chasiingrain:
〚 ❣ 〛 It’s not a slow progression that sees Will shifting from a calm sort of neutrality into the pale, damn near hysterical side of him she’d only heard in brief stories from Jack. She knows Will isn’t exactly easy to deal with, but his reaction isn’t unprecedented; this news wouldn’t be easy for anyone to hear and understand, but especially not someone who fully and intimately understands what a fracture in time means.
She might have tried to stop him from panicking, but she gets it. Fuck, she gets it. Not even as closely as he does, but seventeen years living with the knowledge of the future, as well as experiencing the fracture? Yeah, she also gets it.
He looks like he’s going to be sick, and she looks around for a trash can or bag or anything, settling eventually on a plastic grocery bag tossed haphazardly to the side. Not perfect, but it’ll work if he’s really going to vomit.
“Yeah, I’m serious.” Not something that would be hilarious to lie about, but Will is in shock. Between two people coming out of his time machine, the news she just gave him, and the bullet wound, he’s had nothing short of an eventful night. “Come on, can you get into the car?” She assumes he has one close by. “I’ll drive you to the hospital.”
Will, wide-eyed and pale, starts to lightly shake...or maybe it’s just the sensation he feels on the inside. Like his entire body is giving up on him. Now, if this was because of the blood loss or the news he just got, could be anyone’s guess.
Upon hearing the woman’s question further down the line of several seconds, he nods frantically as a man that looks like he might just die on the spot can. He, functioning on autopilot, attempts to stand up, pushing himself against the wall, and almost manages without hiccups. Sure, it was an awkward motion, but he was standing-- so that’s pretty good.
Finding himself on his feet, he begins to slowly drag himself towards the exit. His mind, still rendering through the various thoughts he was having in regards to the information presented and his own drawn conclusions. William Joyce was falling apart then and there. Fun.
He proceeds to remain quiet, not even muttering to himself, which was fairly rare. To say he was manic was correct, but this was different from his usual manic state. Nope, the psychist that’ll ramble for hours even if to a stuffed giraffe was gone, here is a broken man who is feeling himself becoming the world’s worst fuck up. He wasn’t big on drinking, but at times like this, it became interesting if that would calm him down or make matters worse.
