the sound of metal on metal groans out as he wiggles while he tugs at the hem of his flannel coat, feeling very small and very trapped in the sterile room. His mind is a haze of everything happening, what has happened, and the fear of what's about to happen. He feels like he's floating, as if he's starting to slip into an uncomfortable headspace. 

"Two facilities," Chilton reiterates, a slow, deliberate draw of the words, as if savoring of taking the info out of the teen. "Not exactly a healthy track record, is it, London?" He says, posing it as if the teen is actually supposed to answer. 

"You already have my files, why are you asking me?" The teen snaps a little, a small, aggressive side shining through as he's relentlessly poked and prodded. He's having a hard time keeping a level head now, as everything is starting to blur together in a not so wonderful way, creating muddled hues and smudges instead of beautiful blends of everything. He brings his coat sleeve even closer to his face, something he does when anxious, and keeps it there, as if it's a safety blanket for a small child.

Chilton subtly flinches at London's outburst but quickly schools his expression. His gaze sharpens, piercing into the teen. "I'm asking because the files sterilize things. They clean it up all nice and send it in and save it." London clenches his fist, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat.

"What if I don't want to answer?" He mutters, almost to himself. His voice is yet again barely audible, the words slipping out before he can stop himself. Silence falls upon them once again, and it's thick and suffocating. Yet, Chilton finally breaks it again, unable to stop himself.

"Two psychiatric facilities," he repeats yet again, smoothing his tone out again as he sets the file back down on the cold desk in a deliberate motion, making sure the papers rustle. "And yet, you're still here. Still fighting, still surviving. Interesting, isn't it?" He quips, studying the teens body language. London squeezes his eyes shut, his fingers trembling around the sleeve of his coat.

"Surviving?" London repeats quietly, to himself more than anything. "Is that what this is? Surviving?" He sounds so unsure and being told he's surviving hurts in a way he didn't think possible. Chilton locks his gaze onto the teen. 

"Do you feel like you're surviving...or merely just existing?" London doesn't answer right away. And he's trying to figure out how to put the right words together to convey how he feels, which, is easier said than done. 

"Maybe...maybe both," London says after a moment, the simple act of speaking feeling like the toughest thing imaginable at the moment. "Maybe I'm just...waiting for it to stop. The inevitable last drop from the faucet of life to dry up." Chilton watches him carefully, his gaze unyielding, though there's a flicker of something-something almost imperceptible-in his eyes. It's not sympathy, but a form of quiet understanding there. He doesn't speak, letting the teen unravel some more, hoping he'll say something more. 

London squirms in discomfort under the obvious scrutiny, his muscles tightening. He leans further into the sleeve of his sweater, his thumb tracing over the fabric absentmindedly, trying desperately to self soothe.

"I don't even know why I'm still here," He mutters, his voice quiet and low. "I don't know why I'm still...alive." The teens hands twitch, fingers flexing against the coat fabric, like he's grasping at anything real. "I don't understand. They saw me struggle, they saw me start to wither away when I physically couldn't stomach anything, they saw that I wasn't sleeping, they saw I was barely there. Yet they stopped me from meeting my maker. And they called me selfish. I'm never not gonna be sick, I've been this way longer than I haven't, and yet they hold hope for a shell of a person who was never meant to make it this far!" And there it is. There goes London's defense, there goes the bomb.

Chilton watches London closely, his feature softening for the briefest moments as he listens to the deeply pained words coming from a trembling voice. He doesn't interject, even though the space between the two of them seems to shrink after the confession that London just let out. After a moment, he finally speaks, his voice controlled, but that edge now gone, replaced by something quieter.

"You don't believe you're worth saving." Chilton states, not question, but rather, a fact. "You think your suffering is a mean to a justified end. You believe they were wrong to keep you alive. But his isn't about them, it's about you." London's gaze snaps up, his eyes finally meeting Chilton's for the first time in what seems like hours. His hands still, but the tremors continue, as if he's a ticking time bomb.

"I didn't ask for this," London responds, his voice a low growl. "I didn't ask to be saved." He rolls up his coat sleeve, exposing a scar. It goes from the left to right sides of his wrist, then a line down to the middle of his forearm. It's obvious by the width of the scar that the teen had to get stitches in area. It's from a failed attempt, when someone saved him. He wasn't supposed to live. 

Chilton watches the scar for a long moment, the silence between the two thickening at the revelation. His gaze lifts to London's face, seeing the turmoil painting the sixteen-year-olds face. He doesn't rush to fill in the space with words, rather letting the weight of the moment settle. London on the other hand, pulls his coat sleeve down quickly, covering the scar, his body tensing up even further as if the act of showing it costed him more than he was willing to give, as if it was a split moment decision. Chilton's gaze softens again, this time with a measure of understanding.

"You don't have to be perfect, all that matters is you're alive. Just take it one day at a time." The older man leans back against the desk, for the first time since they've been in there, he's giving the teen room to breathe.

"One day at a time," London repeats, as if he heard him right. "I don't know if I can do that."

"You don't have to know," Chilton replies, an almost imperceptible smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. "But I'll be here. If you need someone to remind you that you're not a ghost...I'll be here." London stares at him for a while. The tremors in his hands slow, just slight, as if the words are finally grounding him, pulling him away from the edge he's been teetering on mentally. 

"I-I wanna go back to Will," The teen suddenly whimpers, not sure what to do with himself or what to say. Chilton's expression softens even further, which is somehow unnerving to the teen. The older man stands up, walking over to the glass doors of the lab, and London follows. He's going back to Will.

Chapter Text

The rhythmic then unrhythmic sound of footsteps of two different pitches ring out into the cold, empty hallways of the wing as London and Chilton stroll back to Will, Hannibal, and Jack. The unspoken words of tension following them from the emotional blow up is harsh, an everblooming feeling that London hopes will dissolve into a mere afterthought once he gets back to Will. The swirls of iridescent, dream-like fog cloud his mind, making sure his thoughts stay scrambled. The teen still feels like he’s floating, well, more like hovering just above the ground in an uncomfortable manner. He wants his feet back on the ground, to feel the tile under the heel of his shoes and feel his feet bend as he takes yet another step. And yet, some little part of his mind is trying desperately to remind him that he’s not suspended above the ground of which he’s desperate to touch. 

He’s desperately clutching his flannel coat sleeve as if it’s a toddlers security blanket, and he’s not mentally there enough to care about how childish he looks. He just wants Will, he wants to be held and told everything will be okay, even if it’s a lie. A little white lie doesn’t hurt every once in a while, right?

Everything seems to snap back in place like puzzle pieces being put in the right location as soon as he locks eyes with Will. Except, it’s nauseating how quickly it happens, giving London whiplash in the process. His eyes become blurry with tears, shame bubbling up in his throat as he feels like an overly emotional child who cries at everything. Without realizing it, tears start to stream down his soft, pale cheeks.

Will, noticing the emotional turmoil the teen is obviously going through, rushes to his side. Yet again, this startles Jack and Hannibal, who aren’t familiar with this side of Will. The older, scruffy man holds the teen steady, his hands gently yet firmly grasping London’s forearms so he doesn't crumble under the pressure of his mental struggles. It breaks his heart to see someone so young crack and crumble like this, and he doesn’t understand why it’s tugging at him the way it is. He knows that it must seem weird to anyone outside looking in, as he doesn’t really know the kid, but he doesn’t appear to care. He’s had the teen for roughly a week, and he feels like some hole in his life has been filled without him even realizing that it existed before he met London. So, seeing the boy break down in front of him makes his heart break for him and his anger toward Chilton flair. He wants to knock the snob nosed, impudent, insolent man off his feet, maybe break a few teeth. But right now, comforting the teen takes priority over his anger. 

“London...” Will starts, the words he wants to say to the boy being cut off by the boy letting out another broken sob. “It’s okay, you’re okay. I’m not gonna let you go.” He soothes, his hands moving to the boy's back, pulling him close to his warm body, proving something that he hopes to calm him down.

“I-I feel like I’m floating, and like everything’s fake.” London frantically stammers through tears, almost startling the older man. Will understands that feeling all too well, even if it was from something completely different, and yet, his heart tightens even more at the words.

“I know, I know. It’s scary, foreign even. But you’re not floating, your feet are on the floor. You’re here with me.” The older man whispers, resting his cheek against the teens hair as if it’s second nature to do this. He’s talking in a way one would to a toddler when they’ve lost their favorite stuffie, soft, soothing, and even tempo, and reassuring.

Jack stands off to the side with everyone else, his arms crossed over his chest, watching the emotionally charged exchange with a furrowed brow. He knows it’s unlike Will to be so affectionate with anything other than his dogs, and it’s clear that he’s trying to help in a way that’s foreign to both of them. The fact that Will’s so involved with the teen, so affected personally, raises questions that Jack isn’t so sure he wants answers to, nor does he want to explore. And due to past interactions where he interrupted something Will was doing, he forgoes interrupting the moment. Hannibal, on the other hand, observes the scene with a keen eye and an intensity that would make anyone uncomfortable, his gaze flickering between Will and London. There’s something specific about the way Will holds the boy, the way he speaks to him, that intrigues the browless man. Perhaps it’s the raw display of tender affection and care, or the way that Will’s offering his presence and comfort unconditionally.

But it’s the way that the boys' sobs subside that hold his interest, the way that Will soothes and comforts him. London’s breathing is unsteady, but he’s slowly calming down. 

“Don’t…don’t leave, please. Don’t leave me.” London quietly pleads into Will’s chest. The words hold the weight of youthful innocence and misplaced trust and attachment, like someone holding onto something they don’t even know will last but hoping and praying their grip doesn’t slip and leave them plummeting. Will’s eyes widen at the whispered words, his hands stitching against the teen. It feels like London’s letting himself be made vulnerable in hopes that he’s not burned and instead heard and helped, and God does that hurt his heart. His grip on the teen tightens ever so slightly, not to restrain, but as to help bring some solace to him. 

“I’m not leaving, I’m not going anywhere, London.” Will murmurs, his voice steady. As his cheek rests against the teen's hair, he lightly breathes in the soft scent of the teen, trying to anchor them both at the same time. His words seem too small to himself, but he’s not sure if they’re too small to London. He rubs soothing circles on the boy's back, shushing him again. He's unaware of the others at this very moment, just focusing on the teen in his arms.

Jack continues to watch, still standing off to the side with the others, his brows furrowing more. He’s seen Will interact with people before, but this? This is something completely different. It’s not the gruff, no-nonsense, sassy Will he’s used to. There’s a tenderness there, a quiet kind of care that makes him question his previous interactions with the man. His posture shifts uncomfortably with the vulnerability on display. However, Hannibal continues to observe with a keen eye. He’s studied many types of social interaction, many different reactions to others. And yet, this one is intriguing, and it’s…protective. There’s something raw in the boy’s reaction to Will that he doesn’t understand. 

Jack glances at Hannibal, who doesn’t shift his gaze, his expression unreadable, his deep maroon eyes locked onto the scene in front of them. Jack wonders, just momentarily, if maybe he’s wrong about Will. Maybe about the entire situation. And yet, the thought disappears just as quickly as it came, and he turns his full attention back to exchange, his arms still crossed.

Will continues to hold London, his mind racing with thoughts on how he ended in this position - caught between his growing attachment to someone he barely knows, nevertheless a minor, and his growing need to protect the boy from everything that could possibly hurt him. He feels a stirring from deep inside him, one he can’t name, but one he knows wholeheartedly is there. He’s not sure what the appropriate thing to do with it at this very moment, but at this very moment he knows he has to stay as an anchor for the poor teen clinging to him. 

Chilton looks upon the scene with a sense of unease. He feels as if he pushed London too far too quick, and may have harmed any chance of getting him away from Mr. Graham any time soon. As much as he hates to admit it to himself, he’s drawn to the teen. Professional curiosity? A new little subject? Or perhaps something more lewd? Who the hell knows, certainly not him at this very moment. He shifts uncomfortably, seeing the teens nose firmly nestled against the older man's sternum. Definitely inappropriate. At least, that’s what Chilton thinks. No teen should be nosing a grown man's chest, for safety and comfort or not. Definitely enabling bad behavior, poor excuse of a caregiver. That thought makes him scoff, which in turn makes Hannibal and Jack shoot rather inquisitive looks in his direction. The older man kind of shrinks back, pretending that he didn’t scoff and get glared at.

Jack’s brow furrows further as he notices Chilton’s reaction, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Will and London. His stance shifts ever so slightly, discomfort creeping in at the rawness of what he’s witnessing. Will’s posture is different now - softer, more embracive and caring - and it unsettles Jack. He’s seen Will pain both mental and physical, anger and conflict with grit and or sass. But this? This is…new, different. “Will’s changed.” Jack murmurs quietly, mostly to himself in realization, but his gaze flickers to Hannibal. 

After watching for a moment longer, Hannibal speaks smoothly in a quiet, non-disruptive volume. “People are complex, Jack. We all wear different masks depending on who’s in front of us. Perhaps this is Will’s truest mask, one that even he isn’t fully aware of.” 

Meanwhile, London clings to Will like a small child clings to their favorite stuffed animal, except the teen’s not carrying him around like a toddler would, obviously. The teens hands are fisting the front of Will’s shirt, shaking as the clutch the fabric. Will pulls London impossibly closer, a hand cupping the back of the teens head, murmuring softly into his ear. The words are too faint to catch, but the tone is clear; calm, reassuring, protective. 

Chilton scoffs again, but this time it’s louder, a little more pronounced, as if he can’t contain his irritation. “This isn’t right,” he mutters to no one in particular, his eyes darting from Will to the boy then back to Hannibal and Jack. “A grown man - comforting a child like that? It’s simply inappropriate.”

Jack shifts his gaze to Chilton, his eyes narrowing. “What’s your problem, Dr. Chilton?” He asks, his voice low but his tone sharp. “You don’t think someone’s allowed to offer a little comfort to a kid who’s clearly struggling with something?” His tone is now slightly accusatory. 

Chilton bristles under Jack’s scrutiny, but he forces himself to remain calm. He shifts on his feet, his posture changing, as he’s not going to back down to the taller, bigger man. “It’s not that, Jack.” He retorts, a tight smile dawning his lips. “It’s just…how he’s doing it. That level of easy intimacy, the kin of attachment on display. It’s far beyond what’s appropriate. We’re talking about simple boundaries between A grown man and teenager. There’s no reason for Will to be holding London like that, look at the hand placements.”

Jack gives Chilton an incredulous look, as the hand placements aren’t bad. A hand is on the back of London’s head, and the other is on his back, literally nothing weird or inappropriate. He eyes Chilton up and down, finally catching that look in his eye. “Projecting are we, Doctor?” He quips, making Chilton shut up and Hannibal quirk a nonexistent eyebrow.

After a while of standing with the teen, Will decides it’s time to go home. London could uses a nap, and he needs to leave before he decks the smarmy doctor. He doesn’t say anything to anyone, just shuffling himself and the teen out of the office and out of the building, giving a proper Irish goodbye.