Requested by someone on a separate platform
Roughly 857 words before editing (My apologies that this is so short. It just so happens to be my first fanfiction writing, and I do not write often.)
Will and Hannibal have wings. Hannibal is a demon. Will is(was) an angel.
Will wears a large poncho/shawl/scarf that covers his wings most the time.
Falling angel Will (due to the mental manipulation from Hannibal) being comforted by Hannibal.
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Reaching a hand and readjusting the black fabric that sprawled across Will's shoulders, cascading down his wings to shield the discoloring feathers from prying eyes. Hannibal let a knowing smile slip through to Will, allowing his hand to linger longer than was socially acceptable for friends. Reluctantly, Hannibal moved his fingers from the fabric that graced the other's shoulders, swaying his hand outwardly in a fluid motion to welcome him inside the room. From within, light danced across the walls from a candle placed upon his desk.
Shuffling past the other, into the warmth and comforts of the home, Will began. "I'm falling," unmasked disappointment creeping into his voice, his desperate, pleading eyes glanced momentarily into Hannibal's own, before losing contact. "I'm becoming less of an angel of God." Momentarily, his forehead scrunched, deepening the wrinkles as he spoke, fleeting eyes lifted again to meet with the steady hues of hannibal's own gaze, successfully finding themselves trapped underneath the crashing waves of maroon. The silence that blanketed the two engulfed them, until the steady pattering of rain settled into focus.
"And does this disturb you, Will?" The icy calmness in his voice rocked Will from the trap. His eyes dancing around the room yet again, allowing him to think of things other than the fantasied comfort he'd receive from collapsing into Hannibal's arms.
"Deeply. I don't know who I am, nor who I'm meant to be. Not anymore." Pushing a hand to his face, he dragged it down over his nose and chin, dropping it back to his side before bringing it back up in order to cross his arms. Grasping himself at the elbows, he held himself in a tight hug. "I don't hear God's answers when I pray." Will's voice cracked, and suddenly took on a shaky tone. Lip quivering, he looked to Hannibal. "I didn't know who to come to. Nobody else knows."
"How could they, when you've always worn your cover, Will? Concealing your gift bestowed upon you by God from everyone. Not everyone is given such a gift. Perhaps God is angry with you for concealing such qualities?"
Will shook his head quickly, a desolated smile appearing and vanishing in a matter of seconds. "No. No, this isn't what this is about." He hissed through gritted teeth, his eyes dancing around the room, struggling to stay settled in one location for long. Fidgeting with his hands, he began to pace. "Maybe it's my association with the FBI.. or maybe I've been around serial killers too much.." he paused dead in his tracks, whipping back around on his heels to face Hannibal. "It's because I killed Garrett Jacob Hobbs." The certainty in his eyes pulled at Hannibal just enough for him to comfort the other man.
"Will, God kills all the time. It would make little to no sense for God to punish you for something He Himself does."
Tightly closing his eyes, Will put his hands to his hair, gripping it tightly. "What's happening to me?" He uttered out, his voice breaking, the quivering sound soon matched by his body as he trembled. Pressing his back against the wall between his wings, he sank to the floor, the concealed sobs finally releasing.
Watching this, Hannibal's features portrayed little emotion. Crouching with his wrist resting on his knee, hand dangling, he reached with the other, resting it on Will's shoulder.
Hannibal was uncharacteristically caught off guard when Will flung himself onto the other, knocking them both to the linoleum tile, causing Hannibal to flinch when his own cloth-covered wings were crunched beneath his weight. Will was crying into the chest of his suit, clutching him like he was his last resort. His lifeline. As if Hannibal himself were Will's own connection to God, slipping through his fingers every time he tried to grasp it long enough, not wanting to give it another chance to escape. Like water dancing around his fingertips until it was cupped in his hand.
Placing sturdy hands around Will, holding him steady, if only to prevent him from moving and damaging Hannibal's dark wings further, he calmed the Angel. As his eyes settled on Will's frame, he seen why he had become such a nervous wreck. The shawl had scrunched into itself halfway up Will's damaged wings, revealing the discoloration, blackened spots dappled around randomly, the edges of his feathers torn and jagged. There were feathers missing from certain points as well, revealing dried and cracked crimson skin, flecked with dried little sheets of blood.
The sight was not a pretty one, but to be denied a place in Hannibal's memory palace for this moment would be a sin. Hannibal took everything in. The way Will held him so tightly. The way he had his entire body pressed upon his own. The way he could feel Will's figure tremble as it was wracked with sobs.
The way Will finally lifted his bloodshot eyes from Hannibal's chest and locked them onto his own crisp maroon hues. Light from the candles casting shadows from his curled hair upon his face, his eyes glistening with tears. His lips trembling as a breath jaggedly swept passed his teeth.
Hannibal felt a shiver go down his spine, his arms still wrapped around Will's warm body, the cool of the floor seeping into his back and ribs.
Yes. This moment. This moment was a beautiful one, despite how it came to be. This moment would be locked away in his memory palace to be revisited time, and time again.
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Please, tell me what you think, and feel free to leave constructive criticism. It helps me build as a writer. But please be mindful that negativity will surely deter me from writing in the future. I'm very fragile in that sense.
