They survived. They washed up on shore and made it onto the boat Chiyoh brought. They sailed to Cuba and the property Hannibal had there. They recovered from their wounds, rarely able to leave the other's side for physical and emotional security.
Now, Will Graham leaned against the counter in their home and drank a glass of water in the middle of the night. He shared a bed with Hannibal so he knew he would hear footsteps on the stairs soon when the sheets got too cold. The tile was cool on his bare feet, comforting on his overheated skin. The sun had long since set but the air was still warm around him and would stay that way.
"Will?" The worried call was followed by the patter of Hannibal coming to find him. Will left their bed like this often but Hannibal sounded as terrified as ever. He thought Will had left for good every time he woke up alone.
"Just getting a glass of water," Will assured when Hannibal stepped into the doorway, "Didn't mean to wake you."
Hannibal padded up to him, looking almost childlike in his silk pajamas. "Of course not. It is not your fault I am a light sleeper."
He said that every time. Will knew better. He was not just a light sleeper, he was anxious. Hannibal was never one to telegraph his fears, but Will had always been the exception. He felt so much more of everything for Will, it was harder to hide.
"I'm not walking out, Hannibal. Where else would I go?" Will echoed a line from their past, stored in their memory palaces with the rest of Randall Tier's remains. He set down his glass as Hannibal approached.
"I know. You have nothing to prove to me," Hannibal promised even as his eyes flooded with twin relief and terror. They both knew Will had everywhere to go and nowhere to visit alone. Hannibal cupped his cheek gently. "I trust you."
Will smiled gently under the touch, cool like tile on his face. Hannibal had been affectionate with him since they met and that hadn't changed after they were reunited. He could hardly go an hour without a hand on his waist as Hannibal passed, fingers in his hair when they sat together or a shoulder rubbing his while they cook.
"Let's go back to bed, I got my water."
"You are perfect," Hannibal whispered into the air between them, which had gotten smaller as they spoke. Though it was entirely unrelated to their conversation, Will was hardly surprised. Hannibal had been nearly as vocally affectionate as physically. Will couldn't count the amount of times he'd been called remarkable or clever, "Do you understand?"
"The place was made for Abigail in your world. Do you understand?"
This is the first 500 words of the 3k word fic I put on AO3 because that's way too long for Tumblr.
Will Graham stumbles through the snow to reach her. Abel Gideon is going to hurt her, he will kill Alana Bloom. Will's feet drag and his shoes are soaked through after the walk here. He took Doctor Lecter's car but parked it some time ago. How long has he been walking? Weeks.
He sees the snow around him turn red, blood trailing after him and Garret Jacob Hobbs beside him. He tells himself Hobbs isn't real, hasn't been real for months. Doctor Lecter told him Hobbs wasn't there.
"Please don't lie to me."
No. No, no, no. He can trust Hannibal, he trusts Hannibal. Hannibal wouldn't lie to him. Hannibal hasn't lied to him.
Hoof-prints mark the path Will walks to get to Gideon. To save Doctor Bloom. To get to Hobbs. The air smells like hot tar as Will follows the prints around the back of Alana's house where he finds Hobbs-Gideon-Garret-Abel waiting, watching Alana talk to her guard for the night.
"I don't know if I will ever be myself again, I don't know if I've got any self left over," The figure says. The mouths don't move in sync with the words, "I spent so much time believing I was him, it's gotten really hard to remember who I was when I wasn't him."
The man - the men - speak with voices overlapped. Will can taste the thing's confusion, heavy and sour on his tongue. It doesn't know who it is anymore than Will does, "Who are you now?"
Hobbs snaps into focus when he answers, "Now, I'm you."
"See? See? See?"
Hobbs - the Beast - the Thing - the Man - is looking into the light. The window. Alana. Smoke burns Will's sinuses, snow burns his feet, his head is burning from the inside out. Tar drips from his tongue as he tries to speak. Hobbs beats him to it.
"We're both here, looking at her. Just those kind of people who shouldn't be in a relationship. You and I are already committed," Hobbs is married. Was married? Will isn't in a relationship. Hasn't been for a long time because- "Hard to be with another person when you can't get out of your own head."
"I want to get out," Will tells him. He wants to. He doesn't want to burn. The snow should cool it all, shouldn't it?
"We all want things we can't have," Hobbs replies.
That's not right. Will can have that. Doctor Lecter told him it could get better. Hannibal promised he could be helped. He can't deny it through the the thick blackness holding his teeth together.
"If I kill her, like he would kill her, I wonder if I could understand him better," Hobbs was talking about Doctor Bloom. Alana. He has to help Alana. She can't die. She won't die. Hobbs is smiling wistfully at the window. Longing? What is he longing for?
Killing Alana. Understanding himself through her death. Nonononono.
"I wonder if then you would finally understand what you've become."
"See? See? See?"
Will raises his gun at Hobbs, just like he'd done before. He failed then, Hobbs was alive. He wouldn't miss again. He shoots Garret Jacob Hobbs in the head and collapses into the snow.
Oh the wonderful cold. It was cold, wasn't it? The fire where he touches the ground was cooling down the flames within. It must have been. But inside him grows hotter to fight it. The taste of tar, the smell of smoke, both succumb to the fever. So does Will.
His body was cold and his lips were blue. Hannibal Lecter looked at the injuries littering the body of his boy and knew he couldn't save him, not with his own injuries to look after.
"Chiyoh," He calls to the shadow farther up the beach, "You must take him to the hospital, I can't care for him in this state."
"You are too hurt to be left alone, Hannibal," The shadow replies, stepping onto the sand.
"I'm a doctor, I've dealt with it myself in the past. He can not die on me. He will not die."
So Chiyoh delivered Will to the hospital and left Hannibal to tend his own wounds back up at the house. Will is going to be fine. He told himself this over and over and over until the bleeding stopped and he fell into a painkiller induced sleep.
Will snaps awake, breathing pipe lodged in his airway.
This is the start to another multichapter fic cause i apparently have no self control. I don't have the time to be writing this much but I'm too committed now. Will post the first chapter to AO3 withing the week under the username Elliony.
He knows blood. He sees it seep down her dress, he smells it in air, tastes it on his tongue, feels it dry under his nails, hears it lazily splash onto the wooden floor. Elise Nichols hangs mounted on the head of the feathered stag as her blood is drained drop by precious drop. He opens his mouth to-
Will Graham snapped awake, shirt soaked. With what? Sweat. It was sweat. The sheets were still white when he checked them by the light of the moon. Winston came up to nose at Will, whining at his discomfort.
"It's okay, buddy, just another nightmare," He soothed the dog quietly. The nightmares had been getting worse the past few weeks. Even after they stopped Hobbs, he still dreamt about it all so vividly. The Copycat was still out there.
Will sighed as he grabbed a towel from the bathroom, stripping off his ruined shirt. At least he hadn't woken up on the roof again, or somewhere worse. He laid back down on top of the towel, and thought about the journal Doctor Lecter had gotten for him. He'd said Will may benefit from writing down the contents of his nightmares. When Will had inevitably refused, Hannibal bought the notebook just in case Will changed his mind.
He looked over to the diary then his alarm clock. 6:22. He had to be up soon anyway and it's not like he would actually fall back asleep. Will opened the journal to the first page.
Dear Diary
And immediately closed it with a groan. He was a grown man, not some teenage girl writing about her crush. He erased the first words and tried again.
October 8th 2013,
Tonight I was once again in the Hobbs' cabin, Elise Nichols on the antlers of the Ravenstag. The cabin didn't have walls today, just an endless void of whispers and screams. It all felt so real, like it always does. I could hear it, smell it, taste it. Before I woke I think I was raising her liver to my mouth to eat it.
In my sleep, I sometimes become Hobbs. I see these girls through his eyes, a replacement fro Abigail that I must honor. Recently, though, I think I've been seeing them as the Copycat does. When I opened my lips to eat her, it was not with the intent of nourishing my love with her flesh, it was simply to consume. I can almost taste the raw meat, now.
That evening, Will brought the notebook with him to his session with Doctor Lecter, "Last night, I actually tried writing in that journal you got me."
"Oh? How did that go?" Lecter's tone was even as any doctor's, but the light in his eyes gave him away. He was pleased that Will used something Hannibal bought for him.
"I've barely thought about the nightmare since I wrote it down, so pretty well," Will shrugs, "Though I don't love having a physical record of my insanity."
"You are not insane, Will. Writing down one's dreams is not only for those who struggle with mental illness like you, it's a helpful technique for many types of therapy," He used that term again, mental illness, "It helps one with introspection and understanding their subconscious. Whenever I wake up and remember I have dreamt of something, I write it out in a journal just like yours."
"I imagine that it's filled with strolls down European streets and not visions of eating people."
"Rarely does my mind conjure such vulgar imagery for me to endure as I sleep," Lecter laughed softly when he spoke, "Will you be continuing the account of your nighttime torment?"
"It's proved beneficial so far."
The session continued then ended and after an hour drive, Will was back in Wolf Trap. He fed the dogs, ate something close to dinner, and laid down to sleep.
He is lying in warm earth. Everything feels right. His mind, his soul, he is connected to the world, to the people in it. The air he breathes is cold, bracing against the heat of the ground around him. His mouth tastes sweet and muddy, his brain is cloudy and free. Then the soil is lifted from his face. No. No no no no-
Will gasped into the waking world. He could still feel dirt on his skin. He rushed to the sink to rinse it from his mouth. When he checked his alarm clock it said it was only 3:48. He'd be too tired to work if he doesn't get more sleep.
With a grunt he grabbed his notebook and flipped to the next page.
October 9th 2013,
Today I was one of the victims of Eldon Stammets. I had been buried in the forest and turned into fungus fertilizer. It felt concerningly natural to be enmeshed with the world in that way, just like Stammets claimed but from the other point of view. I could feel the mushrooms reaching out to me, from me. We were one.
What woke me was the deep panic that broke through from dream to reality when I was being removed from my plot in the line. It felt violating, it felt evil. I wanted nothing more than to stay submerged in the mycelium and having that taken away was a horror to me.
The bed I lied in was so nice. The idea of wanting that, now that I'm awake, scares me. Craving something so literally life ending seems impossible but I know how it felt and that is terrifying. It's the thought that I could be convinced into letting myself die because the life underground would be better than that above.
His eyes closed just as the cover did. Will woke in his bed when his alarm went off for the first time in weeks.
"You look refreshed, Will, did you sleep well?" Doctor Lecter asks in their next session.
"I think your journal is actually helping. I managed to go back to sleep after I wrote down my latest nightmare, woke up rested."
"I am ever pleased to hear of your progress," Hannibal smiled.
He was making progress. The night sweats persisted but he felt rejuvenated. He didn't have a dream for the next two nights, waking on schedule each morning.
He snorts smoke from his nostrils as he bucks his head side to side, the shrieks of Cassie Boyle flowing over his feathers. The Copycat, a faceless man made of breath and steam, stands over her with a butchers knife lodged in her chest.
Will fell awake, shaking. He reached for the journal before he knew what he was doing.
October 12th 2013,
Today I was the Ravenstag. I watched the Copycat rip into Cassie Boyle over and over. I saw her lungs be taken, I heard her screams die out. I let him mount her on my antlers and lapped up her blood as it dripped down my face. She tasted rich and rotten, somehow pleasant even as she decayed in a rush. It took only a few seconds for her body to decompose then the Copycat was carving into her ribs again.
"You dream about the the murderers Jack Crawford sends you chasing. Are you the killer, the victim, or the FBI agent knocking down the door?" Hannibal asked calmly, reclined in his leather chair.
"All of them? None? Depends on the day," Will answered from the mezzanine.
"Do you fear you will find yourself aiming a gun at your mother as these Lost Boys did?" The question was pointed, leading.
"I fear a lot of things, Doctor Lecter," He doesn't even remember his mother's face.
October 14th 2013,
This time I looked right at Abigail, an apology falling from my lips, as she shot me between the eyes.
Will was twitchy throughout their whole session. Before leaving he throws his notebook on Doctor Lecter's desk, "I want you to look through these. Something isn't right. Why am I thinking like this? What is wrong with me?"
"You believe I will be able to tell you that from reading about your dreams?" Hannibal picked up the journal with interest. He flipped to the first page and scanned through the text.
"I think you'll be able to tell something, Doctor. Just read them. Get back to me next session when you've had some time to think," Will leaves without saying goodbye.
Will was away dealing with another serial killer when their next appointment came around and didn't mention his journal in the one after that. It seemed he forgot about it between everything else in is life and the encephalitis. Hannibal couldn't be happier. He read and reread the four entries many times, enthralled by the violence and pleasure written onto each.
Hannibal kept the notebook next to his own in his nightstand for weeks, only giving it up to Jack when he has to send Will to prison. Though few of his dreams are chronicled within its pages, what is written is more than enough to be incriminating when added to the pile of physical evidence Hannibal had planted.
Adam Roberts watched His most blessed creation stroll the cobblestone lanes, loyal hound by Its side. The brilliant shine of Its eyes, the pale lines of Its skin. It had long brown curls and a scarred face. It bore signs of pain like It was created for them, like God sculpted It by hand to hurt and heal forever. Will Graham was a holy thing.
Adam followed behind It, gaze singularly focused on the way It moved, the way It breathed, how It kept the dog in line. It controlled the world It walked like He controlled all. An animal may not be a city or a planet, but Will must keep the signs of Its greatness small, so It could go unnoticed and observe how man behaved.
The Lord had given Adam the gift of Sight, to be able to witness such glory and know the truth of It. In return, He had taken the stability of his hands, to keep him in line with humanity. Oh, but he knew Will could give Adam the gift of dexterity for It was God come back to Earth.
Will turned down the side street that would lead back to Its house and he followed from a distance. Adam was careful to remain unseen so It would stay here long enough to learn and bring that knowledge back to Heaven when he sends It there. The Father will not have to wait long for the Son to come home with new truth about man, he will return It on His day once he has been granted health.
Will Graham walks the path to Its home among men and Adam Roberts Sees It go.
This the opening of a longer fic I am writing on AO3 and will be posted and updated when I'm not busy with other Whumptober prompts, find me there as Elliony
"Sometimes, at night I leave the lights on in my little house, and walk across the flat fields. When I look back from a distance, the house is like a boat on the sea. It’s really the only time I feel safe," He said that to Hannibal in their last session. Will finds himself caught on these words now, sitting in those plush leather chairs once again.
"Where are you, Will?" Hannibal asks when he has stared in silence too long.
He was neck deep in the sea, watching the sway of sails on his small ship for a home.
"Before the Lost Boys, I spoke to you about safety."
"You told me of watching through the fog around your home from the edge of the woods. Is that where you were?" Hannibal speaks; Elegant, slow, deliberate as ever.
"I find myself out there more often, these days," He would spend minutes and hours every other day wading through the water of bushes to see the hull dip into the waves and rise again, cold and clean.
"Looking for safety," It wasn't a question.
"The frost that crawls up my spine is the warmest I have felt in years. Often I will watch the moon rise behind the roof and imagine I could navigate there by the light of the stars alone," No map, no land, just him and the howls of his pack, calling for him and the moon.
"You return to bed each night, even still."
"When I walk back, I stand outside my own window and look into my life as an outsider. The dogs have long since gone inside to pile together and sleep on my bed in the living room. The lights I left on change as I approach, they seem to shine pink in the night, painting the rooms a gentle rose tint. The scene is staged and perfect as I peer through open blinds," Will shares. Sometimes he feels as if he is stalking himself, trying to get closer to a man he is already uncomfortably intimate with, "When I open the door, the shade bleeds back in, draining all color from the vision. Then the cold is just cold."
"As and observer, your life seems idealistic, seven dogs in a quiet home by the river."
"When I drag my bare feet along the floor, the tinted window panes shatter under the force of reality, leaving the truth of the anxiety that has soaked into the foundation of the house. A bed in the front room is revealed as a nervous man's coping instead of the dog lover's paradise it seemed," He tells Hannibal.
"When I was there to feed your pack, it did not feel like the product of night terrors you see it as. It appeared just as you said, a dog lover's paradise where the animals are always close and happy."
"Both are true, Doctor Lecter, but I come inside from my sea of grass and it is only the dreams that bring me to the bed. If not for the nightmares, it would be upstairs like before and I would sleep on the ground with the dogs," Will had done it. Before the night sweats, he would curl up by the space heater with a furry body under one arm and another in the crook of his legs. When he started waking multiple times a night and disturbing the dogs, he moved the bed downstairs to stay close without bothering them, "I go to that mattress on a cheap metal frame and no longer feel the blanket of safety from outside. When I come in from the cold and I do not feel a deck slowly rock beneath my feet, I lie down in what I can only call defeat."
Will closes his eyes, gently leaning his head back. Here, in this office, he can almost feel the sway of waves underfoot. This office has become something close to safe.
"In your world, the one you glimpse through your blinds, what is so different? Beyond the intention behind where the furniture has been laid."
That is the question. What changes when his life is seen through a happier lens? What would make that vision a reality? With his eyes still closed, he answers, "I see Abigail there."
This response seems to interest Hannibal. Though his voice stays placid as always, Will hears him shift across the leather, "What is she, in this ideal?"
"She likes to sit on the floor in a nest of paws and snouts, reading by candlelight that's never blown out by eagerly wagging tails," She reads Will's fishing manuals and strokes Winston absently, looking more content and comfortable than he has ever actually seen her. He feels himself smiling before he continues, "On the days where I find her there, I stand outside until my limbs are beyond numb and the dogs are whining to be let out. I'll open the door only reluctantly and watch candlelight fade into the glow of the space heater."
"Do you enjoy the isolation of being a man on the outside, Will, or do you crave the family that world presents?"
This gets Will to open his eyes, looking at the ceiling for a moment then dragging his eyes back to Hannibal across from him, "I would be a good father."
Hannibal Lecter - better known as Hannibal the Cannibal or The Chesapeake Ripper - and Will Graham - former FBI Special Agent and rumored lover of the ripper - have disappeared after, what was supposed to be, a fake escape plot for Lecter.
The FBI were going to use Lecter as bait for the Tooth Fairy, who we now know was Francis Dolarhyde. They would make it look like the cannibal had escaped police transport to draw out the murderer, according to our anonymous source with the FBI. They also claim that Lecter only agreed to this plan after Graham "asked nicely." This plan obviously backfired. The vehicles used in the Ripper's escort were found with all personnel dead and the Murder Husbands no where in sight. One of the cruisers was gone from the sight, presumably taken by our misplaced murderers.
The stolen car was found two days later at a property overlooking Chesapeake Bay. This is where the body of the Tooth Fairy was. A large window in the kitchen had been shattered in what appears to have been a brutal fight, blood of all three combatants was found sprayed everywhere both inside and outside the house. What remained of Dolarhyde was lying on the stone in a bloody mess when the FBI got there. His throat was ripped apart by what looks, to me, to be teeth, one of the cannibal pair having chewed it out. The missing chunk of the Tooth Fairy remains to be found.
The words of Tattle Crime glare up at Jack Crawford from the screen, harsh white over a bright red and yellow background. Freddie Lounds was insufferable at the best of times. Right now, when Jack had just made the most important mistake of his career, he almost understood why a man would kill. The article went on from there, detailing the lack of bodies in the water and escape routes on land. He could hardly read it.
She had a lot of nerve, shoving all his shortcomings and nightmares right at him.
"Agent Crawford," A woman says from beyond his office door, "May I come in?"
He grunts an affirmation and closes the laptop. The FBI insignia on it stares back, taunting him. He turns back to the door, "What is it?"
"We got security tapes from the Tooth Fairy fight, sir."
The agent places her own laptop next to his, lid just as mocking, before she opens it to show him the video. What he sees is worse than anything Lounds could ever write.
Dolarhyde shoots through the window into Lecter's stomach. Will's face as he watches Hannibal bleeding on the ground will haunt Jack, he's sure of it. He just sips his god damn wine. The fight quickly moves outside, where the cameras can't see with any detail. What they capture clearly, though, is Hannibal and Will embracing on the bluff and Will pulling them off it.
Jack tells himself that Will plunging them into the see is proof of the goodness he had up until the very end. He tells himself Will did it because he could see no other way to guarantee Hannibal's death. He's never been very good at lying.
When Jack tries to turn away, the agent speaks up again, "That's not all, sir. About an hour after that, someone enters the house from the front door. Their face is never seen by the cameras but they move around gathering things. They pick up documents and med kits and non-perishable food then leave. We are the only ones who have been in there since."
He is shown the footage: A tall figure with straight black hair walks with purpose through the rooms, putting stuff into their duffel bag. Though their face isn't covered, it's never turned towards the camera. They have been here before. They keep the door open when they leave.
"Their clothing is too bulky to get any sort of ID, all we know is a height of about five ten and the hair. Gloves cover their hands so no prints. They clearly know where the cameras are so no head shot, we can't even see their skin tone," The agent tells him.
"What about previous footage?" He asks. The person has obviously been in there more than once. Surely one of the cameras has seen them before now.
"All of it was deleted a few days before Lecter's escape, the same day he learned about the plan."
Damn it. Damn him. Damn it all to hell.
"Do we have anything more on Dolarhyde's remains?"
"After they filled their bag, they went to his body and… well, sir, they they're why so much of him is gone," Dolarhyde was missing a chunk from his throat and, like Freddie Lounds said, the piece was never found. His heart, liver, and kidneys had all been taken too, though Tattle Crime's anonymous source thankfully hadn't seen the lab report of that.
"So we have an accomplice of Lecter's, or a basket of coincidences and another psycho," Jack felt a familiar ache settle behind his eyes.
"Accomplice seems most likely. The camera's being scrubbed, their knowledge of Lecter's property, the, uh, harvesting of organs, the timing of their arrival. It all points to previous, deliberate involvement."
He dismisses the agent then, fed up with news of his greatest failure. He barely has a minute to brood before Kade Prurnell is walking in without knocking.
"Jack, I think you know why I'm here," He does know. He is going to be let go. The plan was barely legal to begin with and it backfired so impressively, there was no way he was going to keep his job and he knew it, "The discharge paperwork is being filled out right now."
"Couldn't hope for more than a quiet dismissal after this mess, could I?" Though he asks it, the words sound more defeated than questioning.
"No, you couldn't. The only reason you're even getting this much is because so many other people had to approve it, too," She tells him, "You'll be forced into retirement and everyone else will be suspended."
"I'm sorry," He apologizes and he barely knows why. For dragging her into this? For failing? For never being enough to catch the Ripper?
"I'm sorry, too, Jack," With that, she leaves.
Some hours later, Alana Bloom finds him packing up his office.
Jack hangs his head under the weight of the truth on his lips, "It was always going to end this way, wasn't it. Can't live together, might as well die together?"
"I don't think I really noticed how much Will needed Hannibal until now, how much he wanted him. I saw with my own eyes how much Hannibal wanted Will when he was under my care," She gives in place of an answer. He had heard about the endless drawings Lecter had done of Will, about the poems he wrote and letters he sent. If the man wasn't insane, it would seem romantic, "But with Molly in the picture? I just assumed Will was alright. I guess I always did."
Jack saw the passive, almost pleased look on Will's face when Hannibal fell to floor with a bullet through his stomach, "Doctor Lecter told me they were perfect for each other, that Will understood him in a way I could only imagine. At the time, I thought he was crazy, even said as much to Will. Seeing them fight the Tooth Fairy together, I think he was right."
Alana looked sick.
"I pushed them to that ledge as much as Will pulled them over," He'd never claimed responsibility for Will's incarceration or that night in the kitchen or any other part of this case, "It's my fault our men died in that transport and it will be my fault when they resurface and kill again."
"Jack. They went over the side of a cliff when they were already severely injured, no man could survive that," He wished he could believe that as much as she does.
"Hannibal isn't a man, Alana, and Will has become just like him," He states.
"Do you actually imagine they could bend the laws of nature enough to live after this? You think they're alive and planning their next murder right now," She retorts.
"I think you shouldn't be surprised when they find a victim with missing organs displayed like a big 'fuck you' to the FBI."
She leaves before he can apologize to her, too.
He's driving home from Bella's grave a month later when he gets a notification that Tattle Crime has posted a new article.
Back For Dessert: Murder Husbands Confirmed Alive
"They broke in, drugged me, served my leg for dinner and flirted while they made me it eat," says Doctor Bedelia Du Maurier, former psychiatrist of both Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham.
It wasn't a tableau, but the message was loud and clear. We are alive and well. Thank you, Jack
"I'm putting a lot of trust in you, Will, I need to know you're in your right mind. Am I going into this with a half-empty man by my side?" Jack Crawford had always been a realist, he needed his thoughts to line up rationally with reality. When the truth was irrational, he bent it to sit comfortably against his ideas of it.
"The glass is half-full, Jack," But no one would call Will Graham an optimist.
"I am trusting the hollow parts for this, too, aren't I?" Every part of Will that Jack saw was hollow. Maybe all of him was, now.
---
"Where is he?" Will turned when Abigail glanced over his shoulder. He turned slowly. Was it hesitation? Did he not want to startle the prey before him, or the predator behind? He saw the ruined shirt and bloody nose then the man. Hannibal Lecter was handsome as always, regardless of the devastated expression etched into his features. Maybe that was part of the appeal, only humans held the capacity for devastation, after all, "You were supposed to leave."
"We couldn't leave without you," Will felt the truth in that statement. There was no person suit, no veil behind Hannibal's eyes in that moment. Those eyes, fathomless and beautiful, were wet and open. He'd never seen through them more clearly, even in Hannibal's desire for him. The betrayal and truth and honest regret shone brighter here than anything Will had ever felt from him.
He was gutted before the blade touched his skin. The glass is half-full, Jack. The rest is filled with blood.
"I forgive you, Will," He was forgiven for leading Jack Crawford to the Ripper. Forgiven for not running when they had the chance. Forgiven for sending Randall Tier, "Will you forgive me?"
If he was a good dad, he never would. Do not trust a hollow man.
---
Hannibal was the third and final of Abigail's fathers to kill her.
This time, there is no doctor willing to save her. Even as Will tried to staunch the arterial flow like he did once before, they all knew she was lost. Her life had ended months ago, when Will brought her to Minnesota, when Garret Jacob Hobbs butchered her. Hannibal had never hunted deer before. Seeing red seep into her shirt like fur, he never wanted to. The blood smelled like veal on the smooth tile of his kitchen floor.
Will you forgive me?
He blinked through tears and saw Abigail fade into Mischa, bleeding into the snow. Will took Hannibal's own place from that winter: Holding the only thing in the world that had ever mattered and not being able to save it.
Like a doe and a dog, they lie there. Like an angel and a god.
Abigail, their girl, she will die tonight. He sees it play out through the gaze of that terrible man who had taken his Mischa. The boy will live and come for me, he must betray himself to do it. Hannibal had eaten his sister long after her body went cold. He'd needed the strength so he could hunt that man.
Will is going to come after revenge. He'll get it. He must betray himself to do it, but Hannibal's boy will end him when they meet again.
He will do it with his hands.
Hannibal is the only one to walk out of his Baltimore house that night.
---
"I am trusting the hollow parts for this, too, aren't I?"
That exchange had sat heavily in the back of Will's mind when he called Hannibal. It was a betrayal of what little trust Jack had left in him. Calling ERT was a betrayal of Hannibal, it shattered the teacup once again.
If he could take it back… Alana Bloom could die if it meant bringing it back together. Jack Crawford could die.
Abigail Hobbs would die. Her death will break and rebuild them, red-gold resin in their cracks.
I know the thin veneer over my iris is cracks and breaks, the shards cutting through my sclera and severing the optic nerve
As my vision goes black.
I know the marrow of my bones has exploded and shattered my femurs
As my legs give out and I fall to the earth.
I know my ribs have been crushed and squeezed my lungs dry, forcing breath through my vocal chords that have been stuck tight by the lump in my throat,
As I yell louder than anything I have ever heard.
I know the thing that used to pump life around my body has constricted around empty air
As I lose all blood and humanity I could ever claim to have.
I know my brain has been raggedly chopped in two by the vertebrae of my neck
As my head falls back, my mind numb.
My eyes bleed, my thighs bleed, my spine collapses, my mouth screams
As their body kisses the floor, never to rise again by their own will.
