Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

In the early hours of the morning, Professor Will Graham and Jack Crawford, head of the Behavioral Science Unit, walked side by side along the campus of the FBI Academy. Graham, on his way to give a lecture, was listening to Jack with visible annoyance on his face. He stared straight ahead, hands in his pockets, clearly drained by having to interact with someone else. Any outsider would think that the two men were enemies; both were stomping along the field with furrowed brows, muttering angrily to each other.

"I'm afraid you have to do it, Will," Jack said. "I'm not letting you go any further without some help."

"I can take care of myself."

"No, you've already proven to me that you can't. You had a breakdown at the scene yesterday." Jack sighed. "You're talented. You've given me nothing but useful information. I just think you need a little guidance."

"I don't need to talk out my feelings like some troubled teenager." Will stared intently at the ground as he walked. "I just need to build up the calluses. It's been a while since I've been back on the field; you've gotta give me some time."

A group of young girls, all unrelated to each other and yet so similar in their physical traits, had gone missing over the past few months. They all shared the same dark hair and blue eyes, the same height and weight, and the same complexion. Whoever was going after them had a type, and he wasn't afraid to show it. He'd eluded the FBI for a long time, but then one of his victims turned up dead instead of missing. That had been Jack's final straw — he'd enlisted Will's help, despite Will not taking part in active crime scenes for a few years now. His profiling skills were everything Jack needed.

Although he would never say it, Will had forgotten about how terrible being on the scene made him feel. There was a reason he'd left in the first place, instead choosing to pursue the mundane life of teaching. Seeing that poor girl at the scene, the body of Elise Nichols, had made him tremble. Tears had slipped out against his will, but he quickly wiped them away. He was stronger than that— it had simply been a while since he'd looked at a crime scene. He could build up the courage again. He didn't need anyone's help.

Jack Crawford seemed to think the opposite, though.

"I'm not going to be the one to break you. I won't be responsible for it. Everyone could use a little help, Will. Nothing to be ashamed of." Jack nudged him. "Hell, I would love to get some free therapy."

Will held back a scoff of indignation. "I don't need to be coddled. I don't want any of that 'how does that make you feel' shit. Lying on the couch and talking about my problems. I don't even know how I feel most of the time."

"Don't be stubborn. Doctor Lecter isn't that type of psychiatrist."

Will raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't I be the judge of that?"

"You know I'd bring you nothing but the best. He's the top of his class, Georgetown and Hopkins. I trust him to take care of you."

"So you've already booked me an appointment."

"Hopefully many appointments. I want you to meet him on Thursday. He'll be stopping by to get a general idea of the situation. Not a session, just meeting you."

"Did Alana Bloom put you up to this?"

"I put myself up to it. But she gave the recommendation, and I think you should take it." Jack frowned at him. "Or else I won't let you back on the field. Not in the state you're in."

"Jack. I know how to take care of myself. How many times do I have to say it?"

"You need to give it a try. Unless you're looking for a way out — which, if you are, now's the perfect time to take it. Your refusal is a one-way ticket back into that classroom, and then none of us will find out who's killing all these girls." His voice raised, and a few bystanders turned their heads to look. They quickly swiveled away, though, once they saw who they were staring at; no one wanted to be in Crawford's bad books. "So, what's it gonna be, Will?"

Will closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'll talk to him," he agreed with a sigh, "but I can't promise we'll click."

"Doctor Lecter is very skilled at getting the results he wants. If he wants to click with you, he will."

"That's a little ominous, Jack. You can quit reading from Alana's script." The two came to a stop outside the lecture hall, and Will shifted the heavy bag on his shoulder. Jack took that as a sign to leave.

"Well, then, wait until you meet him." He put his hand on Will's shoulder. "We can take it a little bit at a time, okay? It'll all be good."

Before Will could object, Jack began to walk away, leaving him to his class. Will stood there for a long while with his feet planted firmly on the walkway, only turning away when he could no longer see Jack in even the farthest reaches of his vision.

~~~

That evening, as the sun was sinking into the ground and the moon was quickly approaching, Hannibal Lecter sat to himself and played his harpsichord. He had been playing since he was a boy. His hands were nimble and experienced, moving quickly along the keys to create a beautiful melody. It was his own creation, a song that he had pieced together in his spare time, and it was finally coming together. Music was something so pure to him, something that could capture and create so much emotion in mere seconds.

He reached the emotional climax of the piece, increasing in volume as the minor chords rang through his big and empty home. It was cold inside, just the way he liked it, and that combined with the music sent chills up his arms.

This piece was lonely. It was empty and heartbroken. He closed his eyes and let the vision of the past overtake his memory. The music continued; he didn't need to see to play perfectly.

He felt his heart sink. It was like he was falling through the deepest depths of the Earth, down to its core and even further. He felt a crucial part of himself dying all over again.

Hannibal opened his eyes, gasping faintly. The final chord of the song had finished ringing out a long time ago.

It was cold inside the house. Big and empty. Just the way he liked it.

He sat on the bench with his head buried in his hands, silent and unmoving for a long while.

~~~

Will awoke in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, his breathing rough and ragged. He wasn't sure what had disturbed his sleep. All of his dogs were asleep at the other end of the room, and he couldn't remember any bad dreams. Frustrated, he rubbed his face and peeked at the nightstand clock — 3:24 AM. Great. He needed every minute of sleep he could get nowadays, and this wasn't helping his mental state.

He heard a faint rustling coming from somewhere near him. It sounded like a mouse in his walls, a quiet scurrying that was easy enough to ignore. Soon, however, it turned into an audible creaking, a sound that Will recognized all too well: it was the sound of someone walking across his floorboards. He heard bare feet across the hardwood. He heard ragged breathing.

He wanted to sit up and run somewhere else, to grab a weapon or get out of the home, but he was completely trapped. He couldn't move a muscle. He chose to close his eyes instead, bracing himself.

Then, he felt a sudden weight sink onto the other side of the bed. It was heavy enough to make the springs creak, the weight of another human body.

He opened his eyes. The body of Elise Nichols lay supine next to him, her glassy eyes fixated on the ceiling. Will felt his chest tighten, and the stench of rotting flesh assaulted his nose. He could hear flies buzzing somewhere in the distance. His heart raced, but he couldn't get out of the bed. He couldn't move at all anymore.

Slowly, the corpse began to turn her head, the bones in her neck cracking one by one. Her face was grey, the skin waxy, and she parted her blue lips and sighed rancid, sour breath into Will's face. Will held back a gag.

"Help me," she rasped. "Help me."

He was used to this. It was a common occurrence, to see the ghost of someone lost. It always left him paralyzed, unable to do anything but stare. He watched the girl reach her arm outwards, grasping for something behind them.

He felt a freezing palm on the back of his neck. Her fingers crept towards the front of his throat, and before Will could react she had both of her hands around him, choking him. Will's body sprung into action then, and the adrenaline flowing through his muscles helped return the sensation to his limbs. He kicked out, trying to pry her hands away, but she was surprisingly strong.

"Help me!" She shrieked, her voice echoing loudly. Will coughed.

"No," he was able to rasp out. "I can't."

Elise began to scream. It rang throughout the room, an anguished, high-pitched sound that made Will want to cover his ears. She was in pain. She was terrified. Her screams multiplied, becoming the cries of many, many girls just like her.

"God, stop!" Will cried. "Someone please...just— just make it stop!"

Someone pulled a thick piece of wool over his head, and his vision and hearing faded away. The hands around his neck faded, and he could breathe again. His body was weighed down by lead, leaving him floating in a vast black ocean. Everything was silent. There were no screams. He was sleepy, serene.

Will.

Will opened his eyes at the sound of his name. He saw no one there. "...Hello?"

I am here, Will. Do you see me?

He couldn't figure out who was speaking to him. It sounded like a crowd of people, but when he focused on it hard enough, he could sense all of the individual voices combining into one strong tone. It wasn't male or female. He wasn't sure if it was even human.

He opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by the sudden sensation of something poking him in the back. He lifted his arms to see the velvety bones of infinite deer antlers creeping underneath him. Splitting apart and twisting like the roots of a rapidly growing plant. They were holding him up, carrying him. They stretched on forever, far past his line of vision, weaving underneath his legs now. He was sitting on a chair made of antlers, unable to move.

"I...I see something." Something tickled the back of his neck. Dark vines swept upwards through his hair, lining his scalp, and began to hang down over his eyes. He couldn't brush them away. The antlers began to pin him down, wrapping around his wrists and waist, but he made no struggle to get out.

Good. It sounded pleased. I know exactly what you need, Will. And soon, it will be offered to you. You will get everything you've ever wanted. But you must follow me.

"I don't — What?" Will's wrists were pinned down by velvety restraints. His waist was strapped to the chair. Still, his brain did not panic. This felt natural. "I don't understand."

It is quiet that you want. Yes?

"Yes." The word slipped out without any effort, like someone had tugged it out from his brain. It felt good to agree.

Peace and quiet wait for you. But you must accept the creature that inhabits you first.

"What do you mean? What do I have to do?"

You will know when the time comes. Remember the sensation of quiet. Remember how desperately you want it.

"Please, I just— can you tell me what any of this means?"

You will know very soon. When the stag grows its horns and the fog envelops all, accept what is offered to you. Do you understand?

"I don't know."

Repeat it for me.

"When the stag grows its horns and the fog envelops all, accept what is offered to me," he said, entirely compelled by some primal desire within him. It was pulsing through the middle of his chest, this burning need to follow, to comprehend.

Good. You will remember this. Soon, you will know everything.

Before Will could ask for more answers, the antlers rapidly withdrew. The screaming returned, piercing his ears after such a peaceful quiet, and he winced in pain and shock. It got louder, and louder, and louder, and--

And then he opened his eyes.

Early-morning sunlight spilled in through the window. Elise was gone. She'd never been there.

The horrid screeching sound was still going on. Will reached over and shut off his alarm clock, shrouding the room in silence. One of the dogs started nuzzling its cold nose into the palm of his hand, and he groaned. He was exhausted, as always. Sleep could never come to him anymore, not with visions like that.

But he'd never had one like that before. He'd never heard that voice, never imagined antlers and vines. The words the entity said were still ringing through his head, and he was desperate to know what they meant.

He must be losing his mind. And that meant he needed help as soon as possible. Something like this couldn't be ignored any longer.

He reluctantly picked up his phone, and with his knees curled up to his chest he called Jack.

"Hello?"

"I'll talk to Doctor Lecter," Will said. "But I need it to be today."

All morning, he couldn't shake the feeling of velvet against his wrists and vines creeping up his skull.

Chapter Text

"So you must be Doctor Lecter."

Will leaned against the door frame to Jack Crawford's office, watching the lone man in the room turn around at the sound of his voice. He was older than Will, likely approaching his fifties, and he had a chiseled face with light brown hair and an immaculate suit. He stood, giving Will a soft smile with a pair of thin, Cupid's bow lips.

"I've only heard about you in psychology circles," Will continued, stepping into the room. "Don't think I've ever seen you in person."

"I'm glad you get to gaze upon me in the flesh, then." He spoke with a unique accent, something European. He held out his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Professor. Doctor Hannibal Lecter."

Will shook his hand, taken aback by the firmness of his grip. "...Will Graham." His eyes shifted towards the ground on instinct. They wandered all over the place: the wall, the desk, the carpet. "Where's Jack?"

"An officer called him out for a moment," Lecter said. "He told me to tell you he would be right back."

Will hoped it would be sooner rather than later. 

"You're a profiler, yes? That's what Agent Crawford has recruited you to do?"

"Professor turned profiler, yeah." He ambled towards the desk. "You ever done any profiling before?"

"I profile every one of my patients, technically." Will could sense the doctor scrutinizing him. He glanced down at Will's hands, where the skin around his nails had been picked completely off. Painful sores and open wounds lined his fingers. The picking had become a nervous tic decades ago, and it was something he'd never been able to shake. 

Will furrowed his brow in annoyance and stuffed his hands in his pockets just as Jack entered the room. He glanced towards the clock on the wall, migrating towards the chair that the doctor hadn't been sitting in. It didn't slip past him that both men were placed next to each other on the other side of Jack's desk, like they were two inferior employees being subjected to Jack's orders.

"Will, glad you're here," Jack said. "You've met Doctor Lecter?"

"I have." There wasn't anything else to say in that regard. He wasn't sure how to feel yet. 

Jack walked over to where Lecter was standing. He was focused on the wall of evidence at the side of the office, studying the photographs of dead girls. White string connected their pictures to various locations in Minnesota. Lecter gazed at them with little emotion. 

"Tell me, then," he said, "how many confessions?"

"Twelve dozen, last time I checked. None of 'em had any details." Jack sat down across from Will, giving him a meaningful glance. "Until this morning. Then they all had details. Some genius in Duluth PD took a photograph of Elise Nichol's body with his cell phone, shared it with his friends. Then Freddie Lounds posted it on Tattlecrime dot com."

Will scoffed. This was the first he'd heard of this. Lounds was always someone to watch out for; she was a menace to the FBI. "Tasteless."

"Do you have trouble with taste?" Lecter asked.

"My thoughts are often not tasty," Will told him, unable to contain the snark in his voice. There was something about Lecter's prying nature that didn't sit right with him. It was pretentious. Not to mention that he was the last one to sit down, quite literally trying to assert himself as the last one standing. 

"Nor mine." Lecter came closer. "No effective barriers."

"I build forts."

"Associations come quickly."

"So do forts."

Lecter sat as well, reaching for a cup of coffee on Jack's desk. He paused before the cup could hit his lips. "Not fond of eye contact, are you?"

Will sighed. "Eyes are distracting," he said, finally looking up and gazing into his eyes. They were an odd shade of brown, the color of rust or dried blood on a white sheet. Discomfort wormed through his gut. "See too much, don't see enough. It's hard to focus when you keep thinking, 'oh, those whites are really white' or 'he must have hepatitis' or 'hm, is that a burst vein?'"

To his surprise, Hannibal's lips quirked up. Once again, he looked Will up and down, documenting something in his mind that Will would probably never know. Will didn't like the silence.

"So, yeah," he continued, "I try to avoid eyes whenever possible. Jack?"

"Yes?" Jack replied unhelpfully. Will knew it was a fruitless effort to call out to him like that, but he'd hoped for something useful. He didn't want to be alone under the eyes of this stranger. He began to flip through the papers on the desk, looking away.

But Lecter was relentless. "I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams." With the way he spoke, Will found himself unable to look away. It was a mixture of fascination and terror. "No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love."

Will curled his upper lip, offended. "Whose profile are you working on?" He turned to Jack. "Whose profile is he working on?"

"I'm sorry, Will. Observing is what we do." Lecter shrugged. "I can't shut mine off any more than you can shut yours off."

"Please, don't psychoanalyze me. You won't like me when I'm psychoanalyzed."

"Will." Jack sighed. "Doctor Lecter is here for that express purpose."

"Yeah, well, you're not on the clock yet. This isn't my session — it's me assessing you, more than anything." 

"Of course." Lecter nodded. "Can I ask for a little more context? What brings us here? Jack, you were very vague before."

"Will? You can speak for yourself."

Will had never wanted to speak less in his life. "I...Jack wants me to be stable throughout this investigation," he replied. "I can find myself getting lost sometimes."

"In what way?" 

"Well, I'm a profiler. My entire purpose is to see things through the eyes of the wicked," he said. "Sometimes, the wicked and I become a little too intertwined."

"Makes him a great profiler," Jack remarked. "He sees himself inside the killer's head. The hard part is when he gets stuck. I can't let this job break him — he's too good at it."

"And you aren't permitted to work for the FBI, correct? Not without me?" Lecter's brows drew together slightly.

"He's been down this road before, and he had to quit. Now, there are no other psychiatrists that would approve of him working. I trust you, though, Doctor. We're all on the same side here. I trust that with your supervision and frequent help, he can work for me." The words sounded rehearsed, and they likely were. From an outsider's perspective, what Jack was doing was completely immoral — at least in Will's opinion. He wouldn't be surprised if this wasn't Jack's first attempt to justify it.

"If no other psychiatrist would approve, shouldn't that say something about whether the job is good for you?"

Will stiffened. No one ever questioned Jack like that, not without being reprimanded. However, Jack simply shrugged it off, instead waiting on Will to respond.

"I don't think I have a choice," Will replied. "I need to help people. I couldn't live with myself if I had this opportunity to save people and I chose to walk away. It wouldn't sit right with me."

"Do you find this happening every moment of your daily life? Where you take on someone else's position?"

Will shook his head. "No. I only take people's positions when I'm at crime scenes. It's usually only the killers that I do it for. It makes it easier for me to profile."

"I'm sure it can be disorienting," Lecter said. "You're finding yourself inside the mind of someone evil, and then you must immediately snap back into daily life. It's a struggle for your brain to separate it all."

"Yes. And I need help with the balance. That's it. I don't need anyone diving into my life, my past traumas, my personality." He resisted the urge to glare at him. "I just need help with the present."

"I'll do my best, Will," Lecter promised. "I'm going to put my all into making sure your therapy is successful. No focus on anything but the present. Your associations."

The men nodded at each other, satisfied to have reached an agreement.

"Thank you," Will said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go give a lecture. On psychoanalyzing." He glanced over at Lecter one more time, standing and walking out of the room without fanfare. It didn't make sense to give him the respect of a final goodbye.

Once he was outside, though, he paused. After a brief moment of consideration, he leaned up against the door and began to listen in. 

"Maybe you shouldn't poke him like that, Doctor," Jack said. "Perhaps a less, uh, direct approach."

"What he has is pure empathy. He can assume your point of view, or mine, and maybe some other points of view that scare him. It's an uncomfortable gift, Jack."

Jack hummed. "Well—"

"That's why I don't believe this is a good idea."

There was a long pause; Will could only imagine what Jack's face looked like at that moment. Will knew that he should be appreciative, but he didn't care for how Lecter was trying to act like some like of savior. He didn't need saving.

"Maybe not. But letting innocent people die definitely isn't right."

"I don't believe he's in the right state to confront a case like this."

"If you won't do it, I'll find someone else. Either way, it's going to happen."

"I think he needs to be eased in."

"Well, Doctor, it's too late for that. He's seen so many things already." Jack's voice began to rise. "Why do you think I called you? It's his first case back on the field and he's already melting down!"

"I never said that I wouldn't help him. Dehumanizing him isn't going to help anyone, though. Not Will, not you, not the dead girls. He's not a tool, he's a person."

"Correct. And so are these victims. We're going to take care of both parties."

"Perception is a tool that's pointed on both ends." Lecter sighed. "This killer you have him getting to know...I think I can help good Will see his face. But only with care."

Another long silence, followed by the slight creaking of a chair. Will scurried to the other side of the hallway, ducking into the restroom. He heard a short interval of muffled voices, then finally the door opened and the two men stepped out. Will paused, waiting, listening for the sound of footsteps or even breath. There was nothing. They must have walked in the other direction.

He ran the sink for a moment to keep up the illusion, and then he turned the corner back into the corridor. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Lecter still standing across the hall, outside Jack's office.

"Come with me, Will," he said, not waiting for Will's response. Will didn't want to — every part of him wanted to turn around, walk back home, and bury himself under the covers. Still, for a reason he couldn't explain, Will followed.

"Don't listen to Jack," Lecter said. "Someone in your position has the right to melt down. I don't know about the right to eavesdrop, though."

Will blanched. "I wasn't--"

"I know a lot of things, Will."

Will held back a shiver. This guy was unsettling. "I can't control my curiosity, Doctor. Especially when I know two people are talking about me like I'm some kind of pet."

"You act like you don't need therapy, but clearly you don't feel that way. Otherwise, you wouldn't have wanted to see me early." The doctor came to a sudden stop and faced Will with an inquisitive expression.

Will shook his head, annoyed. "I appreciate you coming. It's just complicated."

"I feel like you're keeping something to yourself. Something Jack can't know."

Will peeked around the corner; Jack's office was closed. "It's not entirely Jack's business."

"If it has to do with your career affecting your well-being, then I believe it may be. However, even if we haven't started sessions yet, I'm willing to respect the boundaries of doctor-patient confidentiality."

Will considered this. Lecter was blunt, intrusive, and Will knew that he wasn't going to last long keeping his entire life from him. There wasn't a point. This was therapy, after all."

"This stays between us." He brought his voice down to a reluctant whisper. "To put it frankly, I see ghosts. They follow me home from the crime scenes. Cry out while I'm trying to sleep. They haven't left me alone in years."

Lecter's expression softened. Will waited for anything — an apology, an expression of sympathy, even a laugh — but he said nothing. He just waited for Will to go on.

"I don't know why they won't leave me alone. I didn't do anything to them. I'm not their killer. I never even knew them."

"You're haunted by the idea. The concept that a member of your own species could do something so vile."

"She found me last night. Elise, the latest victim. The one that had the photos leaked. She...I think she wanted to kill me."

"And that's why you wanted me here today? As opposed to later?"

Will nodded.

"Tell me," Lecter said, "why are you here?"

"To help people?" It seemed obvious.

"It shouldn't be a question. If your job didn't exist, if murder wasn't real, where would you be at this very moment?"

"If we all got what we wanted, I think we'd all be on a beach in Cuba, to be honest."

"I'd be in Florence, thank you very much," Hannibal quipped, a small smile forming on his face. "Better food. Now, really, I assume you don't usually spend your work time in lectures with Jack Crawford. I know you have better things going on."

"What makes you think that?"

"This isn't my first time seeing you, Will." Hannibal's eyes flicked up and down Will's body. "Alana Bloom escorted me to one of your lectures. She wanted me to see how intelligent you were. How important your work was."

Will raised an eyebrow at this. "Oh. Wow. Neither of you came up and talked to me?"

"It was a crowded lecture. You were busy with your students. And, frankly, I don't think Alana wanted you to see us there."

"Well, she probably had the right idea." He narrowed his eyes. "I don't like to be studied, especially without my knowledge."

"Whatever the case, I was very impressed by you. You're an incredibly bright man. I saw so much potential in you. Something about your presentation really struck me."

"...Thank you."

"But do you enjoy teaching? Do you want to be doing that right now? Is your lecture on psychoanalyzing that important to you, if it even exists?"

"It does exist, actually. Or, it will, in about fifteen minutes. But...no. I like to fish. I like to be outside." He shrugged. "I'm big on animals. Nature. I have a lot of dogs."

"What do you want more than anything? What do you crave, Will?" 

"What do I crave?"

"What you spend your time yearning for, deep inside of you. Is it power? Wealth? Women?" He gave Will an up-and-down glance. "Or men, I suppose."

Will wanted to close the distance between them to throw a punch. Lecter noticed the rage that flickered across his face, and he held up his hands. "That's my preference, if you couldn't tell. I only mean to be inclusive."

Will grit his teeth. He wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. If Lecter could sense so much about him, even his sexuality, within minutes, then he needed to escape before things went too far.

"I want to be peaceful. I want to feel safe. I want some damn peace and quiet. That's what I crave, Doctor."

"Then that is what I'm going to get you." Lecter threw a quick look over his shoulder, back towards the office; the door was still closed. "I don't care what Jack wants. I will stop at nothing to bring you what you need. This therapy is for you, not for him."

"Why do you want to help me so bad?"

"Like I said earlier, I see potential in you. Endless potential. And I believe we have a lot in common."

Will had to stop himself from laughing. No way that this stoic, pretentious doctor was anything like him. He lived alone in a cabin with nine dogs.

"Your peace, it's in there," Lecter said, as if he noticed Will's amusement. He probably did; he seemed to notice everything. "And I'll bring it out."

He reached into his pocket and handed Will a card, saying something about Jack making an appointment, but Will wasn't listening. He was too focused on the information floating in his head, the perplexing nature of the doctor, the explicit promise for peace. He was still reeling from last night's dream, and this cryptic conversation wasn't doing anything to help.

When he was sure the doctor was gone, Will leaned against the wall and buried his face in his hands. Fear and relief crept through him, as if he had narrowly escaped the wrath of a snake. He didn't trust Doctor Lecter. He was livid with Jack. He was livid with himself for letting himself be seen so easily.

But within all of that, there was a twinge of hope.

Chapter Text

The smell of the autopsy room was always unbearable to Will. It was a metallic, rancid mixture of chemicals, cleaning solutions, and decomposition. He stood as far away from the table as he could, listening to Beverly speak.

She, Price, and Zeller communicated in their own language. Medical terms and theories were swapped between them as they threw around every fact and theory that popped into their heads. Will had admittedly zoned out, with most of the scientific terms being lost on him. He only began to pay attention once more when Beverly called his name.

"Sorry, what?"

"Injuries were probably, but not conclusively, post-mortem," Zeller repeated. "So...not gored." He threw a sarcastic glance at Beverly, who rolled her eyes.

"She has lots of piercings that look like they were caused by deer antlers. I didn't say the deer was responsible for putting them there."

"She was mounted on them," Will said. It was the only explanation that made sense. There was no way that an animal could have done this to her; it had to have been done to her body. Like she was some type of object to be put on display. "Like hooks. She may have been bled."

"Her liver was removed," Zeller said. He pulled open the large cavity that had been dug into her abdomen, revealing the jumbled organs inside. "See that? Took it out, then...yeah, he put it back in."

"Why would he cut it out if he's just gonna sew it back in?" Price asked. 

"Something wrong with the meat," Will replied, pushing off the wall and taking a reluctant step forward. 

All three of the pathologists' heads snapped up in shock, staring at Will with fascination. 

"She has liver cancer," Zeller said, voice tinged with awe.

Will pondered. Liver cancer shouldn't affect the look or preservation— in fact, it would be rather hard to keep a liver preserved even if it was healthy. Keeping one as a trophy would be inconvenient at best and disgusting at worst.

People didn't keep liver. People ate liver.

He felt a sudden wave of nausea as the realization hit him. "Yeah, he's uh..."

The crew watched him, eyebrows raised in expectation. He felt a lump in his throat, an acidic burning that he had to swallow down. "He's eating them."

He couldn't hold back a bewildered, disturbed smile. He spun around and headed for the door, shedding his gloves. He didn't want anyone else to see him like this.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Jack's number.

"Hey, Will."

"He's eating them."

"I'm sorry?"

"The Minnesota killer. That's what he wants with his victims. He...he's eating their organs."

"Are you sure? That's a bold statement." Jack cleared his throat. Will wondered if the news had affected him at all.

"Jack, he tried to take her liver. There were signs that it was removed, but he put it back because the meat wasn't good enough. She's got liver cancer. Since there was a mass on her liver, it wasn't edible anymore." Will clutched the phone tightly. "He's...he's eating them." His voice caught in his throat.

"Couldn't he have just been mutilating her? There could be plenty of reasons for messing around with the liver."

"The rest of these girls haven't been mutilated. They've been respected. Hell, that's evident in the fact that he put the liver back. If he was just keeping them, or wanting to rob them of something, then the cancer wouldn't matter. He wants to consume them, use the organs for something. It's intimate. It fits with the profile, since the rest of the body has been well-respected."

Jack paused. "You with Katz and company?"

"I'm outside the lab. They're still in there."

"I'll be right there."

Jack hung up, leaving Will in silence on the other end. He pressed his lips together, feeling the blood drain from his face.

He couldn't be in there anymore. Not with Elise. She'd been in his room so much the past few weeks that she was like a housemate — he couldn't be there to see her decompose in person. Lost in thought, he hardly noticed when someone opened the door behind him.

"Hey." Beverly leaned against the glass door, beckoning for him to come back in. Will followed her, albeit reluctantly. At least the body wasn't in direct view anymore. "You okay?"

Will sighed. "I don't know."

Beverly was always good to him throughout his time at the FBI. She seemed to be the only one who cared about how he was doing, and not just because he was famous for his unorthodox mind. She treated him like a person, not an artifact.

"Is this case hurting you? You haven't been back in a while." Her brow creased in concern.

"It's been eventful. But I've got a therapist now."

"Oh, that's good. Someone with the FBI?"

"No, he's outside. But he's had experience in and out of the place. Hannibal Lecter."

"Don't know him. Interesting name."

It was strangely relieving to talk to someone who didn't have any opinions on Hannibal. He had the right to speak without anyone contradicting him. "He seems nice. A little socially awkward, but nice."

"Aren't the best of us a little awkward?" She shrugged. "I hope it works out for you. You're a good guy. You don't deserve to be pushed around."

"Thanks, Bev. I'll live. I just..." He gestured towards the other end of the lab. "Sometimes I need to walk away."

"If he's really eating them, that's horrific. I can't imagine what the families will think."

"That's why I'm not going to confirm it yet. I'm nearly certain, but I don't want to put anyone through that before we get more evidence. Jack's on his way over here, but you should keep it as quiet as you can."

"I keep everything low. I'm under government obligation."

"Maybe you should be my therapist, then."

"Hell no. Not before I get my own." She nudged his arm with her elbow, and they both gave small smiles. "Go. Walk away. Be careful."

"Got it."

~~~

"Same height. Same weight. Same eye and hair color. Same age." Will hovered over the spread images of every missing girl, all of them smiling up at him like nothing was wrong. He wished that was the case. "There's an obvious intention here."

"Will, I don't think I'm equipped to discuss official FBI cases. This is your first session. We're supposed to talk about you." Doctor Lecter stood across from him and studied the pictures on his desk. He'd been keeping up with the case, but he wasn't officially involved in solving it. Despite his words, he seemed very interested in what Will had to say — his gaze remained on the photos as he spoke.

"Just let me get this out." He glanced down at the notepad he'd been scrawling notes on. He'd been using Lecter's pad and pen, but the doctor didn't seem to mind. "He's got a type. There could be a lot of reasons for that, but I think the best one is that these girls remind him of someone. The initial thought is that he's taking his anger out on these girls, but the way he treats the bodies makes it seem a lot different. There's a lot of gentleness there."

"I want to make the most of our time, Will. Can you tell me what's going on inside of your head?"

Will slammed his hand down onto the picture of Elise. "I can't focus on anything else, Doctor Lecter. My mind is on nothing but these girls."

"You need to learn to separate this line of work from your personal life. You cannot let this take over your mind. We need to talk about how this is affecting you, not necessarily the facts of the case."

"They've become part of me. I can't let go of this."

"Why not?"

"They won't leave me alone." He buried his face in his hands, letting his heavy eyes close for just a moment. It felt so good. "I'm sorry. I just...I can't get any peace from this. I can't take a single break from trying to find their killer, or I'm doing them a disservice."

Lecter stepped aside, leading him away from the desk. "Why don't you sit down?"

Will took the offer, sinking into one of the leather chairs. Hannibal took a seat across from him.

The office was large and dimly lit, and it contained an entire upper section with a library's worth of bookshelves and a movable ladder. Lecter kept it meticulously clean — Will hadn't seen a single thing out of place. He sighed.

"You've been having more visions," the doctor said. It wasn't a question.

"Every night. And every night, a new girl from that list shows up." Will pointed to the desk. "I can't deal with that number increasing anymore."

"It very well might. You have to be prepared for that."

"I'm not prepared for anything anymore. Something always comes along that makes things worse."

"You said that this man is cannibalizing his victims? That's certainly a haunting concept. And something that I'm sure you weren't expecting."

"Yes. At least, that's what I believe is happening."

"Do the girls speak to you?"

"Yes."

"What do they say?"

Will felt chills run up his arms. "They cry. They scream. And they ask me to help them."

"Do you believe that if you catch this man, they'll leave you alone? Is that what they are asking you for?"

Will frowned. He couldn't imagine life without the ghosts at this point. Since childhood, his empathy gave him horrific nightmares that he could never shake, no matter the medication. Even when he took a break from the FBI, turning to his teaching career instead, the remnants from his past escapades as a profiler were still with him when he closed his eyes.

"Will? Your silence is saying something, but I can't exactly tell what it is."

"I don't know how to answer."

Lecter nodded. "That's alright. It's a more admirable quality than giving a false answer."

"I need these dead girls off my chest. That's all I want. I just want to be left alone."

Lecter gave a slight tilt of his head. He remained silent, watching Will to the point where he had to avert his gaze.

"I know you're trying to get me to fill the silence."

"I never said that."

"You never said I was crazy, either, but I know you're thinking it."

His expression turned serious. "I'm not thinking that." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "There are indeed ghosts on you, Will. I see them."

Will perked up at that.

"I see them in the way you hunch your shoulders, your fearful eyes, the way you keep your cards close to your chest. The way you tear the skin off of your body in hopes of finding some kind of release." The look in his eyes was intense. "You are indeed haunted. By ghosts, and by something else. I hope you'll reveal to me soon what that is."

Will leaned back in his chair, speechless. He could count on one hand the amount of people who even knew his eye color, let alone his specific mannerisms and traits. The man was strikingly observant, enough to make Will feel encroached upon.

"What do you do when the ghosts come?" Lecter asked.

"Ignore them. At least until they try to hurt me."

"How do they try to hurt you?"

"They reach out to scratch me. Sometimes they choke me. They wrap their hands around my neck."

"You feel their bodies? The pressure, the touch?"

"Yes."

"So your hallucinations are tactile, as well. Can you move during these visions?"

"Most of the time."

He finally leaned back, and the invisible hand gripping Will finally let go. Will exhaled. "So it's not sleep paralysis. It may be night terrors, but overall, it seems that there isn't a wide range of explanations."

"That's what other doctors have said, too. I've tried lots of medications. It really makes me wonder if they're more than just a mental hallucination."

Lecter considered this. "Do you believe in God?"

Will blinked, taken aback. "I don't really know. Do you?"

"Wholeheartedly." He crossed his legs. "That doesn't mean I choose to worship Him, though."

"Don't think I've ever come across that viewpoint before." He smiled humorlessly. "So do you believe me?"

"Absolutely. I never said I didn't." Lecter folded his hands. "I'm simply intrigued as to why they chose you."

"I wish they hadn't."

It was then that Will's phone began to ring. He glanced over at it, prepared to shut it off, but he stiffened when he saw the name on the screen.

"It's Jack."

Lecter gave a half-hearted flick of his hand. "Please."

Will answered. "Hey, I'm at my session. Is there a way I can—"

"There's been another murder."

Will closed his eyes, letting out a harsh exhale. Jack pulled no punches. "Minnesota?"

"Yes. I need you at my office no later than oh eight thirty tomorrow. We're flying up there."

"We know who she is yet?"

"No. I've seen the photographs, though — this is brutal, Will. She's been impaled. I hate to think what he's done to the other girls we haven't found. I need to know that you won't break down."

"I'll be okay. I'll be there tomorrow."

Jack hung up without a goodbye. Will threw his head back, letting the information seep into him. Impaled...God. He could fall asleep right here, he was so tired.

"Everything alright?" Hannibal asked.

Will shook his head. "I have another ghost."

Chapter Text

A murder of crows screeched and pecked at the impaled body of Cassie Boyle, whose hair was hanging down and tickling the dirt. The antlers pierced her chest, her stomach, her thighs. Dried blood stained the delicate velvet. Her mouth hung open as she stared into the sky, and her cheeks were singed red from being exposed to the sun all morning. 

Jack was right: this was brutal. Cruel. She had been mounted onto these antlers and left to suffer. It reminded Will of his dream from the other night, in which he'd sat on a throne of antlers as a disembodied voice offered him the world.

He hadn't had another one of those dreams since.

"Stag head was reported stolen last night, about a mile from here," Jack said. It snapped Will out of his thinking, and he took a step closer to the body.

"Just the head?"

"Minneapolis Homicide's already made a statement. They're calling him the Minnesota Shrike."

"Like the bird?"

"Shrike's a perching bird," Price called out from his position near the body. "Impales mice and lizards on thorny branches and barbed wire. Rips their organs right out of their bodies, puts them in a little birdie pantry, and eats them later."

Will shuddered. He wondered what organs would be missing from his girl. 

Jack's voice was flat, his eyes hard. "Can't tell if it's sloppy or shrewd."

"He wanted her found this way," Will said. "It's...it's petulant. I almost feel like he's mocking her. Or he's mocking us."

There was something about this display that was marginally different from the rest. There was no respect here. There was nothing that screamed out an apology. This was a desecration, a waste of valuable material. From what they knew already about this killer, that wasn't his tactic.

Jack leaned forward, studying the display. "Where did all his love go?"

"Whoever tucked Elise Nichols into bed didn't paint this picture." Will shook his head.

"He took her lungs," Zeller remarked. "I'm pretty sure she was alive when he cut 'em out."

Will nodded, recognition dawning on him. "Our cannibal loves women. He doesn't want to destroy them; he wants to consume them. Keep some part of them inside. This girl's killer thought that she was a pig." He began to pace away from the body, his thoughts racing. 

Jack turned his head to call after him, irritated. "You think this was a copycat?"

"The cannibal who killed Elise Nichols had a place to do it and no interest in," he gestured toward the scene in disgust, "in field kabuki. So, he has a house, or two, or a cabin. Or something with an antler room." It was the only type of place that made sense. The girls were being mounted on hooks, on antlers, and they were being taken somewhere specific to do it. If this girl in the field was a victim of the Shrike, then she wouldn't be laying out here in the sun, roasting under its heat like a discarded fetal pig. 

The Shrike cared about his victims. They reminded him of someone important. 

"He has a daughter. The same age as the other girls. Same-- same hair color, same eye color, same height, same weight. She's an only child. She's leaving home. He can't stand the thought of losing her. She's his golden ticket."

He turned. He had to leave, to get all of this in writing. Otherwise, it would all leave his brain in a much more jumbled mess than it already was. 

"What about the copycat?"

Will wanted to scream at Jack. He had to remind himself that no one else could read his thoughts -- at least, not that he knew of. "You know, an intelligent psychopath, particularly a sadist, is very hard to catch. There's no traceable motive, there'll be no patterns. He may never kill this way again." Sour spite began to rise in his throat. "Have Doctor Lecter draw up a psychological profile. You seem very impressed with his opinion."

It was a stupid comment to make, petty and childish, but it was already out of his mouth. He turned and walked away, unwilling to hear Jack's arguments. There was nothing else for him to say, not at the moment. 

Hannibal Lecter couldn't dig into his brain when he was on the job. That was the one solace that Will had left. At least when he was here, he had something to himself. 

~~~

"The FBI is formally asking for your help in the Minnesota Shrike case." 

Upon entering Doctor Lecter's office for his next session, Will immediately held out a thick folder of documents. On top was a consent form, facing right up for Hannibal to see. 

When Jack had brought up the idea, Will had to fight the urge to lash out. He'd meant his snarky comment to be just that: a snarky comment, nothing else. Not a suggestion, not a request. Jack knew that, too, but he was simply trying to get revenge for Will's attitude.

"I think that having you two work together on this would be useful," he'd said. "You're both very intelligent men. You can offer perspectives, work off of each other. Just try it out for me."

Will knew he had no choice in the matter. So he brought the papers to his next session.

Lecter stared down at the folder, bemused. "Will this conflict with your therapy? If I'm working with the FBI?"

"Technically, you're still not an FBI psychiatrist. We're just interviewing you. Asking for your advice."

"Is this a roundabout way of asking to interrogating me? I have multiple alibis, I'm sure." He smirked. 

"No interrogation. Just advice. You know plenty about the human psyche. And two minds are better than one."

"Then I would love to help." He ambled over to his desk, reaching into a small cup for a pen. He took the folder from Will, scanning the document quickly before signing his name on the line. His handwriting was perfect, curled and sophisticated. "As long as the discussions between you and I can continue."

"They'll continue. Just as normal." Will nodded, satisfied. "They'll be glad to have you on board."

"Will you?"

Will hesitated, sighing. "I'm not glad about any of this. You know that."

"Tell me what you're thinking, then."

"I dreamed about her last night. Cassie Boyle, the latest victim." He rubbed his forehead. Plane rides always sent him into a fog for days afterwards, even if it was only a few hours. There was something about being in the air that made him extremely light-headed, and he would always feel on edge when he was away from home. 

"Her alone? Or with the other girls?"

"She joined the circle. They're all screaming for my help."

"Tell me some of the things they say."

"Just, like...begging for help. Sometimes, they say, 'he's going to find me.'"

"That's an interesting choice of words. Implies that their killer was actively seeking them out, rather than stumbling upon them by chance. Implies that they tried to hide."

Will's body twitched, a habit that surfaced whenever he was fatigued. Lecter took notice, yet said nothing; he could see in Will's face that the words sparked something in him. 

"Is this difficult for you? Are you feeling empathy for the victims, as well?"

"Cassie had her lungs removed." Will's face flushed. "She was impaled on antlers. It's hard to not feel gross about it all." 

"We can assume he ate the lungs, yes?"

"Yes."

"They haven't found any of the other girls?"

"No, they've found a few. That's how we know about the organs. But not all of them."

"It's extremely interesting to me." Hannibal leaned back in his chair, a knuckle over his mouth in thought. "This killer, out of some obsession or love for his daughter, kills girls who look just like her. All the while his dream is to kill her. But why?"

"Like you said, obsession. Desire for connection. He just can't do it to her."

"I'm hoping that means we have more time. But why display her like this?"

"That's the thing," Will said. He assumed that it was okay to talk about now, since Lecter was technically a consultant on the case. That was part of the contract, anyway. "If he'd done this to the other girls, we surely would have found them by now. And the organs were removed at a different time from Elise's. Cassie's lungs were removed when she was still alive, which must have been torture. But Elise was cut open after she died. Everything about this scene is different."

"It's like a different personality took over entirely."

Will's eyebrows drew together. "And that's what I told Jack. Maybe this is some sort of copycat. He knows enough about the case to follow the victim type. He knows the hair color, eye color, all of those things. But he's either unaware of the organ discrepancy, or he's trying to sound the alarm on purpose. Show that he's not the exact same person. The Shrike has a method; he knows how to hide his victims. This...this is something different."

"Cassie was tortured. Elise was cut open after she could no longer feel it. The Shrike hides the bodies. It's almost an act of honor, not disgracing the bodies, not putting them on display."

"The Shrike's victims are everything to him. This girl was nothing. Less than that." Will glanced up into Hannibal's eyes. Hannibal seemed nowhere near as surprised as he'd been, but Will had begun to think that Hannibal didn't have the capacity to show any emotion but stoicism and subtle interest. "We have two killers. We have the Shrike, and then we have a copycat."

"And they couldn't be more different."

"This scene is just too different from the rest of them. It was practically gift-wrapped for the FBI. For me. It's a perfect picture of everything the Shrike isn't. It's a tool for me to use to see inside the Shrike's head." He shook his head in disbelief. "I wouldn't have had as much insight about the Shrike if I hadn't seen this. Someone wanted us to figure this out. They wanted the Shrike to be caught."

"They're doing that in the way that'll get the most attention. They want to shock you into clarity and grab your attention in the quickest, most efficient way."

Will's phone began to ring. A gross sense of deja vu washed over him, and he dreaded the news of another body. That was the only reason Jack was calling him nowadays.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I told Jack not to call during--"

"I'm assuming it's something important. I'd hate for you to miss it."

Will answered. "Hey--"

"Will, you need to get over to Unity now. We've got a major break."

"Wait, the hospital? What's going on?" 

"The Shrike acted out sooner than you thought. We found another girl. She fits the profile."

Will opened his mouth, but Jack started up again before he could speak.

"She's alive," Jack said. "She's alive, and you need to get over here now."

The phone beeped with the dial tone. Will dropped the phone, and it landed face-up on the floor. He was breathing heavily, quickly. His brain began to ache with the sheer magnitude of thoughts running through it. 

"Shit. I have to go. I have to..." Will fumbled in his pocket for his keys, which jingled in his shaking hands. He dropped those as well and let out a strangled sound, something along the lines of a scream or a groan. "Fuck."

"What happened, Will?" Lecter stood. 

"They found another girl. She's alive. She's alive, and she's at the hospital, and I need to get over there now."

"You're flustered. Breathe."

"I have to go." He could hardly keep his legs from shaking as he walked. 

"Will." Lecter rushed to him and planted his hands on Will's shoulders, grounding him. "You're in no state to drive. Let me take you to the hospital. We'll come get your car later."

Will, lost in himself, nodded. His vision was foggy. Lecter ushered the two of them out the door and into the car. As he drove across the city, Will watched the world rush by, and he wished that he had the power to make it all stop. 

"Why?" He murmured. "Why is this happening? It's not fair. It's just not fair."

Lecter shook his head in agreement. "No," he replied. "No, it's really not. But you have the power to fix things." He gripped the wheel. "You have a lot more power than you realize."

"How? How can I fix something this terrible?"

Lecter paused. "You take matters into your own hands. As much as possible."

Will buried his face in his hands for a moment. "I'm sorry about this. I'm sorry that you have to take me, and--"

"Will. We're going to be working together. We're going to be collaborating on a case, and you and I are technically no longer meant to be therapist and patient." He glanced over at Will. "I want us to consider our conversations as just that. Conversations between coworkers, between friends. This is what friends do for each other."

Will bit his bottom lip. "...Thank you."

Hannibal nodded.

They were silent the rest of the ride.

~~~

Call to 911 Dispatch, Duluth, MN

January 28, 2013, 5:33 PM

Dispatch: 911, do you need police, fire, or medical?

Caller: Medical! We need medical!

Dispatch: Okay, ma'am, and where are you?

Caller: Right off the 35, coming onto...exit 55. Right by 55. You have to come quick!

Dispatch: What is the nature of your emergency?

Caller: I was driving back from work, and— and this girl just came running out of the woods. She damn near ran into the street! She's bleeding all over the place...

Dispatch: You said she's bleeding?

Caller: Yes! She— she had her throat cut. She's bleeding. She's awake, but she won't answer me. It's okay, sweetie, it's okay. They're coming.

Dispatch: You pulled over to help? Do you know where she came from?

Caller: No, she just came outta nowhere.

Dispatch: Has she said anything? Does she know the person who did this?

Caller: I can't get her to say a word. Who did this? Who cut you?

Dispatch: Have you tried to stop the bleeding?

Caller: I've got my jacket wrapped around her neck. It's stopped some of it, but we need medical! Are they coming?

Dispatch: They're coming, ma'am, it'll just be a moment. Keep tending to her. What's your name?

Caller: I don't know! [REDACTED]. Oh, God, I think she's fainting.

Dispatch: Okay, they're coming as fast as they can. I just need you to please stay on the phone—

[Call terminated.]

~~~

A young girl with dark hair lay helpless on the hospital bed, her face pallid and her throat covered in crimson bandage. Her breathing was slow, as if she were simply sleeping peacefully, and clear wires stuck out of her like veins. It had been hours, and she hadn't woken up yet.

Will, filled with rage and unease, shook his head. "I can't fucking do this," he muttered. "Come get me when we're leaving."

He turned and darted out of the room. Down the hallway there was a small bench, where he sat and buried his face in his hands.

He couldn't confront that girl's helpless form. It was too similar to Elise's. To all of the other girls who had appeared in his room and taunted him with their ghostly forms. They blamed him for failing as a detective, for not finding the Shrike soon enough. Now, one could potentially be alive to blame him herself. Because she definitely would blame him. Who wouldn't?

The hallway was cold, bright, and empty.

"Will."

Will looked up, startled. Hannibal was standing over him, gazing down with an unreadable look in his eye. He nodded to the empty space beside Will. "May I?"

Will nodded. Hannibal took his place next to him. "I apologize if I'm overstepping a boundary, but I would like to talk about your time in homicide."

Will let out an involuntary gasp, his shoulders stiffening. He didn't turn his head. "Jack told you."

"Not much. I want to hear the rest from you."

Will paused. "I..I don't like to talk about it. It wasn't the right place for me, mentally."

"Is there anything you would like to tell me? Anything you're comfortable with."

"I suffered there. I stepped away for a reason. Turned to teaching." Will leaned back. "But Jack was insistent I return. This case was getting too out of hand."

"And that's a good enough reason to ignore your own sanity? Your own personal safety?"

"If I can help people, I'm going to help people."

"But you aren't helping yourself. I don't care about anyone else's life, Will, you're my friend. I care about your life."

Will didn't answer. He took a deep breath and thought about his next words.

"Homicide was different. I wasn't...I didn't have as much experience. Hadn't build up the calluses yet. But I've got them now. Things should be better."

"Desensitization isn't always a positive thing. I would assume the Shrike is desensitized."

"I don't think that's the case." Will shook his head. "If anything, he's too sensitive. Too attached to one girl. I'm curious as to how this one got away, though."

"Do you think this is the girl?"

"I don't know. Possibly. She couldn't have been in that good a shape. She was bleeding from the neck. Do you think he let her go?"

"That, or she played dead. Waited for him to walk away."

"In that case, he'll probably be looking for her. He doesn't want her to slip away again."

"He's fixated on a specific person." Will felt Hannibal's eyes boring into the side of his head. "Why do you think that is?"

"It's his only connection. The only one who understands him." Will swallowed. "Maybe she helped him. Can't bring himself to kill the one girl who understands him, helps him, so he settled for the next best thing. Until he couldn't anymore."

"Maybe she threatened to expose him. His reputation meant more to him than her."

"No. No; that's not it — it's the opposite. She's the only thing that matters." Will felt himself gaining momentum, the realization moving him along. "He would rather kill her than have her reject him. Would rather have her die a hero than become a villain to him."

"As opposed to the copycat, who doesn't have any respect for his victim."

"Right. That's the part he's getting wrong. And he'll never get it right — this kind of sadistic sociopath isn't going to be able to change his mindset. He can't switch from hatred and disdain to love. Not without years of developing a relationship, at least."

Hannibal nodded, staying quiet for a moment. Will could tell he wanted to say something, and he decided that it would be easier if he took the matter into his own hands.

"I had to leave homicide because I had a breakdown," Will said. "I was deemed too unstable to continue."

"Do you feel comfortable telling me what happened?"

"Not right now." He sighed. "But it's what got me my autism diagnosis. It was a panic attack combined with an autistic meltdown."

"I'm very sorry to hear that happened to you."

"It was a diagnosis I needed. But that didn't make the incident worth it."

"How has your diagnosis changed things in your life? Does it upset you?"

"No. I'm fine with it. I know who I am. I just got overwhelmed that day, and so I went to a doctor hoping to get some anxiety meds, and he referred me to the specialist instead. Took a dumb little test, and there you go. Autism Spectrum Disorder."

"Are you afraid of something like that happening again? Since this case is so intense?"

"I don't know. I'm on the lookout. But I can't ever know for sure."

"You need to pay very close attention to yourself, Will," Hannibal urged. "Otherwise, you'll lose control without knowing it first. It'll strike out of nowhere."

"I can take care of myself."

Hannibal nodded, although there was a hesitation. "That doesn't mean you have to. Or that you should."

"I'm the only one I trust to do it." Will pressed his lips into a thin line. "I don't think Jack exactly has my best interests in mind."

"You can trust me. I promise, Will, if you ever need anything, you can trust me."

"I don't want to drag you into my world. It's not a great place to be."

"It can't be anywhere near as bad as some places I've been."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I live in Baltimore."

Will laughed, relieved to let himself go for even a brief moment. "It's arguable which place has more murders."

"Is this something that's good for you? Or are you going to struggle? You don't need to be afraid to step away."

"Can I get back to you on that?"

"Think about the present. Are you okay to continue with this case, Will?"

"Yes." He looked up at Hannibal with a hardened determination in his eyes. "I'm going to find this guy if it kills me."

"Oh, that won't happen." Hannibal frowned. "I'll make sure of it."

"Will!" Jack's booming voice rang all the way down the hall, reaching them from the opposite end. Both of the men swiveled to see Jack standing halfway outside the girl's room, beckoning them frantically. "Get in here. Hannibal, we've got to find a nurse, now."

Will stood up, nearly tripping over himself to dash down the hall. He ran into the room with dread creeping through him. He paid no mind to Jack and Hannibal, who were scrambling to find someone. They were speaking, but Will heard nothing.

The girl was awake. She was awake, and she was gasping for air, fumbling with the tubes in her neck and wrists. Will could hear the faint squeaks of a stifled scream in her throat as she pawed at her oxygen mask. He ran to her. 

"Hey, hey, hey," he said, firmly but with kindness. "Don't do that. You'll hurt yourself." She had tears in her terrified eyes. "You're safe. You're alive."

Her heart monitor was beeping rapidly. He took her hands gently, bringing them away from her throat. "You're going to be alright. You don't have to do or say anything, okay? Not right now."

Her mouth was moving underneath her fogged oxygen mask. Will couldn't make out the words.

"Sir, step back, please." Jack and Hannibal returned with a nurse. Hannibal took Will's arm and ushered him away from the bed, ignoring his protests. The nurse hovered over the girl, fixing her IV and calling for more help. 

"She's awake," Will whispered. "She's alive."

Chapter Text

The next few days blended together, a heavy, viscous mess of hospital treatments and skipping meals and just sitting, waiting, for something to happen. Will refused to leave the room often — he wanted to be right there when the girl gained the strength to speak. Hannibal always stayed with him. At times, they would talk to the girl about surface-level topics, but most of the time, both of them just gazed down in silence at her as she slept. She slept more and more as the days went on, and throughout that time she never said a single word. The men never let anyone else in; the press was too intrusive, and no family members had come to claim her. Freddie Lounds had tried to fight her way in, but Hannibal had scared her away.

The girl hadn't shown any sign of recovery. She was getting worse, it seemed: paler and paler by the day, her wound leaking and requiring a change of bandages more often. Jack was getting impatient. He wanted to get back to work on the case, and the two men that he was relying on were both busy with something completely unrelated, in his eyes. But this was the case. This girl could hold important information, and she needed someone to be there for her. Someone she could confide in.

One evening, three days after the attack, Will opened his eyes as Hannibal reentered the room. He didn't remember seeing or hearing Hannibal leave.

"Hey," Will said, voice thick with sleep. He had taken to napping on the room's hard couch, which hadn't provided much comfort. It was more like unconsciousness than restful sleep. He often felt worse than he did before. 

"Figured you'd want a boost," Hannibal replied, holding up one of two Styrofoam cups that exuded light steam. He set Will's cup down on the table next to the couch. "Fair warning, though: it's the worst coffee I've ever had in my life."

Will smirked. "I have lower standards than you." He took a sip, and his face involuntarily scrunched up at its acidic taste. "Oh, wow, that's awful."

Hannibal laughed, a melodic sound that made Will's mouth quirk up. He got the feeling that Hannibal didn't laugh often. For a moment, the two of them smiled, the severity of the situation forgotten. Will's muscles ached from his odd position on the couch.

"Maybe it's best if you go home, Will." Hannibal returned his gaze to the girl. He stood protectively over her bed. "They're going to release her face soon. Try to identify her."

Will understood what this meant: the FBI didn't think she'd ever be able to identify herself. "...She's going to die, isn't she?"

Hannibal remained silent, pondering. "I don't know."

"She doesn't look good. Maybe you were right to be apprehensive."

"I don't want to be right. I want to see her get better." Hannibal shook his head. "But I worry about her. The nurses say that she's likely gotten an infection."

"They can't fail her," Will said softly. "She's been through enough."

"Maybe this is the better option."

Will stiffened. "How could you even--"

"Do you think she's the ticket? The one he's been after all along?"

"I...I don't know. But even if it was, she wouldn't be better off dead."

"Didn't you think it would be his daughter? That would mean her own father would have done this to her. And we haven't had a mother claim her yet. No one has. Who knows what's happened to them."

Will leaned back against the pillows, his limbs sagging like lead weights.

"If she lives, and she is his golden ticket, then she will suffer greatly because of it. Not to mention the man is still out there. What if he isn't finished with her?"

"I wouldn't let anything happen to her," Will assured him. 

"You cannot be her everything, Will. That's not your job. You can't let yourself get too close."

"I just want to help her. Protect her. That's my job, after all. And I didn't do it well enough."

"You did the best you could. You can't blame yourself."

"I don't know. I don't fucking know." Will tilted his head back, holding back a groan. "I feel like nothing is even worth it anymore. I'm slowly dying. She and I both."

"Will." Hannibal rested his hand on the girl's bed frame, contemplating something for a long while. "I think there's something I need to show you."

Will sat up straighter. "Okay."

"I need you to stay calm, and I need you to keep an open mind. This is a gift."

"A gift?"

Hannibal stood and stalked over to the couch where Will sat. His eyes were intense, almost like there was a dancing, dynamic world deep inside his pupils. A chill ran down Will's spine. "Do you remember your dream, Will?"

"...What dream?" Will's voice shook.

"You know what dream I'm talking about."

At that very moment, the steady beeping of the girl's heart monitor came to an abrupt stop. She hadn't flat-lined; the green lines had simply frozen in place, halting in the middle of a spike. 

"Shit," Will gasped. "Did that thing just break? Check if she's breathing--"

"Don't worry. She'll be fine. The world has simply given us some time to ourselves."

Will looked out the large window of the room — it had been windy that day, but now all of the leaves had come to a standstill. Nothing was moving, not the clouds nor the grass nor the branches. Unease crept through him, and his heart stuttered as he caught sight of a bird in the distance that had stopped in mid-air. Its wings were spread, but there was nothing underneath it; it was completely frozen in place.

He turned his head back and forced himself to swallow, trying to come up with the right words to say. Before he could speak, Hannibal held out his hand. 

"Come with me," he said. "I think a walk would be good for both of us."

"But— I don't— I'm sorry. Something's wrong. I think I'm seeing things—"

"You're not." Hannibal nodded towards his hand. "Come with me now, please. I don't want to ask again."

Against his better judgment, against his will, he took Hannibal's hand and stood. His body moved of its own volition. It had a mind of its own. As Hannibal walked, Will followed like a moth drawn to a flame — yet he was smart enough to dread the imminent harm that would come from reaching it. Every pace felt like a step closer to something terrible.

"What are you doing to me?" Will whispered. The hallway of the hospital was abandoned and bleak. Even the layout seemed skewed. They stepped through a pair of double doors, and from there it was only a few steps to reach the exit. They'd entered the lobby without going past any elevators or stairs. 

"Wait, we're—" Will looked back and forth between the two rooms. "We were on the fourth floor." He pointed backward. "That's the fourth floor. How are we walking onto the first?" 

"Quicker this way," Hannibal replied, not bothering to turn his head to look at Will. "Stay with me, please."

His words were a rope around Will's waist. He told Will to follow, and Will did without hesitation.

He trembled as they walked out the front door. Outside, a thick white fog had settled over the world, blocking his view of anything over ten feet ahead. He couldn't see the parking lot or the other buildings, just the vague image of asphalt under his feet and the shadows of tall trees that weren't there before. 

The fog touched him, and it was thick and alive. It breathed in and sucked the moisture from his skin. It breathed out and made his body sway. They walked a moment more, and then Hannibal finally came to a stop.

"Hannibal?" Will's voice quivered. "What's going on?"

"I trust you, Will." Hannibal stepped backward, letting himself be swallowed by the fog little by little. "I believe you can handle the truth. You are safe. I am not going to hurt you. Please, stay calm."

"I don't like this. I don't understand."

The wind began to blow, and the fog swirled around Hannibal with ferocity. It blanketed him for a few blinks, and Will was convinced that he'd disappeared entirely. 

A strong breeze swept the clouds away, and Will was faced with a creature that he had never seen nor fathomed before. 

Its skin was deep gray, the color of polluted smoke. It wasn't human; its blank chest and groin made it appear more like a mannequin. It was something with a human shape, but it didn't know the intricacies. On its head was a massive pair of antlers, branching upwards like roots in the ground. They looked indestructible, thick, and velvety, resembling a pair of hands reaching toward the sky.

Will heard a ruffling of feathers, and with a shift of the thing's shoulders there emerged a large pair of midnight wings, smooth and oily like the wings of a raven. It opened its eyes — eyes that were set on an ever-changing face, its features undefined and contorting between multiple identities — and they were a light, cloudy lavender. No irises, no pupils. Just an early morning sky, complete with the last lingering stars.

It was a creature of contradiction, embodying both infinite darkness and infinite purity. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Will could picture it in religious scripture, replicated in marble next to the other angels and gods in the halls of a palace. He couldn't take his eyes off of it.

He felt the blood rushing in his ears, and his chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. He sank to the pavement as his knees gave out. He wanted so badly to scream, but something had taken hold of his throat, and he was too choked up to even let out a whimper. The temperature dropped rapidly, and goosebumps rose all over his body.

Will. The creature's voice was musical, ringing with multiple timbres and pitches. Will couldn't pinpoint one specific voice in the mixture. It didn't have to open its mouth to speak; Will could hear its voice in his head like it was his own.

He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. He'd been so exhausted the past few days — there was no way this was real. His head suddenly began to pound.

You are not dreaming, it said, taking a step closer. Oh, God — he knew what Will was thinking. This is exactly what I wanted you to see.

Staring at it sent pulsating waves of nausea through Will. It was something that humans weren't meant to see, and his stomach roiled as his body rejected it. His vision narrowed, and he retched. His mouth tasted of copper. The closer it got, the worse the symptoms got.

"Please don't hurt me." He could hardly decipher his own voice over the ringing in his ears. "God, please don't hurt me. I'll do anything."

I've already told you I'm not going to hurt you, Will. I promise.

"Where's Hannibal? What did you do to him?"

I'm right here. 

"Are you saying that's you, Hannibal? Is this..."

Yes. It's me. This is who I've always been.

"Did I die? Are you here to take me away?"

No, Will, you're very much alive. I simply wanted you to see what I am. To understand who you've been speaking to this entire time.

"What are you?" Will's teeth chattered with the cold and the terror in his veins. "Are you God?"

I am the devil.

There was a vice gripping Will's lungs, an invisible corset getting tighter and tighter until he was sure he was going to suffocate. He was having a panic attack. He knelt on the ground, raking his fingers through his hair. "No. No, no, no, no. Please, please don't hurt me." 

Stand up and come closer, Will. I don't wish to hurt you. You are safe.

Will wanted to refuse, as he felt safer the farther away he was, but his body moved on its own. As he neared closer, he began to realize how often this had happened — how many times Hannibal had requested something and, without much thought, Will had acted along with the reflex to follow, to obey. It was instinctual. 

The air got more biting as he approached, and it became harder to breathe. He was reaching the summit of a mountain, the air thin and frozen in his lungs.

It looked down at him. Its skin was dark onyx, like a magnificent statue. It peered down at Will with an intrigued glint in its eye.

"What are you going to do to me?"

The devil shook its head. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I just want to talk to you. To suggest something that I believe would benefit us both.

"What do you mean?"

A deal, if you will. An agreement between friends.

Will took a step back, adamantly shaking his head. "No. No! I know better than to make a deal with...with you."

Listen to me. You haven't even heard what I have to say. Will was now enveloped in the fog, his skin turning pale and the hairs on his arms rising. It was so, so cold. It can't hurt to listen, can it?

"I can't make a deal with you. I don't...I don't want to go to Hell."

You won't. I will swear on my power right now — you won't go to Hell just for making one little deal. 

"I won't let you trick me."

I don't want to trick you. I want to help you. Its face was kind, a tenderness in its gaze. I want to give you what you yearn for most.

"I don't want anything. I don't want what you're offering."

You were willing to take it before, when I was in my other form. What is so different about this? 

Tears began to spill down Will's cheeks. The devil reached for him, gently wiping them away with its thumb.

You are haunted. Tortured by girls you can't save. But I will make them go away, Will.

Will's heart skipped. As much as he hated to admit it, he was interested. "How?"

It doesn't matter how. It will hurt initially, but then you won't notice a thing. It smiled softly, taking Will's hand in its own and running its thumb along his skin. Its touch was freezing, and it made Will's hand buzz like his nerves were falling asleep. I'll take them away, and you'll finally be left alone. They won't come for you in your sleep anymore. You will find that sweet and easy peace you're searching for.

"You can't. You're lying to me."

I can do anything. This will be very easy, and you only have to give me something small in return.

"What do I have that you could even want?"

Something very important to me, but that matters little to you. It will be very easy. It squeezed Will's hand. In return, I'm asking you for your soul when you die.

"No. No, that's not going to happen." Will tried to pull his hand away, but the creature had him in an iron grip. "I'm not giving you my soul. You're going to torture me."

I'm not going to torture you. You aren't going to be sent to Hell to suffer, Will. I swear to you. I swear on my life and all the power I have.

Will shuddered at the thought of his entire identity, the essence of his mind and body, in the hands of this terrifying thing. "The devil tricks people. I won't let you draw me in. What would you even want with it?"

It will remain with me. I will hold it with me in my realm. You will not be aware of it; you won't be suffering. I swear to you that you will not feel an ounce of pain or unhappiness.

"You just want to keep it? Like some kind of trophy?"

I want it for my own purposes. Ones that you may never understand in this life. It shouldn't matter to you, as you won't be around to experience any of it. You will live out the rest of your life here in this world, and I'll ensure that it isn't cut short. Anything to make this more comfortable for you.

"How do I know you're not lying?"

I am physically unable to lie. It hurts me. It is one of my punishments. It pointed to its throat. Whether you believe me about that, as well, is up to you. But I have not lied to you.

"Please, I don't want this. I didn't want any of this. Just leave me alone, please." 

Oh, but you do want it. You want it more than anything. 

It was right. All that Will wanted was quiet. All he needed was peace. It was a need that had nestled itself deep in his bones, unchanging ever since he'd returned to the field. He would grip onto it until his fingers were bloodied if given the chance.

"You'll make things better for me? In my head?"

Yes. With your cooperation, I bring you peace. Then you give me your soul when you die.

"I...I don't know. I can't. This is too much. I don't even know if this is real!" 

Will. This is very real. But, even if it wasn't, what would it matter? It tilted its head slightly. Will's eyes were drawn to the thick antlers. I can give you everything you've ever wanted. Finally, you can lay your weary head down and sleep.

"Sleep," Will whispered. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks. They burned his frozen skin, and he wiped them away before they could turn into icicles. It seemed like so little to give up for such a wonderful reward.

Yes. How long has it been since you've had a restful night?

"Too long."

I told you to remember your dream. Don't you remember? We've met before. I spoke to you. 

Will gasped. "No...that was real? You were the one speaking to me?"

Yes. I know those words have been running through your head ever since. I've been keeping them there. Say them to me.

"When the stag grows its horns and the fog envelops all, accept what is offered to you." Will couldn't stop the words from pouring out. It felt like his voice wasn't his. "You're here."

Yes. The stag has appeared. The fog is beckoning you. There is only one rational choice.

"I don't want to make the wrong choice. I don't want to throw my eternity away." He couldn't fathom the idea of being tortured for the rest of time. He had no idea how much power this thing held, and he didn't want to surrender himself to it.

But more than that, you want to rest. You want to be protected, to feel that peace. You want to have one day where your brain isn't attacking you. Don't you?

"Yes!" Will cried out, startling himself. "I want it. More than anything."

It knelt to his level, reaching for Will's face. Its palm pressed against Will's cheek, and for the first time, its touch radiated warmth. Will's head tilted to the side, leaning into it without him even trying to move it. He looked into those endless eyes. 

Let me give it to you. Let me help you, Will. It will be so, so easy. Just one word of agreement is all you need to give me for now.

Will choked out a sob. He wanted the help. He needed the help. The mere promise of relief was worth the risk.

All you have to do is let me in, and I will give you everything you've ever wanted. I promise. All it will take is one word, and this horrible cloud that's hung over you will disappear.

"Please don't make me regret this. I'm trusting you. I need to trust you." Will turned his head away, closing his eyes, and inched out a shaky hand. "Yes. Please. You can have anything you want."

After a moment, the icy skin of the devil's hand enveloped his. It wrapped cold, long fingers around his hand. His arm tingled.

Thank you, Will. This is the best decision you will ever make. You will never regret this, it promised. Now, hold still. This will hurt, but only for a moment.

Before Will could react, he heard a shrill ringing in his ears. His body somehow got even colder, and his head began to throb with unbearable pain. It penetrated his skull, reaching into his brain, and he doubled over in agony. Millions of tiny needles were digging into his brain, worming their way deep inside. He heard screaming, the same cries that had invaded his dreams for years, and his ears nearly bled with the assaulting sounds.

Through all of this, he couldn't let go of the creature's hand — it was gripping Will with an inhuman strength, leaving him unable to let go.

Hush, Will. Hush. It's nearly over. It's alright.

"Wait, stop! Stop, it hurts!"

Then there was a blinding flash of light and a rush of freezing wind—

And a high-pitched tone suddenly startled him out of his dream.

He opened his eyes to find himself still lying on the couch, the sunset shining orange through the window of the hospital room. He was inside the girl's room, far away from the first floor of the building. He was drenched in sweat, and his face was smeared with tears.

The prolonged beep continued. This sound was unmistakable: the girl had flat-lined.

He shot up into a sitting position, jolting at the sight of Hannibal sitting right next to the bed. He was completely normal, with no sign of the creature that Will had come across before. He was exactly as he'd been before. 

At the noise, though, Hannibal shot out of his chair and into the hallway, calling for someone to come in and help. The motion startled Will into action.

He stumbled over to the bed, holding onto the frame. Something inside of him told him that this was useless. There was nothing that was going to save her now. She was gone. She was all of the evidence they had, and she was gone. She'd been mercilessly slaughtered like some kind of animal. Nausea churned in his stomach.

She would haunt him tonight. The fear in Hannibal's eyes proved that his encounter was merely a stress-induced dream. He'd been coping by imagining a situation where this could all go away. As beautiful as that seemed in theory, it was completely out of the realm of possibility. 

Hannibal returned with multiple nurses, who busied themselves with the girl's equipment. They ignored the two men, too frenzied to even tell them to leave. Will stood by him, shuffling closer. He sensed some kind of invisible thread sprouting from his chest, pulling them closer together. Perhaps it was the remnants of imagining Hannibal like that. 

"She's gone," Will said. "They're not going to be able to bring her back, are they?"

"I'm so sorry." There was genuine grief in Hannibal's voice. He wrapped his arms around Will, hugging him, and it was the safest Will had felt in a long time. It was all a terrible dream. It must have been.

"I have to catch this guy. It's just going to keep getting worse." Will blinked, holding back tears. "And I need to catch him fast. I just want to fucking rest."

"You will rest well. I always keep my promises."

Will's entire body twitched. He squeezed his eyes shut. "You--"

"Don't panic. You made the right choice," Hannibal murmured under his breath. "We made a deal. Our souls are connected now. I'm under oath to help you and protect you. We'll solve this together."

"No. God, no. I was dreaming. It was a dream."

"You have accepted what was offered to you. I'm afraid there's no turning back now, Will."

Will heaved a silent sob, and Hannibal pulled him close. 

"It's going to be alright," he whispered.

The young girl was pronounced dead as the two of them stood there, a dark shadow towering over a mere man.

Chapter Text

Will wandered the hospital like a zombie, unsure of where exactly he was going. He paced, raking his fingers through his hair and fighting back tears. What the hell had he done? What kind of spell had come over him for him to be that stupid?

He still wasn't sure if he had hallucinated all of it. He'd been so distraught from the death of that girl that maybe he'd still been halfway out of it. Maybe he was still trying to cope. 

He went into the bathroom, turning on the sink and letting the water pool in his hands. The splash of the cold water shocked him awake. The rest of the room slowly faded as he took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. 

"It's okay," he said to himself. "It's gonna be fine. It's all gonna be fine."

He kept breathing. All around him, the sound of the churning air vent morphed into an autumn breeze. The buzzing of the fluorescent lights turned into the chirping of crickets.

Will.

He opened his eyes with a gasp.

All around him were the silhouettes of large oak trees enveloped by a white fog. He couldn't see far in front of him, just the little bubble that he stood in, and he started walking down the path covered in fallen leaves. Someone was weeping, and the cries echoed through the forest. The cloud parted for him, and with each step he heard the sound getting closer and closer. 

He came to a clearing, where the trees broke apart and created a large circle. In the middle stood the shadow of a massive creature, a creature with broad wings and a pair of antlers that stretched so far upwards that he couldn't see the end of them. Its eyes were glowing against the dark shadow of its skin, and kneeling on the ground in front of it was the source of the crying: a lone man, keeled over at the feet of the being, begging with all of his might, please please please please--

He was startled out of his reverie by a hand on his shoulder. He jumped, stumbling backwards against the sink. He was expecting to see Hannibal, watching him once again, but it was just Jack-- who, to his surprise, looked just as downtrodden as him. 

"You need to go home," he said. "Go home, rest, and come back on Monday. I'm ordering you to rest, Will, you got it? That way you'll be in good condition to keep up the work."

His head in a fog, Will nodded. Hannibal was nowhere to be found, so he was able to slip out unnoticed and begin the drive home. 

He drove in complete silence, watching the faint rain come down onto his windshield. The whirring of the car along with the movement was relaxing, and he took the time to let himself think. He couldn't help but feel somewhat ashamed of himself, but he wondered if that was just hindsight coming back to bite him. Back at the hospital, with the creature standing right in front of him, it seemed like his only choice was to comply. Hannibal had evoked some kind of desperation in him that he'd never felt before. Standing there with Hannibal's undivided attention, offering him everything he'd ever wanted — it had sent him into a frenzy. He was almost unwilling to let go of his hand, as if holding on long enough would bring them closer together. His beauty was something else, something spectacular. 

Still, he'd made a deal with the Devil. Any sane person would advise him against that. And now he couldn't shake the feeling that he was trapped. 

His cabin in Wolf Trap was a welcome sight, even though he'd just come back the previous day. He hadn't been present then; he'd simply wandered in a stupor, feeding the dogs and then going right back to the hospital. 

He got out of the car and turned towards the sunset. It was nearly gone, the sky a rich purple as the last sliver of sunshine sank into the earth. He anxiously awaited the arrival of the dark. 

The dogs barked and crowded him as soon as he opened the front door. He welcomed them with open arms, sitting on the floor and letting them have their way. They fought for attention, butting their heads together and pawing at Will's clothes. Bacon, his pug, scrambled onto his lap while making noises reminiscent of a choking pig. Will smiled. 

"I missed you guys," he said. "I missed you." If he couldn't count on anyone else, he could count on his dogs. 

He went through the long process of feeding them, letting them out, and changing their water, and as he worked he found himself getting more and more exhausted. It was like the feeling of home had reminded his body of sleep, how greatly he needed it. He was afraid to listen to his body, though; he had no idea what was in store for him, and he didn't want to find out. He regretted giving Hannibal the power to toy with his brain.

When he led the dogs back into the bedroom, a sharp bark rang through the room. He turned his head to see Max, his German Shepard, baring his teeth at something invisible, something right near Will's bed. The other dogs followed suit, some cowering in fear while others yipped and growled at whatever was there. Will tried to find what they were so scared of, but he couldn't see anything. 

Then, all of a sudden, cold fingers traced his shoulders, and a breeze rustled his hair. He blinked, watching a shadow emerge from behind his bed, a human-like body with antlers and wings. The creature was inside of his house, watching him.

It vanished when he blinked, but Will knew that he was still there.

"So this is what you meant when you said our souls are connected now," Will said to the wall. He hugged himself, shuddering. "There's a little bit of your soul inside of mine. You're going to be with me no matter what."

He didn't get a response, but the dogs abruptly stopped barking and gathered around Will's legs like they had before. They'd sensed Hannibal's presence, but Will's had won over. 

"Hey, it's okay." He knelt down to the dogs, trying to hide the tremors in his hands. He wrapped his arms around the German Shepard. 

"It's okay." He buried his face into the dog's fur, inhaling the comforting scent. "It's...it was just Dad's new friend." It felt better to describe things that way. To make light of it. 

He sat there for a long while, but eventually he got up and changed into boxers. The dogs didn't bark again. 

He wanted to avoid sleep, but it was futile. The bed was so enticing. Whatever happened was just going to have to happen. If it killed him, then it was his fault for being so stupid. 

He sank into the mattress like he was made of stone, and he fell fast asleep the second his head hit the pillow. 

It was a deep sleep, dreamless but for the view of the clouds at twilight. Will was floating in the void — the darkness was welcoming, enveloping him not with malevolence, but with the promise of safety. It was like a quiet stream, a soft blanket. There was not a single sound from any ghost; no glimpses, no screams, no touches. There was only quiet, comforting blackness. 

A beautiful voice hummed softly in his ear. It was wind chimes, birdsong, the melodic tunes of crickets. It was the most calming sound that he'd ever heard in his life. He curled up into the arms of the sky and let himself be held. 

He was disappointed to have to get up. The outside world was now too bright, too loud. The sun was shining through his bedroom window, and the dogs were whining to get out and taste the fresh air. Disoriented, he turned to look at the clock on his bedside table. 

Almost ten in the morning. He'd slept for fourteen hours straight. 

His sleeping pills sat untouched next to the clock. For the first time in what felt like years, his eyes were wide open, not weighed down with exhaustion. He felt like he had shed a burdensome part of himself. He was utterly awake, more so than he'd ever been.

He forced himself to get out of bed and let the dogs out. As they ran, he sat on the front porch, letting the sun seep into his skin. The little taste of warmth let him drown out the winter air that was settling in his lungs. He wondered now if he would always be cold, if the Devil had permanently made a home inside of his bones.

He wasn't sure what else to do, so he pulled out his phone and called Hannibal. 

He answered instantly. "Will. I was hoping to hear from you."

His voice struck an unexpected mix of emotions in Will. His heart lurched in instinctual fear, but the rest of his body relaxed. "What...what did you do to me?"

There was a pause on the other end. "Sleep well?"

"Hannibal, what did you do to me?"

"I gave you what you asked for. I hope you're satisfied." He spoke like this transaction was nothing to him. "It's the least I could do, for the gift you've given me."

Will took a shaky breath. "What does that mean, exactly? The soul thing. What does it mean for us?"

"We'll talk about it more in-depth later. You'll remember our session on Tuesday?"

"Yes. And I'll be back to work Monday. We need to talk."

"I look forward to it."

"Hannibal." Will spoke before Hannibal could hang up. "I...I slept well. Really, really well. It was amazing. Thank you."

"Wonderful." There was a smile in his voice. "It'll only get better from here."

~~~

Will got two more nights of restful sleep before he drove back to work on Monday. He had spent the days recuperating, fishing and resting and trying to think about dead girls as little as possible. When the sun would set and the house got dim, he looked forward to the moment he pulled the blankets over him and the dark encompassed him. It was like floating in the ocean, light and free, and he would sleep uninterrupted for hours. He'd set up an old tripod camera one night to record himself, to make sure that nothing suspicious was happening to him while he slept, but the footage was uneventful. He was as motionless as a corpse, a small smile on his face.

He'd been waiting for a moment to catch Hannibal alone, but Jack ushered him into a meeting room as soon as he walked into Behavioral Science. The only other person there was Hannibal, whose eyes flickered with interest as Will walked in. 

Jack stood at the end of the long table and placed his hands down on it. Silently, he opened the file.

"We've gotten insight into the girl who escaped." He pointed out a picture of a smiling girl, and Will's stomach churned with the memory He swallowed a lump in his throat as he felt Hannibal's gaze on him. "Her name's Abigail Hobbs. Aged nineteen. On a gap year, going to college this August, living alone with her father. He said she went out to run an errand for him, and she never came back. We have footage of her entering a gas station at about 4:30 PM, driving her car — she comes out with a bag, drives away." Jack pointed out various pictures: the car, the gas station footage, pictures of the home.

"Where's the car now?" Will asked.

"Found not too far from where she stumbled out of the woods. For now, it seems likely that someone lured her into pulling over, attacked her, and she ran."

"Any fingerprints on the car? Or Abigail?"

"Nothing but her and her father."

"Could it be a stranger?" Hannibal chimed in. "Acts like he's in danger and needs help, taking advantage of these girls' kindness?"

"I'm willing to believe that in this situation, but it doesn't explain how there's been so many girls who all look exactly the same. It'd be a hell of a coincidence for him to always find these types of girls out there. And we'd have more witnesses."

"It's what I told you in the field, Jack. Abigail is the golden ticket." Will examined the pictures again. "He couldn't bring himself to kill her because she was the one who meant the most to him. We need to look into members of her family, specifically the father."

Hannibal nodded. "Her killer being a family member could also explain why no one stepped up to claim her. And why it would have been even harder for him to hurt her in particular."

"We should look into boyfriends, uncles, family friends, but the father is the one we need to focus on the most."

Hannibal furrowed his brow. "Does the father have an alibi?"

"Name's Garrett Jacob Hobbs. He was at work, doing construction. He needed Abigail to run out and grab some small things for him." Jack flipped over to another page. "The bag was found in the car. Cigarettes, couple bottles of soda. We have witness testimony that he was at work that day. Clocked out around six. Abigail was found at 5:30."

"Any chance that the witness could be lying for him? Or that he found the chance to sneak away? Construction is a busy job. Hard to tell who's who."

Jack raised an eyebrow, as if this was an outrageous thought. "I suppose so. But would he really do this to his own daughter?"

"People are capable of anything." Will glanced at Hannibal. "I suggest looking into Hobbs again, and then move onto friends, partners, former classmates. We're looking for a man with an obsession."

"There's going to be a vigil Wednesday night at the family home." Jack raised his eyebrows at Will and Hannibal, now leaning rather close to each other as they both bent to look at the file. Will understood the assignment before Jack could even speak.

"I'll go," he said. "Take a look around."

"I'd like for Doctor Lecter to go with you. You two look after that, while we chase the lead on Cassie Boyle down here."

"Yeah, anything on that?"

"Her closest family member is her brother, Nicholas. Quite frankly, he hasn't been very cooperative — he's already been charged with a misdemeanor a couple years ago. Petty theft. Doesn't like cops. We're going to try and get the most casual interview possible with him, since we have to ease him into things."

"If he's innocent, then he'll know nothing of a copycat. If he's guilty, then he'll be the only one who knows it," Hannibal said. "Do not let that information get out. It could make or break his innocence."

"Right. If he admits to knowing something about it, if he admits to knowing that this is someone other than the Shrike, that's when we start to wonder if he had anything to do with it."

"Got it." Jack closed the file. "I knew you two would work great together."

Hannibal smirked.

~~~

"So you've been sleeping well."

Hannibal looked rather pleased with himself, sitting with his legs crossed and watching Will pace. Will picked at the skin around his fingernails.

"What the hell did you do to me?"

"Are you unhappy with the results?"

Will sighed. "No. No, I'm...I'm great, actually. I just don't like the idea of you toying with my head like that."

"It was more simple than you may think. I did nothing to change the chemistry that a psychiatric drug wouldn't do. It's a slight tampering of neurotransmitters mixed with a larger influx of sleep hormones." He studied Will. "What does it feel like when you sleep now?"

"It's...it won't make any sense. Not with what you just described."

"I believe we crossed the line of sensibility a long time ago."

"It's soft. Soothing. I feel like there's a weighted blanket on me, and once I'm asleep, I float. I'm alone in the ocean. I'm being held. Someone is cradling me, taking care of me."

"You feel safe because the girls are gone now. Your brain must be inventing a reason for that feeling of safety, such as this unseen caretaker. You're rested when you wake?"

"More than I've ever been."

Hannibal listened with rapture, his expression sly. He knew exactly what he'd done. Will was indebted to him; more than that, actually. He'd given over a part of himself that was so raw, so intimate. He didn't even know until a few days ago that it existed-- and now Hannibal would have it in his clutches forever. 

"Do you like to talk about yourself?" Will asked. "Because I have more questions than I can even store in my brain."

"I like to talk about you." Hannibal gestured toward him. "I've lived with myself for thousands of years. You, on the other hand, I don't know much about."

"And I don't know much about you. I've given you something that's apparently very important to you, so you should at least offer up some information."

"I will give you information when I feel that the time is right." He steepled his hands under his chin. "I am not required to tell you anything. Any fact I give you is a gift."

"Are you feeling generous?"

Hannibal's mouth twitched. "I'm willing to hand over information, sure."

"Can you tell me what all this soul stuff means?"

"I'll try to make sure it's not complicated," Hannibal sighed. "Every living being has a soul. Or, rather, they are their soul. Without the soul, there would be no being. Without your soul, Will Graham would not exist. You would be a blank, catatonic human being with nothing more than a functioning brain stem. It's your essence. The thing that gives you your instincts, your drive, your heart. It's a very powerful thing."

"You have one, too?"

"Yes. And now that we've made a deal, and you've agreed to give me your soul, there is an invisible tether between us. Whenever you die, your soul will not slip away; it will stay with me. The deal has made it so I will never lose it."

"You said I wouldn't be aware after I die, though. It sounds like souls are aware."

"I said that you wouldn't feel suffering, not that you wouldn't be aware at all. You'll exist, but it's likely that you'll spend most of your time asleep or in a pleasant daze. It won't be much different from how you feel when you sleep now."

It wasn't as terrifying of a thought when he put it that way. "Will I have a body? Or a shape?"

"Yes. You will be given what is called a celestial body, which is what your soul will contort into when you are dead. It's an embodiment of the soul itself, usually. Most of the time, human celestial bodies are hidden inside of stars or small planets up in Heaven, since there's so many of them. They're delicate little things."

"So what was that form of you that I saw?"

"That is my celestial body. Mine is much bigger than a human celestial body. Of course, I cannot inhabit Earth looking like that, so I had to take on a different form. A disguise." He pointed to his own body.

"Have you always worn that body?"

"That's not something I want to tell you right now." Despite the dismissive words, Hannibal didn't seem too upset at the question. Will pushed forward. 

"If I didn't make a deal with you, where would my soul have gone? Is it, like, Heaven or Hell?"

Hannibal paused. "There's no point in discussing that, is there? It's not the case. You made the deal, and nothing can change your fate now. And now, we can work on healing you."

"Healing me? Was the sleep part not all of it?"

"I offered you peace. You don't seem very peaceful right now," he remarked. "My end of the deal was to give you peace in every aspect of your life, not just in sleep. To do that, you need therapy — therapy with me, ideally. I'm the only one who understands what you're going through."

"I don't know if I'm capable of being healed." Will rubbed his temple. "I'm a mess. It takes a deal with the Devil just to get me to sleep well."

"But you're not at all hopeless. You've merely been shaken. Just pottery who needs to be repaired." His eyes were piercing. "And I will repair you. I will mend your cracks and fill them with gold, Will."

"You have to understand my apprehension. You've proven to be nothing but cryptic."

"Of course I understand, but it needs to be fixed before I can do anything. The first step of therapy is a willingness to change. A surrender of trust."

"What if I don't trust you yet?"

"You will."

He sounded so sure, so confident in how Will would feel, that it aggravated Will. He didn't need anyone poking around in his head and predicting his future. "What's even the point of therapy if you can mess with my brain all you want? Why not just save some time? Mold me like clay instead of fixing the pottery?" Will snapped, but he immediately regretted it as he remembered who he was talking to. Hannibal, however, didn't seem to mind. He chuckled coldly.

"Will," he laughed, "I could absolutely do that to you. But where's the fun in that? Where's the challenge?" 

"You're looking for a challenge? Not easy work?"

"Do you want me to go in and mold your brain even more?"

Will didn't answer. 

"I don't think you understand. I could mold your brain into whatever I wanted it to be and then leave you alone for good. Wait patiently for your death until I can get my end of the bargain. But I like you."

"You like me?" Will repeated, baffled.

"Absolutely. You're interesting." Hannibal smiled. "I could do things the easy way, but I've existed here for millennia. I can do what I want with my time. And I want to spend it with you." He turned his palms upwards, leaving the offer to Will. "Either way, you'll find your peace. Will you let me take the more natural route?"

Will nodded, albeit hesitantly. "Of course. I'd prefer it that way."

Hannibal nodded like he knew that answer was coming. "Perfect. Then let's continue."

Chapter Text

The dreams started the night before Abigail's vigil. 

Will had sunk into his bed, anticipating the comfort of sleep, but he'd instead been greeted by the chirping of crickets and a damp, suffocating fog. Rather than darkness, there was a forest. Rather than feeling safe, he felt alone and afraid.

He began to walk. The leaves underneath him were slick. Will figured it was because of the humidity, but when he looked down he stumbled over himself in shock.

His hands and forearms were covered in dark blood. With every step he took, he left a trail with an uncertain origin.

His stomach was wet, and he looked down at the crimson splotch that was slowly expanding on his shirt. Despite not feeling any pain, his legs were so weak that he could barely keep himself up. It hit him all it a sudden, and he felt leaden. Every step was torture, and he fell to the ground. Bloodied leaves left imprints on his cheek.

"Help," he rasped. "Someone help me."

An invisible hand swept the hair from his forehead. Its touch was cool, and Will felt something breathing in his ear. Gusts of cool air rushed right next to his neck as the presence hovered over him. It should have been threatening, but it wasn't. It was a comfort, the embrace of some powerful protector.

The nape of his neck tingled. Every part of him ached. A voice began to sing.

He woke the next morning in a cold sweat.

~~~

"Can you enlighten me, Will?"

The candlelight vigil for Abigail Hobbs was being held at her cabin in Minnesota, which meant that Will and Hannibal had to fly there. The two of them sat next to each other on the FBI jet, where Will had been avoiding his gaze the entire flight. The cockpit was cramped and stuffy, and Will felt thousands of invisible eyes on him despite Hannibal's head being turned away. Electric power wafted off of him, making the hairs on Will's arms stand up. Nothing was normal anymore, but none of the other officers noticed anything out of the ordinary.

Now the devil was talking to him. Will looked over at him warily.

"I'm always interested to learn from my patients. What does grief mean to you?"

Will blinked. "Me specifically?"

"You specifically. When you think of grief, what do you envision? Do you feel grief for the victims you used to dream about?"

Will considered this. "I don't know if it's grief, so much as guilt. It's extreme guilt. I feel like I could have done something about it, could have saved them before something happened to them. But I wasn't fast enough."

"You are not the one that killed them. There is nothing to feel guilty for."

"It's easier said than done. Or thought."

"Have you ever grieved anyone directly, Will?"

Will hesitated. "I don't know."

"You aren't sure?"

"I've never lost anyone personal to me. I've never had anyone personal to me." Will rubbed his forehead. "Never had a mother. My father and I don't speak. No siblings. Never had a ton of friends, and the ones I knew back when I was a kid are all still alive."

"No one has to die for you to feel grief."

"I've grieved some of my dogs. Does that count?"

"It's nowhere near the same as humans."

"Grief is grief."

"Which is?"

"From what I can tell, it's...it's still guilt, I think. There's a lot of guilt involved in grief. Guilt over things you didn't say, things you missed out on, things you didn't get to give to that person you lost. Experiences that you'll never get to have again. Guilt over not living out those experiences to the fullest."

"You consider grief to be a self-deprecating experience," Hannibal said. "Even if a person were to die of natural causes, something completely out of your control, you would still feel bad about yourself. You would find a way to twist it into something that is your fault."

"It's one of the only things you can control, right?" Will shrugged. "Can't control death. But you can control the way you react to it. The way you feel about yourself. If you focus on the guilt, then you don't have to notice the other parts of you slipping out of your grasp."

"Sadness, anger, they're all too unpredictable?"

Will nodded. "I can predict self-hatred. It's all that's familiar to me."

"Why do you think that is?"

"It just feels innate. Something I was born with, maybe a punishment from some past life. Who knows?"

They were silent for a long while until the plane began its landing. They tilted down towards the ground, and Will's ear canals ached. He swallowed.

"Hannibal?"

"Hm?"

"Don't tell Jack, but this is a very, very bad plan."

They both scoffed. They sat in the quiet, listening to the whir of the plane as they touched down. Will closed his eyes as the plane sped across the runway, wondering if they were ever going to stop.

Later, as they walked towards the cabin, Will couldn't shake the nerves. "I'm gonna try to be as respectful as possible," he told Hannibal. Jack and his crew were waiting in the trees away from the house, out of sight but close enough to run to Will's aid if he needed it. "I don't think this is fair to them."

"I agree. It's not the most professional of us."

"I don't care about professionalism. It's insensitive."

"No matter what it is, this makes us look untrustworthy. That's what we should care about."

The crowd had gathered in the front yard, milling about around a folding table filled with pity casseroles. There was a plastic bag on the ground filled with cheap electric candles, which, judging by the house, was all they could afford. Will patted his pockets: phone, badge, pistol. Jack had wanted him to have a backup plan.

"Okay," he said. "I think the best course of action is to split up, meander slowly—"

"Will. Do you recognize that face?"

Will's head snapped up, following Hannibal's gaze to a ginger-haired man standing at the edge of the crowd. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, and he looked lost in resentful thought. Will blinked in surprise.

"Holy shit. That's Nicholas Boyle." Will pulled out his phone. "Cassie's brother. What would he be doing here?"

"Supporting fellow victims, I suppose." Hannibal squinted. "I would keep an eye on him."

"Definitely. He doesn't like cops, either — keep that in mind. I'm gonna tell Jack that he's here."

"I'll speak to the aunt. Abigail may have been more willing to share information about boyfriends or classmates with her."

"I'll get the father."

The two nodded at each other and took off in their own separate directions. Will approached Abigail's father, trying to put confidence in his step.

"Mr. Hobbs?" He held up his badge with his left hand and stuck out his right. "My name is Will Graham, and I'm with the FBI. We're very sorry for your loss."

"Oh, thank you." Hobbs shook his hand. "Garrett Jacob Hobbs. It's just...it's been so hard. My wife died a few years ago, and she was all I had..." He shook his head, eyes glistening. "She meant a lot to me. And now Abigail, too..."

"I understand completely. I just wanted to clarify a few things with you about Abigail. Shouldn't take long."

Hobbs's face fell a bit. He was clearly surprised by the change of topic, the way that Will had turned this into an interrogation. Will cursed himself inside his head.

"Did Abigail have any boyfriends that you knew of? Any male classmates? Someone who may have developed some kind of obsession with her."

"No, nothing. She wasn't interested in dating, and she was only friends with girls. She did work at the lure shop a couple miles down the road, but I've known Bill for decades. He wouldn't have done anything to her."

Will stored that info in the back of his mind. "Did Abigail seem off that day? Anything that may have alerted you of some danger?"

"She wasn't acting strangely. She was completely fine with running an errand for me." Hobbs pressed his lips into a firm line. "How have you all not figured this out yet?"

"We're honestly working as hard as we can to wrap our heads around this case. We're approaching ten girls being killed, and it's hard to pinpoint what's going on. He keeps slipping from our fingers."

"Well, maybe if you'd stop asking me questions, you could spend your time finding him. I have an alibi. Ask my work—"

Will held his hands up. "Mr. Hobbs, this is by no means an interrogation. We just wanted to gather more information."

"And I'm wanting to mourn my daughter. You all picked an awful time to come barging in. Maybe get back to me when I'm not praying over her grave." Before Will could answer, Hobbs spun on his heel and walked away. He made his way over to Hannibal, grabbing Abigail's aunt by the arm and dragging her away. Will caught up, watching Hannibal's jaw twitch with annoyance.

"She's innocent," Hannibal said, watching them walk away. "I could tell."

Will wanted to respond, to ask how Hannibal would possibly know that, but something stopped him. Hannibal had been nothing but right this entire time. He knew more about that woman than she knew about herself, and they hadn't even spoken for five minutes. Will had no doubt about that.

"Hobbs was just mad that we'd chosen now to come ask questions."

"I wonder why." Hannibal's voice dripped with sarcasm. "What was Jack thinking?"

A woman Will didn't know approached Hobbs and Abigail's aunt, who were both arguing. She put a hand on both of their shoulders, leaning in to say something, and Hobbs looked over at Will with an irate glare. After a moment of staring, he nodded.

When the unknown woman began walking toward them, Will and Hannibal pretended to be focused on another portion of the crowd. It then became clear that she wanted to speak to them specifically; Will figured it wasn't going to be anything good.

"You're FBI?" She asked, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. Both men nodded. "Alyssa's my wife. Garrett's my brother-in-law. Neither of them are very happy about you two being here."

"We figured. We're under orders, though, and we can't—"

"Garrett said he's willing to let you stay if you two come join us for the vigil." She lifted her hand, holding out two candles. The foggy plastic flame was turned off. "Just don't ask too much more until everyone else leaves."

Will and Hannibal each took a candle, and Hannibal thanked her. Will was too stunned to speak, and she walked away before he could even consider his options.

"We can't stay," Hannibal suddenly whispered to him. "It's a bad idea."

"Jack told us to stay."

"No, Will, this is going to be very bad for both of us if we stay here. I haven't told you yet—"

"Hold that thought." The crowd was gathering, and they no longer had any time to deliberate. "This is the only way to get Hobbs to cooperate with us. Gotta build trust."

Hannibal stammered something else out, but Will was already walking away. Reluctantly, Hannibal followed after him.

"We appreciate each one of you coming today," Abigail's aunt announced, stepping forward. "We wish Abigail could be here to see how many people cared about her."

"My daughter meant so much to all of us." Hobbs placed a hand on his chest. "She loved all of you, and she was loved by you. She spent every day with a smile on her face, because she knew she was so adored. We'll miss her every day."

"There's not all that much for us to say. Abigail lives on in all of you, not just us. If anyone has anything they'd like to say about Abigail, we'd love to hear it."

There was a moment of silence, followed by someone clearing their throat. The crowd parted.

Nicholas Boyle stepped forward, clutching a candle. Will's breath hitched, and he leaned in to listen.

"You all may not know me," he said, "but my name is Nick Boyle. My sister, Cassie...she was killed by the same monster who killed your daughter." He turned to Hobbs. The crowd emitted a quiet gasp of surprise. "I'm here to pay my respects, but also because I understand your pain. I'm here for all of you. We'll find this monster. Abigail and my sister both deserve that."

He surveyed the crowd, then he nodded. "Thank you."

There was a polite murmuring of thanks, followed by a sniffle from someone in the crowd. Abigail's aunt shook her head in grief. A few more people talked after Nick, but Will was focused on him and him alone. He noticed Nick somewhat zoning out, as if he didn't care about anything beyond his chance to speak.

"Thank you all," Abigail's aunt finally said. "Let us pray for Abigail, for Nick's sister, for everyone."

The crowd bowed their heads, and Hannibal's body stiffened. When Will turned to look at him, there was a flicker of fear in his face. He reached for Will's wrist, pulling them away from the circle and towards the cabin. Will stumbled to catch up, frantically looking back at the crowd to make sure that no one had noticed.

"What the hell?" He hissed. "What's wrong with you? Did you see something?"

"No. We can't be around that. The closer we get, the more damage it does."

"Damage? What are you talking about?"

...give our child peace in Heaven, and protect her from all temptations of evil.

The two of them were far away from the crowd now, ducked around the corner of the cabin, but Will heard the quiet mutter of the prayer like the speaker was right in his ear. As the words echoed through his brain, his head began to pound. He winced, and Hannibal sucked in air through his clenched teeth as he doubled over.

"Hannibal, what's happening?!" Will asked, panicked. "Hannibal?"

...deliver justice to those who have wrongfully taken our daughter from us...

Someone stabbed him in the chest. He felt his sternum splitting open, ribs breaking, a red hot light flourishing inside of him. Will resisted the urge to cry out in agony. Hannibal's hand was still on his wrist, and his grip on Will was so tight that his nails were digging into Will's skin through his sleeve. They both sank onto the ground, shaking in pain.

...and by the grace of the Lord our God...

A cold breeze surrounded him, and he was the only one to feel it. He heard the faint fluttering of wings, and Hannibal swore in frustration. He placed his hand on his back, trying to conceal something. Will's vision spun.

...her soul will flourish. Amen.

The voice stopped, and once the prayer was over the pain quickly subsided. Will collapsed against the wall of the cabin, breathing heavily, a hand over his chest. He was still questioning if any of that was real when Hannibal spoke.

"I'm sorry." Hannibal cautiously pushed himself off of the ground, holding Will's arm to steady both of them. "Are you hurt?"

"What the fuck. Hannibal, what the fuck was that?!" Will wanted to scream, but he was forced to keep his voice to nothing more than a whisper.

"Oh, yours was merely a fraction of the pain that I felt, Will." Hannibal shook his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't even think about this. It slipped my mind."

"What did you do?" Dread bubbled inside of Will's still aching heart.

"Remember what I told you in the hospital? Our souls are connected now." He wiped his hands on his jacket. "Prayer scalds me. I'm sure you can understand why. But now that we've got this tether between us, it hurts you, too."

"Oh, God. What the hell? What's next, I won't be able to step into a church?"

Hannibal looked away. "Not while service is in session, no."

"Fuck you. I was joking. Goddammit." Will buried his face in his hands. "I didn't know you were roping me into this. You just said that you could have it when I died. You didn't tell me it would affect my life!"

"Don't panic. It's really the only weakness you should have."

"Oh, of course. Then that makes it all okay."

"Will," Hannibal said sternly, startling him. "Take it as reassurance. You've gained a strength in return." He gestured between the two of them. "If one of us has a hurt soul, then the other hurts, as well. You and I are bonded."

"So?"

"So, I cannot hurt you. I'm incapable of hurting you, unless I want to be harmed along with you." Hannibal sighed. "You're practically immune to me. And that's a massive benefit on its own."

Will didn't answer. He was still reeling in shock when Hannibal patted his shoulder.

"Are you in immediate pain? Did you get injured?"

"I— no."

"Let's return to work, then, shall we?"

Chapter Text

Will's phone had been buzzing nonstop since the beginning of the prayer circle, but he had known better than to check it. When he and his devilish shadow emerged from behind the cabin, he stared down at the screen to ignore the glares from other people. He paled when he saw all of the missed calls from Jack. He brought the phone up to his ear, bracing himself for a lecture. 

"Can anyone hear me?" Jack asked, voice urgent. It created a cloud of dread over Will's shoulders, even heavier than the one that Hannibal had caused moments before. 

"No, just me. What's wrong?"

"Katz and company just gave us the DNA results. Nick Boyle's fingerprints and hairs were all over Cassie's body, as well as the antlers she was impaled on."

Will felt the blood drain from his face. Next to him, Hannibal raised his eyebrows. Of course he could hear — he found out everything he wanted to know. 

"That means—"

"He killed her. We're on our way to the cabin," Jack interrupted. "I need you to get him somewhere private, preferably inside the cabin. The last thing we need is for this to be a public spectacle. We'll be there in two minutes."

"I'll keep him," Will assured him. "He'll be here when your guys get here."

"Be careful." Jack, as always, hung up before goodbyes could be exchanged. 

"We were right, Will," Hannibal remarked. "Two killers. Cassie was obviously an amateur job."

"Ridiculous." Will curled his upper lip, feeling sick. Nick Boyle had everything Will had ever wanted — a loving family member — and he took her for granted. Ripped her life away like she was nothing. And now, he was sharing ground with a killer who wanted to take advantage of a mourning crowd. 

"Where's Boyle?" Will hissed to Hannibal. "Have you seen him?"

"Over there," Hannibal flicked his wrist in a subtle gesture. "Alone."

The event was small, and while everyone else spoke to each other in hushed tones Boyle was brooding in the background. There was clear distress in his eyes, emptiness. 

"Stay here," Will said to Hannibal. "Maybe try and do some damage control for our little  abandonment stunt?"

"Oh, don't worry. They won't remember a thing."

Will suppressed a shudder and attempted to look impassive. He approached Boyle calmly, like one would approach a rabid dog that was close to striking. 

"Nicholas Boyle?" He asked, holding up his badge. "Sorry to interrupt. I'm Will Graham— I'm with the FBI." He lowered his voice. "We were actually going to visit you tomorrow until we saw you here. We...we have some new information on the case regarding your sister. We have a suspect in custody now. I wanted to update you on some things."

Nick was a surprisingly good actor— his face contorted into an expression of grief, shoulders falling. "Oh, my God...of course. You really found the guy?"

"Why don't we get some privacy? If you don't mind?" He nodded towards the front door of the house, which had been propped open for guests to enter if they needed. Nick agreed and, with Will following behind, entered the house.

They walked over to the living room farther back, away from any windows. Will shot a text to Jack updating him on his location. Nick stood there expectantly, wringing his hands. 

"I've got my boss on the way. He'll be here in just a minute. He's got more information than I can give you."

"You can't tell me now? Anything at all?"

"All I've been told is that we've made an arrest. Jack told me to bring you inside so we could get you the news, and then we'll make progress from there. We'll have more formal interviews later."

"Did he have other victims?"

Will held up his hands. "I don't know, Nicholas. We'll find out, though."

He heard the rapping of knuckles on the front door, along with Jack announcing the presence of the FBI. Jack approached with just one other officer in tow, sauntering along with his hands in his pockets. Will glanced down at the gun in the officer's waistband, and he noticed that Nicholas did, too. 

The men communicated with mere gestures; Will furrowed his brow, and Jack's eyes darted to the left as he gave a minuscule nod towards the front door. The other officers were outside. Jack must have wanted to avoid scaring Nicholas too much, making him run off. 

"Nicholas Boyle?" Jack waited for Nick to nod. "I'm afraid you and I have some things we need to talk about."

"Right. He told me that you guys had made an arrest?" Nicholas seemed genuinely curious. 

"Yes. We've found some evidence at your sister's crime scene that can't be ignored." He spared a meaningful look to the officer, who retrieved his handcuffs. "DNA evidence has been found all over the scene that's a direct match to the samples you provided. As of right now, we can't in good faith let you roam."

Nicholas stood there for a moment, baffled. "I...no. No, I saw her the day before she died. I hugged her, we were out to lunch for hours. She's my sister! I'll talk to you, you can interview me--"

"As of right now, you need to be talking to the people at the station." Jack said. "The DNA evidence needs to be further processed, but right now the danger is a little too clear. Hands behind your back, or I'll have to have my team subdue you." 

"You don't understand. I swear to God, I had nothing to do with this—"

"Hands. Behind."

Still, Nicholas didn't move. He stared at the floor, a terrified fire igniting in his eyes. He clenched his hands into fists. Alarm bells began to ring in Will's head; something was wrong. The air in the room had changed. 

"Jack--"

Nicholas charged towards them, letting out a cry of frustration. Will was the closest target, so Nicholas reached him first; he elbowed Will in the chest and shoved him into the wall. Will's head hit the wall, and as he reoriented himself, Nicholas tussled with both Jack and the officer. Will figured that Jack would take care of it, but in an odd display of strength, Nicholas was able to push past them both. There was something frightening in his eyes, in the way he bared his teeth, like he'd turned into someone new. 

Nicholas ran for the back door, reaching into his pocket for something. Guns were drawn, and Will was sure that the situation would be over after that. Nicholas was either about to be brutally injured or dead. He braced himself for the loud bang of impact, body tensing, but his heart dropped when he heard the telltale click of an empty chamber. 

Jack cursed, and the officer stared at his gun with utter bewilderment. They were both so flustered, so distracted, that they let their emotions get the better of them; they charged towards Nicholas, who spun around and lashed out. Will saw the gleam of a switchblade, and Jack grunted in pain as the weapon slashed him in the side. Nicholas took the opportunity to bolt, running with an adrenaline-fueled speed that Will had never seen from a man before. That, or his perception of reality, of time, was becoming skewed. The world was slower, Nicholas was faster, his breathing was ragged. 

Will didn't think. He just ran. 

Nicholas had darted out the back door, so he evaded the sight of the officers out front. Will took off after him, shouting around the corner for someone to stop him, but the cabin was too far back for anyone at the vigil to hear him. That, or the bystander effect was holding strong. He ran as fast as he could, fumbling for his own gun. He couldn't hold it up and run at the same time; it was going to slow him down. The most he could do was catch up enough to shoot Nicholas from a fair distance. 

They ran through the forest, twisting between trees and crunching on dead leaves. Will couldn't fathom how Nicholas was still running. It wouldn't be long before he would have to stop; his own adrenaline was wearing off, and he began to feel his heart begging for a break. His chest ached. He gasped for air.

Some unseen force was working in his favor, though, as Nicholas stumbled not long after. His foot snagged on something on the ground, and it gave him enough hesitation for Will to catch up with him. He tackled Nicholas, pinning him to the ground. 

"Nicholas, stop," he grunted, trying to plant his knees on the man's arms. Nicholas was too swift for him, though, and he wriggled his way out of Will's hold. He pushed Will, kicking him in the stomach and sending him to the ground. Will felt rough dirt scraping against his back. He thought that would be the end of it, that Nicholas would turn to run once more, but then the air was knocked out of him as Nicholas lunged onto his chest. He wrapped his hands around Will's neck, squeezing with all of his strength.

Will began clawing at his throat. His grip was too tight— he was choking. He coughed and gasped fruitlessly for air. 

"I shouldn't have come here," Nicholas said, shaking his head. His eyes were frantic, watering with tears. "I was just trying to pay my respects. I didn't do this. She was my sister, for Christ's sake! You have to believe me."

Will kicked, trying to draw attention away from the direction his hands were traveling. His vision was slowly beginning to tunnel. If he didn't take action soon, Nicholas was going to kill him, but there was no way for him to make that known. He couldn't scream, couldn't warn the man that he was about to have another death on his hands if he didn't ease up. No, he was completely powerless -- aside from the one weapon at his disposal.

Will gripped his pistol, flicking off the safety. Nicholas heard the cock of the gun, but there was nothing he could do; Will was the one with the power. He was the one with the deadliest tool.

He pressed the barrel to Nicholas's stomach. Nicholas noticed, and his grip loosened for a moment, but then he returned to his task with full force. 

"No. No, you're just gonna have to shoot me. I can't fucking do this anymore! She's gone, and now I have nothing left. Shoot me, coward!" He began to cry. "And make sure you kill me!"

Will had no other choice. His strength was fading. 

He pulled the trigger.

The blast was so loud that his ears began to ring, all sound disappearing. The gun burned in his hand and the barrel was smoking as it recoiled towards his chest. It smacked against him with heavy force, taking him by surprise, and he cried out in pain. 

Without much sound or flair, Nicholas let go and stumbled backwards, clutching his new wound. His mouth gaped open and closed. Blood began to trickle down onto the grass.

Will gasped, shocked by what he'd done and desperate to regain his breath. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck..."

Nicholas knew that he couldn't run anymore. He lay down on the dirt, staring up at the sky, and Will realized just how close he'd been to shooting the man directly in the heart. He was bleeding profusely, wheezing in pain.

Will took off his jacket and tied it around Nicholas's waist to staunch the bleeding. His hands were shaking, and he struggled to lift the man up without hurting him even more. It was all worthless. Nicholas hardly acknowledged his presence, and Will knew that things were about to end for good.

"Shit. No, no, no, I'm sorry, Nicholas, I'm sorry..." He pressed down on the wound, but blood spilled between his fingers. It was warm and smelled of copper.

Nicholas wasn't responding. His breathing was quickly transforming from a desperate wheeze to something much slower, much less energized. Will was losing him. 

"Jack!" He called out. "Someone! We need medical!"

His neck ached from the lasting pressure of Nicholas's hands. He was going to be bruised, but that may have been a good thing. It was proof that he was trying to defend himself. 

Somewhere in the trees, a group of starlings was calling out from above. Will focused on the sound, letting it ground him, but after a moment even that came to a stop. In the middle of a call, halfway through the bird's cry, the noise came to a sudden halt. It was like something had grabbed them out of the sky, snapped their necks before they could finish their screeching song. Will looked up from Nicholas's body, searching for any sign of life. 

The grass was still. The trees didn't move an inch. The clouds had come to a stop, and there was not a single breath of wind. Dread began to set in.

"Hannibal," Will said quietly. "I need help."

He heard footsteps on the grass, so much louder now that the world had stopped breathing. An enormous black stag came out from the trees, heavy hooves clopping on the ground. It snorted, turning its head to stare at him, and Will saw the world in its eyes. It was too large to be anything of this earth. 

"Will? Will, come back to me."

Will was vaguely aware of Hannibal's voice coming from far away, muffled behind the ringing in his ears. A light flashed in front of his face, a clicking sound, and in an instant his surroundings became known to him. 

There were fingers snapping right in front of his face, and he blinked as he tuned back in from zoning out. His fingers stung horribly, and he realized that he'd picked the skin so deep they were oozing blood. He absently wiped his hands on his jeans, but more blood came rushing out. The stench of blood and dirt permeated the forest.

"There you are. There you are, Will." Hannibal was kneeling next to him on the ground, his hands on his shoulders. "You're in shock. Can you hear me?"

Will nodded, his breathing getting faster. "I killed him," he whispered. "I killed him.." His clothes were damp and sticky, and his view of Hannibal was obstructed by the dots of blood on his glasses. He would never wear those glasses again.

"I know you did." For the first time, Hannibal's presence was reassuring. Will was glad to see him; he had no doubt in Hannibal's ability to help him. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"He's dead. I shot him."

"I know."

"He was..he was going to kill me. He choked me." Will swallowed. His mouth was dry, and his throat scratched like he'd swallowed sand. 

"It's okay, Will," Hannibal said. "You were defending yourself."

"No," Will replied, grabbing onto Hannibal's arm. "No, I could have done something else. I shouldn't have provoked him, shouldn't have chased after him. It's my fault. I'm a monster."

"No, you're not. Look at me." Hannibal shook Will's shoulder. His gaze was steely, determined. "I'll be here to help you. You're not going to be in any trouble. Let's talk about this."

"We don't have time."

"I've made time. Don't you see?"

Will looked around. The slowly widening pool of blood under Nicholas's body had stilled. The world was silent. Hannibal moved his hand up to the nape of Will's neck, and his fingers were like icicles on Will's sweaty skin.

"God, no..." Will whimpered. 

"We have all the time in the world," Hannibal said, his voice low and monotone. 

Looking into his eyes, Will found himself trapped. No matter what he told him to do, Will would think it was the only choice he had. He was comforting and terrifying, steady like an anchor and raging like the sea. Will was reminded of the clash of dark antlers against porcelain skin. Midnight wings and snowy fog.

"Now," Hannibal began, "what happened? Let's get your story straight so you're in the right place when Jack asks you about it."

"He ran off. Jack was trying to arrest him, but something happened. Everything went wrong at the exact same time." Will's eyebrows drew together, suspicion niggling at the back of his mind. "Both guns...they were empty. They couldn't shoot him. Nicholas slipped away in just the perfect way."

"They probably weren't expecting to have to shoot. Maybe the wrong officer was sent into the cabin."

Will finally stood up, his knees locking up and causing him to stumble. His head spun with endless worries. The white noise was just now fading; he'd been in another world and was finally returning to Earth.

"How? Why?"

"That doesn't matter now. What matters is making sure that you're alright, and that you can walk away from this."

"I shot a man. I can't walk away from this."

"If he was trying to kill you, then I'm glad you did shoot him."

Will stayed silent, his nails digging into his palms. The ruined skin on his fingers burned. He must have really been clawing at the wounds.

"You took off after him, yes?"

"He choked me. I tackled him, but he was able to get over me and start choking me. He had his hands around my throat, and I couldn't stop him. I wanted to warn him that he was going to kill me, but I couldn't cry out or anything."

"So you had to take action."

"I just wanted to threaten him, but he wouldn't have it. He started yelling, and he told me that he had nothing left to live for. He was begging for me to shoot him, to kill him. He wouldn't let go unless I did that."

"Shooting him was the only option."

"Yes. I aimed for much lower; I didn't mean to get him in the heart. I swear."

"I wouldn't care if you shot him deliberately in the head. I'm sure Jack won't pry that deep. You were in danger, and you took action." Hannibal reached for Will's face, gently removing his glasses. His vision blurred, his image of Hannibal clustering into one intangible face. It reminded him of his devilish form, that empty face that was always changing. 

Hannibal waved his hand over the lenses, and when he returned the glasses to Will's face they were completely clean of blood. No smudges, no imperfections. It was like they were fresh from the case.

"Are you alright if I resume things, or do you need a minute?"

"Why are you helping me?"

"You asked me to. I'm under oath to help you, remember? Besides, if you die, then that doesn't mean anything good for me."

Will felt a stab of betrayal; he wanted so badly to place his trust in Hannibal, but this was a sharp reminder that he couldn't. No matter how much he tried to help Will, how comforting he was, he was still the Devil. He was the embodiment of evil, and he cared no more about Will than about anyone else. At least, that was Will's perception of things. He was only protecting him because not doing that would spell consequences for himself.

But Will was just as bad. Hannibal had figuratively loaded the gun, but Will had pulled the trigger. He'd murdered a man in cold blood, and he was going to get away with it. 

"How do you feel?" Hannibal asked.

Will didn't answer. There was too much going through his head.

"Doesn't have to be anything complex, Will. What's on your mind?"

Will thought back, channeling the panic he'd felt. "...Bad. Ugly."

Hannibal didn't answer, and Will began to worry he'd said the wrong thing. Then, a sudden wind rushed through his ears, and his stomach lurched forward as the world resumed its natural motion. He heard the deep voices of the police team in the trees, and Jack's figure emerged. He slowed down once he realized what happened, his shoulders falling in a mixture of exasperation and relief. 

Will braced himself for what was going to come next. He was an absolute mess, blood staining his clothes and skin. His eyes were wild; they were the eyes of a man who'd seen more than any other man could ever dream of.

Hannibal, of course, knelt on the ground looking pristine.

Chapter Text

Will was asleep that night when the creature came back for him.

The abyss of darkness that he was floating in began to feel more tangible, touching his skin. It was a cold, wet feeling, and the wonderful silence was now replaced by the rush of the ocean.

Slowly, Will opened his eyes, surprised to find himself staring at the night sky. The full moon shone down upon him like an unblinking eye. A breeze made the hairs on his arms perk up. He lay on his back on the shore, wet sand between his fingers. He smelled and tasted salt.

He sat up and rubbed his head, slowly taking in his surroundings. He was at the bottom of a set of rocky cliffs that stretched far upwards. He brought himself to his feet and backed away, trying to see how far they reached.

Standing at the top of one of the cliffs, staring directly down at him, was a dark figure with antlers. Even from this far of a distance, Will could feel its eyes boring into his, a halo of light surrounding it. 

The wind whispered his name, and he listened. Come join me, it said, the words coiling around him like fog. They enveloped him, curling around his head and loosening his muscles. They were too strong to fight against. He let them take control, and the strong breeze began to push him towards the cliffs like he was possessed. The creature, the angel, held out its hand.

Join me, it repeated. We can stand here together. 

The words were so soft, so comforting. Will strained his neck looking up at the angel; he yearned to be with it so, so badly. He wanted to come closer to it, but it was so far away. Such a treacherous climb.

"I can't," he whispered. "I want to, but I can't."

Do not worry, Will. You will reach me eventually. You are destined to. To Will's dismay, the angel began to walk away from the edge, leaving him alone on the shore.

"No. No, don't leave me." Will reached upwards, but that only seemed to make the cliff stretch farther away. "Help me. I want to be there, too."

You won't be alone much longer. I promise. Soon, you will understand everything.

The dream was over as quickly as it had begun. The moon lowered its lid and blinked, shrouding the world in darkness, and Will was back to the comforting void. He hardly remembered it in the morning.

~~~

Officially, Will was on administrative leave until the middle of next week. He found the idea to be silly. An order to stop working wasn't an order to stop thinking — the cases would always dominate his brain. It shouldn't matter if he was in an office or his bed.

Still, he tried to take it optimistically. Jack felt bad for him, at least as bad as Jack could feel. He didn't take Will's claims with any suspicion, which Will was grateful for. He wondered if Hannibal had any influence over that.

When Hannibal called to say that he'd scheduled an extra session, Will agreed to go. He drove himself and got there early, working up the courage in the parking lot.

Now he sat across from the devil.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Hannibal asked.

"I want to talk about you," Will replied. "If I focus too much on myself, I think I'll go insane."

Hannibal paused. "Society has always been drawn in by the 'eye for an eye' principle. You get in return exactly what you've given to others."

"Murder for murder?"

"And information for information."

The connection clicked. "What do you want to know?"

"Why did you shoot Nicholas Boyle?"

Will's eyebrows drew together. "I told you this. He...he was going to kill me. Had his hands around my throat." Will leaned forward, hunching his shoulders. "I stopped him."

Hannibal looked pleased. Will got the impression that the two of them were playing a game, one that Will hadn't been told the rules of.

"I wasn't thinking at all, to be honest." He picked at his fingers. "It was instinctual. I just had to get him off of me. And he told me that he wasn't going to let go unless I killed him."

"Why do you think he said that?"

"I think that the copycat was driven by emotion. Petulance. I think that once the deed was done, he probably wasn't able to stand it any longer."

"Did the morality of what you were doing ever hit you? That you were pressing the barrel of a gun against the heart of a murderer?"

"It's your turn to answer my questions."

Hannibal rested his arms on his chair. "I can't promise to tell you everything. But I can promise that I'll never lie to you."

"Did you know what was going to happen between me and Nicholas? Or at all?"

Hannibal shook his head. "I can't see or fix the future. It's too flexible, subject to change. I can't fix the past, either — all I can do is affect the present. Manipulate it, halt it."

That made as much sense as it could. "Why did you help me?"

"To prove to you that you can trust me."

This answer stunned Will into silence. Hannibal picked up on his expression.

"I promised to help you, Will. Guide you through your therapy and provide you with pure peace. I am under oath to get that to you," he explained. "It would be unfair of me to step away from you in a time of need, wouldn't it?"

"You didn't step in earlier? He could have killed me, Hannibal."

"If you were really that close to death, I would have felt it. Probably not until after you'd fainted, though. It took you calling my name for me to understand what happened."

"Is that the case? Or were you watching the entire time?"

"Maybe." Hannibal's upper lip quirked in annoyance. "Perhaps I just wanted to enjoy the sight of two animals tussling with each other, bringing each other to the brink of death. Covering themselves in each other's blood and trembling from the impact."

Will listened intently, his jaw set. His stomach churned as he looked into Hannibal's eyes. Hannibal broke the spell, though, breaking his gaze and shaking his head.

"Or perhaps I wanted to help you because, as I've told you before, you intrigue me." He shrugged. "I'm only as powerful as you perceive me to be. If you want to believe I enjoyed watching you suffer before stepping in at the last second, you can. But I can tell you that's not the case."

They sat in silence. Will suddenly felt restless.

"You know, this isn't the typical type of therapy I was expecting."

"I'm not a typical psychiatrist."

Will let out an unexpected chuckle, which Hannibal returned. Will couldn't shake the feeling that he belonged in a padded cell right about now.

"Tell me about your morality now. How do you feel about what you've done?"

"...I knew killing him was wrong," Will said, "just like I knew it was wrong for him to kill Cassie."

"But it felt different, no?"

"It felt very different."

"In what way?"

"I can't really explain it."

"Yes, you can. Tell me how it felt, Will." Hannibal's voice was suddenly stern, and he leaned forward with a hard look in his eyes. "What did it feel like to kill him?"

Will edged back slightly, intimidated by this sudden voraciousness. "Scary."

"But what else? What festered in the back of your brain that you're trying so desperately to shut out? You forget I'm in your head. I can feel something in there."

After being reminded of the walled-up part of his brain, Will thought of Cassie Boyle. Her brutal desecration was committed by someone who was supposed to love her. That, along with the lingering image of the angel on the cliff, made him desperate to confess how he felt.

"....A sick sense of justice," he replied softly. "It was...an eye for an eye."

"Murder for murder." Hannibal nodded, satisfied. "And you came out on top."

"...I won." Will's own words sent a shudder through him.

"What does winning feel like?"

Will forgot about his questions. He was too immersed in the discussion, too afraid of what he would find himself saying next. "I know what I want to say, Hannibal. I just can't bring myself to."

"There is nothing to be afraid of. Did you feel powerful, Will? Was it nice to be the one delivering justice?"

Will swallowed hard and nodded. "And I got away with it."

Hannibal didn't respond, letting Will bask in the meaning of the words. He was ashamed of himself, ashamed of any positive feelings that the murder brought about. That's what it was — not some kind of vigilante heroism. It was murder, on his part and Nicholas's.

Did Nicholas feel as much exhilaration as he had? He pushed the thought away.

Hannibal finally spoke up. "I want you to think about what we've talked about. Think about the principles of justice."

"What's the point of all of this? What's stopping one of Boyle's family members from bringing justice to me? And then one of my family members to them? What stops this cycle?"

"It doesn't become a cycle in the first place. Who would want to avenge a man that, as far as the world knows, perversely killed his innocent sister?"

Will tilted his head back, exhausted by the conversation. These sessions took a toll on him.

"Think deeply about it, Will. Come up with your own theory. What is the point of it all? Murder, justice, power?" Hannibal smiled. "You're a bright man. I think you could come up with something very interesting."

~~~

"Winston, come on. Quit lingering out there." 

Will stood on the porch with his arms crossed, sighing. Winston was a good dog, but he sure did love the outdoors; he was always the first one outside and the last one back in. It often took a lot of coercion on Will's part to get him back inside. 

He wasn't in the mood for it tonight, not with the sun already set and the air becoming colder by the second. He watched the shadow of his dog sniff the leaves at the treeline, taking his sweet time. He'd never envied a creature more.

"Winston!" The dog didn't budge. Will stepped down off the porch. He wanted to take his shoes off and go to bed. The rest of the dogs were back in the house already.

He heard the rustling of leaves as the wind shook the tree branches. He glanced up at the sky, watching a group of starlings take off into the night. 

It was then that he noticed the eyes.

Towering over Winston, nearly as tall as all of the trees in the forest, was Hannibal -- or whatever creature he was. His black skin blended into the night, antlers reaching up towards the moon, and his bright eyes reflected the universe. He spread his wings, and Will immediately fell to his knees. He had no choice. 

Winston started to bark. Terrified, the dog darted around the grass in circles, trying to alert Will of the danger up ahead. His hair was raised as he snarled, but the creature didn't spare him a glance. 

A deep, insatiable itch spread through Will's insides. It wormed under his skin, making him nearly vibrate with discomfort. He felt something simmering inside of his chest like he was going to burst from the inside. Tears sprung to his eyes.

"Please," he said. "Help me understand what's happening to me. Hannibal, what's happening to me? Why are you doing this?"

You will understand. I promise, Will, you will understand very soon. 

"Why can't I know now? I'll do anything you ask. Please."

You are doing enough already. You are doing everything you're supposed to do. Just keep listening to me. Follow my guidance. Do not resist me.

Will opened his mouth to speak, but no sound escaped his throat. Instead, his voice came from nature: starlings called out for him, the trees rustled with a sudden howl of wind, and thunder crackled across the night sky. As the sounds echoed, the being's gaze suddenly softened; Will witnessed a world of emotion in its eyes. Despair, grief, awe. It sank to its knees as well, reaching for him with massive hands that could enclose Will's entire body inside of them.

Oh, Will, Hannibal said. Follow me. For the sake of your life, please follow me. 

"Please tell me what's happening." Again, this did not come from his mouth. It rang through the night, just like Hannibal's voice did. 

Soon. The more you follow, the sooner it will be. Hannibal flapped his wings. Follow me. Follow me.

The ground began to buzz underneath them. Will averted his eyes, and a massive force pressed down on his head, sending his forehead to the ground as he knelt, bowed, worshiped. The talons of dozens of starlings dug into his exposed skin, ready to tear him apart from the outside.

Then, with a start, the spell was finally broken. His phone was ringing. He looked back up at Winston, who seemed unbothered by the vision like it had never happened at all. He clapped his hands, and the dog finally began to run towards the front porch. He pulled out his phone, hands shaking.

"Hello?" He didn't bother to check who was calling. He just needed human contact from someone other than Hannibal. 

"Hate to cut your vacation short," Jack said, "but we just found another body."

Chapter Text

"It's interesting that I'm here to help you with the effects of your job, and I've yet to see you working."

Another girl had been murdered in Minnesota. The news had shocked Will — he knew logically that Nicholas wasn't the Shrike, he was merely a copycat, but he'd settled happily into the feeling that all of this was over. In reality, it was so far from over that Will decided he'd better get comfortable.

Will pulled the rental car up to the gravel driveway of another cabin, parking next to the police cars. "It's not a particularly interesting sight. Nor is it pretty."

A small crowd of FBI employees milled about outside. Will flipped the car into park and leaned back, burying his face in his hands.

"Are you alright?" Hannibal turned his head. Will was regretting letting him ride along in the car with him. He wasn't sure why he'd agreed to it; they'd simply both been at headquarters at the same time that morning and got on the plane together. They hadn't spoken much there nor in the FBI rental car, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Silence was natural with him. 

"I don't want to see another dead girl."

"She won't haunt you. We've made sure of that, remember?"

Will didn't have any doubts about that. "Still, it's a sight you can't fully erase."

"You act as if this is an inevitability. Yet you aren't required to do any of this. This isn't your place anymore. There's a reason you left years ago."

"There's a lot of reasons I left." Will popped open the door and climbed out of the car, making his way up to the front door of the cabin. Hannibal followed like a shadow.

Jack didn't bother with pleasantries. "Her name was Marissa Schurr. Same height, weight, eye color, age, you know the deal by now," he said, frowning. "It's the circumstances that are standing out to us. This is the Hobbs' cabin. It's under the father's name. He hid it from us and didn't say a word about it. The only reason we found her was because we had permission from her aunt to search for information on Abigail."

Will shoved his hands in his pockets. "Well, that's that. Hobbs killed her. He hid her burial ground for a reason."

"I wouldn't have you here if things were that cut and dry. Hobbs is gone— hasn't been seen by anyone since the vigil. This girl was killed recently, likely last night. We would say that he was the killer and call it a day, but we want to be one hundred percent sure. DNA takes a while. You don't. We want confirmation that we're looking in the right direction, and then we want to figure out how to find him."

"What other kind of evidence do you need? The only girl who wasn't immediately mutilated was Abigail Hobbs, the daughter of Garrett Jacob Hobbs. All of the other victims bear a striking resemblance to her, and we figured that the reason he was going after all these girls that look alike was that he had one girl close to him, someone that he couldn't bring himself to hurt."

"Still could have been a different family member," Hannibal said. "We don't know much about Abigail's extended family relationships. Garrett Jacob Hobbs's disappearance could be completely unrelated. Or he's afraid that we'll blame him for the murders, just like we're doing now."

Will shot him an annoyed glare, and Hannibal smirked. "I'm simply playing devil's advocate," he said, clearly thinking this was a lot funnier than Will did.

"This crime scene seems different to me. It's reminiscent of Cassie Boyle's," Jack said. "Will, I want you to go in there and do what you do. Don't let your biases skew the way you see this. No prints. You know the drill. Doctor Lecter, are you going in there with him?" When Hannibal nodded, Jack's gaze became more stern. "Do not touch anything at all. Wear gloves. Hands off the scene."

"Of course."

Will strode off, heading into the cabin with determination. The curtains were all shut, making the inside a stark contrast to the bright morning outside. The smell of death was everywhere now, and out of the corner of his eye, Will saw a bemused look appear on Hannibal's face.

"They leave the crime scene intact for you?"

"Yes." He retrieved a couple of pairs of gloves from one of the techs, handing some to Hannibal as they began to walk up the stairs. "I have to see it nice and fresh. Now, seriously, don't touch anything."

There was only one room in the upstairs section of the cabin, a large attic that stretched across the width of the structure. The slanted roof created a crooked ceiling, and there was only one window at the opposite end of the room that let in the sunlight.

There were antlers everywhere. They protruded from every inch of every wall, creating a maze of velvet that the men had to maneuver through. Some of them scraped against Will's arms, reaching for him and attempting to pull him into their world of death. The sunlight beaming in was broken up by the imposing shadows of thorns.

At the forefront of it all, right in view as the men walked towards the back window, was a young girl hanging from the wall.

Her arms were stuck out, her body crucified. Her dark hair hung in front of her face, her head slumped forward, and she was wearing nothing but her underwear and bra. She was impaled in the stomach and dangling from the wall on various white stag antlers. Blood stained her body, the antlers, and the floor. 

Will could do nothing but stare for a moment. He heard Hannibal's voice coming from somewhere far away.

"Will?"

"This is his antler room." He sighed, remembering what he said about Hobbs at Cassie's crime scene. This was the perfect place for the Minnesota Shrike to do his work. Another point towards Hobbs. "Just let me do this."

He stepped forward, closer to the rotting stench. He took in all the details of the room, the details of the morbid tapestry, and once he felt that he had all the ideas in his head he closed his eyes. Inside his mind there was a golden pendulum, altering reality with each passing swing. It changed the scene around him, turning the scenario into the way he thought it had occurred.

The girl disappeared from her spot on the wall. The antlers were wiped clean of blood. Each drop traveled back upwards into her veins, returning her to a state of life. Will could hear her heart beating. She now stood in the middle of the room, intently inspecting something in her hands. Will took a step towards her.

You are here because you want to be. I lured you here. 

The girl's mouth moved, making some kind of comment, followed by an awkward smile. Will heard none of it. Her light eyes and dark hair reminded him so much of Abigail.

There is something familiar about you. You were at the vigil, weren't you?

He put his hand on the girl's shoulder. There was a flicker of fear in her eyes.

I know Abigail was special to you. That makes you a prime target. It makes it easy to bring you here.

His other hand on her other shoulder. He squeezed. She flinched. There was a look of defeat on her face as if she knew what was about to happen and knew she couldn't run.

You are an artifact. You exist as evidence, proof that the FBI has taken the wrong path. They are looking for me in the wrong place.

This isn't about honor. I am nothing like the man who did this to Abigail. No, this is me showing off my skills. I'm bragging. Mocking you, mocking everyone who has been unable to find me.

He lifted the girl off the ground by her arms. She was lean and light, easy to maneuver, and she didn't show a lot of resistance -- likely because she was shocked. He slammed her body as hard as he could into the wall, letting the antlers do their job. They punctured skin, muscle, and bone, layer by layer until she was reduced to a flailing object, a limp thing. Will relished the sound of her ribs cracking, savored the feeling of her warm blood on his skin. She shrieked until a small section pierced through her lung, causing a sound similar to a deflating balloon.

Anyone who gets too close must be taken out.

Will gasped, his eyes popping open. At some point during the vision, he'd moved much closer to the wall of antlers, and he was inches away from the girl's pale face. He turned to find Hannibal watching him with wide eyes, some passionate emotion dancing in his eyes.

"Fuck," Will said. "It's not Hobbs. At least not this time. It's the Copycat."

"It can't be the Copycat. Nicholas Boyle is dead, and you killed him."

Will flinched at the reminder. "I'm sure of it. It's just like Cassie's death. He's trying to mock us. To mock her."

"Why would it be this girl in particular?"

"She knew Abigail. She had a reason to be here. It was easy to lure her here." Will took off towards the stairs, ready to tell Jack what he'd found, when Hannibal grabbed his wrist with freezing fingers. 

"Tell me what you saw," he said. "Tell me everything."

"I have to get downstairs."

"Tell me," Hannibal insisted. "Jack will give you time. I want to know what went through your head. If you're right about this, then it means that Nicholas Boyle was not the Copycat."

"And I killed an innocent man." The realization hit, and it nearly made him double over with nausea. Hannibal, on the other hand, was more engaged than Will had ever seen him. He was utterly captivated. Will knew that he wasn't going to let up until he gave him the answers he wanted.

"...I can't fully explain it," he said. "But did you see all the things that were downstairs? A framed picture, stacks of journals, some stuffed animals. They were meticulously placed, and the team put a number over them. They were here when the crime scene was discovered, not placed here another time. Whoever killed this girl prepared those things for her to look at.

"None of us have been able to find this cabin yet. Not us, not the press. Hobbs hid it from us because he knew that it was a suspicious place, and we only ended up getting it from the aunt." He had to slow himself down, or the words would tumble out in a mess. "Both Marissa and her killer knew where this place was. There was no sign of a struggle anywhere inside or outside, which suggests she came here willingly. Looking at the way she was lifted onto the antlers, there wasn't a lot of resistance. It's like she had accepted what was going to happen to her."

Will rubbed his temple. Hannibal was staring at him in fascination.

"The best explanation I can think of is that Marissa Schurr was her friend. She knew Abigail Hobbs, was involved with her life in some way. The killer lured her here under false pretenses. Maybe posing as an FBI agent. Maybe he's related to Hobbs, or Abigail, and knows where the cabin is. That doesn't matter as much.

"What matters is that he lured her here under the pretense of going through Abigail's things when really, he just wanted her to come alone. He wanted to murder another girl and display her like this to mock the FBI. He wanted to tease us, to tell us that the search for the Copycat is nowhere near over."

"What makes you think this is a mockery?"

"This is so much different from the other girls. This...this is like Cassie Boyle, like Jack said. Marissa was put on display for the entire world to see, to show that the killer thought of her as little more than a decoration. That's different from the Shrike. Hobbs doesn't mock. He honors. He would never leave a girl like this."

"You're saying that the man who killed Cassie Boyle is the same man who killed this girl?"

"Yes. That's what I think. And that means Nicholas Boyle was innocent, and...fuck. I killed an innocent man." He clenched his hands into fists. 

"You believed Nicholas was a killer. You did what you thought was best."

"Did you know? Did you know from the beginning that Nicholas was innocent?" His face flushed.

"Don't draw conclusions like that." Hannibal lowered his brow. "Would it really matter?"

"I need to know the truth. I'm sick of you hiding things from me."

"As of right now, it seems that no matter what I tell you, you will doubt it. You will think that I am manipulating you, lying to you. And that needs to be fixed."

Will didn't answer. His jaw was tense, and he glared at Hannibal in stunned frustration. After staring into Hannibal's eyes for a while, he wondered how much he really knew about the creature in front of him.

"You must understand my doubts," he finally said. "Humans are taught from the beginning that you're a liar. A manipulator. That's the image of the Devil that we've come to know."

"Innocent or not, he shouldn't have been running from the police like that. Attacking multiple officers. You took action when you saw an unstable man running away, and you defended yourself when he tried to kill you. You had every right to do that. I'm very glad you did it."

Will stared at him. He despised Hannibal's nonchalance, but he also envied it. It wasn't fair that someone with this much power got to roam the world, watching humans dance about like wind-up toys. 

"You were wrong about your job, Will," Hannibal said. "About it not being interesting. That was absolutely fascinating. I appreciate you allowing me to peek behind the curtain."

He disappeared down the stairs, leaving Will alone with a dead girl.

Outside, Will relayed the information to Jack. He couldn't help but fear the repercussions of the truth; even if it was self-defense, he was still potentially admitting to killing an innocent man. He was painting a new picture of himself. The best scenario would be that Jack pitied him. The worst would be that he was punished for his misjudgments. Banned from the FBI and sent back to his classroom when he was finally making progress.

The real situation was hard to read, as Jack didn't seem interested in that aspect at all.

"The Copycat is still out there?" He asked, to which Will nodded. "Do you think he'll kill again?"

"I think it's possible. He wants the world to know that he's out there, flaunting his talents. He's an extremely intelligent psychopath, but his ego will be his downfall. That's where you've got to aim."

"How do you suggest we do that?"

Will sought out Hannibal in the crowd of FBI technicians. He wasn't anywhere to be found. "You distract him," he said. "You give him something to focus on that's more important than killing. A deal, a negotiation to nurse his arrogance for a little while and placate him."

Every word fed the mistrust that had started to grow inside of him. He was describing Hannibal. He was describing a man who had all the power in the known universe, a man who was desperate to flaunt that power. To mock the creatures that were below him.

It didn't mean he was the Copycat. Hannibal had no reason to be the Copycat. But Will could use it to his advantage. If he understood Hannibal, maybe he would understand the Copycat a little more.

He began to walk away, but Jack called after him. He swiveled back around.

"What about Hobbs?" Jack asked.

"We still need to find him. I think that we have reason enough to believe he's the Shrike. This is his antler room, this is where he took the other girls. But I don't think he has any relationship to the Copycat's actions."

He walked back to his car and dropped himself into the front seat, jumping once he realized he wasn't alone. Hannibal sat in the passenger seat, watching him with interest. Will leaned his head back.

"I was wondering where you went. The car was locked," he mumbled.

"Yes, it was. Doesn't stop me." He smiled. "You did a very good job in there, Will. You have a brilliant mind."

Will was surprised by the awe on his face. To him, being on the job was such a natural thing — he hadn't thought about how it might look to others. "It's a blessing and a curse," he said.

"There is an exponential weight on your shoulders, Will, and I finally see the source. You have the curse of feeling too much."

"It only goes so far. I can't see myself in just anyone's position— I'm not super-powered." Will gripped the steering wheel, wanting to drive off but reluctant to leave the scene. "It's just the evil ones. I understand them well. Scarily well."

"Can you understand me?"

"You know well enough that it's not that simple. I can't even begin to fathom what's kicking around in your head. Am I correct?"

He didn't seem fazed by this. When he spoke, it was as emotionless as could be. "Yes," he said. "You are."

Will closed his eyes, feeling a heavy weight on his shoulders. "What reason would the Copycat have to do this kind of thing?"

"I feel that Cassie was to point you in the right direction. As you stated before, it was gift-wrapped. A perfect example of everything that the Shrike isn't."

"And Marissa?"

"In my eyes, it wasn't meant to be a mockery. Not exactly. It was more of a reminder, to see if you could figure out for sure that Nicholas Boyle had nothing to do with either of these deaths. Maybe he saw something in the paper about Nicholas, and he had to let you know that you'd taken the wrong step. That the real killer isn't gone." He nodded. "And you've proven yourself. You discovered that the Copycat is still out there."

"Pretty insightful take. You seem to know a lot about the Copycat, Hannibal."

"What reason would I have to be the Copycat?" Hannibal shook his head. "You're forgetting how much experience I have with humans. Millennia. I was dancing in the clouds long before the creation of your entire species."

"And why should I trust you?"

"Goodness, Will. I've helped you when you needed me most, I've fulfilled my promises, I've been friendly to you, I've let you confide in me. What else will it take?" Hannibal paused. He tilted his head down, eyes fixed on the floor of the car. "Surely you must have learned to question every story you hear."

"What am I meant to question?"

"When I was banished from Heaven, God didn't want me to be able to deceive humans. He took away my ability to lie." He gave a bitter smile. "I've never told you anything that was untrue. I couldn't lie to you even if I wanted to. So your vision of me as a manipulative liar is what you should be questioning."

Will couldn't find a response. He struggled to think of a time when Hannibal had blatantly lied to his face; he omitted, he tangled his words expertly to fit every situation, but he never outright lied. At least, not that Will knew of. 

"He also cursed me with human emotion. Sadness, anger, jealousy, hatred...empathy." He gave Will a meaningful glance. "I've yet to find joy."

"I think you're wrong. I don't think you have empathy. You can't understand what it's like to be human, not when you're so much more powerful than us."

"I understand what it's like to feel more than you want to feel. To be overwhelmed with emotion that comes from outside yourself."

"Then you know how awful it is?"

"Yes."

"Funny how emotion can be such a curse." Will chewed on his lip. "It's the worst punishment God could think of for you."

"Definitely not the worst. It simply suited the crime, in His eyes."

Will hesitated, not wanting to intrude and possibly anger Hannibal. The curiosity got the best of him, though, and Hannibal was a champ at taking uncomfortable questions. "...Which was?"

"My pride got the best of me. I assumed I was better than God. Tried to overcome him."

"And what the hell made you think that?" He'd been right, then. Hannibal's ego would always be his downfall -- figuratively and literally.

Hannibal's face darkened. "We were equals, the two of us. I created dark while He created light. Cold and warmth. Hatred and love. We worked perfectly together, and our harmony was how the world fit in place. But then He left me behind to wallow in the shadows while mankind basked in His light. I was betrayed. I was alone. Of course, I didn't take this well."

"Never heard that story in church before. Never heard it anywhere before, actually."

"There is always a true story, and then there is the one that is told. You cannot believe that God is perfect while also believing that he created death. Disease. Violence." Hannibal turned to look out his window. "I am responsible for the world's imperfections. And where would we be without death?"

"Maybe we wouldn't be under God's thumb." 

Hannibal smiled. "Maybe. But you certainly wouldn't be under mine."

Chapter Text

Will was back in the forest again. He didn't remember how he'd gotten there, just that in the blink of an eye, his surroundings had morphed into a never-ending tree line. His clenched fist went limp, his pistol falling to the ground with a clatter as the body of Nicholas Boyle came into view below him. His vision was dotted with red, nausea rising inside of his gut. The outdoors was drenched in a suffocating heat.  

Will opened his mouth to scream for help, but the only sound that came out was a starling call, scratching his vocal cords and sending a flock of them fleeing from the ground. Then, to his dismay, the body stirred; Nicholas, despite the gaping wound in his body, began to stumble back up. It took a massive effort for him to lift his head and look at Will, his entire body limp like a rag doll.

"You," he hissed, "are revolting." Blood spilled from the hole in his abdomen as he spat out the words. "You killed an innocent man."

It wasn't Nicholas's voice. It was one that he recognized from a different place, one that he'd been suspicious of from the moment they found Abigail Hobbs bleeding on the side of the road.

"Nicholas was innocent. You're not, Hobbs." Will reached down and picked up the pistol again. He knew it wouldn't work, not anymore, but it gave him comfort to have it. "Show yourself to us. Now. Before more people get hurt."

The body's jaw hinged open, its head lolling backward unnaturally. It let out a loud shriek, shaking the trees around them and making the wind howl. Its face contorted, becoming the face of Garrett Jacob Hobbs. The man that Will knew was the Shrike.

"You are not innocent either. When does the cycle end, Will Graham?" He spat out Will's name like it was something poisonous. "When is it okay to kill, and when is it not? Why am I the evil one, but you can do whatever you please?"

Will's eye twitched, his muscles stiff and sweat trickling down his forehead. "I never said I wasn't a monster."

"You're a menace. We both are. Monster is the wrong word— there's only one true monster in this reality." Hobbs shifted his gaze to something behind Will. Will resisted the urge to turn around, as he feared what he would see.

A freezing hand settled on the back of his neck, and Will's body sagged with relief. Whatever the monster was, he was conditioned into trusting it. Hannibal. 

Hobbs laughed, mocking him. "Oh, I get it. He's got his claws in you, and you're letting it happen!" He shouted, becoming maniacal. "What is wrong with you? You're just gonna blindly trust him, let him into your brain like that?"

Will didn't respond. He didn't know what to say; Hobbs was telling the truth. The hand moved from his neck. Hannibal's arm wrapped around his body and rested on his chest. It pulled Will backward until he was leaning against someone else— no, leaning against Hannibal. Will couldn't turn to see his face, but he recognized the figure, the touch, the voice. He moved to whisper in Will's ear, and ice-cold breath grazed his cheek.

"Kill," he commanded, a determined owner coaxing its loyal hound. The word crept from his lips like icy smoke, curling around Will's head and entering his ears. It was such a calming sentiment, the idea that this could all be over with a single move. 

Without a moment's hesitation, Will raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

At the sound of the bang, he bolted upright in bed, his blankets and clothes drenched in sweat. He looked down at his hands and was relieved to see them bloodless and empty. He was home, but he wasn't comfortable.

Still half asleep, he downed the glass of water by his bed before lying back down and staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. He couldn't close them again, lest he fall back asleep. He'd learned early on how well Hannibal's imprint worked— too well. When he closed his eyes at night, he would feel a sudden head rush before losing consciousness; the closest thing he could compare it to was being under anesthesia. It was a blessing and a curse. 

He wasn't completely ignorant; he knew Hannibal had ulterior motives for him. He just wasn't sure what exactly he wanted. He'd only spoken about Will revealing his true self, coming to terms with his identity and finding peace. That was too vague — identity could mean anything.

He certainly wasn't going to find peace through murder. Nightmares, post-traumatic stress, and suffocating guilt didn't constitute peace to him. Hannibal had the wrong idea if that's what he was going for.

He ignored the minuscule thought worming around in the back of his mind. But you liked it, it whispered. You liked killing him. Even if he was innocent, you enjoyed the power that came with it. You only feel guilty because of that power, not because of what you did.

It was something he hadn't admitted to Hannibal yet, but he was sure he sensed it. He had done his best to display disgust at the crimes in front of him, but it was all an act. There was a portion of his psyche that either blocked out the emotion, or it simply didn't care. He didn't know which was worse.

You want to talk to Hannibal. You liked having that voice in your ear.

The thought came out of nowhere, but once it was there it wouldn't leave. Despite the ungodly hour, he reached for his phone, planning on leaving a message and ending it there. He suspected he would regret it in the morning, but his feelings were too distressing to try to sleep on.

The last thing he expected was for Hannibal to answer on the first ring.

"Hello?" Hannibal's voice was unbothered as if he'd expected Will to call. His voice paralyzed Will, erasing any ideas of what he wanted to say. The dream was pushed out of the way, along with any questions about why he was awake— that little thought hiding in the corner lunged out, overcoming Will's common sense. He'd learned to trust that voice, and that trust made him want to spill his secret.

"I liked killing Nicholas Boyle." A weight lifted from his shoulders. There was a long pause, and Will was left to himself to wonder what he'd just done. With his luck, he'd opened a door to something entirely new, something that he couldn't comprehend at this moment.

"I know."

Will exhaled.

"I was hoping you'd tell me soon," Hannibal admitted. "I could sense that it was churning inside of you. It always helps to talk about it."

"What am I going to do?" Will rest his forehead in his palm.

"We'll talk more about it at our session, Will. I don't want to take away from your rest, and if you keep thinking about this then you're going to spiral."

Will was an expert at spiraling. "I guess it doesn't matter whether I liked it or not, right? I'm going to Hell anyway. Fuck, I don't want to go to Hell." Hell had become an all-encompassing fear now, so much more threatening to him now that he knew the truth. 

"I'm afraid that there's no possible alternative, Will," Hannibal replied, his voice softening in pity. Will despised that. "You agreed to give me your soul, which means that it belongs to me now. When you die, you are going to go to Hell."

"There's no chance for me?" He worried at a loose thread on the sheets.

"I'm afraid not. But you're at an advantage. I promised you that things would be different for you. I'll protect you from suffering." He paused. "Is that really what you're worried about?"

Will hesitated for a split second, but that was enough. Now, there was no point in speaking. That hesitation said everything that Hannibal needed to know.

"For the record, you were defending yourself," Hannibal said. "Your actions weren't criminal, and thoughts are never criminal. You've done nothing wrong."

"I just...I shouldn't be feeling this way."

"In what way?"

"I don't care. I killed an innocent man, and I don't care. We were in a fight, and I won, and that's that."

"What does it feel like to win?"

Will gave a shaky sigh. "Powerful. I don't ever have control over anything, but I could control what happened to him."

"You have control over how you see yourself, Will. It's one of the few things you have control over in life. It won't help to hate yourself for what you've done— the past is already past. Once you drop a teacup on the floor, it shatters, and you cannot reverse that."

"I thought you were trying to fix me. Aren't I shattered porcelain, just like the teacup?" Will quipped.

"I can mend the cracks, just as one can repair a teacup, but I can never make you the way you were before you fell. Not all the way." There was a pause. "Even the most experienced craftsmen cannot replace minuscule atoms that are released into the earth upon its shattering."

"That's bleak."

"I find beauty in it. It allows us to appreciate the present even more. It is your job to fix yourself as much as it is mine."

Will set the phone down, Hannibal's voice coming out of the speaker, and began picking at the skin on his fingers. A painful scab opened up again, and he winced. "How can I fix myself when I'm actively coming apart?"

"Go to bed, for one thing. We'll figure this out at our session, okay?"

"Yeah. I'll be there."

"What facilitated all of this?"

"I had a nightmare. About Nicholas, and Hobbs, and...all of it." And you. 

"I apologize for that. I tried to take away that possibility, but sometimes things slip through the cracks. Before you go to sleep this time, picture yourself somewhere peaceful. I'll try to make sure this doesn't happen again."

"...Okay. Thank you. I'm sorry."

"Never apologize for needing me."

Will hung up, leaning forward and burying his head in his knees. He finally found the courage to lay back down, and when he closed his eyes he anticipated the welcoming hold of darkness again. When it returned to him, and that beautiful song faintly rang in his ears, he curled up into himself and let the world rock him to sleep.

~~~

Will sat across from Hannibal the next day with his head slumped forward, hands folded in front of him like a prisoner waiting for his trial. He never asked Hannibal why he'd been awake so late at night, nor did he even mention the phone call. He picked at his skin and tried to form the right words.

"I just want to forget it all," he muttered. "I don't feel coherent anymore. I'm not here."

"You don't feel alive?"

"...I feel like I'm fading."

Hannibal stayed silent.

"I don't know how to explain it." Will stood, tearing at loose skin on his hands as he paced around. "I don't feel like myself. I feel like I've been gradually becoming different for a while now." His fingers were blazing with pain, open scabs now threatening to bleed. Hannibal took notice of his anxiety. "I feel like I exist in the in-between. I'm in limbo, lingering between life and death. I'm not human, but I'm not anything else either."

"You're unable to find a home anywhere inside of yourself. When do you believe this started?"

"Long before I shook your hand. But it's accelerated since then." He tore at a hanging piece of skin and let out a gasp when the pain blazed through him. Blood began to trickle down his finger. "Ow, fuck."

Hannibal got up from his chair and walked behind his desk, rummaging in a drawer before pulling out rolls of gauze and medical tape. He approached Will and raised his brows, gesturing to his bloodied hands.

"May I?"

It took Will a minute to understand what he was asking. When he did, his face flushed. "I...yeah, go ahead." He raised his hands.

Hannibal took one of them, slowly wrapping the soft tissue around the wounds. Will's blood began to dot the white material, and he slackened; Hannibal's touch was gentle, protective.

"...Thank you."

"I can handle you being a danger to others, but I draw the line at yourself. You've been through a lot of turmoil, a lot of self-destruction. Do you find yourself wanting to end your life?" Hannibal asked.

Will nodded without saying a word. He would be lying if he denied it, but his mouth wouldn't allow the words to come out.

"The world is much less interesting without you in it, Will. Besides, we have a deal to finish." Hannibal smiled, finishing the bandaging. "You're not going anywhere on my watch."

Will ran his thumb over the gauze on his fingers. "I only get to relax in my sleep anymore," he said, "and that's just because of you."

"Do you feel peaceful when you sleep?"

"Yes. I almost want to say that you did too good of a job." He choked out an awkward laugh. "I dread the moment my body wakes up."

Hannibal's smile faded, and he stared into Will's eyes with an unreadable expression. "My goal is to give you the same relief in your waking life. Allow you to relax without anyone else's help. That way, the dread will never return."

"When that's over, do you leave? Will the ghosts come back?"

"The ghosts will never be back. What I've gifted you will remain for the rest of your life. I don't plan on vanishing— I like this body too much to waste it. But it's your choice how much time you spend with me."

Will's shoulders fell. It was always an unsettling reminder; he wasn't speaking to a human, not a brain in a body. This was something entirely Other. Something that wasn't born in this body, but was using it like a suit.

"Does Nicholas Boyle haunt you?"

"The idea of what I did to Nicholas haunts me. It's like I've been able to see more clearly inside my own psyche, and I don't like what's there."

"What lies beyond the veil that you couldn't see before?"

"Everything was brighter. Too bright. Loud and overwhelming and blinding." Will shivered. "I felt...a rush of energy."

"It brought you power."

"I've never felt that powerful before."

"You enjoyed it."

"I'm not supposed to enjoy it. He was innocent, Hannibal. There was no reason for me to kill him. I ended a life for no good reason."

"No matter what, innocent or not, it is your first foray into taking another human life. That is a rare, intimate experience. And there is a part of you that enjoyed it, deep down."

Will didn't answer. It was easier to say last night— not necessarily in the light of day.

"When I met you, Will, I could see it in your eyes: you were famished. Desperate for a small sample of the violence that you've always craved. Now that you've had a taste of killing, its flavor will never leave your tongue. It lingers now, as it always will."

"I don't know what you're trying to say. I didn't want to kill anyone. I've never wanted to do that."

"That's not what I said." Hannibal leaned against his desk. Will was drawn to the way his sleeves inched up, exposing part of his inner wrists. Blood was running through those thick veins all the same, the body still chugging along even though its original inhabitant had abandoned it decades ago. "You have a propensity for violence. You so easily transport yourself into the minds of the wicked, as you put it, and understanding them can often be easier than understanding yourself. There's something about their mindsets that intrigues you. You may even envy them."

"No, I don't." Will crossed his arms. "I don't. What would I envy them for?"

"They have a certainty that you lack. The Minnesota Shrike seems to know very well who he is. He knows what he stands for, and he knows how to achieve his innermost desires and get away with it."

"I know who I am." It came out less strong than he'd wanted it to. "And I know that I'm not a murderer."

"Again, I never said you were. But your brain is hyper-fixated on violence, and now you've had the opportunity to act on it. One way or the other, you were going to, but in this case, it happened to be murder."

"It wasn't an intentional thing. I just got a glimpse of what murder tastes like, as you said."

"Tell me, what did it taste like?"

Will's mouth twisted in disgust. "Bitter and rotten. I wanted to wash it out of my mouth in any way I could."

"You wanted, in the past tense. And now?"

"...Its aftertaste has hit. There's a slight sweetness."

Hannibal took Will's hand again, and he just then noticed how much he'd been worrying away at the gauze. His hands were always moving, it seemed.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," Hannibal said. "You did what you believed was right. You administered your revenge for what you believe happened to Cassie. You defended yourself."

"I'm no better than him."

"But you didn't know better at the time." He gave Will a reassuring look. "As I told you, thoughts are never criminal. You enjoyed killing Nicholas Boyle."

"I did," Will whispered in reply. Hannibal nodded, encouraging him. "I...I liked killing him."

"Yes. And that enjoyment doesn't necessarily come from the fact that he was innocent. At the time, you believed you were delivering justice." He let those words sink in before continuing. "Your first step to peace is to accept that. You cannot berate yourself for what's already come and gone." He thought for a second. "What scares you, Will?"

Will's words came out slowly. "I worry that the rest of the world can see inside of me, and they can see something horribly, horribly wrong. I feel like everyone knows what I've done, even though only we were there."

"Is that why you avoid eye contact?"

"I hate feeling like someone's looking into my soul." On cue, he shifted his gaze away, but he mustered up the courage to point it back to Hannibal. "But, if anything, you're the best person to ask. You've looked in my eyes. I've given you my soul to examine. What do you see?"

Hannibal's eyes flickered with anticipation. "Opportunity."

Chapter Text

With everything that was going on with the Minnesota Shrike, the last place Will wanted to be was New Jersey. 

There'd been another murder at a motel, and Jack had warned him that it was pretty gruesome. He wanted Will's opinion on the case; he was convinced it was going to be a quick one. "Just take care of this for me," he said, "and I'll let you get back to the Shrike."

Will had agreed, albeit reluctantly. It felt like a betrayal to all of the girls, specifically to Abigail. It felt like he was letting Hobbs slip away, giving him more time to escape. Jack kept reassuring him that he had other men on the case, that they would take care of it while Will was gone, but Will wasn't having it. He didn't need to focus his mind on yet another killer; he needed all of his focus to be on catching the Shrike.

It also meant leaving Hannibal behind. He wasn't a consultant on anything but the Shrike case, which meant that he wasn't allowed to see behind the scenes here. Part of Will was glad for the break, but the other part of him was missing the company. Hannibal was someone he could openly communicate with, who would always listen. He could always tell Hannibal the truth. Now, the closest thing he had was Jack, which meant he was doomed.

They bypassed the employees on the scene, and Jack whispered a few words to them. They all turned and walked away from the motel's entrance, knowing by now to leave Will to his own devices.

"Room was registered to a John Smith." Jack chuckled. "Big surprise there."

"Appalling failure of imagination." Will wasn't in the mood for laughs. 

"They paid with cash. There are no security cameras on the premises. Another big surprise."

"John Smith one of the victims?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, according to the register. Mutilated and displayed." He exhaled, breath visible in the cold air. "I thought it might be the Chesapeake Ripper, but there were no surgical trophies taken."

Will hadn't heard that name in a while. He shuddered. 

The Chesapeake Ripper was a name that no one at the bureau wanted to mess with. He was infamous, violent, and uncaught. He'd been active for multiple years, killing what was thought to be dozens of people, but somehow he always got away with it. He'd been in multiple states with multiple methods, but one common thread was the brutal displays that the victims were put into. It was like a piece of art, contorting the corpses into some macabre sculpture. The Ripper, like the Shrike, was also an organ thief, taking surgical trophies from every one of his victims. It was likely that he was eating them, as well.

"I'm gonna need you to prepare yourself on this one," Jack continued. 

"I'm prepared," Will sighed, bored. 

"Well, prepare yourself some more. It's soup in there."

"Soup isn't good for the soul."

"Not this kind. Alright, look, there are no jurisdictional rivalries here. The local police begged us to take this. Where's your head?"

He may as well tell the truth. Jack would know if he wasn't operating at his peak. "It's back home, Jack. It's thinking about Garrett Jacob Hobbs."

"We're working on it, Will. I've got my best people searching for him." Jack frowned. "I've got just the thing to snap you back to reality, though."

They shouldered past police officers and into the open doorway. Will braced himself. When he saw what waited for him inside, he had to look away, all of the fine details of the scene blurring and a ringing in his ears drowning out the noise.

Two bodies, one male and one female, were kneeling at the foot of the bed with their hands folded in prayer. They were the perfect representation of repentant sinners begging for forgiveness. Their backs had been flayed, split down the middle and lifted like wings. Thick flaps of skin were held up by thin string, some kind of cable attached to the ceiling. Will stared at the gore under the wings, getting a good look at the near-perfect anatomical view. He saw every vertebra, thick and thin vein, and branch of muscle. There was no blood. Their heads were lolled forward on their necks, hiding their faces.

Beverly, Zeller, and Price were now the only ones left in the room, aside from Will and Jack. They were investigating the bodies with extreme focus. 

"Hooks were bored into the ceiling," Jack said. "Fishing line was used to hold up the bodies and...the wings."

"At least we know he's a fisherman," Beverly said. 

"And/or a Viking," Price quipped, to which Zeller raised an eyebrow. 

"Vikings do this?"

"Vikings used to execute Christians by breaking their ribs, bending them back, and draping the lungs over them to resemble wings. They used to call it the blood eagle."

"Pagans mocking the god-fearing?" Will asked. It felt so much more real now that he knew the truth about how things worked. It was strange to consider himself an insider now. He knew more about the universe than the rest of humanity ever would. 

"Then who's mocking who?" Jack observed the scene from behind, not wanting to inch too close. 

"No, he isn't mocking them," Will corrected. "He's transforming them."

"I don't know if it was a good night's sleep, but he slept here." Beverly knelt next to the bed. "Hair on the pillow and the sheets are still damp. He's a sweater."

"Madness slept here last night." Will stared at the scene in restrained awe. Beverly stuck her finger in something on the nightstand, her upper lip curling in disgust for a brief moment before she turned back to them. 

"He threw up on the nightstand."

"Couldn't stomach what he did," Jack said. "Flop sweat and nervous indigestion."

"Not nervous." It seemed so obvious. Will took a step closer. The longer he looked at the scene, the more he felt drawn to it. "Righteous. Thinks he's...elevating them somehow."

His fingers twitched as he moved to pick them, before realizing that he was wearing gloves. Even if he wasn't, he still had the bandages that Hannibal applied wrapped around them. It wasn't a great idea to go so long without changing them, but he didn't want to get rid of the one thing tethering him to Hannibal's touch. Of course, he wouldn't admit that to himself. 

"I need a plastic sheet for the bed."

Moments later, he cautiously lay back on the bed, ignoring the crinkling of the plastic. Even with the barrier, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was absorbing parts of the killer into his skin, soaking in his sweat. He stared at the angels at the foot of the bed, their heads folded in prayer for him.

He closed his eyes, letting himself drift. 

Once he opened them, he witnessed the room around him change; the light coming from the window shifted, the sun now in a different place. It was earlier in the day, perhaps even minutes before the FBI had found the place. 

This is not who you are, he said to the creatures.

The pendulum swung. The wings disappeared, and the bodies appeared more human now. 

This is my gift to you. 

He heard the wet sound of skin separating from muscle, and their wings unfolded in one graceful movement. The fishing lines sprouted from various parts of their bodies, resembling rays of sunlight. Will gazed back and forth between them. 

I allow you to become angels.

He stared at his creations with pride. Their eyes were closed, faces blank in an expression of serenity. 

They were, in the eyes of this killer, evil. He saw their sin, noticed it in their demeanor, perhaps even watched them from afar, and realized something had to be done. They were being transformed into something holy to atone for their sins. They were being made into something beautiful. 

They were placed like this for a reason. He wanted to make them angels, but he also wanted them for selfish purposes. They were praying over him. They were healing him in some way. 

And now, he closed his eyes once more, I lay me down to sleep. 

But, for the first time since he shook hands with the devil, sleep wouldn't come.

Something was tugging at his heart, controlling him like a puppet on a string. An irresistible force compelled him to sit up, and his chest began to ache as it had at the vigil. Pain began to radiate across his chest, and his sternum was a ball of fire inside of him. He wanted to tear himself open to get it out. 

He saw a dark shadow phasing in and out of existence, kneeling at the foot of the bed in between the two angels. Its hands were folded in prayer, eyes peering up at him in curiosity. Its antlers twisted towards the sky like tangled branches, and it spread a pair of black wings that stretched far beyond the wings of the creations at its sides. 

Will knew he should be afraid, but he was in a different mindset now. He was existing within the mind of someone else, someone bolder, someone who was confident that he held the same amount of power as God. 

He wasn't that much different from the devil, then, at that moment. He leaned forward, reaching out his hand. 

You. He placed his hand on the devil's head, feeling its cool skin. His hand tingled, his nerves going numb as he made contact with something that humans were never meant to touch. You are the most sinful of all, aren't you?

The devil stared at him. For the very first time, Will saw a flicker of what might have been fear in its eyes. Or not fear, rather. Tension. Foreboding. Like Will was about to experience something that it didn't want him to experience.  

But Will wasn't afraid. 

Show me what you've done. Show me your sins. 

There is no reason to, the devil replied. Its voice contained multitudes. You cannot give me the same gift that you've given these angels. 

I cannot heal you, but I can forgive. I can understand. 

Are you sure, Will?

Yes. He'd never been more sure of anything in his life. 

The devil bowed its head. Will closed his eyes.

There was no pendulum, no fanfare. All he had to do was concentrate, and then he was exactly where he needed to be. He saw things differently than he normally would; rather than seeing the world from the point of view of his target, he watched like an outside observer. The mind of the devil was much too complex for him to take on, but he could witness. 

Rather than a shadow, Will saw a man he recognized all too well. Rather than the fires of Hell, he saw a crime scene he recognized all too well. It was a terrible combination, and a wave of indescribable terror washed over him. 

The field where Cassie Boyle was found was dark and silent, the world having come to a halt in the middle of the night. A massive stag's head sat on the ground, its strong antlers pointing towards the sky. There was not an inch of movement from any living thing-- apart from the heavy footsteps of a man ambling through the tall grass. He carried something heavy over his shoulder, and as he came closer, Will was devastated at the face he saw. 

Hannibal Lecter carried the limp body of Cassie Boyle toward the stag head. Will was powerless to stop him, completely set apart from this reality, so he had to watch as Hannibal came to a stop at the stag and held Cassie out like a father would hold out a small child. His arms were outstretched, and he stared at Cassie's face for a long while before inhaling deeply. The wind began to blow, and the trees and grass began to rustle once more. 

Cassie did not move. When Hannibal shifted, she was deflated and limp. Without even having to look, Will knew she was no longer breathing because she no longer had the lungs to do so. 

Hannibal threw her body down onto the sharp antlers with all of his might. The velvet pierced through her body, puncturing every part of her. Her blood soared through the air, spattering the antlers, but Hannibal was able to sidestep every drop. As always, he was pristine. 

In a blink, the scene shifted to a massive, modern kitchen, where Hannibal stood at the counter. The thick muscles of his back were visible through his white button-up as he hovered over something on the cutting board. Will came closer, and he grit his teeth at what he saw: those same hands that had so delicately handled his own, bandaging his wounds with care, were now massaging out a fresh pair of lungs to prepare them for cooking. Hannibal looked down at them with an artful determination, and slowly, he licked his lips. 

A shrill scream rang through the kitchen, and Will spun around. As he did, the room changed again, this time transforming into the antler room at the Hobbs' cabin. Hannibal, ever the common thread in these places, was gripping Marissa Schurr by the arms and thrusting her body against the sharp antlers protruding from the wall. She gasped, letting out a strangled cry of agony. Hannibal didn't even flinch. 

How far, Will?

The antlers crept towards him, entangling his whole body like a prison. He rapidly became powerless underneath the cage, antlers snaking under his arms and around his neck and pinning his feet to the ground-- and soon, they overtook his vision, darkness encroaching. He was completely alone now, trapped, quivering. 

How far? The devil asked again. How far does your forgiveness go? How far before you no longer understand?

Will swallowed the lump in his throat, a thick hunk of cold, raw meat scraping the sides of his esophagus. The taste of blood lingered at the edges of his tongue. 

I don't know, he said. I don't know. But I haven't reached that point yet.

A pair of glowing lavender eyes opened in front of him, staring him right in the face. He looked into them and watched the stars inside of them dance. The longer that he looked, the more that terrible nausea began to overtake him, along with the feeling that something inside of him was going to burst. His chest ached, and his heart-- his soul-- burned with the power of a bright blue flame. 

And then it all disappeared. The light overwhelmed them both, and the hard antlers around him retracted like they had in his very first dream. He was left stumbling, and he fell backward onto the motel mattress. The plastic sheet underneath him crinkled, snapping him back to reality. 

He was left with only himself and the angels in front of him. He squeezed his eyes shut, the world spinning.

After everything he'd been through, after all of the visions he'd had, he knew better than to write this off as a figment of his imagination. Hannibal could read his thoughts from states away, could sense that he had dove into the mind of someone who believed they could see sin. He wanted an excuse to show Will his sins, to convince him to find the truth. 

Most importantly, he wanted to do it when Will was away. He wanted Will to stew over what he'd seen before they spoke again. 

There wasn't much to be said. In fact, there was nothing that he ever wanted to say to Hannibal again. 

He sat up.

Chapter Text

Will avoided Hannibal for the next week.

He ignored his phone calls, skipped both of his therapy appointments, and only met with Jack alone, not wanting to face the truth of what he'd learned. The things he'd seen were unforgivable, deplorable, and Hannibal had lied to him about all of it. He hid the truth from Will with the express purpose of misleading him, making Will trust him when he didn't deserve it.

Upon leaving the motel, Will immediately ripped the bandages off his hands and threw them in the nearest garbage can. Anything Hannibal had given him was cursed.

Hannibal wouldn't let him get away with it, of course. When Will tried to sleep at night, he often caught glimpses of a dancing shadow in the corner of his room. His slumber wasn't as peaceful as it used to be. The air in his dreamscape was colder and quieter. Both of them were troubled, and their souls stirred in discontent.

The silent treatment couldn't last forever. At the beginning of the next week, Will was packing up after a lecture when he sensed a presence in the previously empty doorway. He didn't have to look up to know who it was; his body knew. It thrummed with warmth, betraying him.

"I don't think I want to speak with you right now, Doctor Lecter," he said, his voice echoing through the lecture hall. He suddenly felt very cornered.

"You've been avoiding me, Will." Hannibal's face was shadowed from a distance, his expression unreadable. "It's terribly rude."

"I think you'll live." He shoved the rest of his papers into his briefcase. "I hope you can excuse me. I have to get to a meeting with Jack."

"You could have had the afternoon free if you'd just come to the meeting with me this morning." He tilted his head. "I think you'll find we have plenty of time to talk."

The constant thrum of the air conditioning halted, and the room plunged into silence. Will glanced down at his watch; the second hand was no longer ticking. The meeting with Jack wouldn't be happening anytime soon.

He sighed and leaned against the desk. "I suppose you should come in, then."

Hannibal entered the lecture hall, glancing around at the empty space. "You've missed out on some important information since you've refused to be around me. Jack doesn't understand why you're suddenly unavailable when I'm invited."

"I'm sure he'll understand eventually."

"This cannot go on forever, Will. I'm under obligation to fulfill my end of our deal, and I don't believe we've achieved what we're supposed to yet."

Will looked away, glad there was a large desk between the two of them. Then again, it would take a lot more than a plank of wood to stop the devil. "...Why did you show me those things at the motel?"

"I was curious how you would react to it."

"That's it?"

"I also noticed how distressed it made you to be pulled away from the Shrike case. When you got the call about the Angel Maker, you were very irritated." He rested his knuckles on the desk. "I figured it would be beneficial for you to have the mystery of the Copycat solved. This way, you can focus on the Shrike and the Angel Maker instead."

"You wanted to help me."

"I always have."

"All you did was create more problems for me. More bodies to look after. Another killer to consider." Will narrowed his eyes. "Why did you murder Cassie Boyle?"

"I never meant to create problems. As you suspected, I offered Cassie to you as a gift to help you discover more insight about the Minnesota Shrike. It served as both a gift and a test, I suppose — I wanted to see just how talented you were at your job. And you certainly passed."

"You wanted me to open my eyes to the case? Understand the Shrike better?"

"Yes. And I think I achieved that, don't you?"

"You also took her lungs and ate them. I'm not sure what you wanted to achieve there."

Hannibal pressed his thin lips together for a moment, thinking. "I'm not sure it's something you'll understand just yet."

"Then can you tell me why you murdered Marissa Schurr? And why didn't you take a trophy from her?"

"Once again, I was curious what would happen. How you would react," he replied with nonchalance. "As for the trophy, it would have been too easy, wouldn't it? You would draw connections to Cassie right away. I wanted to give you a bit of a challenge."

He showed no restraint. No hesitation, no guilt. He was as blank as the classroom slate behind them. Will couldn't take his eyes off him. "How many more people have you killed and eaten?"

Hannibal didn't answer. Will glared at him with increasing wariness, taking a step back. "Hannibal?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I've lost count of the ones in this life alone."

Will thought back to the scene in the kitchen, the sight of Hannibal massaging a pair of human lungs with the heels of his hands. Trophies taken from living victims. He tossed the information around in his head, Jack's words from the motel ringing through his ears.

"You're the Chesapeake Ripper, aren't you? You're making displays out of your victims and...eating them."

Hannibal nodded. "Yes," he said. "I am."

Will couldn't handle the sight of this man — this beast — anymore. He was sick of being deceived. He was sick of questioning himself every moment of every day, existing in a constant state of confusion, feeling as if he was a pawn in a game of chess he'd never get to play.

He took his briefcase and walked out from behind the desk, skirting around Hannibal and making it halfway down the lecture aisle. Then, inexplicably, he stopped mid-step. His muscles seized, paralyzing him, and he couldn't move a single inch of his body. A chill ran down his spine, but he didn't have the capacity to shudder.

"What the hell are you doing to me?"

Hannibal stalked closer, standing in front of him with a vaguely amused smile. "We aren't finished."

"Why, Hannibal? Why?" He was more exasperated than afraid. Hannibal had no motivation to hurt him. He'd said it before; their souls were connected, and any harm done to Will would also be harm done to Hannibal. He had that on his side.

The smile vanished. "There's plenty of reasons why. But I'm not sure you've earned that information yet."

"You expect me to trust you again, after all of this? Do you really expect me to want to work with you? To spend time alone with you knowing what you've done?" Will growled. "You've completely broken what little trust I have in you. You think you've earned that?"

"Will." Hannibal raised an eyebrow. "Something interesting I've noticed is this entire time, you haven't been too concerned about my actions themselves. You're more upset about the fact I've supposedly lied to you."

Will grit his teeth. He didn't know what to say.

"Never mind the fact that I never actually lied to you," Hannibal continued. "I am guilty of omission, sure. But I have never lied to you. I hid the truth from you until now because I didn't believe you were ready for it yet."

"And I'm ready for it now?"

"More than you were before. After all, you sat across from me in my office and told me you enjoyed murdering Nicholas Boyle. I believe that shows some development on your end."

They stared each other down, Will's eyes hardening. This was an exhausting mental dance. There were too many secrets being hinted at that he would never get to learn.

"Now, I've missed having you in my office," Hannibal said. "I'd love to see you return. Perhaps you can earn the information you asked for earlier."

He turned around and began to walk away, his hands in his pockets. Will fought against the invisible restraints holding his body in place, but they wouldn't budge even with all of his strength brought against them.

"Hannibal. Let me go."

"Tomorrow, yes?" Hannibal looked over his shoulder. "I can expect to see you there?"

Will grunted. "Yes. I'll be there."

He beamed. "Perfect."

He snapped his fingers, and a rush of wind blew through Will's ears. His body was shoved forward as gravity returned to him, and he stumbled to catch himself. He could hear his watch ticking faintly against his wrist.

Hannibal nodded. "I look forward to it."

~~~

"Why angels?"

Jack's voice snaked through the cotton in Will's ears, breaking through to him as he stared up at the latest display. It was another piece from the Angel Maker, this time a lone man strung high up on the rafters of a building. Streaks of blood rained down from a plastic sheet behind him, and his head hung low to his chest. His arms were outstretched in a makeshift crucifixion.

"...It isn't Biblical," Will replied. "His angels have wings. Angels in sculptures and paintings can fly, but not in scripture."

Then again, he had no idea what the real truth was. Hannibal had wings.

"He's drawing from secular sources?"

"His mind has turned against him and there's no one there to help."

Across the alleyway, Price was writing on a notepad when he looked back up at the scene in bewilderment. "Are those-- what are those?"

Zeller was already on it. He leaned down. "Someone got an orchiectomy cheap."

Beverly pointed her flashlight up at the victim. His groin was clear, the pants untouched. "Doesn't look like the victim."

"The Angel Maker?"

She sighed, exasperated. "He castrated himself?"

"So he isn't just making angels, he's getting ready to become one." The rest of the crew delivered blank stares. "Angels don't have genitalia."

"So he was afraid of dying, and now he's getting used to the idea?" Jack asked.

"He's accepted it, or he's bargaining."

"So does that mean he's done making angels, or he's just getting started?"

"Don't know." Annoyance began to bubble up inside of him. He'd had the longest day of his life; minutes after his confrontation with Hannibal in the lecture hall, he'd gotten the call from Jack about this scene in Cleveland and had to hop on the plane. It was one thing after another. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a full night's sleep. He hoped his slumber would be a little more peaceful since he and Hannibal were on speaking terms again.

Jack shook his head. He wouldn't take such a simple answer. "He's not just killing them when he's sleepy. How is he choosing them?"

"I don't know. Ask him." How was he meant to know everything?

"I'm asking you."

Will scoffed, and the words boiled over before he could stop them. "You're the head of the Behavioral Science Unit, Jack. Why don't you come up with your own answers if you don't like mine?"

The seconds dragged by as Jack turned around. Will's stomach dropped; he knew he'd gone over the line. It was the perfect storm of emotion, building up to an inappropriate outburst. Price, Zeller, and Beverly spun around and walked away from the scene as if they knew the two of them would need the time alone.

"I did not hear that," Jack barked, muscles in his neck tensing. "Did I?"

Fuck. He'd gone too far now. His emotions had gotten the better of him, and most of it was Hannibal's fault. Most of it.

Will shed his glasses. His breath shook as he inhaled. "No, you didn't. I'm sorry."

He couldn't handle the sight of anyone else. He ambled away from Jack, moving closer to the scene of the crime. The angel remained peaceful above him, watching over him. It was a protector on this dark night.

He blinked. For a moment its fleshy wings sprouted black feathers, its eyes began to glow, and the rafters hanging above its head twisted into antlers. It stared into Will's eyes, and Will was captivated.

There was a beautiful stillness to it. The prospect of death's embrace, of never worrying about anything again, giving into sweet and easy peace -- it was magnificent. If he could, Will would have waltzed forward and clasped the devil's hand.

At least in death, this man got to become a piece of art. He had someone to treat him with care, to believe he could become something better. Will had never had that before. Not until Hannibal.

The Angel Maker wanted to turn his techniques on himself. He had come to terms with the fact that he was dying, and now he wanted to make something heavenly of himself. He wanted his death to be worthwhile. He wanted it to be holy, to be important, to have a reason behind it. He wanted to be a martyr.

Will found it hard to disagree. Wasn't that what he'd been searching for, too? Hadn't he reached for Hannibal's hand because he wanted to feel that same liberating peace? The artfulness and beauty that came with stillness and silence?

It was hard to determine where he ended and the Angel Maker began. It was even harder to determine where he ended and Hannibal began.

~~~

Will could almost pretend things were normal when he returned to Hannibal's office the next day. Despite it being prohibited, he'd spoken to Hannibal about the details of the Angel Maker case — he needed someone talented in neurology, someone who would understand where beliefs like this came from. Plus, it seemed right to talk to someone like him about religion. He would always know more than any human ever could.

"There is no one and only spiritual center of the brain," Hannibal said, his gaze focused on his bookshelf. He was looking for something in particular. "Any idea of God comes from many areas of the mind working together in unison."

When he found what he was looking for, he pulled the book from the shelf and tossed it down to Will from the second story. Will examined it; it was a complicated medical journal on neurology. Not his forte.

He flipped through it anyway. "Maybe I was wrong," he replied. "How do you profile someone who has an anomaly in their head changing the way they think?"

"A tumor can definitely affect brain function, even cause vivid hallucinations. However, what appears to be driving your Angel Maker to create heaven on Earth is a simple issue of mortality."

"Can't beat God, become him?" That comment may have been a little on-the-nose, Will realized. Too late now.

"You said he was afraid."

"He feels abandoned."

Hannibal paused at that, examining a book of his own. He thumbed one of the pages. "Ever feel abandoned, Will?"

Will scoffed. "Abandonment requires expectation."

"What were your expectations of Jack Crawford and the FBI?"

He was changing the subject again. Will closed the book and set it on Hannibal's desk for the time being. "Jack hasn't abandoned me."

"Not in any discernible way. Perhaps in the way Gods abandon their creations."

"Well, this should be interesting. Especially coming from you." Will put his hands on his hips, sighing. "Please, Doctor. Proceed."

"Jack gave you his word he would protect your head space. Yet he leaves you to your mental devices."

"You mean to say that God created humans, then left them behind? Punished them, even?"

"Much like Jack, it's an issue of over-reliance and selfish desires. God would not have His power without humans there to give it to Him. Yet He created humans simply to fulfill a selfish purpose, to derive benefit from them."

Will furrowed his brow. "Are you trying to alienate me from Jack Crawford, or from God?"

Hannibal mirrored his expression. Will wondered if he'd failed a test. "I'm trying to help you understand this Angel Maker you seek."

"Help me understand how to catch him."

"If he were a classic paranoid schizophrenic, you might be able to influence him to become visible."

"What, scare him out into the daylight?"

"Might even get him to hurt himself, if he hasn't already."

Will shook his head. "If he were self-destructive, he wouldn't be so careful."

"Unless he's being careful about being self-destructive. Making angels to pray over him when he sleeps." He studied Will. "Who prays over us when we sleep?"

Looking up at him then, Will could remember the fragments of a dream. Staring up at a dark figure on the side of a cliff, towering miles above him and unreachable.

"This case seems to irritate you," Hannibal said. "Care to explain why?"

"It's inconvenient. I want to find this guy as soon as possible and continue with the Shrike. I can't leave until I find justice for these girls. This Angel Maker is standing in the way."

"And what if someone else is murdered after we find the Angel Maker? Another killer to draw attention away from the Shrike?" Hannibal seemed to enjoy the idea. "And it happens over and over again...and you can never find him."

Will clenched his hands into fists. "I," he said through clenched teeth, "am going to find Garrett Jacob Hobbs."

"I have no doubt about that." Hannibal's eyes glinted, enthralled. "My only question is when."

"As soon as I catch this Angel Maker."

"So you admit you're willing to catch him on your own? Without help from the FBI? Speed up the process?"

Will hesitated. He hadn't thought about that, but he realized how obvious the option was once Hannibal brought it up. "I couldn't," he said.

"Hypothetically."

"..If it makes things quicker, then I guess so. Find who he is, hunt him down, turn him in. They couldn't bash me for that, could they?"

"Honestly, Will, I have no idea. I think Jack would be pissed you're better than him, but that's the only certainty in my mind right now."

A small laugh escaped Will's lips. "I'd be willing to find him," he confessed, "and damn the punishments. But I can't do anything without all of the details."

Hannibal smiled. Will waited for his response, but he didn't say a word. He just stood there with a mocking grin on his face— like he knew a secret Will wasn't in on.

Will crossed his arms. "What do you know?" He didn't mean for it to sound so accusatory, but he hated the look on Hannibal's face.

"I know a lot of things."

Will sneered back. "Funny. What specifically do you know about the Angel Maker case that I don't?" He made air quotes with his fingers. "Doctor Lecter?"

Hannibal's face contorted into an indecipherable emotion before returning to the typical blank slate. His position on the balcony suddenly made Will feel a lot smaller. He may have pushed it a little too far. Reminding the devil his tricks weren't working wasn't the best idea.

But no; Hannibal descended the ladder and moved to his desk. "I was in a meeting with Jack Crawford the other day," he said, opening a drawer.

"And?"

"We spoke about the Minnesota Shrike. But there were other files present in the office that made me think of you." He pulled out an unassuming file, holding it out to Will for him to take. Will eyed it suspiciously.

When he didn't reach out, Hannibal opened it for him, and the first thing he saw was a photograph of the motel room scene: the angels, bowing before the bed and praying with spread wings. Below it was a thick spread of documents.

"Hannibal." Will blanched.

"I may have taken it."

"Hannibal!"

"Technically, I made a copy of everything inside. Time was frozen. No one will ever know."

Will understood the smile now, and he couldn't hold back one of his own. He shook his head, taking the file. "You bastard. You weren't going to tell me?"

"Not until you committed to finding him. I did something illegal, and now you're about to do something illegal. We're on even ground."

"You've done a lot more illegal things than me," Will replied, busying himself with the file. Even when it came to this, he was never equal to Hannibal. Hannibal was always a step ahead, whether Will liked it or not. He was always ensuring Will was indebted to him in some way. "Have you looked at any of it yet?"

"I was waiting for you."

Will began to sort through the papers, dividing them into stacks. He started with the motel victims, reading the summaries of why they'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The truth was surprising to read.

"The victims." He pointed to their pictures: one man, one woman. "They were operating under fake names. Falsified the motel registry. They're not Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, they're the Brunners. Holy shit." he pulled out his phone, navigating to the list he recognized those names from. "They're on the Most Wanted list."

Hannibal raised my brows. "Surprising development. They're just as evil as our Angel Maker?"

"Roger Brunner is a rapist and a murderer. His wife is a willing accessory. They've been on the run for months." He shook his head in disbelief. "And look, the security guard in Cleveland was an ex-felon. He wasn't choosing them randomly."

"He must have known of their crimes. Could he be operating as a vigilante?"

"Vigilantes are pragmatic, purposeful. They don't lie down and sleep under their crimes. In his mind, he's doing God's work." He glanced over at Hannibal; they were so close now, faces inches from each other as they hovered over the file.

"So he's making angels out of demons."

"How does he know for sure they're demons?"

"He doesn't have to know. All he has to do is believe."

Hannibal was already focused on another sheet of paper. "Increase of serotonin in the woman's wounds is much higher than the free histamines. She lived for about fifteen minutes after she was skinned. Something kept them awake and in place."

"There were soda bottles in there with some kind of powder residue. I remember that."

"Yes. It's Vecuronium." He pointed down at the toxicology report. "Paralytic agent."

"Kept them kneeling at his feet while they were still alive."

"Are they praying to him?"

"I think they're praying for him. He's afraid." He thought. "What's in his vomit?"

"Dexamethasone. Kepra. He was epileptic. Gamma four radiation, steroids for inflammation, anti-convulsants for seizures. Radiation from chemotherapy."

"He has cancer," Will realized.

"It's like you said. He's dying, so he needs the angels to watch over him." Hannibal studied him, captivated. "You're brilliant at this."

Will continued, relishing the victory of being right, when another photograph made him stop cold. "They already have a suspect." There, on another page, was an interview with a suspect's ex-wife. "And they didn't tell me?"

"You have been avoiding the bureau for the past few days. So desperate to get away from me. I see why he'd be a little annoyed."

"Still, I would have thought they would have told me. I'm one of the consultants."

They skimmed through the interview, taking in the info on Elliot Budish— the suspected Angel Maker. When he neared the end, Hannibal spoke, expressing what Will had also been thinking.

"He had a near-death experience when he was young. He had to be resuscitated."

"A guardian angel." Will's breath hitched. "Shit."

"It fits everything you've discussed, Will. The cancer, isolation, creating angels out of sinners, captivated by salvation." Hannibal stared at him like one does an illusion, trying to decipher every twist and admiring his complexity.

"It's easy for me to put myself in their place." Will stared at the patterns of wood on the desk. "I'm inside their heads."

"And you certainly sink deep."

"The issue isn't sinking, it's that sometimes you run out of air. You lose yourself, and the killer is all that's left." He flipped back to the last page of the interview. "I never know how I feel, really. I just float along. But the things I felt in that room— that was real." He exhaled. "It was the most solid emotion I've ever felt. The way I felt hurt by you. Betrayed. Lied to."

"It doesn't matter the emotion, you just want something. You've put so much energy into feeling what others feel that you don't know how to feel for yourself."

"...I like to think I know who I am. But how much of me is Will Graham, and how much of me is Elliot Budish?" He gestured to the file. "Garrett Jacob Hobbs? How much of them have I absorbed?" He buried his face in his hands.

"Will, don't spiral." Hannibal placed his hand on Will's shoulder. "That's a question you can't focus on right now. It'll only ruin your ability to see clearly." He pointed to the papers. "You are Will Graham, and you're trying to solve this crime. What does Will Graham think?"

Will reread the last paragraph. "...I think this barn, the place where he almost died, means a lot to him. He'll want to find his angel again before he moves onto the next life."

"He'll go back?"

"He'll want to die there. And he'll want it to be on his own terms." Will's eyes widened. "When did you copy this stuff?"

"Yesterday."

"There's still time, then." Will shoved all the papers back inside, not caring that they were out of order. "Elliot knows he's close to death. He's going to go to that barn to die, be it from his sickness or...something else." He checked his watch— close to 8:30 PM. Their session was almost over already. "If he's not dead in the barn already, he will be soon. And I need to get there before that happens." He took off for the door, reaching into his pocket for his keys.

"Will," Hannibal called to him, his voice echoing across the office. He followed him, tucking the file under his arm. "I'm coming with you."

"You don't—"

He held up his hand. "I'm coming with you," he repeated. "I'll take you. You can't do this alone."

Will tried to think of an excuse to fight him off, but he couldn't. He needed someone there who could be a sensible voice and help him if Elliot, or anyone else, decided to strike.

Plus, Hannibal always knew more about the impending situation than he did. There was a reason he wanted to go, and Will would be foolish to try and stop fate.

"It's potentially going to be eventful."

"I don't mind." There was a malicious tinge in the way his lips turned up. "I don't get to have a lot of fun."

Chapter Text

Using the GPS coordinates found in the file, Will and Hannibal began the long drive to Elliot Budish's barn. The route involved a lot of long, winding country roads. Will loved living in the country, as he could have as much privacy as he wanted, but it was much more threatening in the dark. Something unknown lingered in the silence, stalking under the stars. They were alone, driving along a thin road with no light to guide them through the night. 

They'd come up with a plan during the drive: Will was responsible for subduing Elliot and speaking to him, while Hannibal would hide on the outskirts and record the confession. Once that was settled, once they had enough evidence under their belt, Hannibal would come in and take charge. He had the power to make Elliot do anything they wanted; even better, he could knock the man out long enough to return him to the FBI. 

The motel was hours away from the barn, which was the next mystery Will was trying to solve. "Budish is a truck driver," he commented as he flipped through the file. "Maybe he was on the job and couldn't control himself any longer."

"Another relapse, maybe? Or perhaps he found a way to locate the criminals on that list, targeting them specifically?"

"He can't distinguish between reality and illusion. Logically, traveling a long distance without a break would have made his illness worse."

"That likely doesn't matter to him. He may be hallucinating, which would amplify his suspicion toward other people. Rather than feeling a typical level of anxiety around a suspicious person, he begins to hallucinate that they are terrible sinners in need of healing."

Will bit his lip at the prospect of walking into the lair of a paranoid schizophrenic who was not afraid to kill. "What are we about to walk into? Be honest."

"Possibly an empty barn."

"If he's there," Will replied, exasperated. "What happens if he's there?"

"If he is there, it may be a good idea for me to keep away from him."

"Shit. Yeah. Maybe you need to stay outside." Will laughed to himself. "He won't like you very much, will he?"

"I'll watch what's going on. You'll need backup, but I don't want to overwhelm him. Risk him snapping."

Will retrieved his pistol from his car before they left. He knew better than to approach a situation like this unarmed. "You'll make sure he doesn't kill me, right?"

"Not on my watch, Will. He draws a weapon, and I'll have us out of there as soon as I can." Hannibal sounded sure of himself. "We don't even know if he's going to be there."

Will worried away at the skin on his fingers. Hannibal, noticing this and wanting to distract him, cleared his throat.

"I apologize for my behavior yesterday, Will."

It worked. Will glanced up. 

"It was immature of me to toy with you like that. I should have realized you had your reasons behind ignoring me, and those reasons were valid. There was no reason, however, for me to act the way I did."

Will inhaled, taken aback. "I...thank you. It wasn't that big of a deal." He stared at the dashboard. "I'm sorry I ignored you in the first place."

"I understand why you did. You learned information that greatly changed your opinion of me."

"You did me a big favor, Hannibal," Will said, waving the file. "Thank you."

Hannibal smirked. "It may have been for selfish purposes as well. Anything to inconvenience Jack Crawford makes me happy."

About fifteen minutes later, they reached the dirt road leading to the barn. Outside was a beaten-up dark blue car that had seen better days around thirty years ago. 

"He's here." Will's heart stopped. "Or someone is."

"Good. It means this wasn't a worthless drive. Are you going to go in there alone?"

"I think it's best if you're out here like you said. You ready to record?"

"Yes. I'll keep close by. If you need me, yell for me. I will hear it."

"How should I approach this? I shouldn't play the cop angle, right?"

"It might be beneficial to play into the delusions," Hannibal replied. "If you simply try to convince him they aren't real, it may lead to hostility."

"He's gonna want to know why I'm here. How I found him."

Hannibal leaned back in his seat, bringing a hand to his mouth in thought. "Perhaps you can play the angle of someone who has seen the angels he created. You were at the motel. You laid eyes on those creations, and you've been captivated ever since. You had to find the man behind him."

"What would I want with him? Would I want to join him?"

"Maybe not. He likes to work alone, it seems." He furrowed his brow. "Maybe you would want to become one of his creations. You are troubled, immersed in sin, and you believe this is the only way out."

A chill ran down Will's spine. "That's risky."

"I won't let him kill you. I promise." His voice was the most genuine and stern Will had ever heard from him. "It would be a good angle to pursue. It gives you the reason for finding him, it gives you sympathy, and it gives you common ground. You are both lost in delusion. You can relate to each other in that way."

"Are we doing the right thing, Hannibal?"

"We're doing what you wanted to do. If this is no longer what you want, we can turn around and go back home."

Will swallowed. "This is what I want. If he's right here, within our reach, then I can't let him slip away."

"Then I will keep you safe."

Will nodded wordlessly and got out of the car, ignoring how his legs shook. 

A faint light spilled from the crack in the barn's half-open doorway. Will lifted his hand to knock while Hannibal slipped around the corner. 

"Hello?" Will called out, trying to sound more confident than he was. "Is anyone in there?"

After a nerve-wracking pause, long enough to make him want to give up, the door creaked open a minuscule amount. A broad, scarred face peeked out from the darkness behind. "Hello?" 

He's alive. Will held back a sigh of relief. He still had the chance to nail him, to put him away for good. Perhaps even get him some help. 

"It's you," he said, remembering the angle Hannibal wanted him to take. "I've been looking for you--"

"Stop." Elliot was too busy staring at him, eyes wide with fear. His face was pale and puckered with worn-over scar tissue. He stepped back, pushing the door open more. "You need to come in."

It was a strange way to phrase it; it was a command, not a friendly invitation. There was no other choice but to enter. 

The only light inside came from a lantern in the middle of the ground. The barn's floor was covered in layers of hay, and there was a bucket of water, piles of canned food, and a cot in the back. Of course — Elliot would have been arrested by now if he was at a registered address. He was living here, at least for the time being. It was the only place he felt safe. 

Once they were inside, Elliot turned to glare at him. His eyes were wild, pupils dilated. He focused on a spot over Will's shoulder, not looking him in the face. "What do you want?" He asked, guarded. "How do you know who I am?"

"I...I saw you," Will said. "I was at that motel, and I saw what you did to those people. You changed them."

Elliot took a step back. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't have to hide it. You turned them into angels." Will didn't have to put on any fake emotion; his nervous trembles could be passed off as awe. His heart raced from hopeful anticipation, not anxiety. "It was so amazing."

The positive words made Elliot soften, but it would still take some prodding to make him budge. "...Why are you here?"

He'd have to pry harder to get a direct confession. Will brought his shoulders in, making himself appear small and ashamed. "I've done something terrible, and I can't sleep at night anymore. I can't get away from the guilt."

"I can see that. I see how haunted you are. You've...you have committed a terrible sin, haven't you?"

Will twitched, grateful for once for his nervous tics. "Yes. That's why I need your help."

"How did you find me?"

"I've been following you. I'm sorry. I know it was wrong, and I know it's a breach of your privacy, but I just had to find you. I haven't been able to stop thinking about what you did. Please help me. I remember your face. I know it was you."

Elliot nodded, pity crossing over his face for a moment. "What is there that I have to offer?"

That wasn't a good enough admission. "I want someone to fix me." The words came easily, for they weren't entirely untrue. "I want to know I'm safe. I saw what you did to those other people, and...you saved them. You might have saved their souls forever. Can you do that for me?"

Elliot stared at him, mulling this over. "What have you done? My angels were dangerously sinful. So much so that they would have been beyond redemption otherwise."

Will's eyes darted to the ground. He was back in the shower, scrubbing at the tacky blood on his skin for hours. The water was hot enough to singe his skin red. Guilt and relief rushed through him, like he'd released something that had been building inside him for years. 

"I killed someone," Will whispered. "And I think I enjoyed it."

Elliot's head bowed in a solemn nod. He walked toward Will, his footsteps silent against the hay, not stopping until he was only inches away. Will stared into his eyes and found only madness there.

"I see what you are," Elliot said. 

Will yearned for that level of certainty. He found himself glad someone might know the answers to what was happening to him. "What do you see?"

"Inside. I can bring it out of you."

An ominous cloud hung over them. "Will it make this all worth it?"

Elliot put his hand on Will's shoulder. A pregnant pause hung in the air. The man's mind burned away inside his head, slowly deteriorating and causing him to retreat further into this delusion. Deeper into this barn, deeper into isolation.

"It will be beautiful," Elliot said. 

"I'll do anything you need me to do."

"Oh, no. All you will have to do is pray. Just like I will have to pray you don't survive this."

It all happened in less than a second. Elliot flicked his other wrist, wresting something out from his sleeve, and he yanked Will close as he thrust his arm out. Will grunted in surprise as something pummeled his stomach, right below his navel, and someone called his name from outside the barn.

It wasn't painful at first; it was a blunt, radiating ache like someone had driven their fist into his torso. That illusion was broken, though, when his nerves began to tingle. Red hot pain shot through him as his body came back to itself. His mouth opened and closed in shock, and the sight of the dulled, rusty knife protruding from his stomach paralyzed him.

Elliot wasn't moving, either. His body was still, devoid of breath, unnaturally frozen in the same position.

A muffled voice shouted in his ear. He would know that voice anywhere now. It would stay with him forever, in life and death. Someone planted their hand on his shoulder. 

The pain struck him with a new ferocity. Thousands of needles pricked his muscles. He squeezed his eyes shut, resisting the urge to double over in agony.

"Will." Hannibal snapped his fingers in front of Will's face. For a brief moment, the barn around them morphed into a tall, isolated forest. Blood dripped down Will's glasses, gun metal hot in his hands. Nicholas Boyle's lifeless eyes stared into his.

And then the vision of the past was gone, and he was back in the present.

"Will. Will. I'm so sorry." Hannibal's gaze was fixed on him, uncharacteristic worry etched on his face. "It happened so fast, I couldn't even--"

"He stabbed me." Something warm and wet began to seep down his body, staining his shirt red. "Hannibal, he stabbed me." Every word was agonizing. His body twitched with each breath, and pain shot through his lungs.

"I know. I had no idea he was going to do that. I'm-- I'm so sorry," he sputtered. "I'm going to fix this, I swear. We have to take it out."

"It hurts. It hurts." Will's breath turned into a wheeze. A wave of heat swept through his body, and he broke out into a nervous sweat. "You're not supposed to take it out."

"I know. I know it hurts, but it has to come out. I know what to do. I can fix this, and it'll be like this never happened."

Will shook his head violently, dreading having to move, but Hannibal ignored him. He took hold of Elliot's frozen body, prying his fingers away from the handle of the knife. He then gripped Will's arms and inched him backward. Will followed along, pained tears forming in his eyes. His wound throbbed, pulsating both hot and cold waves of agony.

"Okay. Okay, I can see it better now. He didn't hit any vital organs, which is good. Makes this easier on me."

Will forced himself to look again. The knife hung from his body, the blade rusted around the base. It was a filthy, dull knife, which only meant more trouble for him. 

"You got lucky, Will. You got very lucky."

"Lucky?" He groaned. "I need to...I need help. Please help me."

"I'm going to help you. We have to get the knife out."

"I need to go to the hospital."

"No," Hannibal replied, speaking slowly. "We don't need the hospital. I can fix this on my own."

"What are you gonna do? You don't have equipment."

"I don't need ." He shifted closer. "Hold still. This will hurt."

"Don't you fucking dare--"

In one swift move, Hannibal tore the blade from Will's torso. The edge of the blade scraped against nerves, muscles, and veins, snapping each vital strand of his body in half. He howled, and blood began to spill from him like a broken dam. 

"Fuck!" His body buzzed with discomfort, and he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. The deeper he breathed, the worse it hurt. 

"Okay. Okay, there we go." Hannibal held his arms, easing him onto the ground. Blood spilled onto the hay, staining it slick with crimson. "I have to look at this, just to make sure."

He lifted Will's shirt, and Will cried out as the fabric peeled away from the wound. Hannibal leaned close, inspecting it.

"Okay," he said. "Yes, this is something I can handle. No organ damage. It will be extremely painful, though, Will, and you'll have to trust me."

"More painful than this already is?!" Will groaned.

"Please, trust me. I promised to keep you safe, and I failed. It all happened too fast. Let me help you now."

Will licked his dry lips and stared at Hannibal's desperate face. It was the most emotive he'd ever seen the man, and he wanted to take that as a sign he meant what he said. He wanted to trust Hannibal; he needed to. Otherwise, he would have no one. 

He nodded. "Do your worst."

Hannibal lay his hand on top of him and applied pressure to his injury. The warmth of his hand stung the open wound. Blood spilled between his fingers. Will watched him, confused, until his skin began to throb.

 It was small at first, a unique sting much different from the pain of the stab wound. His nerves had began to fall asleep, deadening under Hannibal's touch until he became numb.  Paralysis escalated into pain before he could comprehend what was happening, spreading exponentially across his body. Acid gnawed away at his skin, letting it bubble away like cheap rubber.

All he knew was pain, red and blazing. The blood spilling down his body may as well have been his own skin melting off. Black spots danced in front of him, clouding his vision, and he bit down so hard on his lip it started to bleed. 

"What are you doing to me?" He cried. "Stop! Hannibal, stop!"

Hannibal, without taking his hand off the wound, pulled him close and let Will rest his head on his shoulder. He caressed the nape of Will's neck with his free hand. Gentle whispers of reassurance spilled into his ears. Will's cries stopped, and he leaned in, stunned by the gesture. 

"We're almost done, Will. I'm sorry." 

Hannibal dug his fingers into the wound. This, Will decided, is what Hell felt like. Hannibal was torturing him. The pain was a furious flame, scalding his skin like pure fire. He half expected to hear his skin sizzling, to see steam rising like someone cooking meat on the grill, but that never came. Hannibal tried to comfort him— God, he'd never been held like this before— but it didn't do much good. Will's screams drowned out the whispering. 

The burning came to a slow stop, leaving a residual throbbing almost pleasurable compared to what he'd felt before. Will enjoyed the feeling of Hannibal's cool skin on the stinging flesh.

"There. It's all over, Will." They sat on the ground, drenched in Will's blood, as Hannibal rocked back and forth. Tears ran down Will's flushed cheeks, and Hannibal stroked his hair. It was such a strange, intimate, wonderful moment. "It's all over. You made it. It's okay."

"It hurts. It hurts," Will panted. 

"I know. But everything's much better now. I fixed it." He lifted his hand, extricating Will from his grip. "Look."

There was no longer an open, bleeding wound on Will's body. It had been replaced with a layer of scar tissue, a puckered white star expanding across his middle. It was months and months worth of healing, all done in a few minutes. 

Will let out a loud gasp, scrambling away from Hannibal. "What— what—"

"It's better now. You've lost a lot of blood, though. We should get you somewhere you can rest."

"What did you do to me?"

"All better. Nothing to be scared of now." Hannibal wiped his bloodied hands on the hay with a stoic expression. Will stared at him, pure awe rising inside him.

"I can't. I can't. No. How?" He glanced back and forth between Hannibal and his stomach. He was light and nauseated. "How did you do that?"

"That doesn't matter, Will. We have work to do." He took Will's chin in his bloodied hand and turned Will's head to face Elliot. They stared at him, still frozen in the same position, arm outstretched in a stabbing motion. "You need to decide what we're going to do."

"I..."

"What should we do with the Angel Maker, Will?"

"I don't know." He was still reeling from the pain, vision still spotty. "What did we want to do with him? I can't...I'm not thinking. Everything is blurry."

"I see a few options here," Hannibal said gently. "We can bring him to the FBI and put him away. We can leave him here and let fate decide. Or," he gazed at Elliot with a new fire in his eyes, "we can give him what he wants. Create a world where he sprouts wings of his own and the angels deliver him to serenity."

"We shouldn't be here. No one should know we were here." 

"Of course." Hannibal took him by the shoulders and guided him backward, far from the puddle of blood on the ground. He waved his hand, and a small fire began to kindle within the straws. It took a moment to flare since they were still sopping up the remnants of Will's blood, but he watched in silent amazement as it grew to something more sizable. The flame ate away at all the evidence, burning each tainted strand into nothingness, and then it disappeared once its job was done. All that was left was a charred circle on the ground, mistakable for a campfire. 

"Now." Hannibal reached behind Will. "No matter what you choose, I believe this belongs to you now."

He handed Will the dull switchblade that was inside of his body moments ago. It was still covered in his blood, so Hannibal ran the flat ends against his ruined shirt before handing it to Will. Will turned it over with his hands, while Hannibal leaned around him to press his thumb against the remaining drops of blood on the ground. They sizzled away at his touch. 

They couldn't leave. He had faith in Hannibal's abilities, but he also had faith in the FBI's technology. If anything were to happen to Elliot, they would be testing everything. He couldn't risk having his blood here. They couldn't account for his sweat, his tears, his saliva, hair, fabric. They were bound to leave something behind. 

"It's not enough," Will said. "The whole place has to go."

Hannibal nodded, mouth curling up. He was impressed. "And Elliot?"

Will stared at the ceiling, head spinning. He wouldn't wish the pain he'd gone through on anyone. For a moment, he'd understood what it must have felt like to be Elliot, to have his own body betray him, to writhe in agony and terror. 

What would it do to have him put away in jail? It wouldn't bring the Brunners back. It wouldn't bring any of their victims back. It would leave Elliot to rot alone in a cell, where his own tissue would eat itself until he died. 

Letting him go didn't seem right, either. Letting him go meant his actions went unpunished. By digging that knife into Will's stomach, Elliot had started an unspoken battle. A competition of wit, of hurt, of power. Elliot thought he had power over Will; he thought he had control over his fate. 

Will couldn't shake the urge to continue that battle, to let him know who was in charge. He could simultaneously show his power, rid the world of a dangerous man, and give Elliot what he wanted all in one simple action.

"Tell me what you want," Hannibal said. 

Will was compelled to bring his dark thoughts into the light. The words rose up his throat and out of his mouth with a mind of their own. 

"...I think we should show him who we are," he murmured.

Hannibal took Will's hand and squeezed it, helping him off the ground. Will clutched the switchblade in his hand like a lifeline. Will leaned on him for support. He couldn't keep his legs steady, couldn't regain his strength. Hannibal rubbed his arm. 

"What does that mean to you?"

"He thinks he can play God," Will replied. "He thinks he can control the fate of others. And that couldn't be farther from the truth."

"Fate is right here, isn't it?" Hannibal smiled. "Fate stands bloodied with a knife in its hand."

"Fate shows no mercy, either. It always heals. Its victims don't."

"Do you plan to show no mercy?"

Will stared at Elliot. "I plan to give him what he wants."

"And that is?"

"He wants to become an angel. We should give that to him."

Hannibal smiled. He faced Will, reaching a calloused palm to Will's face and cradling the back of his head. His thumb moved across the side of Will's cheek, right by the ear, and a warm, tingling feeling spread across his chest. His sternum, his soul, was glowing. 

"I'm proud of you, Will," he whispered. "With all my knowledge and intrusion, I could never entirely predict you." 

"I'm not yours to predict," Will said to him. 

The smile grew. Will could see the universe swirling in his eyes. 

"Go."

With one word, the air around them changed. Elliot lay eyes on them and, with a gasp of terror, fell straight to his knees.

When it was all over, so did Will. He remembered Hannibal scooping him up, holding him, and then he remembered nothing.

Chapter Text

Will slept deeply for the first time in days. In his dreams, he traveled with the starlings as one of them. He stood in the rain, letting the cool drops soak him to the bone. A warm meal sat in his stomach, his tongue numb from ice-cold water. A campfire warmed his insides. He stuck his hand out and let his hand touch the flame, a slight burn spreading across his fingertips. 

Waking up was bittersweet. For a moment, he'd allowed himself to believe that his job was done, but peace was not yet his.

When he opened his eyes, his face was buried in white. He blinked a few times, and the scenery came into focus: he lay on his side on a fluffy pillow, draped with warm cream-colored blankets. The fabric softly brushed his nearly naked body, his bare chest and legs that were only covered with boxers. His hands were folded by his head, and the wounds on his fingertips were gone. His skin was smooth and intact as if it had never been picked at.

He'd awoken in a large, beautiful bedroom. The curtains were drawn, hiding him from the night. Across the room, a fire crackled in a gas fireplace, making the dark room golden. The walls were paneled with dark wood, and paintings hung near the bed. Two leather chairs and a coffee table sat in front of the fireplace and cast shadows throughout the room. 

"Hello?" He called out softly, afraid to disturb the room. His voice rasped. "Hannibal?"

Hurried footsteps sounded through the hallway, and a comforting face appeared in the doorway. Will relaxed.

"You're up." Hannibal had shed his jacket. He belonged in this room; it was comforting, lush, and luxurious, just like him. Hannibal had brought him home.

Will slowly propped himself up. He'd regained most of his strength; his pain had subsided, and now he was merely fatigued. A damp towel lay on his singed stomach.

"You fixed my hands." He tried to remember the last time his skin had been clean; he'd torn them open as a young boy, and he'd never given them the chance to heal.

Hannibal's eyes flickered with confusion. "Oh, yes. You kept picking at them. Do you not remember that?"

"No. What..." he rubbed his head, "what happened? How did we get here?"

Hannibal entered, forehead creasing. "I brought you here. You were awake not too long ago. You showered. I gave you something to eat, a lot of water. You don't remember any of it?"

Panicked, Will shook his head. "No. No, I don't remember that. Why don't I remember?"

"You were probably in shock. It makes sense now; you didn't say a word the entire time." He came to stand by the bed. "You've been asleep another hour now."

Will flushed. The remnants of the food's savory aroma lingered in the room. More than gratitude, he felt dread; Hannibal's meals weren't to be trusted. "You fed me? It wasn't—"

"It was chicken soup. Nothing out of the ordinary."

He knew him well. Will's face couldn't get any hotter. "I...I don't know what to say. Thank you." The unspoken questions hung in the air. What the hell Hannibal did Hannibal want with him? Why was he going to all these lengths to take care of him if he didn't want something in return? Was he resting in the belly of the beast right now, laying in the trap he'd set?

"It only takes a few minutes to make. Already had all of the ingredients." Hannibal paused, face falling slightly. "I was going to make it for Abigail."

Will bowed his head and looked away. They had a moment of silence. 

"How's your wound?" Hannibal stepped over to the bed, looking down on him.

"It burns a bit. Still tender. Other than that, I'm okay."

"I knew it would. I figured this would help." He held up a small white tube he'd brought into the room. "Aloe gel. It's been in the fridge."

Will nodded. "That sounds perfect. Thank you."

When Hannibal approached, Will pulled down the blankets and held out his hand. They both examined the scar and the pink flesh that surrounded it. Hannibal opened the tube and, to Will's surprise, began squeezing the gel into his own hand instead of Will's. He reached for Will's stomach and, thinking better of it, gave him an expectant glance.

"May I?"

Will craved his touch. "...You may."

Will flinched when the cold gel hit his burning skin. Hannibal took it as gently as possible, slowly massaging it into the scar with just enough pressure to not hurt him more. The tips of his fingers graced Will's sensitive skin.

"Can you tell me the last thing you remember?" He asked as he rubbed the last of it in. Cool relief spread through Will. 

"What do I remember?"

Hannibal cradling him while simultaneously gnawing away at his flesh. Hannibal's palm on Will's face, his soothing voice whispering in his ear. Hannibal telling him he was proud.

Everything after that was a blur, apart from the resounding sensation of the knife handle on his palm and the echoes of Elliot's screams.

"...I did something to Elliot Budish," he said. "Or, we did."

"Yes. Do you remember what he did to you first?"

"He stabbed me. And you healed me." Will peered at his stomach. The scar had gotten even better over time, shrinking into only the size of a quarter. Small puckers stuck out from it in the shape of a miniature sun. "How did you do this?"

Hannibal wiped the excess gel on his hands onto a towel. "There comes a point where it just happens. It's natural for me."

"Could you have helped Abigail?"

"No. I can heal surface wounds. Things I can get my hands on. She had an infection, and she was in a coma."

Will moved his thumb to pick one of his fingers out of habit, but there was no hanging skin to mess with. "...Why are you helping me?"

"I like to help those I care about."

"But is your care conditional?"

He was offended. "Can I not help without an ulterior motive? Can I not take care of my friend?"

"You're the Devil. Isn't an ulterior motive the whole point?"

Hannibal knelt by the bed, resting his arms on the mattress. "I am the Devil, but I'm not evil by definition, Will. I'm just the antithesis of God."

"I don't see the difference."

"Darkness is the antithesis of light. Does that mean either of them is bad?" Hannibal shook his head. "Technically, there is no solid answer for what 'good' is. What one considers to be good is different from another. It's the same with evil. When we created the world, there was darkness and light. Joy and despair. At the time, God didn't realize giving people free will guarantees they'll live in the grey. The in-between."

"Good and evil are products of the human mind, then. They don't exist."

"Not technically— we didn't create them. But there's hatred and adoration. Acceptance and intolerance. Darkness and light. All of these things are very objective, while good and evil are subjective."

Will pictured a paradise in the sky, two Gods weightlessly perched on the clouds. A delicate balance of yin and yang, their creations harmonized. Even with occasional dissonance, they eventually came back together. It was a beautiful image.

"You forget that I've been given human emotion, Will. Sometimes that means I want to help." Hannibal rested his chin on his folded arms and smiled softly. He was young, human, in that moment. It was also the first time he looked up at Will instead of down. "We've spent a lot of time together. I want to help you, after everything you've been through."

A pang of sadness sounded through Will's chest.  He lay his head back on the pillow, turning onto his side to face Hannibal. Being in such proximity to him made Will's heart flutter. "Thank you."

"Of course." He turned to the nightstand and picked something up. "I kept this for you."

He reached for Will's hand, gently uncurling his fingers and placing cold plastic in his hand. It was Elliot's switchblade, still covered in dried blood. Will closed his fingers around it and squeezed it.

"You may not remember everything," Hannibal said, "but you were breathtaking."

"I'm afraid I don't remember much." 

"Perhaps you'll see. The FBI will probably lay eyes on him soon."

Will blanched. "You didn't hide him? Hannibal, they'll find out who did it if you leave him out like that."

"No, they won't." Hannibal put his hand on Will's arm. "I hid as much evidence as possible. And with word from the devil, as well as the FBI's greatest profiler," he winked, "we can stage it as a suicide. I'm going to protect you."

"But—"

"Will. I promised to protect you in the barn, and I failed. I won't let that happen again."

"You did protect me. You saved me." He gestured downward. "I could have been hurt a lot worse if you weren't there."

"Do you want to talk about what you felt at the moment? Why did you choose to do what you did?"

"I..." Will sighed. "I don't know what came over me."

"You were searching for an outlet for your anger. He took you away from something you see as much more important. For that, he deserved your wrath."

"It's not that. He hurt me. He's hurt other people and gotten away with it until now."

"There's more than that, though, isn't there? Something you were yearning for?"

Will licked his chapped lips. "I think I wanted the power again. After he took so much of it from me."

"Like the power you had when you killed Nicholas Boyle?"

The words pierced through him. Admitting it would be a step in the wrong direction, a foot in the door to Hell. Hannibal beckoned to him from the other side, a devilish smirk on his face. 

Hell was already his destiny. That was inevitable. He may as well embrace the downfall. 

"Elliot attacked me. He was trying to show me how much power he had. And I," he glanced down at Hannibal's lips, "I wanted to prove to him who had the most power."

Hannibal's face brightened. He reached for Will's hair, stroking it in a rhythmic movement. Will's muscles slackened under such a powerful yet gentle touch.

"What a cunning boy you are, Will," he teased. Will's body tingled. "Did you get the power you wanted?"

"Yes," Will whispered in reply. "I want to care, but I don't think I do. It's my fault Elliot's dead. It's my fault Nicholas is dead."

"They both brought their demise upon themselves. They tried to play God while the real God stood right over them. They tempted fate."

"It's all going over my head. I don't feel anything. Nicholas and Elliot were just things. They were like toys to me."

"At that moment they were not flesh, but light and air and color."

Will paused. "Isn't that what it is to be alive?"

"Do you feel alive, Will?"

The last time he'd been asked that question, his answer was much different than the one dancing on the tip of his tongue now. 

"I've never felt more alive than I do right now." His voice had gone so soft that it barely surpassed breath.

Hannibal touched his wrist, sending goosebumps up his arm. "Doesn't it feel amazing?"

"You want me like this," Will said. Hannibal's expression betrayed nothing. "I become something different when I'm with you, and you want that."

"And yet you're still here. You called me in the middle of the night to share your secrets with me. When in danger, you cried out for me, as opposed to anyone else."

"And you answered."

"Indeed I did. And I listened."

"Indeed you did." Will's voice caught in his throat. "You're the only one who ever has. That's why I'm still here."

Hannibal's hand moved down to Will's cheek, cupping it. He leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, and Will's heart thumped in his throat.

"Have you ever been taken care of, Will?" His voice reverberated through Will's head.

"No. I can take care of myself. I've always done that." 

Hannibal sighed. His presence emanated warmth, and pity flashed over his features.

"I'm so sorry that no one has given you the luxury you deserve."

"...I am too," he whispered. 

Hannibal adjusted the blankets, exposing more of Will's upper thighs. His fingers brushed against the sensitive skin, and Will shivered with anticipation. 

"You used to dream of dead girls when you slept," Hannibal said, glancing up at him with hungry eyes. "Tell me, what do you dream of now? What did you dream of the night you called me?"

Will was unstable and light. An angel stood on the side of a cliff, reaching for him and calling for him to join it. "You."

Hannibal leaned even closer, their lips now millimeters apart. Both of them waited for permission. Will ached to close the small distance between them.

"Thank you." The backs of his eyes stung. This was the most comfortable he'd ever been, and he couldn't reconcile that with his horrid nature. 

"Always, Will." Hannibal stroked his hair. "You don't have to be afraid to need things."

He was going to kiss him. Their lips were brushing now, sensitive nerves tingling with desire, but Hannibal loved to draw things out.

"May I?"

"Please." The word had only just escaped his mouth when Hannibal finally brought their lips together. He held Will's face in his hand as he tenderly kissed him, his thumb brushing Will's cheek. His lips were so soft compared to Will's scarred, chapped ones, and Will parted them with his tongue. A small sigh escaped Hannibal's mouth.

"Oh, darling," he breathed, making Will's heart swell. He moved from Will's lips to his forehead, neck, and collarbone. Every kiss left an impression on Will's skin that would stay there forever. "I've been waiting to do this for a long time."

"Come here." Will shifted, throwing the blanket back. Hannibal climbed onto the bed, kneeling over Will as he unbuttoned his shirt. He threw it to the floor and lay with his arms wrapped around Will, bare chests pressed together as they kissed.

Will melted into the bed, completely lost. Hannibal was the only person he'd met who turned him into complete putty, and he didn't mind it. It was so nice to let everything go for a short moment, to surrender to this. His heart slowed, relaxed by the crackling of the fire and the warmth of another's skin against him.

"Will." Hannibal pulled back for a moment. "Is this what you want?"

"Yes." He gripped Hannibal's arm. "Keep going."

"I don't want you to regret this later."

"This is too good." Will squeezed his eyes shut. "This is the best I've felt in years. Maybe ever. Please don't stop."

Hannibal kissed his neck. "I won't stop, Will. I promise I won't go anywhere."

Hannibal's touch broke through his skin, slithering around his muscles and grabbing onto his bones. Will's body, perpetually cold, was finally warm. Rough hands trailed his soft, untouched stomach, perfectly sensual without going too far. That possibility - breaching this level and moving on to the next - made Will's stomach twist with nerves; sex was never something he'd enjoyed. It was too rough, too human. It involved too much shifting and sweating and discomfort for his tastes.

As predicted, Hannibal wished to escalate. When Hannibal's fingers began tracing Will's waistband, Will grabbed his wrist. "I— don't," he said. "I don't want to do that."

"Of course," Hannibal said. "I'm sorry. Is the rest of this okay?"

It was the best response he'd gotten from a partner. Normally, the guys were outraged that he'd led them on, or they would continue to pressure him. Being overtly accepted like this was wonderful. Will sank into the mattress in relief. "Yeah. Thank you."

The comment had dampened the sensual tension between them. Hannibal contemplated something. "Are you sure you're alright?" 

"Yeah, why?"

Hannibal sat up and straddled Will, his knees on either side of him, and leaned down to whisper in Will's ear. "You're thinking about something."

"I just didn't want to have sex."

"It's not that. You're preoccupied."

Hannibal's chest was broad and muscular, his shoulders strong. A faint flush had spread across his defined cheeks. God, he was handsome. 

"I keep wondering if this is too good to be true. Ever since I shook your hand, I feel like I've been stumbling through a dream. I'm no longer part of the human world, and I'm not part of yours, either. I'm something in between."

"You think you're imagining things?"

"I wouldn't put it past me. I've imagined dead girls for years."

"Do you believe I'm real?"

"I wonder if I'm delusional. If I'm seeing things that aren't there, losing memories, and you're entertaining that. Sometimes I wonder if this is all some elaborate lie. Hallucinations, delusions. The brain can come up with some amazing stories. Not only that, it crafts even more lies to justify the first."

"Allow me to prove it to you, then." Hannibal took Will's hands and guided them upwards so Will was touching his shoulder blades. Will ran his hands along his back, then jerked them away at the feeling of coarse, jagged skin. Scars. 

Hannibal pushed his hands back to where they were. "You can't hurt me, don't worry. Feel around. There's something I want you to find."

Will's fingers traveled around until he found small divots in the shoulder blades. They were slits, thinner than his fingers, yet deep. They were hidden under the blades, unnoticeable if you weren't searching for them.

"What are these? What happened?"

"Humans don't have wings. If you were to sprout them, it would break your skin, too."

Will winced. "They go through your skin?"

"Yes. With every new body, I have to break them in."

"Sounds painful."

"It's worth it in the end. Feel."

Hannibal's skin rippled under his hands. Feathers began slipping between his fingers, tickling his nerves. His whole body went rigid with shock. It was the wings, sprouting out of nowhere - and Hannibal was letting him touch them.

They stretched to their full size, about the width of his arm span, and Will moved to stroke them. They were the soft and delicate wings of a baby bird, softer than anything he'd ever felt. He moved his hands as carefully as possible, afraid to hurt them.

"All of this is very real, Will. Can you feel that?"

"Yes," he blurted. "I can." It was impossible to make up. The sensation of the wings was undeniably real. Tears sprung to his eyes.

"We don't have to ever discuss this night again if you don't wish to. But when nothing else seems real, and you begin to question your grip on reality, remember this moment." He kissed Will's forehead. "For me?"

Will continued to caress them, fixated. "I will, Hannibal. I promise."

"Do you want to know my name?"

"You said I could never know."

"Just this once." He leaned down and kissed the curve of Will's ear. "I figure you've earned it. Would you like to know?"

"I would love to."

He opened his mouth, and the sound that escaped his lips was something the human body could never think to recreate. It twinkled, it chimed, it sang. More than anything, though, it was familiar. He'd heard it in his dreams before, when the darkness had rocked him into serenity and hummed to him.

His body reacted out of his control. He went limp, wings sprouting from his soul and reaching for Hannibal. He wanted him. He needed him.

Hannibal's lips shifted slightly, a smile in his voice. "But I'd better not catch you using it."

Will, shocked and moved, nodded. "Yes," he agreed, taking his hands off the wings. "Thank you."

"Wait. Can you keep doing that?" Hannibal asked with an uncharacteristic shyness. "It feels good. I can't reach most of them."

Will's face reddened. It made sense that he felt it; they were a part of him. Did they work like human limbs with muscles and nerves? Or perhaps they were operated by celestial magic alone. No matter the case, he was touching Hannibal in a very intimate way.

He pushed away the embarrassment and kept going. It was the least he could do to give him a small amount of pleasure in return for what he'd given Will.

He succeeded in that. He rubbed his thumbs in small circles, handling the wings gently but firmly enough to make an impression. He massaged from top to bottom and watched with satisfaction as Hannibal let out soft hums and smiled contentedly.

"You're good at that," he purred. He paid Will back with small kisses before finally planting his lips on Will's mouth. The feathers slipped from between his fingers, the wings retracting to where they came from. He felt a hint of disappointment, but it didn't last long— Hannibal turned back onto his side and rested his palm on the nape of Will's neck, letting Will lay his head on his chest.

"...Things won't be the same, will they?" Will asked.

Hannibal didn't respond. To say otherwise would be lying. Will's head bobbed as Hannibal's chest moved up and down with each breath. His lungs, his heart, his blood, it was all human.

"...Do you want them to be the same?"

"I don't know what I want. I never do." Will shifted even closer, their legs intertwining. "I just know I want this for tonight. I don't know about tomorrow, or the week after, or any of that. But right now, I want this more than anything."

"Well, I can give you this. And we can live in the moment." Hannibal kissed the top of his head.

"Thank you." Will fought the urge to close his eyes. As soon as he did that, this wonderful feeling would disappear in favor of sleep. Seeing the light of day meant they would have to return to the way things were, which would be torture after tasting peace. "Thank you for healing me."

"I'm so sorry I couldn't prevent it entirely. It happened too fast for me to stop it."

"You acted fast enough. With the way things were, I think he would have gone so far as to skin me. If you weren't there with me..." He stopped. He may have been the one strung up on the rafters if it weren't for Hannibal's presence.

"I'm very glad I was there. I couldn't forgive myself if I'd let something happen to you."

"...Why?"

"Why what?"

"Hannibal, you've been around for thousands of years. I'm assuming you don't do this with just anyone, right? So why me?"

"You're correct. I don't." He massaged the back of Will's neck. "But Will, you are a work of art. It would be a shame to let such beauty go to waste."

"I'm not all that."

"Hush." He kissed Will's forehead. "You've had enough activity for tonight. Why don't you rest now?"

The mere suggestion forced Will's eyes shut. The darkness enveloped everything within seconds, but the feeling of Hannibal's skin stayed with him all night.

Chapter Text

Slowly but surely, Will was traversing the treacherous cliffside. The ocean roared underneath him, slapping up against the rough rock and occasionally spraying him with warm foam. When he inhaled, his throat stung with the salty air and how heavy he was breathing.

He was exhausted. He hoisted himself onto another ledge and collapsed, hovering in the limbo between salvation and what would certainly be a deadly fall. 

He craned his neck. Hannibal was peering down at him, desperation in his gaze. He was in his true form, and his skin blended into the indigo night sky. His eyes were brighter than the moon. 

"Rest now," Hannibal said to him. "Please, Will."

"I— I want to..." Will trailed off as he sank to his knees. He could hardly keep his eyes open.

"You're getting there, Will. You'll be with me eventually." He lay on his stomach in an attempt to get as close to Will as he could. "Please rest."

The moon was so bright. Will stared at it for a moment before laying down where he was. The rocks were rough against his skin.

"I want to be up there, too."

"You will be. Soon, Will, I promise. Very soon, you'll understand, and then you can join me."

"Please don't leave me."

"Never. I promise."

Will let himself drift off to sleep.

~~~

Will awoke to birds chirping and white light streaming through a crack in the curtains. He was warm, comfortable, and utterly bewildered as to where he'd just woken up. The remnants of the previous night were eluding him, and all he knew was that he was wonderfully relaxed.

He became aware of someone else breathing beside him, and when he turned his head the sight of a sleeping Hannibal startled him out of his daze. Everything came rushing back, and fear wrapped around him— he was so reckless. What had he been thinking? He'd just let Hannibal see a part of him that no one had ever seen, a raw side that he hated to show. Now he had whipped off his mask, and it wasn't to just anyone; the devil knew his real face.

He'd never been more exposed in his life.

Hannibal stirred beside him, and Will feigned sleep. He didn't want to talk, didn't want to face what the two of them had done. It hadn't gone far, but it was surely beyond the realm of professionalism.

Hannibal's hand stroked his hair, and he couldn't hold back the small hum of pleasure that escaped his lips. 

"We don't have to talk about this if you don't want to," Hannibal said, his voice thick with sleep. "As far as I'm concerned, this never happened."

Will reluctantly opened his eyes. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I'm so embarrassed. I just—"

"No need to be embarrassed. I reciprocated. We'll move forward from here." Hannibal leaned in and planted one more kiss on his forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. "I've enjoyed having you here, though."

"I've enjoyed being here."

The spell was soon broken; without warning, Hannibal got out of bed, picked up his shirt, and exited the room. Will caught a glimpse of the scars on his back before he pulled the sleeves over his arms.

Will lay there for a moment, struck dumb by the night's events. The room had a different feeling in the daytime— it was almost too bright, like the whole world could look in and see how weak he was. How desperate. The fire had been put out long ago — he wasn't sure when — and the white blankets were now blinding instead of cozy. He summoned the strength to get up, rubbing his temples and dressing himself in a shirt that Hannibal had left lying out for him. He didn't have any hopes for his old one; there was probably a massive tear where the knife had gone through. He ran his hands through his hair before following Hannibal to wherever he had gone.

The smell of coffee was enticing. Will followed the scent into a large, open kitchen, decked with shiny appliances and a sweeping countertop. It was the kitchen of a chef, someone who knew their way around all of the equipment. He tried not to focus on the fact that he recognized this kitchen, recognized the counter where he'd had a vision of Cassie Boyle's lungs being prepared.

The chef leaned on the counter near the corner, sleepy-eyed next to a coffee maker. His shirt was unbuttoned, hanging loosely off of him. Will's heart beat faster as he gazed at his chest.

"I believe they're going to Elliot's barn today," Hannibal said. "At least that's what Jack said."

Before Will could ask what he meant by that, Hannibal poured coffee into a mug and offered it to him. He took it and sipped, pleasantly surprised at how good it was. Hannibal had the most sophisticated taste in even the little things like coffee, it seemed.

Hannibal turned to make himself a cup, and it was then that Will saw the wings, visible but folded like a bird at rest. He could see their dark color under the thin white fabric of his shirt.

Hannibal noticed him staring, and the corner of his mouth turned up. "I hope you don't mind," he said, the coffee maker whirring behind him. "When I'm home, I like to have them out. They get cramped otherwise."

Will shook his head. "No, no. Doesn't bother me." Frankly, he liked it— the more he was exposed to them, the less insane he felt. It was comforting to have them become a normality.

"It took me a while to get used to them. It became a habit to just," he shrugged, "let them be free."

"Get used to them? You didn't always have them?"

"I've always had them. They just weren't always like this."

Hannibal had only taken one sip of his coffee before he migrated to the fridge, rummaging through it. "I'm fixing something."

"Oh, I'm okay. I don't really eat in the mornings."

Hannibal peeked out from behind the door to give him a teasing look, raising an eyebrow. Will flushed and turned away.

"Well, I do. You're eating," Hannibal replied with finality. "I'll make a favorite of mine."

"Thank you," Will muttered, but Hannibal was already distracted. He pulled out ingredients and utensils at a rapid pace, gliding about the kitchen like he could do it with his eyes closed. Will got out of his way, moving to the other side of the counter. He watched with interest as Hannibal worked.

"If you don't mind me asking—"

"What happened?" He cracked eggs one after the other, yolks falling perfectly into the bowl. "I don't mind. It's simpler than you're likely imagining."

"Okay." Will leaned forward, chin in his hands.

"When God banished me from Heaven, I was forced to fall faster than the speed of light." He poured the eggs into a pan and began to chop fresh bell peppers on the cutting board. "It was simultaneously rapid and slow. It felt like I fell for thousands of years." Something unreadable flickered in his eyes. "I fell through each layer of the earth. Through the core and back out the other side. It burned every part of me. Blackened my wings. Turned my skin the dark grey of soot and ash. I fell so fast that it split open another part of the universe and created a dark, fiery realm for me and me alone."

"And that's Hell?"

"Yes. And the stories get it wrong there, too. There was no massive battle between me, my angels, and God. When I was cast down, I was completely alone."

"Shit, Hannibal. I'm sorry." A flash of pity went through him, a rarity when it came to Hannibal.

"Oh, I'm alright. It's been a long time, now."

It wasn't long before Hannibal's breakfast was finished. He served up two plates and set one in front of Will, and the two of them sat at the breakfast bar. Will took a bite and his eyes widened; it was delicious.

"Wow. Thank you," he said, rushing for another bite. He didn't realize how hungry he'd been. Hannibal nodded, satisfied.

"Jack called," he said.

"You mentioned that. You said they're going to the barn?"

"What's left of it, anyway."

Will gripped the handle of his fork, which was hovering in mid-air. "What's left of it?"

"Don't you remember what you asked of me?"

He looked into Hannibal's eyes, and the scenery around them changed. They were no longer in the kitchen; the sleek interior morphed into splintered wood, and the metal in his hand was now the handle of a switchblade. Smoke burned the inside of his nostrils.

The whole place has to go.

"You burned it down," Will realized.

"Yes. They'll find that out when they get there. Other than that, the most damning piece of evidence would be that knife. And that belongs to you now."

Will tilted his head toward the ceiling, shoulders falling. "God. I got too carried away, didn't I? This is all my fault. I let all of this happen. I decided to go. I decided to play along with his delusion, and I got too close."

"And I gave you the file with the information you needed. And Elliot killed those people in the first place. And the Brunners were sinners to begin with. We can play this game for as long as you want, but it doesn't matter in the end, does it?" Hannibal shrugged. "What matters is how you feel. Are you feeling stable enough to go see the aftermath today?"

"Jack doesn't actually care if I'm up for it. He'll always get his way." Another sip of coffee. "...So they'll find him. Elliot."

"They will."

"Should I be worried?"

"I did my best to hide any trace of us. Anything I may have missed should be unnoticeable. However, I can't promise anything. Tiny, tiny pieces of you could be left behind— you know how forensics works. But if they were to find anything, I will make sure you won't be punished." He nodded. "Human minds are so malleable. Even more so than their bodies. That's one thing I love about them."

A knot formed in Will's throat. "What did I do to him?" He asked.

Hannibal froze for a moment, his hands coming to a stop as he lifted his fork. "You gave him what he wanted. You gave him divinity."

"We made him an angel." Dread squeezed his neck.

Hannibal's face was blank. "Don't worry. He was very grateful. He was beside himself."

Will's breath hitched. "He was alive?"

"We convinced him to let us help him. For a brief moment, he got to see himself living out his dream. He watched himself become pure. But then he fell unconscious, and he never got up again. Never will."

"Was he scared of us?"

"I wouldn't say afraid. He was overwhelmed. He reminded me of you when you first saw me." He tilted his head. "Were you afraid? You can be honest."

Will had to force himself to swallow his next bite, the food traveling excruciatingly slow down his throat. "I wasn't afraid. I was...made aware of how powerless I am in the grand scheme of things. I looked into your eyes and felt like I was nothing. You unfolded your wings, and despite all my years of being told the opposite, I was ready to believe that God was real." He looked down at his plate, poking his eggs with his fork. "You're beautiful, Hannibal. I understand why people say that Lucifer was the most beautiful angel of them all."

Hannibal's mouth turned up in a smile, and Will could have sworn he was blushing. "I've never had anyone tell me that when they aren't also cowering in fear."

"You're not of this world. I've never seen anything like you before."

"Imagine how Elliot must have felt. He was under the intense delusion that God was real, even before he saw me. And then a creature he believes to be an angel appears in front of him."

"So he probably died happy."

"He did. He was overjoyed."

"How long will that last?"

"It's not up to me." Hannibal took a bite. "His fate is up to God."

"...How do you get sent to Hell? What do you have to do?"

Hannibal considered how much to tell him. When he spoke, it was slow and calculated. "There's not a criteria. The more accurate way to ask, I suppose, is how one can get shut out of Heaven. Everyone sins. It's unavoidable. But you don't have to repent, or beg for forgiveness, or spend your whole life trying to undo it. The best you can do is move on and try to be better. The issue begins when you let the sin consume you, and you begin to embody it. You spend the majority of your life harming others."

"Who decides all of that?"

"God. Elliot's fate is now up to God. We've unfortunately played Fate all that we can."

"Just like your fate was up to God?"

Hannibal smirked. "I suppose so, yes. But your fate?" He gave him a knowing look. "Your fate is up to me now."

~~~

The barn was completely unrecognizable from the previous night. The dark red wood had been singed to the core, leaving nothing but a giant pile of ash and soot. It permeated the air they breathed, and Will crinkled his nose as he got out of the car.

When Will finally answered Jack's calls in the car, he and Hannibal were on the way back to Hannibal's office to retrieve his car. Jack was pissed, but not because of the barn; he hadn't yet been aware of the structure's fate. Now, though, he stood outside with his posture stiff and his eyes hard. He looked undeniably frustrated. Will approached him where he stood.

"We found a body here," Jack said. "This is now a crime scene. I've got men on the way."

Will feigned surprise. "Have you found any suspects?"

"You'd know if you'd shown up to my office when I asked you to." Jack frowned. "We've got one on file. Name's Elliot Budish." He held out a familiar file, one that Will had to pretend to see for the first time. He half-heartedly flipped through the images, stopping when he found a picture of Elliot's face.

Jack stepped aside. "You can look more later. I need your input. Follow me."

"Were you planning on interviewing him?"

"Yes. His ex-wife told us about this place; we figured we would find him here. You'd know about this if you'd answered my calls."

Will looked away, shoving down any sarcastic remarks. He licked his lips as he remembered the feeling of Hannibal's. "...I'm sorry," he said. "I got busy. If you really wanted my input, you should have tried harder to reach me."

"I wanted you here to interview him with me. I eventually just had to call Hannibal." He glanced pointedly at Will. "You answered him right away, I'm assuming, because that's when you finally got back to me."

"If Hannibal calls, I'm assuming it's for a really important reason. He never calls—"

Jack ignored this, pointing a finger at Will. "You need to be more alert, okay? You think this isn't important too?"

"I know it's important. I'm doing my best, Jack, really."

"Now that you're here, you need to keep doing your best." Jack turned. "Come see what we're dealing with."

"Jack, what am I walking into? Honestly."

"Another bloodbath. This one is probably the worst of them all."

Will's stomach churned.

Jack took him around to the back of the barn, where a thicket of trees stood tall. There was a large puddle of blood pooling on the ground, and another red droplet came from above and rippled across it like rain on a lake.

Slowly, hesitantly, Will lifted his head to look up.

High up in the branches, Elliot Budish hung with his arms spread. The skin on his back had been sliced and flayed, spread like fleshy wings, albeit with less professionalism than the previous victims. His head lolled forward, his face peaceful as if he was merely asleep.

Will had done this to him. At least, he'd done most of it. He couldn't fathom the feeling of Elliot's skin under his palms, couldn't imagine himself doing something so terrible. It didn't make any sense.

"It happened sometime last night." Jack's voice boomed through the open space, startling Will.

"Do you think the suspect knew you were going to interview him? Fled the place?"

"There's no way he could have found out. At least, unless his ex-wife told him, but she hasn't contacted him in months." He looked over at Will. "Is this something you can analyze? Do you have enough information?"

"I can do this." He had to do this. He had to try and look further inside himself, to find the part of him that was capable of this. He had to remember, and maybe then he could come to terms with it.

Jack left him alone. He closed his eyes and let himself be transported.

The sunlight faded, transforming into a full, unblinking moon. Will's burnt stomach throbbed, and he was weak with blood loss. His hands cramped with how tightly he'd held the switchblade all this time. His heart beat in his head. 

There was a snap from the branches up above. Elliot suddenly fell from the tree, landing on his hands and knees on the grass.

His wings were spread, defying gravity, muscles, veins, and bone visible underneath them. Time began to reverse, and the skin returned to its rightful place. The scars healed themselves, time working backward. Will crouched down, partly to regain his balance and partly to be on Elliot's level. Elliot was trembling, tears running down his face.

"What is he?" Elliot asked, his voice weak like that of a child. "What are you?"

Will watched him, stoic. "He is everything," he said.

The two of them turned their heads, staring at the creature that towered over them both. Dark skin, twisted antlers, feathery wings, and lilac eyes that held knowledge they couldn't even begin to comprehend.

"And I..." Will stared into those eyes. "I'm not sure what I am."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I just...I couldn't have anyone catch me. Not when I was doing such good work."

"I know. But Elliot, this is a good thing." Will couldn't even look at him. They were both too enraptured by the creature before them. Will needed his approval, his help, and his guidance. "Your work is over now."

"He saved you. He healed your wound." Elliot's voice was full of awe. His eyes twinkled. "It was a miracle."

"It was."

"You wanted me to give you the majesty of your Becoming." Elliot bowed his head. "But it looks like he already has. How could you wish for anything but him?"

"Hold still." Will crept over to him, readying the knife in his fingers. "This will be over before you know it."

You will be silent, the devil said. You will be still.

Will stood over his target, taking a deep breath. He pushed Elliot down onto the grass, laying on his stomach, and studied the youthful, flushed flesh underneath him. The outline of the man's spine bobbed up and down as he breathed.

Will opened his mouth to ask for help, but before he could speak, he was overwhelmed with a sudden serenity. He knew exactly what to do. He knew the exact path that this knife was supposed to take on this man's body. He knew exactly how deep to go, how far to carve, how much to stretch. It was all going to be perfect.

When he first dug the blade in, Elliot didn't react. He was silent. He was still. When the devil commanded, you obeyed.

Will shaped the wings, watching the blood seep out of Elliot's open wounds. It was a fascinating sight, and Will couldn't stop staring at the rivulets as they trickled down his back. He had to see more. He had to create.

He dug his fingers into the outline and began to pull. Layers of skin separated from muscle and veins. Elliot whimpered, but he did not scream. His eyes were blank, his body frozen in place.

"You are so close to salvation, Elliot. So close. I'll give you everything you've ever wanted."

His wings were fully formed. Will spread them out to their full span, watching in awe. He couldn't believe the power that he had been given. He was liberated. 

I can take the final step. You can give him the wings. I can help him take to the sky.

"Perfect." 

Hannibal spread his wings. Will reached for them. 

Right when he was about to touch the feathers, the scene disappeared. The sun cast its light down upon him, and he basked in the shadow of the creature he'd created, vindicated.

"Will."

Jack stood near him, watching with a quizzical expression. "Are you with me, Will?"

"I'm with you."

"What did you see?"

"Elliot Budish." Will kept staring. "He made himself into an angel."

"It's Budish? He did this to himself?"

"Exactly," Will replied. "This is a man who thinks he is divine. A man who thinks he's playing God. Eventually, though, there's going to be some guilt there. He's already been shown to hallucinate-- he thought that God had come to punish him." He looked up. "He thought that the only way to save himself was to make himself an angel, too."

"Trying to run from what he did?"

"Trying to run from the consequences," Will corrected. "He doesn't regret what he did. That, or he's finally accepted the death that was coming for him, and he wanted it to be on his terms."

"You're suggesting this is a suicide? There's no way. This death is outlandishly cruel. Do you really think he could have done this to himself? The amount of fucking murderous gymnastics he would have to do?" Jack's voice rose with every word. He noticed himself getting angry and let out a frustrated breath. "Someone killed him, Will. Don't be ridiculous. Look at this."

"I'm not saying he was completely alone. Someone had to string him up," Will said. "Maybe he had an accomplice."

"And who would what be?"

Will tried to stay calm. He knew realistically that Hannibal would help him, that he would remain innocent, but the nerves were still there. Hannibal wasn't here right now. "I don't know enough about this to know yet. Who would have the motivation? The want? The means?"

"That's what we're here to figure out." Jack pulled out his phone. "Go look at that file. Maybe you can get enough info then."

"You're wasting your time, Jack. The Angel Maker is dead. Now we need to focus on the Shrike—"

"It's my time, and I can do whatever the hell I want with it." He began frantically typing. "Thank you for your input, but we'll see what forensics says. You can go. Get back to whatever you were busy with."

Will let him walk away, as his feet were rooted in place. He stared at Elliot until his vision blurred and he was sure the angel could fly.

"You're not God," he said softly. "I know who God is. And he's not you."

Chapter Text

Sleep transported Will into a basement with cold air blasting through the vents. The space was dark and metallic, an endless stretch of glass and steel dividers. It was a workshop, a twisted laboratory. A wet, squelching sound erupted from behind a curtain. Will's feet moved on their own toward the source. 

A tall figure hunched over an unidentified body on the table. Its glazed and empty eyes stared at the ceiling as the perpetrator mutilated it, slicing it open with delicate precision.

"Our bodies are a temporary shelter," the figure - Hannibal - said. He turned his head, and his gaze beckoned Will forward. They stood side by side, towering over the corpse. "Whatever body you currently occupy is trivial. What matters is the life that comes after this."

"What does my life after this look like?"

Hannibal was focused as he spoke, unlikely to be shaken from his task. The dream cast a heavy sedation over Will, erasing any urge to stop him. There was nothing he could do — he was a hopeless spectator. Nothing was going to stop the devil. The thought brought a strange comfort to him.

Hannibal sliced the man's torso open with his scalpel. He dug into the wound and split it open, creating a gaping cavity that made most of the organs visible. Will stared at the innards, tangled intestines perfectly arranged in such a small space. 

"The truth is not something you can comprehend right now," Hannibal replied. "But know that you will no longer be restricted by these clumps of tissue. The weight of your organs will no longer confine you to Earth." He licked his lips. "You will be long past these creatures. You will evolve into the afterlife with grace and etherealness."

"You haven't had that for a while. You've tossed yourself between bodies on Earth." He glanced over at Hannibal. "Right?"

"Correct. But I will not let myself be confined. My soul has galaxies worth of power. It will not be limited by this."

Captivated, Will reached out to touch the body before him. His fingers brushed its cold skin, sending a jolt of power through him. 

"I'm above this," Will said. "I will always be above this."

But that was Hannibal's influence speaking. It was only a matter of time before Will began to think like him, too.

Hannibal went for the heart. He cut it out like he'd done it many times before. Blood dribbled between his fingers and stained his blue gloves crimson.

He turned to Will and offered it to him with a smile.

~~~

"You killed someone last night."

In the dim office, Hannibal crossed his legs in his chair. "That's an interesting start to therapy."

Will mirrored him. "I had a strange dream last night. Was that intentional?"

"Dreams often have symbolic significance. Our brains piece together the most primal parts of our subconscious and place it all into one environment. People you haven't spoken to in years, settings you can hardly remember anymore...strange things, dreams."

"Don't try to veer me off course." Will scowled. "You ripped out a man's heart. You're going to eat it."

"I don't have to confirm or deny that. It seems no matter what I say, you will already be convinced of my guilt."

"Hannibal. If I get to know you're the devil, then I get to know this. Did you or did you not kill someone last night?" 

"Exploiting my honesty, are you?" Hannibal leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his hands under his chin. "Yes. I did. Does that bother you?"

"...What bothers me is my indifference." Will considered his next words. "I knew what was happening, and I just stood by and watched. Didn't care. I'm starting to see things the way you see them, and that scares me."

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Will." He drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair. "Isn't it nice to let it go? Don't you feel so much better this way?"

Will twitched. He was falling, letting Hannibal mold him into something new - someone who didn't let death faze him, who slept peacefully despite the blood on his hands. He was fighting his way back up to the surface of quicksand, but every movement only made things worse. It would encompass him either way, and he could let it be painless or agonizing.

Sometimes it was easier to sink.

"I'll tell you how I feel once you give me an answer to something."

"Information for information." Hannibal smirked. "Only fair. By all means."

"In my dream, you spoke about the human body. You told me you've inhabited many of them throughout your life. I know the body you have right now doesn't belong to you. It never did."

"You've asked this before, and I told you--"

"That was before you gave me those hints last night. I think you're finally getting comfortable dropping clues for me. You want me to know the truth, don't you?" His lips turned up in a smirk. "You don't like hiding things from me. I can see that."

Hannibal's eyes were hard, the cogs turning in his brain. Will had bridged the gap between the professional and the personal, and that made Hannibal uncomfortable.

"I don't think you'll approve," he said.

"Tell me anyway."

Hannibal paused for a moment before standing up from his chair. He ambled over to his desk and pulled a leather wallet from his bag, retrieving a small slip of paper from the inside and holding it out to Will. Their fingers brushed as Will took it. 

The paper was smooth and white. Will turned it over in his hands, revealing an image of a family on the other side. It was a candid photo in a small, rural kitchen. A middle-aged man, graying and growing a bit of stubble, sat at the table immersed in a journal, while a beautiful woman stood behind him holding a mug with both hands. They looked comfortable and loving. On the floor to the left, a boy who looked to be about seven years old sat with a chubby toddler-aged girl. They were grinning over a toy train. 

It would mean nothing if Hannibal wasn't standing over him. Now, though, as Will glanced between him and the photo, there were unmistakable differences between him and the young boy. They had the same slope of their nose, the same crinkle in their eyes when they smiled, the same hair, the same eyes. 

"This is you?" Will asked softly. 

"That's Hannibal. This was taken a few months before I appeared."

Will looked up at him, heat rising in his cheeks. "That's Hannibal? You took the body from a child?! You-"

He held up his hand. "Will, I want you to look at it again. What do you see?"

It took a lot of strength for Will to not leave the room. He stared at the picture and took in all the little details, searching for some hidden mark Hannibal may have wanted him to see. No -- not Hannibal. Something wearing his body.

"...I see a happy family." 

"Exactly. Look at how happy they are."

He was right. The photo had an air of joy around it. The family was so comfortable around each other. There was love in the woman's relaxed stance and her husband's gaze. The boy and the girl were in the middle of a hearty laugh, a full-body cackle only small children can embody. Will envisioned that type of laugh ringing in his ears, and his lips turned up.

"About thirty-five years ago," Hannibal said, "nearly every person in this photo was murdered at the same time. Father, mother, daughter." He pointed at each family member one by one. "A murder spree in their vacation home. Robbery gone wrong."

The blood drained from Will's face. "All at once?"

"All at once. They stole everything valuable in the home. The boy put his sister in the best hiding place he knew, but she began to wail and gave herself away. The killer found her before Hannibal could save her. Slaughtered her."

Will's breath hitched. He trembled at the sight of the girl's tiny body, her cheeks flushed with laughter, her chubby limbs and white-blonde hair. She had so much more growing to do. So much more life to live. "They only left Hannibal alive?"

"I'm not entirely sure what happened. When he called me, I found him in the forest covered in mud and weeping. I'm assuming he got out of the house and ran for safety, but he was curled up on the ground and so weak he couldn't stand. I was drawn to his suffering, his vulnerability. He begged for someone to help. I was the only one to listen."

"He saw you." Will held out the photo again. He couldn't look anymore. "What did he think?"

"He cried. That was all he knew how to do." He took his own glance at the photo before setting it back down on the desk. "I'd just lost my previous body. I was wandering this Earth in multiple places at once, and that was unsustainable. had to search for a generous donor. Someone willing to give up everything, including their life."

"And you chose a child?"

"Will. You don't understand." Hannibal looked him in the eyes. "You could have heard that boy's screams from across the earth. From Heaven or Hell. It was one of the most tragic things I've ever heard to this day."

Will fought back tears. The very thought was enough to make him sick. "He lost everything. All he had left was himself, his body, and you took that from him."

"He had something I needed, and I had something he needed." He looked down at his hands. "I didn't take on my true form. I took on a form that was even more gentle than the one I showed you. To him, I was a graceful fawn. I was kind to him. I comforted him. His tears of anguish turned into ones of joy when I offered him his deal."

"Deal? You sent him to Hell?"

"No. Listen to me." Hannibal put his hand on Will's shoulder. "I could sense the boy's family was in Heaven. I told him I could send his soul to Heaven to be with his family forever, and all he would have to do was let me have his body. I saved him from a life of trauma and misery."

"You killed him. You killed him and you took his body."

"I extracted his soul from his body and sent it up to Heaven. If you remember from when we talked about this, that means the living body is alive, but worthless without a soul to inhabit it." He sighed. "I never killed his body, or else I wouldn't be living in it." 

"You took the opportunity to live away from a little boy. You manipulated him."

"The second I told him I could help him, send him to his family, he begged me to do it. He told me I could have anything I wanted, as long as I helped him. I've never heard anyone that desperate, not in all my years living on this Earth."

"That's not any justification."

"Is it not? If you were that boy, would you not have wanted the same thing? Would you not have wanted to reunite with your family that was so horribly taken from you?" He crouched on the ground next to Will, moving his hand down from Will's shoulder to his upper arm. There was still something sensual in his touch like the other night still hadn't faded from view. "I gave him a gift. I gave him a beautiful eternity. Rather than living with the trauma, living alone without a family to guide him, I gave him the chance to return to those he loved most. I erased his memory before he left, so his memories of that terrible day are gone. I gave him everything I could."

Will looked away. He wished he wasn't so instinctively comforted by Hannibal's touch. 

"You took that boy's identity. Your name isn't Hannibal," he said. "I don't want to call you that anymore. But it's the only name I know how to use."

"You heard my name the other night, but it's not a word your human mouth knows how to form." He smirked. "So, for now, I am Hannibal."

"For now?"

The sly expression faded quickly. He lifted his hand from Will's arm and traveled to his chair, sitting back down. 

"You know," Hannibal said, "I made Hannibal another promise. I told him I would find the man who murdered his family and make sure he got what he deserved."

Will quirked an eyebrow. "And did you?"

"I did."

"Did you kill him?"

Hannibal hesitated before realizing that, when he was with Will, he had nothing to lose. "Yes."

Will settled back in his chair. He expected to feel some sort of outrage, a cognitive dissonance that came from despising Hannibal's evil actions while also understanding where they came from. This time, though, that outrage never came. 

"Now that I've given you my share of information, it's your turn. You said you've begun to see things the way I see them. Your mind is changing, and I want to know how that makes you feel."

"It's..." Will leaned his head back. "It's easy. Natural. It's as simple as breathing."

"Do you feel guilty?"

"Right now, I feel strong." He closed his eyes. "I understand how you feel, having all this power."

"Can you handle it?"

"Not only that, but I can enjoy it. Revel in it."

Hannibal gave a light hum of approval. "Good."

A thought niggled away in the back of Will's brain, unrelenting. "You said..." He sighed. "You said you didn't take on your true form or the one you showed me. Is the one I've been seeing not your true form?"

Hannibal's gaze held a mixture of pity and worship. "Oh, Will," he said, his mouth turning up in a smile, "it's not even close."

~~~

Being called into Jack Crawford's office was always a nerve-wracking experience, no matter who you were. Jack was unpredictable, friendly one moment and stern the next at the flip of a switch. Not to mention the trouble Will would be in if anyone found out about his antics at the barn. When Jack beckoned Will in the next day, Will's stomach flipped with anxiety.

"So." Jack sat down, gesturing for Will to do the same. "Two updates."

Will suppressed a sigh of relief. No trouble yet. Just updates.

Jack pulled a few sheets of paper from a large folder and laid them on the desk. "Okay, starting with the Shrike." He pointed to a picture of Elise Nichols's clothing. "You have to squint like hell, but there's some hairs there. We compared it with the DNA we took from Hobbs right after Abigail was attacked." He paused. 

"And?" Will prompted, leaning forward.

"It's a match."

Will couldn't control the way his lips turned up. He'd been right; Hobbs was the Shrike.

"I've issued a warrant for his arrest," Jack said. "If anything, we've got enough DNA evidence to hold him until we find even more. We should be able to connect him to the rest of the murders, with the exception of the Copycat. That is, if the Copycat is real."

"The Copycat is real. I'm sure of that. Someone else murdered Cassie Boyle and Marissa Schurr, and it wasn't Nicholas. We know that because Nicholas Boyle was...I killed him before Marissa was killed."

"If that's the case, then fine. But we still need to focus on finding Hobbs first. Maybe we can use Hobbs to lure the Copycat out."

"Hobbs has gotten confident, Jack. You hesitated for too long. He thinks he's gotten away with it."

"I didn't have solid ground to arrest him until now, Will. And I can't just let another important case go on the back burner. I had to focus on the Budish case-- which, speaking of, is my other update."

If the validation from the Hobbs case was his good news of the day, it quickly came crashing to the ground when Jack flipped to the next sheet.

"After you left, the forensic team was cleaning up Elliot Budish's barn. I couldn't settle with your suicide story without some more evidence on hand, and I'm glad I did. We found that the marks on Budish's body and the mutilation were completely impossible for him to have done all on his own. Physically, there is no way a person would have been able to do all that to himself without at least an accomplice. There was also an extra pair of fresh tire tracks near the barn that didn't match Elliot's car."

Jack was too busy reading from the paper to notice the color draining from Will's face. His body went cold with dread, jaw tightening.

They had evidence. They were going to match the tracks to Hannibal's car. They would probably find more DNA on Elliot's body that would lead them straight to him. 

He shouldn't have ever gone over there. They were going to find out, and everything was going to fall apart. They'd realize claiming Elliot's death as a suicide was all a plot to cover his ass, and they would hate him for it. Even if he miraculously escaped prison time, he'd never work again. Hannibal...he had no clue what Hannibal would do.

Will sat on his hands, trying to hide how utterly afraid he was. "Oh," he muttered.

"We're gonna run things through once the lab goes through some cleaning. It's not all that urgent, since we don't know for sure if the person even had a massive role in his death. It could have been someone working against their will, or something along those lines. We just want to ask some questions."

He said that now, but if the DNA came back to Will, things would be a lot different. A lot more suspicious.

"I just...I still think it's a suicide, Jack." Will shrugged. "He was very unstable. Very determined to get what he wanted."

"Mental illness doesn't match up with physical superpowers. Beverly told me herself that it was literally impossible for humans to reach some of the parts he did, let alone climb a tree right after and hang himself so meticulously. There was an accomplice, and we're going to find him."

Will stayed silent. 

"But-- and this is the part you won't like." Jack gazed at him intently, his voice turning serious. "I don't want your contribution to either of these cases anymore."

Will jerked back, raising his brows. "I'm sorry?"

"Will, things are wrapping up for both of them. The Shrike case is too personal for you, and I don't know if I can trust your advice on the Angel Maker case. I think you've come up with the simplest explanation for Elliot's death just so we can get back to the Shrike case. There's too much bias there in both of them."

"No. Jack." Will stood, putting his hands on the desk. "I'm not a child that can be ordered around. You know I've contributed greatly to both of these cases. I need to be here."

His outburst was rooted in fear; he had to be a part of Elliot's case now. While before he'd wanted to run far away from it, getting close was now the only way to ensure he wasn't under any scrutiny. He had to tread lightly, but it still made sense to tread.

And the Shrike...he had to catch the Shrike. From how Hannibal acted, Will wondered if everything relied on that one action. 

"Will, I don't want to break you, and I've come pretty damn close." Jack's voice grew harder to match Will's. "I need someone impartial, someone I can trust to keep themselves together. You haven't been giving this your all. You killed someone, Will."

"Stop. Don't think of me like that." Will clenched his teeth. "You don't have anyone who does this better than me. No one can do this better unbroken than I do broken." His voice cracked on the last word, and he cleared his throat to cover it.

"You'll still be on other cases. Just not these two."

Will shook his head; that wasn't the point. He wanted to be on the Shrike case because it was personal. He wanted to be on Elliot's case to know how afraid he should be. He didn't want to be sidelined while the adults talked.

"Will, your work is cherished here at the FBI. We need you, and I'm not going to claim otherwise. But right now? On these two cases? We don't need you."

"This isn't fair, Jack. I give you all this vital information, and now you're throwing me out?"

"I'm not throwing you out. This is your job that you get paid to do. We simply don't need your help on the Shrike case. We don't need your help with Elliot. That's the end of the story." Jack stood with finality. "Thank you, Will."

"You know what? You're right, Jack. This case is personal. It means a lot to me, having spent so much time with Abigail Hobbs." Will leaned closer, blood beginning to simmer. "I hope you're happy taking this justice away from me."

"This is unwarranted—"

"For someone who claims to need me so much, you sure don't listen to me." He smiled bitterly. "Why do you think you had to call in Doctor Lecter in the first place? When you asked me to come back, I was hesitant, but you pushed me anyway. You never cared about what I had to say, and you don't care now. It's always about you." He finally stepped back, wanting to get out of this room as soon as possible. "Push someone, and they're bound to fall eventually. In one way or another."

With that said, he turned and left the office.

Chapter Text

When his life was full of uncertainty, Will turned to what he could count on.

"Max, stop," he laughed, leaning backward as the German Shepherd nearly toppled him over. "You're not a lap dog. You're too big." He scratched behind the dog's ears and turned his attention to the other dogs clamoring over each other. He picked Buster up, hugging him to his chest, and let Rocky climb onto his lap. The pit bull nuzzled its head into the crevice where Will's knee bent, and Will smiled. 

He always cherished the moments with his dogs before he went to bed. Animals loved unconditionally. They would never judge Will, let alone try to harm him. During his years on the force, these moments were sometimes the only times he felt safe. 

It almost helped him forget about the bright target on his back.

Will got up from the floor and lay on his bed, letting the dogs surround him. They snuggled against him, leaving him cramped, but he was used to it. The bigger dogs preferred the floor, where Will had the highest quality beds he found. Hell, they were probably better than his own. 

He turned off the light and closed his eyes, giving Smoothie a final pat on the head. She licked the back of his hand.

The peace didn't last long.

“Will? Will, we're here.“

He opened his eyes, and he was somewhere else. This wasn't his typical landscape, standing by the side of the cliff and staring up at his spirit guide. This was his life, grounded in reality. 

He was in Hannibal's car, rousing from sleep in the passenger's seat. Groggy, and with his vision half-blurred, he glanced over at Hannibal, who had his hand on Will's forearm.

"We're at my home. Can you walk?"

Will was watching himself in the third person. His senses were intact, and so were his emotions, but he'd lost all sense of control. Every movement was predetermined, something he had already done and couldn't alter now.

He nodded, fumbled for the door handle, and exited the car. His legs were so shaky they nearly collapsed out from under him, and Hannibal rushed around the car to hold him up. Will didn't object. Light rain sprinkled down onto them, making Hannibal's hair sparkle under the porch light. He was beautiful.

Will stared at the floor as Hannibal led him back to the master suite. The edges of the floor were distorted, fine details of the home dissipating into nothing. His memory wasn't strong enough for that. His brain was only conjuring up the most important things, reminding him of how much Hannibal had done for him. 

The two stopped by the bathroom door and faced each other, and Will finally lifted his head.

"I want you to shower, Will," Hannibal said, kind but firm. "I'll take your clothes and wash them, and I'll set you out something comfortable. I'll make the bed down, and you can get right in after that."

He was being so tender. His demeanor had completely changed from how Will had seen him before. This was merely a memory, and he was going to leave this house safe -- hell, he would leave with the ghost of Hannibal's lips on his body -- but his hackles were still raised. 

That didn't matter, though. He still couldn't control himself. This was just a vision, a way for him to piece together the time he'd lost between fainting in the barn and waking up in Hannibal's home.

"Take as long as you need. Here." Hannibal went over to his dresser, pulled out a clean pair of boxers, and handed them to Will. As Will reached out to take them, he saw for the first time that his hands were drenched in blood. Hannibal winced, keeping the clothes to himself and ushering Will into the bathroom.

"Use anything you want. The purple soap is calming, and the green is good for your skin." 

He turned on the faucet for Will, and as the cold water began to rain down on the tile, Will rinsed his hands. Once he was relatively clean, after the red had disappeared down the drain, he looked up to find he was alone.

He stripped and got in the shower. 

The soaps smelled good, like lavender and pine. Will used them, running his hands over the whitened, puckered scar on his abdomen. It was the years-old scar of a veteran; he could almost convince himself he'd had it for a decade, not an hour. He wasn't sure how much of the blood dripping off him was his and how much was Elliot's. All he was sure of was how good it was to wash himself off, to drench himself in a steady flow of water that wasn't going anywhere. The wounds on his fingers stung under the warm water. 

When he finally finished showering, he dried off with a soft, warm towel and dressed in the shorts Hannibal had set out for him. He scrunched his hair dry, making sure he wasn't dripping water everywhere, and set off for the bedroom across the hall. 

A glass of ice water sat on the nightstand, and he chugged it. It was a relief for his pained, parched throat. The covers were pulled down for him, and he sank into the mattress with lead muscles. He'd put all his strength into staying upright and awake, and now exhaustion struck him. He lay his head back and closed his eyes, and he was dozing off in seconds. 

Another snippet of memory. Hannibal was gently nudging his shoulder and offering him a tray. Steam rose from a bowl sitting next to a slice of fluffy bread. 

"I made you something to eat," he said. "I think it would be good for you. Even if it's just a little bit." 

It was a bowl of soup. Shredded pieces of meat floated in golden broth with colorful vegetables. Will stared down at it, hesitant, before shaking his head. 

"You don't want it?" Another shake. "Can you tell me why you don't want it?"

Will picked up the spoon and fished out a piece of meat, holding it up with narrowed eyes. There was no way for him to tell what type of meat this was. His palate wasn't as refined as Hannibal's, and it's not like he had any experience tasting human meat. He wouldn't be able to tell it from another animal. The hands that had made his meal were the same ones that had massaged out Cassie Boyle's lungs for dinner.

"I put in there what I thought was appropriate," Hannibal said. "Do with that information what you will. If you're starving, I can bring you more bread, or I can strain the meat." He picked up the empty cup. "I'll go get you some more water, okay?"

Will nodded. A thick wall in his brain prevented him from opening his mouth and speaking. He didn't have the words anymore. His throat hurt. His brain was struggling to keep him awake. 

And his stomach was growling. Not just growling -- it was caving in on itself, an empty cavity inside him. When was the last time he'd eaten? 

He picked up the spoon. He could avoid the chunks of meat; they were easy to get around. He sipped at the broth, which was the perfect temperature. 

Oh, fuck. That's good. 

It cast spells on his tongue and sent warmth flushing through his empty stomach. He couldn't help himself; his body went feral at the taste of delicious food. He tipped the bowl and gulped at the broth, and when a piece of meat hit his lips he still didn't stop. He let it in between his teeth, so delicious and tender. It was the best thing he'd ever tasted. 

The soup was gone before he registered what he was doing. He picked up the bread and scraped the bottom of the bowl, soaking up the remaining drops and shoving the crust into his mouth. 

As he swallowed the last bite, his gaze traveled up to the door. Hannibal was standing in the doorway, a new cup of ice water in his hand. He gave Will a bemused smile. 

"I assume you enjoyed it."

Will nodded. He was rejuvenated, more energetic than ever. Hannibal took the tray from him and set it to the side. 

"Can you speak to me, Will?"

Will didn't respond. It was impossible to think of anything but taking in each breath. Hannibal pulled the blanket over his lap.

"Do you remember what happened in the barn?"

Will nodded. There were screams, rivulets of blood, and the sound of skin tearing away from muscle. Starlings cried out in the night sky as something much larger than them flapped its wings, sending its prey into the trees and hanging it from the branches like a trophy. Rubbery skin wormed under Will's fingernails.

"Are you feeling okay? Are you afraid of what happened in there?"

"Not--" Will cleared his throat. "Not afraid, no."

Hannibal smiled softly. "Good. There's nothing to be afraid of. Here, just lay down for me. You may rest for as long as you'd like, Will." He fluffed the pillows for Will, and Will sank into them even deeper. He wanted them to swallow him whole, surrounding him in lushness.

"Can I get you anything?" Will shook his head. "Okay. Well, I'll be in the other room if you need me."

He began to get up. Will's heart dropped, and he opened his mouth and let out a rough wheeze. "No," he coughed out, reaching for Hannibal's wrist. He didn't have the grip strength to fully wrap his fingers around it, so he merely brushed it with his torn-up fingertips. "No, don't go."

Hannibal immediately softened. He sat on the bed next to Will, letting Will take his hand. He glanced down at Will's injured fingers; the outer layer of skin was completely torn off. After a moment's consideration, he cupped Will's hands so his fingers were completely covered. 

"Hold still," he said, and Will's open wounds began to burn. It wasn't nearly as bad as the experience in the barn, but he still had to bite his lip to hold back a grunt of pain. A light sizzle rang between them as his skin singed away like cold water hitting a hot pan. 

His hands were smooth when Hannibal released them. It was like he'd never picked them in his life. 

"I'm right here," Hannibal said, and it was the most comforting thing Will had ever heard. Holding his hand, Will finally let himself drift off to sleep. 

When he woke, Hannibal was gone, and he desperately had to go to the bathroom. All that water had run through him. He swung out of bed, feeling stronger with rest and food, and took care of it. The entire time, he didn't hear any other movement throughout the house, and when he returned to the bedroom Hannibal still wasn't there. 

Will perked his ears, listening for any sign of the other man. Nothing.

He decided to take advantage of the fact he was alone. He stepped out into the hallway and began to traverse the various rooms, finding nothing of interest -- storage closet, guest bath, guest bedroom -- until he reached the end of the hallway. Hannibal's office was there, vast and beautiful just like the office he had in town. Endless books sat on dark oak shelves, centered around a large desk covered with papers. Even in the mass of piles, there was organization and perfection.

Will circled the shelves and tilted his head to read the spines of the collection. Novels, nonfiction, books of art, poetry, books in languages he recognized and languages he didn't. The bindings were as pristine as if they'd never been opened. 

A small collection of books drew his eye, as they were jutting farther from the shelf than the rest. He ran his fingers across the spines, then moved them aside with caution. Behind them, the shelf extended deep into the wall, and a horizontal stack of books hid in the back cavern. These were much more worn; they were riddled with colored tabs, and the spines were adorned with lines. 

He picked one from the top. Religious History, Iconography, and Ethics — didn't seem all that interesting, but Will's curiosity was getting the better of him. There had to be a reason these were hidden away. He worked his nail under the pages, flipping to a random sticky tab. 

The word was spread across the top of the page in bold, sophisticated font: Lucifer. 

The opposite spread contained Cabanel's "The Fallen Angel." Will immediately recognized the furious gaze, the single tear running from the corner of the angel's eye, his perfect body and rotting black wings. A folded page of notes was nearly tucked into the book, written in Hannibal's perfect calligraphy. Will didn't bother to read it. He was more focused on the actual text. 

Lucifer is often depicted as the highest of angels and one of the most beautiful. As described in Ezekiel 28:12-17, of the New International Version (NIV) of the Christian Holy Bible, 

"'You were the seal of perfection,

    full of wisdom and perfect in beauty.

You were in Eden,

    the garden of God;

every precious stone adorned you:

    carnelian, chrysolite and emerald,

    topaz, onyx and jasper,

    lapis lazuli, turquoise and beryl.[a]

Your settings and mountings[b] were made of gold;

    on the day you were created they were prepared.

You were anointed as a guardian cherub,

    for so I ordained you.

You were on the holy mount of God;

    you walked among the fiery stones.

You were blameless in your ways

    from the day you were created

    till wickedness was found in you...'"

There was a sticky note next to the passage. It was Hannibal's writing, but uncharacteristically shaky. It was unclear and angry, the same mixture of rage and sadness present in the single eye of Cabanel's painting. 

Wrong, he'd written. I had nothing.

Will snapped the book shut, convinced he'd just witnessed something he wasn't meant to witness. He put the book where it belonged and shuffled the front ones back into their rightful place. 

He walked over to the desk next. A leather-bound sketchbook lay in the lower left corner, cracked open from use. Curiosity outweighed the guilt that would have come from snooping, and he decided to look at what went on in Hannibal's creative brain. 

The sketch was eerily familiar. Will would know his own face, his own body, anywhere. 

He sucked in air, unsure of how to react to the picture. It was a sketch of him from mere moments ago, his head leaned back against the headboard and his eyes closed as he slept. Every minute detail was crafted to perfection, down to each strand of hair and each fine line on his face. He had more life in this drawing than in real life; it was like a photograph.

Hannibal's signature was in the corner. He was proud of it.

Will flipped the page back to find another sketch, this one also of him. It was from Hannibal's perspective, the view of Will one would get sitting right across from him. Will recognized the leathery texture of the chairs in Hannibal's office. He'd memorized the way Will looked and captured his likeness flawlessly. 

It nearly moved Will to tears. It was so soft, so intimate and beautiful. These portraits were an act of worship. They meant so much more than Will could comprehend at the moment. 

It was an interesting notion, to be this cared for by someone else they had to get you down on paper. The sketches were done in charcoal, permanently set in the thick sketching paper; there was no undoing what had been done. Every smudge had to be planned. Every line had to be rehearsed. It required a lot of time and love.

He flipped the page again, and that was where his memory began to fail him. The page was a giant grey smudge. There was no way to tell what it had been or what it could be. It was so unlike the rest of Hannibal's projects, which were so meticulous and neat. It must have been his brain making up for lost information. He was regaining back the things he'd lost from that night, but he wasn't going to regain this -- at least, not yet. 

He turned the page again. It was the same scenario: just a massive cloud of charcoal. He frowned.

"Will?"

His head snapped up. Hannibal was entering the office with more urgency than Will was used to from him. Will backed away, holding up his hands. 

"I was just--" He cleared his throat, voice weak from disuse after so much screaming. "I'm sorry."

When Hannibal saw the mysterious drawing he was looking at, he sighed. A wide range of emotions ran through his eyes.

"I don't blame you for being curious," he said. "I'm sorry you had to wake up to find me gone. I was just cleaning up the kitchen."

Could that have been true? He hadn't heard any pots or pans. 

"I don't have an explanation for this, but you're not meant to see it." He tapped the smudged drawing. "This is not suited for your eyes yet."

"Not..." Will glanced down at it. It was still unintelligible. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't know any better. I don't want to do this, but I'm afraid I have to take action."

Will gasped, his mind automatically assuming the worst. "I won't do it again. Don't hurt me, please." He flinched at how desperate he sounded. How weak. 

Hannibal's eyes widened, and he scurried to correct himself. "Oh, no. No, that's not what I meant. I don't want to hurt you." He reached for Will's hand, and Will let him take it. "I don't want to do this to you, but I'm afraid I must. I'm sorry."

"What are you going to do?"

Hannibal took him by the shoulders and directed him away from the desk. He leaned close to Will, brought his lips right next to Will's ear, and blew. 

The effect was instantaneous. His brain fizzed inside his head, leaving nothing but air bubbles in its wake, and he fell. He was malleable as a blade of grass in a hurricane. As always, Hannibal was there to support him, holding Will against his chest as he collapsed into the comforting darkness of sleep.

And then he jolted awake, startling the dogs around him. He ran his hands along his body, relieved he could move on his own once more. He was back in reality. 

One of the dogs whined, which made Will's heart pang. He wanted to reassure them he was alright, but that wouldn't be true.

There was a reason he'd lost a chunk of time at Hannibal's house. It was intentional. Hannibal was hiding something from him-- two things, in fact. And Will had to find answers for both.

Chapter Text

"Nothing under the Olsen name."

"Okay. I'm checking Anderson."

Will and Hannibal hunched together at Hannibal's desk, each staring at their respective screens. Will had shown up to therapy with his laptop, eyes bloodshot and tired, and demanded to spend the session researching the Minnesota Shrike. He'd been pleasantly surprised when Hannibal pulled out a tablet, wordlessly gesturing for him to sit. They'd spent close to the full hour researching Hobbs, but the search turned upside down when Hannibal suggested the girls.

"He can't use the cabin we went to for the vigil. He's going to be looking for another place to stay."

"And he wants to make the most of these girls." Will nodded along. "He lets nothing go to waste, and he can't use his true identity. He could be using something under one of their names."

Now, on the FBI database, they'd turned up nothing on the majority of the victims. They were all dead and buried, their legacies left behind.

"Wait." Will froze, startled by the increased number of search results at one of the names. He sorted by recent activity. "There's been a recent purchase under the Diana Latimer name. A cabin rental. Signed off with her identity."

Hannibal turned to look. The database didn't offer much, just a catalog of federal purchases under the person's identity. Renting the cabin through an app had been an open gate for the FBI. Hobbs had slipped up.

"He rented a cabin in this dead girl's name. Doesn't he know that those apps give your data away like candy? We see all of this so easily."

"A lot of people are unaware of that. Or else he only plans on staying a couple of days. He did rent it, after all— it's meant to be temporary."

Will grunted in frustration. "It won't tell me the dates he rented it. Only that the purchase was made two days ago."

"That's not a lot of time. He could still be there."

"If that's the case, then we can't linger." Will stood, slamming the laptop shut. "I have to tell Jack."

He took off for the door, but a firm grip on his wrist halted him in place. Will spun, momentarily weakened by Hannibal's touch.

"Will. How can you be sure there's going to listen?" Hannibal's face softened. "You said he refused to have you on the case anymore. You may not even make it past the door."

"He has to listen. This is the only information he's got." He held up the laptop.

"Yes, but Jack is somehow even more stubborn than you are. He's not going to budge."

Will sighed. "What do you think I should do, then?"

"You have all of the information, right? The address is there? Perhaps you need to go look for yourself."

"What? Why would I— no. No way. I can't go over there alone." He shook his head. "That's suicide."

"You wouldn't be alone. I'd go with you." He leaned against the desk. "All of the information you need is in your hands. If Jack won't listen, go to him yourself. You have me on your side."

Will's brows drew together at the sudden intensity. "No, Hannibal. I've already broken enough rules."

"That has never bothered you before."

"You know it's bothered me quite a bit," he snapped. "It's more than just breaking rules. You've detached me from myself. You've turned me into someone else."

"'Two souls, alas, are dwelling in my breast, and one is striving to forsake his brother.'" Hannibal blinked. "I have merely given that hidden part of your soul more strength. I have fed it, nurtured it. It was always there, sapping you of your vitality with its consistent rot. I have only opened your eyes."

"And the eyes of the FBI. They're going to find my DNA in Elliot's barn, Hannibal, and they're going to punish me for it. I killed a man in cold blood -- two men. And I lied about both of them." His voice cracked, and he desperately tried to blink back the tears forming in his eyes. Hannibal took hold of his arm, ushering him to the desk chair. Will collapsed down into it and rubbed his forehead. An uncomfortable heat flashed through him.

"Talk to me, Will. What's wrong?"

Will averted his gaze, and his voice went so low that Hannibal had to lean in to hear. "You're keeping things from me. Something is going on here that's a lot bigger than me, and I have no way of understanding it."

"I'm not sure what you mean." 

"You're crafting something. You've got some elaborate plan I'm not allowed to know about. You are playing with my mind and leaving me in the dark."

"I have not played with your mind. What is happening to you is a natural process. I am merely guiding you along."

"You need to tell me what was in the drawing."

Hannibal's reaction was minuscule, but it was there. A small muscle in his face twitched, his pupils dilating. "A drawing?"

"I don't remember the picture itself. Just everything that led up to it." He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. "It was just a massive smudge. I saw other drawings, but not that one in particular. And you told me to forget about it. That's why I forgot a chunk of time in your house."

Hannibal sighed. "Will..."

"Why are you hiding things from me? I know everything about you. About what you do. What could be so sensitive that you feel the need to erase my memory to make sure I don't find out?"

"Will...I can't explain it. Not right now." Remorse danced in his eyes. "Please, let me help you. In due time, I will show you the truth. You will understand."

"You keep saying that, and I'm fucking sick of it," he spat. "You can't just keep playing with me like this and expect me to go along with it."

"I'm not playing with you. I want to help you. I've only ever wanted to help you. When have I ever hurt you?"

Will bit his lip. He was right. Hannibal had never done anything to hurt him, not intentionally. He'd healed Will's wounds, taken care of him, and nursed him back to health when he needed it. He'd been a comfort, an anchor, a guide — but Will was terrified of the place that Hannibal was guiding him to.

Hannibal placed his hand on top of Will's. He was warm. "Why don't you want to go find Hobbs yourself?"

"Because I'll kill him." Will's heart hammered in his chest. "I'll kill him the moment I see him." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm his breathing. Coming to terms with that truth was horrifying.

"Do not let fear leach your strength, Will. Understand what dwells inside of you, and embrace it. That is your key to peace."

"No. It's not a matter of what dwells inside me. You've made me into this person. This killer. Your fucking attack dog."

"You told me that you wanted peace. You still do. But you cannot have it if you conceal parts of yourself." He placed a hand on Will's shoulder. "You empathize with the killers you investigate because, in reality, you share their desires on a fundamental level. You enjoy the power that comes with killing."

"I won." His voice quivered.

"Yes. And that triumph, the beautiful peace that comes with killing, has always been waiting in the depths of your mind. Someone just needed to help you bring it out."

"You want me to be like you. You want me to enjoy it the way that you do. And that..."

Will hoped with all of his heart that he wasn't right. He couldn't handle the consequences, couldn't handle what it meant for him.

Hannibal studied him, running his thumb along the back of Will's hand. There was a silent exchange of glances, a promise of trust. A promise to forgive.

"...That means you want me to enjoy your appetite, as well." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "You fed me Elliot Budish."

Hannibal stared into his eyes, enthralled. "Yes."

Will opened his mouth, but all that escaped was a clogged whimper. Hannibal reached for him, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close. Will sank into it.

"I don't believe that this is a surprise to you, Will."

"It's not," he admitted. "I knew exactly what it was."

"You knew from the second I gave you that bowl."

"I did." The memory of the meal's hearty flavor was so vivid that it still lingered at the back of his tongue. It had been days since then, along with hours of scraping at his taste buds with his toothbrush, but the taste refused to leave. Every morning, he woke up with a terrible craving for it, gagging at the implications. 

"And yet, you devoured it. You stayed," Hannibal replied. "Tell me why you stayed."

"You know why. You're supposed to know everything." 

"I want to hear what you think."

Will didn't have to take himself back to that night; he already had everything he needed. Hannibal was holding him close again, gifting him the soothing sound of his breath as Will lay his head on his chest. Even after all this doubt, it was easy now to recall why he'd stayed.

"I was peaceful."  He sniffed. "You gave me peace. You promised it to me, and you kept that promise."

"I always do." Hannibal rubbed his back. "Will, that night was only a mere glimpse of what's in store for you. Our job is not finished. You will have more, once this final step is taken."

"I don't understand why this can't just be it. Why does it have to end with murder?"

"You have someone who cares. You experienced a night with me. A warm bed, being pampered beyond your wildest dreams. And I will give you that all you wish, but you won't be happy." Hannibal pulled away from him, looking him in the eyes. "You will not be happy until there is blood on your hands. I can see that inside you. Even in my bed, in my arms, you were reveling in the power that Elliot's death gave you. I saw it dancing in your eyes."

"I knew that Elliot had done me wrong. He'd done so many people wrong." He wiped his cheeks. "And I ate him. Down the hatch like...like a pig. I was above him on the food chain."

"It gave you power over someone who perceived you to be weak."

He nodded. "Act like a pig, get treated like one. Slaughtered, eaten, and forgotten."

"Knowing that, tell me why you stayed."

"...I stayed with you because you were the only one who could revel in the power with me. You understood. It was a final reminder that...that I won. I showed him who was really in power, and I got to bask in that with you."

"Yes, Will. You won." Hannibal smiled wistfully. "And isn't there such a beauty in sharing that with another person? In throwing your head back and holding another through the ecstasy?"

It was a sick mentality. To admit to it would be a self-serving act of villainy. Still, he nodded.

Hannibal cupped Will's face in his hands. "You are so close," he said softly. "So close. Everything you've ever wanted is hovering right before your eyes. Can't you feel it brushing your skin? Tempting you with its magnificence?"

"I want to grab onto it. More than anything. But I'm afraid I'll get carried away." 

"I'll be here to bring you back to Earth. But I can't do everything for you. You must regain that power, that peace, for yourself."

"And you want me to do it the way that you do. You want me to kill."

"I want you to win. I want you to show the Shrike who is really in power."

Will inhaled and held the breath in his lungs until they burned. "You want me to get rid of the urges that are dancing inside me."

"That's right."

"I can't. Hannibal, I can't. I've already done enough. I killed Nicholas, I killed Elliot--"

"And you've done wonderfully. Hasn't it felt amazing?"

Will's lower lip quivered. "It...it's made me understand the way that you feel. You have so much power and so much peace. You have everything you could ever want."

"And so could you." Hannibal pressed their foreheads together. Will leaned into it. "One step, Will. I'll help you. You'll be liberated."

"They have my DNA, Hannibal. They found unknown DNA at the barn."

"Do not underestimate me. I can make all of that go away in seconds."

"Why would you do all of that for me?"

"I want you more than anything." He ran his thumb along Will's cheek. "You are beautiful, Will. Your mind is beautiful. And I know that once you take this final step, you will flourish. It will be breathtaking." Even Hannibal was beginning to crack, voice wavering as his eyes watered. Will listened in awe, unable to believe what he was hearing. "And I will give you everything."

Will did his best to hold back his tears. No one had ever spoken about him like that. No one had ever thought him worthy of their attention, their interest, their utter devotion.

Hannibal was staring deep into his soul at that moment. He knew who Will was. He knew what Will needed. And yet, Will knew absolutely nothing about Hannibal. The devil was taunting him, keeping massive secrets from him, and that had broken Will's trust.

Will clenched his jaw and pulled away. "Don't offer me everything," he muttered, "when you can't even offer me the truth."

Hannibal blinked, stunned. Genuine hurt flashed through him. "Will."

"I need to know the truth, Hannibal. I need you to give me that."

A single tear ran down Hannibal's cheek. "Please don't put me in this position," he said. "If I tell you what you want to know, it will jeopardize everything. I need you to trust me."

"Stop, Hannibal. Stop." Will took a step back. "This is hard for me, too. I want this more than anything. I need to trust you. But you're hiding too many things from me."

"I only wish to protect you. I promise, there is a reason for everything. You'll understand—"

"Don't even finish that sentence. Quit saying that!" Tears brimmed in Will's eyes. "If you care, Hannibal, if you really want this, you'll tell me what's going on here."

"The whole truth is elusive, even to me. I don't know how this story ends."

"Then tell me half of it. Tell me a third. A quarter. An eighth. You need to give me something."

"Will..." Hannibal closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. It took a long time for him to consider his options, and when he finally spoke it startled Will. "I can't tell you everything. I can give you something small, but that's all I can give you."

"Anything. I'm sick of us dancing around the truth. You are a master with words, Hannibal, but you sure are great at saying nothing at all." Will narrowed his eyes. "Tell me something true. If I have even the slightest suspicion that you're lying, I'm turning around and leaving this office."

Hannibal leaned back against his desk, letting out a loud sigh. He gripped the edge of the wood, freely letting tears run down his cheeks now.

"I've been having these dreams," he said. "About a cliff."

Will's eyes widened. "I...me, too."

"You have?" A flash of relief in his eyes. "The cliff by the water?"

Will went to him. He leaned against the desk, and their upper arms touched as Will took Hannibal's hand. "Yeah. A few times."

"I have it nearly every night." He gave a small smile through his tears. "I never used to dream. I didn't understand what was happening until I woke and realized none of it was real."

"You're at the top of the cliff, and I'm trying to climb it," Will replied. "I feel every inch of exertion. Every grunt in my throat and pebble digging into my palms. And it feels like I'm getting nowhere."

"You are, Will. I promise you are. You have come so far since I first saw you on the sand. I want to help you more than anything, but I'm paralyzed. I can watch, and I can encourage you. But you follow your own nature. You are beyond me. Your fate is up to you."

"Why do you think we're both having it?" Will looked at him. "What do you think happens when I finally reach the top?"

"I believe that's where your peace lies. And that's why I'm so afraid of you turning back now." He squeezed Will's hand. "I can't stand the idea of watching you fall from the rocks. And you will always be looking up, wondering what could have been."

Hannibal tilted his head to the ceiling, blinking. "I never dream. I didn't know I was capable of it. That's why this feels so important."

"I only have those dreams after I kill," Will remarked. "I had the first one after Nicholas. I had another one at your house that night I killed Elliot."

"I believe that killing Hobbs will push you to the top. It's the final step. It's what you've always wanted to do. If you embrace it, carry it out with grace and joy, then you can finally Become." Hannibal held Will's chin in his hand, gently gazing into his eyes. Will's heart skipped a beat.

"I don't think I can do that," he replied, tears brimming. 

"I won't leave you to do it alone. I will help you, Will. I know what this dream means. I know what all of it means. You have to trust I know what I am doing."

"I can't." He let out a quiet sob. He needed it so desperately: the warmth of the fireplace, a bed he could sink into, a warm shower, the feeling of someone else's hands tracing over him with adoration. Hannibal breathing in the dark, calling him darling. He'd never had that before — it was unfamiliar, a massive change looming in the distance. 

Yet change was vulnerable. It meant ripping his skin open and revealing a part of himself that had never once touched fresh air. It was going to sting.

His instinct told him to turn and run before he got hurt, so that's what he was going to do.

"If I take that step, I'll be admitting that everything I've ever told anyone, everything I've told myself, is all a lie. I can't let all these decades of my life I've spent building myself up go to waste." He pulled away, and a deep cavern opened inside him. Letting go of Hannibal was the worst feeling in the world. 

"Will. Don't go. Please." Hannibal reached for him, fingers brushing Will's arm.

Will looked back and forth between him and the door. He couldn't be here anymore. He didn't have the time or the capacity to deal with this. He couldn't look at the despair on Hannibal's face anymore.

"You've told me nothing," Will said. "I asked for something small, and you told me a whole lot of nothing."

"I will give you anything you could ever want." Hannibal sprang from the desk, taking Will's hands. "I will craft palaces of gold for you to bask in. I will give you luxurious food, drape you in silk. I will massage you, bathe you, sit at your altar and worship you." He brought Will's hands to his lips, kissing his knuckles. "And these are not empty promises. I have the power to create any of these things in the blink of an eye. All you have to do is trust me and let the truth be revealed on its own."

"Please don't do this," Will begged. His words were both alluring and terrifying. It was a level of obsession he'd never witnessed in another human, let alone someone as powerful as the devil. "I just want to feel safe again. I just want to understand."

"Soon. Soon, Will, I promise. This will all be worth it, I swear."

"Enough. Hannibal, enough!" Will shouted. The word rang through the office, startling them both into silence. It seemed to snap Hannibal out of his hysteria, and shame passed through his features.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "Will, I'm so sorry. I want so badly to give you what you want." 

Will sighed. "I want you to give me that, too." 

Will's laptop still sat on Hannibal's desk, taunting him with the information it held. Will picked it up, tucking it under his arm. 

"I can tell you care. I can tell this is really hurting you, Hannibal. And I'm sorry."

"No. I'm sorry. I don't know what's coming over me." He shook his head. "I want you to be happy. I want to give you what you deserve."

"And I want to believe that. I want to believe your promises. But they don't mean anything if you can't offer me something as simple as the truth." 

"I know. I wish things were different." Hannibal hung his head. 

"I'm not going to blindly obey what you tell me to do. Not when you're hiding so much from me. I want to catch the Shrike," Will told him. "But I'm not going to kill him."

Hannibal nodded, wiping his cheek. "I'll take care of the DNA they found at the barn," he said. "I'll make my mark at the office, and it'll be like it was never there. You'll be safe, I promise."

"I can't rely on Jack Crawford, can I?"

"No, you can't. That's a truth I can give you."

Hannibal was right. If he went to Jack Crawford, he wasn't going to listen. Even if he did, it wouldn't be the same. Will was sick of not being listened to, of being thrown to the side and treated like he deserved nothing more than the bare minimum. Jack was going to take the information and do what he wanted with it, not what Will wanted. By the time they did something, Hobbs would already be gone. His only option was to take things into his own hands. 

"I have to go myself, like you said. But I'm going to do this my way, okay? And then I'll come back." Will softened his gaze, placing a hand on Hannibal's forearm. "I'll come back, and we can figure the rest of this out together."

"If you're going, then you have to be careful. Promise me you'll be careful."

"I will. I promise."

Will started for the door. He was already calculating what he was going to tell Jack when he heard Hannibal say his name again. He paused, hand lingering on the doorknob.

"You are free to do whatever you wish," Hannibal said. "This is your choice. I never meant to make it seem like I was forcing you." 

"I know."

"At the end of all of this, will you still want to come back to me?"

After a long moment, Will nodded. "Yeah," he said, "but I might get a little lost along the way. You'll have to help me find my way home."

"I will always find you," he promised. "Call my name, and I will be there. I will find you, and I will bring you home if that's where you want to be. Be it in Wolf Trap, or anywhere else. Be it with me, or alone. I will bring you there."

They stared at each other. Will didn't know what to say.

He left.

Chapter Text

Even after hours of thinking, Will never changed his mind. Despite everything, despite the need to take things into his own hands, Hannibal's influence always came back to him. Jack Crawford and the FBI were not reliable. The only person Will could rely on was himself. 

He had to go by himself. He had to take a page from Hannibal's book and let himself have control over the situation. Hannibal understood so much more than Will did, and if Hannibal told him to go, his instincts also told him he should go. Hannibal was simultaneously the only person he could trust and the last person he should trust. 

It wouldn't hurt to check out the cabin, anyway. Will could spy from afar; if he saw Hobbs there, he would call the local police and get them to come immediately. Hobbs would be in the county jail before he knew what was happening. If Hobbs wasn't there, if he'd gotten away, then the worst that could happen was a waste of time. 

He spent the next day preparing himself for his trip, packing a small duffel just in case. He needed to be strong for a twenty-four-hour drive; he didn't have time to catch a flight, and he didn't want to raise suspicion by asking for one of the jets. Time was ticking, and his DNA was still in the labs. He had to leave now.

He spent a long time on the floor with his dogs, hugging them and feeding them small bites of bacon. His heart thrummed with guilt as he looked at their wagging tails and loving eyes. For all he knew, this would be the last time he saw them. The only person he could count on to bail him out of the inevitable DNA match and possible prison sentence was Hannibal, whom Will wasn't sure he could trust. The uncertainty was killing him.

After a long nap, he pushed away his doubts and loaded himself into the car that evening. He ran through a checklist in his head: lights off, doors locked, doggy door open, food and water bowls filled to the brim. There was nothing left to do. He couldn't stall any longer.

With one final look back at his house, he drove off.

The last thing he expected was a call from Jack Crawford at eight-thirty in the evening, a mere half hour into his drive. Despite heavy reluctance, he answered, trying to keep his voice steady and hide what he knew.

"Hello?"

"Hey." Jack's voice was casual, nowhere near angry. Will's shoulders relaxed. "Beverly says they're finally making progress on the DNA. They should have some insight on potential matches by tomorrow afternoon. I want you to be there. I've invited Doctor Lecter, too, in case he has some insight."

"I thought I wasn't a part of the case." Will couldn't mask the sharp edge in his tone. He heard Jack sigh.

"I might have been wrong in my judgment, Will. The Budish case could turn into something completely different, depending on what we find. I could use your help."

Sweat formed on Will's brow. What they found could be make or break for him. "And the Hobbs case?"

"I'm not letting you back onto the Hobbs case. I'm sorry, Will, but I think you're letting your emotions get in the way when it comes to that case. I don't want your biases to taint how you see the crime scene."

Will had been right to take this into his own hands, then. Jack's voice had a patronizing undertone, but he tucked away the irritation. He was on thin ice, and it was good to keep civility in case things went awry. Jack had to believe in the best of him. 

"Okay," he agreed. "I'll come in to look with you guys tomorrow. It'll be later in the afternoon, though." The lie was unsettlingly easy. 

"Great. See you tomorrow afternoon."

Will drove and drove and drove. The interstate was empty and uneventful, and boredom soon crept in. He spent his spare time planning out what he was going to do, running through every possible scenario in his head. Hobbs was unpredictable; he had to be prepared for anything. There could be a serial killer, an empty cabin, someone completely unrelated who would catch him spying and call the police, or even a dead or injured girl. He may have been in over his head, but he'd gone too far now to want to turn back. Hannibal's voice in his head spurred him along. 

He crossed multiple state lines without stopping. He was determined to do the entire drive in one sitting; resting would only be a waste of time. He only stopped for gas and bathroom breaks to make the most of his time, throwing back disgusting cups of gas station coffee and subsisting on a few bags of chips. 

For the majority of it, his brain seemed to shut off. No complex thoughts were running through his mind, just the endless hum of the road and painted-white lines disappearing at the bottom of the windshield.

The night gave rise to morning, and the morning to afternoon. Will was finally beginning to notice the effects; he was stiff and sore, his eyes heavy and his brain foggy. He glanced down at his phone's GPS: it was nearing three o'clock, only five measly hours to go until he reached the cabin. He was so close.

He got the first call from Jack shortly after that thought. He ignored it. It began to rain, the sky darkening more and more as he drove on.

More calls came, along with texts he didn't bother to read. Each buzz of his phone caused his muscles to tense even further. Will had officially invoked the wrath of Jack Crawford, which made the need for this trip to go well even more urgent. He could redeem himself in the eyes of the law.

All that hope went away an hour later. His phone began to buzz again, and out of some inexplicable urge, he glanced down at the screen. The sight of a different name caught his attention.

Hannibal, his heart screamed. Hannibal, Hannibal, Hannibal--

He had to answer. "Jack keeps calling me," he blurted before Hannibal could speak. "Do they know?" He gripped the steering wheel as rain battered the windshield.

"We're in the clear for now. Where are you, Will?"

"I- I'm nearly to Minnesota. I'm driving."

"Jack is angry that you're not here, but right now that's all he knows. I'm going to convince him to step away for now, and I'll stay close to the computers."

"Can't you just stop time?"

"And have you crash into multiple frozen vehicles on the highway?"

Dammit. Will swallowed. "Are you sure that no one is going to find out?"

"I'm sure. I promise you that, Will. I'm going to protect you no matter what."

Will's breath caught in his throat. He knew Hannibal could hear the sound, could sense the complicated emotions rushing through him.

"Have you figured out what you're going to do?" Hannibal asked him.

"I don't know. I just want to see him punished, that's all."

"That may be difficult to manage. He doesn't like to stay in one place for long."

"My idea was that I call you when I get there, and you can stop things then. I can tie him up, or something like that, and keep him captive while the police show up. Not the FBI; they'll take longer. Just local police to hold him until Jack can come."

"That seems good enough. But there's risk there, of course. He could escape from his bindings and try to hurt you, and then you're at an impasse. Can't stop time, because that also stops the police."

"Bring him back down again, then, and restart time. Or you could scare him into staying put."

"So you do want me there with you? You seemed to be against that while you were in my office." Hannibal's voice was too neutral for Will to decipher whether he was annoyed with his indecisiveness.

Will's chest fluttered. "I don't know what I want, Hannibal. I've been in a car for almost twenty hours straight, and I'm scared shitless. I don't think I thought this through well enough, and I don't feel well, and I think I'm gonna pass out any minute."

"Slow down, Will. Take a deep breath. You should pull over, alright? See if you can safely pull over."

Sweat ran down Will's neck, and his shirt stuck to his back. He did his best to focus on the road, but everything was too overwhelming. Every raindrop was a miniature gunshot; the lights shining down on the highway were blinding him; the car was moving both too fast and too slow. God, it was so hot in here. The air was on full blast, and his body was shivering, but heat flashes still seized his body. He pressed down on the pedal like his foot was made of lead, the car revving as it accelerated to triple digits. He couldn't go fast enough. He couldn't see. He contemplated taking his hands off the wheel, letting whatever happened happen. Letting the car crash, letting the wheel slam into his chest and—

"Will," Hannibal said. His voice was much louder now; he was inside Will's head, not trapped in the phone's tiny speaker. "Pull over safely. Now."

I have to pull over safely. I have to pull over. 

He had no choice but to obey; his mind went blank, and his body began to move against his will. His foot eased up, and he waited for a large gap in the line of cars before swerving over onto the shoulder. It was only when he threw the car in park that the static in his brain faded and he was himself again.

"Fuck. Hannibal, don't do that. I don't like it when you do that."

"I had no choice. You were going to get hurt." His tone softened. "You can't do that to me, Will."

Will sighed, shoulders falling. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just...I can't do this anymore."

"Talk to me. We can figure this out."

"I have to kill him. I have to kill him, don't I?" Will shook his head. His heart hammered in his chest. His entire body shook from a mixture of hunger, exhaustion, and anxiety. "You keep saying there's no other way, and you're right. My body isn't going to last much longer."

"What do you mean by that? You feel as if something is wrong with your body?"

"I'm coming apart at the seams. I'm going to snap, Hannibal." His voice shook, and his volume increased. "I'm not the same anymore. I'm not the same person, and my brain is caving in on itself. I don't know if I'm ever going to be the same."

"You're right, Will. You won't. But that doesn't have to be a bad thing." He paused. "What is holding you back anymore? What are you afraid of?"

"I want to believe I'm a good person. I want to believe I'm someone who always does the right thing." He bit his lip. "That's what I've told myself for so long, at least. If I go back on that, then who am I anymore? I won't be anyone."

"You will be someone. You'll be someone new. Someone happier."

He took a deep breath. "I feel like something is building up inside of me, just waiting to burst out of me. A hawk trying to open my chest."

"Why not release it? Why continue to writhe in misery like you are now?"

"If I do, my heart will be exposed to open air. I'll bleed until it kills me."

"Not if you have someone else to patch you up."

Will reveled in the thought of embracing the violence while also having someone to embrace it with him. He could expose his heart, and someone would cradle it instead of slashing it open.

"If I do what you're saying, if I release it..." Will leaned his head back. "Will you patch me up?"

"I will always be here. Nothing in this world is going to keep me away from you. Not anymore." His voice was full of conviction. It was impossible to doubt him. 

"And if I don't release it?"

"Then I will still be here."

Will nodded. That was enough for him. "I'll call you when I need you."

"Please do. And please be careful."

Rejuvenated after hearing Hannibal's voice, he scrolled through his contacts to find another number. She was on the clock, so she likely wouldn't answer, but he needed to make sure he got his message across.

To his surprise, though, she answered.

"You are in hot shit, my friend." She wasn't angry, merely bewildered that Will had called her. 

"I can smell it from here. Is Jack with you?"

"No, I'm in the lab. He's been looking everywhere for you — what the hell's going on? Where are you? Did you fall asleep or something?"

"Bev, I need you to listen. Don't ask questions. Please?" The words spilled from his mouth before she could stop him. 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just listen. I have to leave. I have to get away from here. Nothing," he swallowed hard, "nothing is what I thought it was. Things are changing, and I need to get away. I'm changing." That was the best way to describe it. He was going through metamorphosis, shedding his skin and leaving part of himself behind. He couldn't return to this world. 

"Hey, Will, you're not making a lot of sense. Can you tell me where you are? Maybe you can come in, and we can talk this out." She kept her voice level, but Will could sense the cracks underneath. 

"I can't, Bev. I don't think I'll ever come back there again." He couldn't get the lump out of his throat. "I just need you to do one small thing, and then I won't ask for anything ever again. Please?"

"Will, I don't want to never see you again. Please, be reasonable. How can we help you?"

"No one can help me anymore. It's just me and the devil on my shoulder." He blinked back tears. "I think I'm going to have to move on to the next life."

"Will-"

"Whatever happens, please, can you make sure my dogs are okay?"

There was a stunned silence on the other end, followed by a nervous laugh. "Your dogs?"

"They'll need a good place to go, and I just...I don't want them to be put down. I don't want them to be in some cold shelter. All I need is for you to find them good homes. They don't have to be with you, that's not what I need. I need you to find them a good place where they will be happy."

"Will, you can come back. We can talk about this. You can see them again. It's going to be okay."

"I don't plan on coming back. I don't think I could live with myself if I did come back."

Beverly was quiet for a very long time, so long that Will checked his phone screen to see if the connection had been lost. Finally, she spoke.

"You know we're all here for you, Will. We can make this better. Where are you? What are you planning on doing?"

"Please tell me you're going to take care of my dogs. I need to hear you say it. Please?"

"Only if you promise to come back."

"I can't come back," Will whimpered. "I can't come back. Please, I just need to hear this from you. I need it more than anything."

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'll help them. You can count on me. But please come back."

"Thank you." Will sighed in relief. "Thank you so much."

"But only if I can have the pug."

He smiled. "That's Bacon. He loves bacon."

"Turkey bacon, too? Or just normal?"

"Just normal."

"Good to know. Now talk to me--"

"I have to go."

Will hung up before she could respond. He looked at his phone, considering what to do with it, and he figured that having a way to call the police was more important than the FBI tracking him. They had no reason to track him right now, and by the time they did, he would already have the job done.

 When he pulled back onto the road, he was a thousand pounds lighter.

The next few hours went by much faster. As he drove deeper and deeper into the woods, he had to slow his pace, but the fact that he was getting closer calmed him. The tree line grew thicker, and he couldn't see very far in front of him. He traveled deeper into the endless cavern, disappearing into the trees for eternity.

Then, suddenly, everything cleared and there it was: a wooden cabin, unassuming and cozy. It stood alone, far from anything civilized, the perfect place to get away with anything.

A car sat outside of it, and a lone light came from one of the windows.

Will parked in the trees and opened his glove box. His pistol sat alongside a half-empty bottle of aspirin; it lay untouched since he'd shot Nicholas Boyle with it. If he looked closely enough, he could notice specks of blood still lingering on it.

He slid it into his back pocket and swallowed three aspirin dry before getting out of the car.

He closed the door as silently as possible, creeping towards the side of the cabin and trying to compose himself. He dialed the number of the local sheriff's department and kept his pointer finger poised over the call button. The second he saw Hobbs, he was calling. He wasn't driving back to Quantico with a serial killer in his car. Well, one that wasn't Hannibal. 

He crouched beside the wrap-around porch, mud seeping into his pants. The wide porch blocked most of the window, even when he stood. The inside of the cabin was illuminated, but he couldn't make out a single thing besides the ceiling. 

He would never see the home's inhabitants this way. He would have to get closer. 

He pulled out his pocket knife and hid it up his shirt sleeve, ready to be slid out and clicked open in seconds. His father had taught him that.

The rickety porch steps creaked under his weight, and he winced. Each plank of wood could be his downfall, no matter how careful he was. Any bit of noise was amplified by the isolation of the cabin and the quiet night.

It was much colder outside than he remembered, and the drizzle turned into a downpour within seconds of him reaching the side window. He ducked underneath it and hid in the corner. 

He sneaked closer to the edge of the window, poking his head up to see if anyone was inside. The breakfast bar sat empty, and the kitchen was devoid of life. No belongings, no food. It was like no one lived here at all. 

But that couldn't be possible. There was a car. Everyone must have been upstairs. 

Will cursed under his breath and ducked out of the window's line of sight. He swung under the railing of the porch and onto the grass, where he dashed to the back of the cabin to check for any more signs of life. 

Nothing. No lights on upstairs, and no movement from the one room that was lit up. Maybe he'd left. Maybe Will had come at the wrong time. 

He swallowed, the phone still in his trembling hand. Moving forward, he completed his circle of the perimeter and found nothing of value. The longer he stayed out here, the more dangerous things became; he had to give up soon. Otherwise, someone would catch him, and he would have a lot of explaining to do. 

Back to the front steps. He would have to reinstate his position by that side window, or else he would have to turn around and go back. He turned to the right, now leaning against the front wall.

"Stop right there. Stop right where you are, damn it."

Will's head swiveled to the side, his face butting right against the barrel of a rifle. The handler stepped back, and Will knew his face all too well. 

Shit. Hannibal, I need you now. Hannibal.

Nothing. Maybe he had to say it aloud. 

He pressed the button to call, but he'd already caught Hobbs's eye. He nodded toward Will's hand. 

"Hang up and put the phone on the ground," he said. "Show me that you've hung up, or I'll shoot you right now."

Will had no choice but to end the call before it could even go through. He held the screen out, turning his head to the side and whispering Hannibal's name. 

The night fell still. The raindrops froze in midair, and the constant chirping of crickets halted. Hobbs didn't say a word. Gritting his teeth, Will slowly opened his eyes. 

Time was stopped. He sagged in relief against the cabin wall. 

"Hannibal," he said again. "Help me."

What do you need?

The voice echoed in his head, ethereal and beautiful. Will took a deep breath. 

"I don't know what to do," he said. 

You planned to subdue him. Is that still what you want?

"I did plan that." He looked over at Hobbs. "But now...now I'm not sure."

What's changed?

"Seeing him in front of me," he replied. "Knowing what he's done. I'm...it's reignited a fire in me that I forgot I had."

You've always had it. Tiny embers glow brightly in your chest, waiting to be fanned into flame. Will's chest burned at the words, his heart lighting up from the inside. What will you choose to do with it?

"I can't abandon my humanity," he said. "This isn't going to fix anything."

Perhaps not. But it can prevent further harm. And don't you think it could fix you?

Will stepped forward, tearing the gun from Hobbs's frozen hands and flicking on the safety. He opened the chamber and emptied it, dropping the cartridges into his pocket before putting the gun right back where it had been. He knelt by his phone and made the call once more. It wasn't going to go through until time resumed, but Hobbs wouldn't know that. 

"I need a confession," Will said. "No matter what happens here, I need the world to know what he's done."

I don't have to give you that. He will do it on his own. He seems rather proud of himself, from what I can tell.

"I know. I just need you to be here," Will said. "You don't have to do anything. Just be here. And make sure that call goes through."

What are you going to do, Will?

Will stood back up, his heart pounding in his chest. He raised his hand in the air, feeling the frozen raindrops morph around him. He was in control now. 

"I don't know," he admitted. "Resume things, please."

Hannibal obeyed. It continued to rain, and Hobbs was back to breathing before him like nothing had happened. His gun meant nothing now. The phone was ringing. 

"I know you," Hobbs said. "You're the one who kept asking me questions about my daughter at her fucking vigil. Can't read a room for the life of you, huh?"

"Hobbs. My name is Will Graham. I'm not here to hurt you, I just wanted to give you the chance to talk more about Abigail."

"Abigail's dead. I know you've got your eyes on me, so don't play dumb. Should have minded your business while you had the chance, Will Graham," Hobbs said. "Could've lived a little bit longer."

Will slowly moved to put his hands up. Pulling his own gun out now would only cause even more of a mess. "Don't shoot, Hobbs. We can talk about this."

"Where's the rest of the cops?" He tried to look calm, but the seams were coming apart. His hair was tousled, and sweat dripped down his temples. His hands trembled as he gripped the gun.

"It's just me."

"Really? You sure about that?"

"I swear on my life, I came here alone."

"Well, that was dumb of you." He smirked. "You got some kinda death wish?"

"I'm not sure anymore, to be honest."

"Well, your life doesn't mean much anymore. You don't have a lot of time left." Hobbs shrugged. "More fun for me."

He grabbed Will by the shoulders and spun him around, pressing the gun against his lower back. His hand slithered into Will's back pocket and took out the pistol, throwing it across the porch. It clattered to the floor, rendered useless.

"Oops," Hobbs said. "No more gun. Now move. We're going on a walk."

They tread into the trees, soon soaked to the bone by the rain. They stepped carefully over the wet leaves. Hobbs was breathing down his neck, and disgust rippled through Will. 

The cold metal of his pocketknife rested against his forearm, his sleeve clinging to it. It was so dark that he couldn't see the outline of it through his sleeve; he hoped it was the same for Hobbs.

After what seemed like hours of walking, Hobbs told him to stop. The end of the rifle dug into his back. "Get on your knees," he barked. "I don't want you trying anything stupid."

"You don't have to do this, Hobbs."

"Get on your fucking knees."

He had his knife. He had his willpower. He had Hannibal. 

He fidgeted with his arm, working the knife's handle down his sleeve. It landed in his palm, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He faked a choked sob to mask the sound of the blade clicking open.

"Ground, pussy. Last time I'm asking you."

Will started to lower himself to the ground, and Hobbs let his guard down for one perfect moment. Will lunged, his arm swinging down as the blade collided with the other man's wrist, half of the blade sinking into his skin.

Hobbs cried out in pain, and he was stunned long enough for Will to knock the gun out of his weakened hand. As it flew to the ground, Will yanked the knife out and watched the blood pour down Hobbs's wrist.

"You fucker!" Hobbs bared his teeth, scrambling for the gun. Will had the same idea, and they wrestled on the wet grass in a desperate attempt to reach it first. When Hobbs's eyes darted away from him, Will dug his nails into the hot, bleeding wound on his wrist, and that debilitated him long enough for Will to grab the stock of the rifle. He stumbled to his feet, standing over Hobbs and stomping on his stomach.

He couldn't give Hobbs the chance to fight back. "Hannibal!"

Another freeze. Will rapidly loaded a cartridge into the chamber of the rifle, pointing it down at a helpless Hobbs. He clenched his jaw and flicked off the safety.

The call went through. The police won't get anywhere if time is frozen, though. 

"They don't have to," Will panted. "Start it."

The wind rushed in his ears. Hobbs tried scrambling to his feet, but before he could get up, Will pulled the trigger. 

The blast was deafening, and Will's ears rang as he stumbled backward from the recoil. Hobbs screamed in agony, his face contorting with fear in a way Will had never seen from him.

"You piece of shit. Fuck!" Will had gotten him in the knee. He crawled onto all fours, screaming in pain, and every time he tried to stand he fell right back down. "I'll kill you." 

He was disgusting. Pathetic. Will kicked him in the torso, knocking him to the ground, and dug his boot into the bullet wound. Hobbs let out a loud, grating scream. 

His suffering was delectable. Will savored its musicality, his body rushing with both adrenaline and serenity. He'd reduced an evil man to nothing but a bloody, screaming mess, stripping him of his power and devouring it for himself. 

Hobbs was beneath him. He was nothing compared to Will, a man who shared a soul with the devil and loved it. 

The anger was boiling over. It pounded inside of him, begging to be let out. He balled his hands into fists, knuckles turning white, hatred fueling him like gasoline meeting a spark. 

"You killed your own daughter for nothing."

Will brought the heavy barrel of the gun onto Hobbs's chest. The snap of his ribs rang through the trees like Will had merely stepped on a twig. Hobbs roared, body curling up into itself. 

Holding the pocketknife, Will knelt on the ground next to Hobbs. They glared at each other with fire in their eyes.

"You're...just as bad as I am," Hobbs panted between his teeth.

"I'm nothing like you."

"Boo-hoo. You're a fucking coward. You're not gonna kill me. You're gonna lock me up, but you're not gonna kill me." 

"I might just surprise you." Will leaned close to him and hissed, "Why did you murder your daughter? Why did you murder Abigail?"

"Because I loved her."

Will's upper lip curled as he bared his teeth. "You didn't love her. You don't murder what you love."

"You honor what you love. You preserve it in any way you can. And if they ever try to leave..." He winced. "You make sure they never try again."

Without giving himself much time to think, Will brought the blade down hard onto the man's chest. The tissues of his body separated under the blade, and the tip pierced Hobbs's heart like raw meat. It was horrendously satisfying, made even more so by the anguish on Hobbs's face and how his limbs froze in shock. 

He ripped the knife out and brought it down again. Blood spurted from the body, spattering across Will's skin. Hobbs deserved to lose every drop of his tainted blood. 

He did it again. A disgusting gurgle erupted from Hobbs's mouth, and Will had to silence him.

He did it again. The light was quickly draining from Hobbs's eyes, rendering him completely unable to fight back. 

He deserves this. He deserves this. I win. 

He did it again. 

He stabbed Hobbs until his arm began to go numb from the effort, and then he switched hands and continued. The wounds made the body unrecognizable from the neck down, but Will left his face intact. The world had to know who Garrett Jacob Hobbs had been, and they had to know that he was dead. 

Finally, finally, he came to a stop. He fell onto the bloodied grass, panting, his chest tightening from panic and exhaustion. 

A lone starling cried from somewhere in the trees into the night, and the world went still. 

Garrett Jacob Hobbs was dead. The Minnesota Shrike was dead, and Will had murdered him in cold blood. He waited for a sense of guilt that never came.

The stained knife slipped from his grasp, and his skin became spotted with goosebumps. There was no sign of life around him. The world was as cold and still as the corpse before him, and he was alone. 

Except he wasn't.

An impending presence loomed before him. Footsteps sounded in the silence, and a cold breeze rustled Will's hair from above. He was comforted and terrified. 

"Hannibal," he breathed. "I need you. Please, I need you."

With a rustle of feathers, Hannibal spread his wings. 

I'm here, Will, the devil said. I'm here.

Chapter Text

I'm here, Will. I'm here.

The cold, wet grass and growing pool of blood underneath him soaked Will's body. His reflection, a featureless shadow amid the dark puddle, quivered with exhilaration.

Will closed his heavy eyes. In the recesses of his mind, he pictured Hannibal: towering over the tallest trees, his antlers stretching into the sky and blending in with the branches. His wings unfolded, and their sheer size and momentum sent a cool breeze through Will's hair. Crows landed on his antlers. Deer bowed their heads in reverence. Every creek and stream flowed toward him. Nature was no match for Hannibal, as nature was the younger of the two.

Please pick up the knife and face me. I wish to look at you.

His voice broke the spell and shot Will back to reality. He wrapped his fingers around the slick handle of the blade. As he moved to stand, his entire body trembled with the effort. Laying eyes on Hannibal, though, was worth every exertion.

He was in his true form, which Will had only seen once outside his dreams. His skin was smooth and deep gray, his body genderless. He held both the strength of a buck and the gentleness of a fawn. Fear no longer paralyzed Will - Hannibal's beauty overcame him, sending tears to his eyes.

You've done such a wonderful job. I'm so proud of you.

Will swayed, lightning dancing under his skin. Adrenaline rushed through his veins. He was a wreck, doused in rain and blood, shivering in the cold wind, but Hannibal still gazed at him as an artist revealing their magnum opus would.

You only have one more decision to make. After that, all of the pieces will fall into place. Do you trust me?

"Yes."

Good. You have a choice to make, Hannibal said. Listen carefully.

If you wish to go home, you may. If that is what you desire most, I will stop at nothing to give it to you.

He hesitated, his face faltering for a moment. I'm not able to reverse time. It simply isn't within my reach. But God can. He tilted his head toward the sky. God can erase this. He can turn back the clocks so none of these deaths ever happened. Nicholas, Elliot, Hobbs...perhaps even Abigail. He can give you your life back, return it to the way it was before I ruined everything.

But He will not do this without incentive. And I have two important things He wants: your soul...and my life.

"No," Will cried, reaching for him and stumbling across the grass. "No."

But Hannibal took a step back. He put space between them, letting his words fill the gap.

I will give my life for you if it means you are content. I will hand over my existence for the mere possibility of your happiness. Determination hardened his tearful eyes. Because I love you, Will. I am willing to relinquish your soul to Him if it means you have a chance at Paradise. I am willing to relinquish everything I have ever been. I will pray for Him to take your soul, take my life, in exchange for your happiness and safety.

"Hannibal, no. No, I don't want that." Will furiously shook his head. "Let me go."

That is your first option. The other option? Hannibal held out his hand. You may come to me.

Will was already moving. Hannibal flicked his wrist, freezing him in place. His feet stuck to the mud.

Will. I'm not finished. Vulnerability flashed across his features. If you choose me, you will be signing your soul to me for eternity. There will be no chance of return. This is your only chance at a guaranteed Heaven. At guaranteed peace.

"I thought it was already guaranteed. You told me that you would give me peace."

I can promise you all I want, but whether you believe me is your choice. The corner of his mouth turned up. I am the devil, after all.

"Hannibal."

You must choose between a guaranteed Heaven with God and an uncertain eternity with me. If you choose me, there will be no going back. And the Will Graham that stands in front of me will die.

Rain pounded down on Will's head, soaking him, while Hannibal remained untouched. His wings were dry, water passing through his skin like he was made of light. He was everything Will yearned to be, calm and untouchable.

We will have to run from this place. Change your name, your identity. To live this new life, you must shed everything you once had. If you choose me, you must be willing to abandon this life you live right now. This body, this mind, this soul, it will all be born anew.

It was a refreshing thought, to rise from the ashes of this old life and become someone worthy of redemption. He had nothing left for him here, and Hannibal's offer comforted him more with each second.

And was it just him, or was everything so much brighter? Were colors more saturated, were sounds more musical, were the raindrops cooling on his skin and sparkling in the moonlight? Was the blood on his skin black under the light of the stars?

Yes, it was; it was black like the sky, like the feathers of a starling. It was the ink they would use to write their future, to sign their names on each other's skin like a promise. At that moment, the world was theirs to relish in. It was their world in which to laugh, play, and dance a deadly choreography that couldn't be danced solo. After decades of the world chaining him, he'd finally broken free. This world was extraordinary; he couldn't believe he'd gone so long with the wool over his eyes.

You can have all the time you need to consider this. It's your eternity, after all. Time is no longer ticking; you may have hours, days, even years to decide. But I will be here for all of it. I will not leave you unless you ask me to.

It was a worthless offer; he didn't need any time to choose. He made his decision the moment he brought the knife down.

Hobbs was dead. Will had exerted ultimate control over his life. He'd altered the fabric of the universe, even if it was only a speck of it - he'd toyed with the natural order and bent the Earth to his will. The devil, with all of his power, had chosen him of all people to coach, to worship, to help. He'd given his soul to the darkest power in the universe, and it had given him nothing but joy.

He was powerful. He was God. He won. And oh, he was so peaceful.

It was just like Elliot had told him. How could he choose anyone but Hannibal? After sinking into a soft bed, basking by a warm fireplace, and touching the loving hands of someone who needed him just as much as he needed them, how could he wish for anything else? He would surrender everything for just another second of this pleasure.

"I want you to let me go, Hannibal," he said flatly. "I want to move."

His feet freed themselves from the ground, and he began to walk.

Every step he took towards Hannibal made his body thrum with tranquility. It was nourishment. It was wiping steam from a window and watching the image become clear. Each vision of their eternity was even better than the last. Sitting at the right hand of his lover on a throne, bowing and being bowed to, giving into pure ecstasy and letting Hannibal take every last drop of his essence.

Hannibal spoke before he could continue. Do you understand eternity, Will?

"I...I don't think I'm capable of understanding it. I know that it is forever. There's no end."

Exactly. It is a concept that is not made for you to understand. He tilted his head. That is why I need you to think carefully about this. Eternity. Billions and billions of years are nothing compared to it. This is not the rest of your life. This is not the rest of Earth's life. This is not the rest of the universe's life. There will never, never be an end.

He was still waiting with his hand outstretched. You are about to abandon your chance to return home, as well as your chance to go to Heaven. Your soul can belong to God, yet you are entrusting it to me. Is this what you wish to do?

Will took the final steps, and an indescribable serenity washed over him. He circled his arms around Hannibal's waist and leaned his head on his chest.

"Yes," he said. "It is."

Hannibal slowly curled into the embrace. I am so, so proud of you.

They stayed that way for a while. Blood dotted Will's clothes. His body throbbed with dull pain. He tilted his head to the sky, watching the full moon peeking out from behind the clouds. His eyelids sank half-shut with euphoria.

Do you see?

God, his voice was hypnotic. Even if Hannibal was fooling him, wading into the siren's sea was worth a violent death. "Yes," he replied. "I see. I see all of it."

This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. He stroked Will's hair and kissed the top of his head. For both of us.

Will's voice was confined to an awe-struck whisper. "It's beautiful."

Hannibal circled his wings around Will and held onto his waist. Will leaned into him.

You are beautiful. You've followed everything you needed to do, and now all this pain is about to be over. Are you ready, Will? To embrace your Becoming?

"I need it more than anything."

It's going to be the worst pain you've ever felt. Once it's over, though, you will never feel pain again. Your body will transcend suffering. You will thrive.

Will wasn't afraid. "I'll go through it a thousand times if it means I get to feel this way forever."

Hannibal took his shoulders and turned him around, wrapping his arm around Will and pulling him so his back was to Hannibal's chest. He placed his hand over Will's heart.

I need you to give me the knife.

His heart pounded. "Hannibal."

I need you to give it to me. Trust me.

Will did. Hannibal held it in his grasp for a long while before easing the blade up to Will's chest. He pressed the sharp metal against Will's skin, and Will's breath quickened.

Do you trust me?

"I do."

Put your head back. Lean against my chest and close your eyes.

An impending feeling hovered over him - not necessarily doom, but the notion that something monumental was about to happen. "Are you going to kill me, Hannibal?"

No. Never. Hannibal held him tight. I'm going to bring you to life. It will be painful, but it will all be worth it. Now, please do what I tell you.

Will pressed the back of his head to Hannibal's chest, and the last thing he let himself see was the reflection of the moon in the blade.

I love you, Will. Do you understand that I love you?

"Yes." Will nodded. Hannibal's love radiated from his soul and passed down to his own. "I love you, too."

Hannibal held him tight. I haven't heard that in so long, he gasped. Thank you.

"Are you going to honor what you love, Hannibal?"

I'm going to save them. This will all be over soon, and then we can love each other for eternity.

"What's going to happen?"

I'm sorry.

Hannibal brought his hand down, plunging the blade into Will's chest.

Will watched the blade disappear inside his body, sinking through every layer of tissue, yet pain didn't strike him until seconds later. It was a dull ache, a hard fist to the chest. His body split in two, and his lungs collapsed with the pressure.

Will gasped for air, legs giving out from underneath him. Hannibal caught him and eased them both onto the ground, sitting on his knees and laying Will on his lap. The view of the universe in Hannibal's eyes entranced him. He couldn't make a sound when he opened his mouth to speak.

It's alright.

The agonizing burning began, a match brought directly to the heart. His chest pounded with red-hot pain, every pump sending scorching blood through his body. He had been thrown into hellfire with no escape. A small stream of blood began to run down his chest; the only thing holding back the dam was the blade still lodged inside him.

"Wh--Ha--Hannibal," he sputtered. "Hannibal, Hannibal...why..."

It will all be over soon. Please, trust me.

An insatiable itch crept through him. Thousands of thick, angry cicadas had hatched inside his body, and now they were burrowing under his skin to escape their prison. His skin stretched and pulsated under their efforts. Will scratched at his arms, and the sting that came from tearing at them helped distract him from the terrible pain in his chest. Hannibal grabbed his wrists and held them down.

Don't hurt yourself. You have to let it happen. Let it happen. He cradled Will's head. I'm so sorry.

With his other hand, he gripped the blade of the knife and dragged it across Will's chest from side to side. The air returned to Will's throat, and he let out a loud cry of pain. The blood spurted from a trickle to a waterfall, spilling down his body and onto the leaves.

Hannibal grabbed Will's shirt where the knife had torn it and finished the job, ripping the fabric and peeling it off his wet, bloody skin. Will could now get a good look at the wound, which was pulsing and spewing bright blood with every beat of his heart.

Hannibal yanked the blade out of him, and the momentum sent Will tumbling off his lap onto the grass. He landed on his side, which torturously pressed on the sides of his wound. His throat tore as he screamed. He had just enough strength to roll onto his back.

His head pounded, and static clouded his line of sight. He scratched and scratched at himself, sobbing, pain radiating through his entire body. If he dug his nails in hard enough, the bugs under his skin might break free and scatter across the forest. The mere potential of that relief was worth the pain.

Will, sweet one, please don't do that. You're almost done. Hannibal knelt next to him, taking his hands again. It's almost over. You'll be free soon, my love. My dear Will, I'm so sorry.

Will's chest seized, and his body began to expand. He was an ever-growing labyrinth, his muscles and veins stretching into an endless maze that was too large for his body to handle. His skin stretched bit by bit, and he howled in agony as he began to split open. He screamed and screamed until his throat could only let out whistling spouts of air. The sound of his skin tearing open rang through his ears.

A large lump gathered inside his back, his muscles forming tight knots. They clenched, cramped, and grew claws, ripping away at his skin and reaching for the fresh air. It was a level of pain he'd never experienced before, one that transcended this body and ascended to the heavens. His body heaved forward under a sudden weight. His balance shifted, and he could hardly keep himself upright. He was too weak to make a sound, so nature did it for him; a loud crash of thunder shook the trees, and a flock of starlings screeched. The rain pounded down onto the grass, battering away at his painful wounds, and the wind howled louder than buildings collapsing.

Heat built up in his body. He yearned for that night in the barn again; cauterizing a knife wound was child's play compared to this agony, this damnation, this torture.

Close your eyes, Will. Now!

A massive sonic boom rang out and shook the ground underneath them, and an unearthly beam of light shot from his chest and into the night sky. It was more blinding than the sun, piercing his closed eyelids. Hannibal cried out with joy, and then silence descended upon them.

Will's ears rang, and his pain began to subside. The big beam of light faded, replaced with a faint glow that emanated from his cracked skin. It ran up and down his body like metal in his veins. Tears poured from his eyes.

I will mend your cracks and fill them with gold, Will.

The memory of a voice, the same voice speaking to him now.

You've done it, it said. It's finally happening. Transcend this pain, you can do it. Just embrace what is about to happen.

A comforting pair of arms wrapped around him, pulling him close, and Hannibal's voice sang a quiet lullaby in his ear. His heart thumped along with the rhythm, immediately recognizing it before his brain did. His cries silenced like an infant hearing its mother soothe it.

It was the same unintelligible language from his dreams, the same presence that had held him throughout the night for weeks. All this time, it had been Hannibal sheltering him in the darkness, keeping him safe. He'd loved and protected Will when he needed it the most. He'd cradled Will as he slept and delivered him peace.

Do you understand that I love you?

There had never been anything to be afraid of.

"Hannibal..." Will sighed, his eyes watering. "I'm so sorry."

You have nothing to be sorry for, my love. The hard part is over. Just breathe.

He put his head back and embraced what came next.

His body erupted in light, and nature blossomed under its glow. The grass, browned and dry from the winter weather, turned a deep emerald green. The bare trees sprouted leaves, then pink flowers. The full and luscious moon revealed itself from behind the thick clouds.

Oh, there you are, angel. Yes. Yes!

The tears in Will's eyes turned into ones of relief as all of the pain flushed from his body. He sighed and melted into Hannibal's arms, every little discomfort vanishing. A wave of bliss took over his soul, a pleasure so great that his body twitched and jerked as it tried to comprehend it.

My angel. My angel, my angel...

Hannibal's voice dissolved into sobs. The light diminished into nothingness.

Will's head pounded with a sudden flush of knowledge, billions of years of information pouring into his mind at once. A vise gripped the sides of his skull, forcing pressure upon him until he was sure he was going to burst. He opened his mind, accepting every bit of it, and the pressure eased.

And then it was over.

Not a hint of noise, not a single cricket's chirp nor gust of wind, disrupted them. The heavy sleet assaulting them had morphed into soft snow, drifting silently onto the revitalized grass. It was a contradictory mess of nature: the blooms of spring, the snowfall of winter, the green grass and luscious trees of summer. The world bent to his will, not the other way around. It was still  stumbling from his arrival, unsure of how to express itself.

Will. Sweet, sweet Will, it's all over. You've done it. You're finally here.

He lifted his head, peering at Hannibal's face. The devil stared at him, stricken with awe. They looked into each other's eyes.

Hannibal broke.

He curled up into Will and held him with an iron grip, weeping. He cried loud enough for the entire world to hear, and he did it all with a smile of relief. Sobs racked his body as he planted kisses on Will's face.

Will. Darling, darling, darling Will. My love, my everything. My beautiful angel. You're safe.

Will didn't feel safe. He had been skinned. The flames had eaten away at his body until he became nothing, until the pain took hold of him and began to morph him into someone else. His chest tightened. The world shrank; the trees became taller and the night colder.

He was seven years old again, and he was lost. He'd never been more alone in his life. His hands phased in and out before his eyes like he was made of fog. A stranger who wasn't his father hovered over him.

Where...

He gasped at the sound of his own voice. It was so soft, so feathery. It was a gentle, soothing sound that couldn't have come from human vocal cords; it came from the wind, the trees, the birds, the pattering of snow. Speaking was now a monumental task, and the one word was enough to exhaust him. It took as much effort to utter a word as it would to hold up the entire universe.

He began to cry. He shivered in the freezing air. Everyone had abandoned him.

Where am I?

You're even more beautiful than I remembered, a strange voice said to him. I thought that was impossible.

The clouds were clearing, and the bright expanse of the stars shone down upon them. He was vulnerable as an injured lamb, bleating for its mother as blood spattered its delicate wool. He curled into himself, squeezing his eyes shut. The stranger touched his arm.

I want my dad, Will said. I want my daddy.

Oh, sweetheart. The stranger stroked his hair. It's alright.

Where did my dad go? Why did he leave? I want my dad, he wept. It hurt so bad. Who are you? Why did you hurt me?

There was a long pause. Someone strong wrapped their arms around him, and Will caught the familiar scent of spruce, smoke, and pine tree sap. The next voice he heard was his father's, forever larger than him, larger than life itself. He sagged with relief.

I'm right here, Dad said. Will, it's me. I'm here. I'm so sorry. You ran off on me and got lost, but I'm here now. We're going to go home now, okay?

Home. Will smiled. Will I be with you?

Oh, yes. I promise. All of your pain is over, Will. You're safe. I will never leave you again. His father began to cry, his tears dripping onto Will's quivering body. Will tensed.

Why are you crying?

Because I'm happy. I'm happier than I've ever been. He kissed Will's forehead, more tears falling onto him. It's been so long, and to finally have you back...oh, my soul. You are everything to me.

I don't like this. I don't feel good. His eyes were heavy. His father's words were alien coming from a man like him. He'd always been stoic, comforting when he needed to be but never this affectionate. He'd never seen his father cry. Daddy, what's happening?

It's alright, my darling. Rest now, please. Sweet Will, I love you. I love you. I love you.

Those words were so rare. Will turned to embrace him, clinging to his neck.

I love you, Dad.

His father wept. His tears glimmered like a starry sky.

Will finally let his eyes sink closed. His father ran his hand across his bare back. His fingers made contact with the new knots on Will's back, and a strange feeling pulsed all the way down to his lower spine. He'd grown. This wasn't his body.

He was too exhausted to question it. He let himself collapse into his father's arms and fell into the deepest sleep of his life.

Chapter Text

Will phased in and out of consciousness through the rest of the journey home. As they walked back to the car, his body grew heavier and heavier, and he fell limp with the sudden weight. His shoulders pulsed in dull pain, and he thought he felt blood trickling down his back.

His father laid him down in the backseat, and the two of them drove to an unknown location. Will spent most of the time with his eyes closed, silent tears falling as his perception returned at a snail's pace. His father was a shadow in the front seat, never turning to look at him. Will couldn't find him in the rear view mirror.

"Where are we going, Dad?"

His father didn't turn around. "I'm stopping somewhere for a moment, and then we're going home." His voice was flatter, different somehow.

"What happened? Where's my shirt?" He was bare-chested, only in jeans and shoes.

"What do you remember, Will? Think long and hard about it."

"It hurt really bad."

"I know. But I need you to think some more, alright? Take some deep breaths and try to remember what happened to you."

Will obeyed. He trusted his father knew what he was doing. He pulled his knees up to his chest and dug into the recesses of his mind, trying to conjure up what happened before all of the pain, but he kept drawing blanks.

The car soon came to a stop, and his father got out of the car. His figure was still shrouded in shadow, and his comforting smell left the front seat along with him. Now devoid of his presence, Will closed his eyes and began reconnecting with his body.

He was forgetting someone else. Someone much more important than his father, as impossible as that seemed.

Moments later, the back door opened. His father scooped him out of the car with ease, holding Will to his chest. His clothes smelled like gun smoke, but the shape of him was off. He wasn't as wide, wasn't as tall. His father was a giant man, so hairy and muscular that as a child, Will had called him Bigfoot. This wasn't the same man.

"You're not my dad," Will said.

"I'm afraid not. Do you know who I am, Will?"

Water rushed somewhere nearby. "I don't know right now."

The figure leaned down and whispered an unintelligible word in his ear, and Will gasped.

"Hannibal."

In a mere second, their surroundings changed. They went from standing outside on the snowy road to standing inside a lush, beautiful kitchen. His father's smell was replaced with spices and char. His father changed into someone else, and this time Will knew his face. The transition had woken him up, snapped him out of his foggy illusion.

"We're home now," Hannibal said. "It's alright."

Will's heart pounded. His shoulders ached. "You lied to me."

"I'm sorry, Will. I didn't know how else to make you feel better."

Will turned his head to the side, clinging to Hannibal's firm abdomen. He grit his teeth, wet cheeks pressed against Hannibal's shirt.

"You said I would know the truth, and I still know nothing," he said. "You lied to me. After everything, you're still lying to me."

Without a word, Hannibal carried him out of the kitchen and down the hall. He recognized the layout of the house, and he was glad to be somewhere familiar.

They went into the master bathroom. Hannibal set him down on the edge of the massive tub and took his hands.

"I know you're afraid," he said, "and I can't say I blame you. But I promise you, I have not lied to you. Your pain is over. Your truth has been revealed. Most importantly, you are safe."

"The truth hasn't been revealed. I know nothing."

"You just left a dissociative episode. The last thing I want is to trigger another," he said, stern yet calm. "I think you need proper care and rest before I tell you anything else. Is that alright?"

Hesitantly, Will nodded. He wasn't sure how much more his brain could handle, anyway. He couldn't fathom waiting any longer - it would be infuriating - but he also couldn't cope with another shock to the system.

"Thank you. Now, will you let me give you a bath? I'll wash your hair and get all of this cleared away. Would you like that?"

Will couldn't stop himself from nodding. "I would. But, Hannibal," he said as Hannibal moved, grabbing his attention once more, "never do that again. The thing with my father. I don't care how upset I am, just...never do it again."

Hannibal nodded. "I'm sorry, Will. It won't happen anymore, you have my word."

"Thank you." He was glad Hannibal didn't push it any further. Talking about it would push him far past the breaking point.

"Is it okay if I take your clothes off?"

Will couldn't recall the last time he was naked in front of another person. During their first night together, he'd shut down the very idea, afraid it would turn sexual. Hannibal sensed his hesitation and placed his hand on Will's knee.

"If you'd rather be left alone to bathe, I understand."

"No." Will laced their fingers together. "Please don't go. You can take them off."

"Say something if you get uncomfortable."

Hannibal knelt on the ground and eased off the rest of his clothes. Will let it happen; he trusted Hannibal, and his touch was so gentle he craved as much as possible. His hands brushed gently against his hips as he pulled down Will's boxers. His hands were warm against Will's cold skin.

Hannibal stripped him bare and drank in the sight of his naked body with amazement. He gazed at Will in the same way Will had gazed at him in the forest: with devotion, adoration, and awe.

"You're magnificent," he whispered.

Will's cheeks flushed. "You don't have to say that."

"I wouldn't lie to you." Hannibal held Will's ankle, lifting his leg and pressing kisses along his shin. "I've lived through eons. I've witnessed galaxies come to life. I've explored the deepest parts of the ocean, touched the vast edges of the sky, and ruled over Heaven itself. None of that, not a single bit of it, compares to you, Will. You are the most beautiful creature I've ever seen."

He lay his head on Will's lap and let out a shaky sigh. He was holding back more tears, but he composed himself before things could get any more out of his control. He stood and turned on the bathtub.

"You ask questions," Hannibal said, "and I'll answer them. Whatever we both feel you're ready for."

Will raised his hand to touch the wound on his chest, but his fingers brushed smooth skin. The massive slash on his sternum had certainly been there before -- he'd felt it, seen it, breathed around it -- but now, there was no evidence it had even existed.

"My..." His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat. "My chest. You stabbed me."

"I know, and I am so sorry. It was a necessary evil. I had to bring your soul out into the light," he said. "I understand if it has made your trust in me falter."

"I did feel betrayed," Will admitted. "I was convinced you were killing me. That after all we'd been through, you were just going to let me die."

"No. I promise you, that is not the case. I knew you would be healed by the transformation; it was my only motivation to keep going. Your body is much better now, as I expected. I had no doubts about that. Your heart will beat, your lungs will breathe. Spiritually, however, you have evolved."

He hoisted Will up to his chest again, then lowered him into the tub. The water was the perfect temperature, not too cold but a soothing lukewarm that eased his muscles. He slumped against the edge and closed his eyes.

"You said I transformed."

"Yes."

"What did I transform into? Am I different?"

"You're very different. I suppose it's less of a transformation, though, and more of an unleashing of something that was already inside. Releasing your true self."

"Did you know all along this was going to happen?"

Hannibal paused, reaching for a washcloth and a bottle of soap. He worked up a pile of suds before speaking. "Yes. I did."

"Why didn't you just tell me the truth?"

"I did, in every way I knew how. I told you of the beauty that awaited you. I urged you to follow me, and I promised you the world. But I was afraid to tell you the full story because I thought if I did, something would happen to you. The human brain isn't meant to comprehend the things you've been through. I feared your knowledge or awareness would ruin things before they could come to fruition. I may have been wrong, and we'll never truly know if I was, but it's better safe than sorry."

Will's shoulders fell. It made sense. "Has anyone else done this? Evolved like me?"

"No. You are the only one. You witnessed your world shatter before you, and you have been through unimaginable pain. Yet you still emerged from the ashes." He began to run the soft cloth across Will's skin. "Now, I'd like you to put your head back and let me take care of you. Let yourself be weak. I know you are weary of being strong."

The water rose around him, encompassing his legs. It was so nice to lean against the edge of the tub and let Hannibal caress him like this. Being worshiped was a novel experience, but it was one he would gladly get used to.

From there, neither of them spoke. Will relaxed into the rhythm of being washed and cared for, and Hannibal treated his body with respect. He always asked before touching somewhere new, and Will welcomed him even in the most intimate places. His touch was ecstasy. He was everything Will had ever wanted.

Eventually, the spell had to be broken. Will had questions to ask, and Hannibal had answers to give. "Why did it have to end in murder? Why did it have to end in me killing Hobbs?"

Hannibal paused. "Fall on us and hide from the face of Him who sits on the throne--"

"And from the wrath of the lamb," Will finished with a bitter half-smile. "My father used to say that to me all the time."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. "I thought you weren't religious."

"We weren't. He used to teach me lessons with that specific phrase, though. Hide from the wrath of the lamb."

"What type of lessons?"

Will hesitated. "I think that's a story for later. You didn't answer my question. And you don't seem like the type that should be quoting the Bible at me."

"The Bible often evokes imagery that is connected to, but not directly derived from, the truth," Hannibal said. "There are some lessons to be learned from it, as with any literature."

"I suppose."

Hannibal ran the cloth along Will's chest. "The image of the lamb is entwined with that of the lion in Biblical literature. The gentle lamb is slain, and he is resurrected with the strength and wrath of the lion. He delivers justice after being beaten down. In order for you to transform, you had to resurrect with that amount of strength and wrath. You had to break from the skin of the lamb to evolve into the lion. In righteousness the lamb doth judge and make war. His wrath touches everyone who errs. It reminds me of you."

"It's Christ, isn't it? The lamb?"

"Yes."

"Are you trying to compare me to Christ?"

"Christ is not real. He is an invention of humanity to reconcile their grievous sins." Hannibal moved on to his arms and shoulders, placing a hand on the back of Will's neck. "But if Christ were to exist...you would be the closest thing we have."

Will stared into his eyes, still struggling to understand the magnitude of the statement. "I'm not that special."

"Oh, you have no idea." Hannibal smiled softly. "The amount of pain you've been through should tell you otherwise."

"Is the pain over now?"

"It is over," Hannibal said. "This is your reward: an eternity with me, as you wished. From now on, you will only feel bliss. You'll have to escape this life, but I will be here to help you."

He rinsed the cloth and splashed water onto Will's body, cleansing him of suds. Will bit his lip.

"Is the FBI looking for me?"

"They will, but not for long. All the evidence has been planted. Will Graham is dead, for all they know."

"What happened to me? In that life, I mean."

"You ended your own life. You killed the Minnesota Shrike and threw yourself off the nearest bridge. There's a note. Your car is on the side of the road, right at the edge of the bridge. It would be nearly impossible to find a body in that lake below."

"Did I do it out of guilt?"

"No. I know you better than that." Hannibal smiled. "According to the note, you did it because you felt there was nothing left for this life to deliver you. You had fulfilled your purpose, and you were ready for the next life."

"And now I'm there."

"You are. May I wash your hair?"

"Yes."

Hannibal held the sides of Will's head and lowered him into the water, wetting his hair. When he surfaced again, the air tasted fresh. Every breath was a breath of new life.

When he was clean of blood, Hannibal pulled the plug and lifted Will from the water. His legs were still too weak for him to stand, so he sat on the edge of the tub as Hannibal dried him off. He wrung Will's hair dry with a towel, then he retrieved a robe from the bathroom closet and wrapped Will's body in it. Will smiled.

"You're pampering me," he said. "I'm not complaining, though."

"You deserve it, after everything you've been through. I am going to pamper you for the rest of eternity."

"Choosing you was the easiest decision I've ever made." Will ran his hands across the robe's soft fabric. "I don't need any of this. I just need you."

"I promise, you will always have me. I'm never leaving your side again. Never." He stood, holding out his hand. "Do you think you can walk to bed?"

They made their way back into the bedroom, and they both climbed under the blankets. Will lay his head on Hannibal's chest and closed his eyes.

"What time is it?" Will asked.

"It's a little past one in the morning," Hannibal said, brushing Will's damp curls from his forehead, "and you haven't slept in over twenty-four hours. Your body has been through immense stress, and you need to give it time to adjust. You'll feel so much better when you do."

"I still have so many questions. I need to know what happened."

"I know. We'll talk about everything when you wake, okay? You'll be in a much better state to handle it then."

Will couldn't stop the next thought that spouted from his mouth. "I love you," he said. "I love you so much, Hannibal. I don't know what happened, and I don't know why you chose me, but I love you."

Hannibal's grip on him tightened. "I love you," he said. "Will, my darling, I love you." He kissed Will's forehead. "You're safe here. There is nothing to fear anymore. Nothing."

"This is it? This is what you wanted for me?"

"All I ever wanted for both of us. This moment, right here. And we will have it for eternity, as I promised."

"Thank you."

Hannibal's heart thumped against Will's ear, and he let the sound lull him into a deep sleep.

~~~

Will? Will, darling, where are you?

Will was basking in the wonderful darkness of sleep when Hannibal's voice roused him. He kept his eyes closed, shifting his body. He was too serene to wake now. He needed his rest.

Will, can you hear me?

"Mmmhannibal," Will groaned. "I'm tired."

You're...oh, you're asleep. Are you asleep?

"Kinda."

I need you to wake up, Will. I'm sorry, I know you're tired, but you've wandered off on me. I think you're sleepwalking. You're not anywhere in the house.

"I'm not...huh?"

Wake up, please--

Will opened his eyes with a gasp and was struck by his sudden loneliness.

The forest had closed in on him. The moon shone through a gap in the canopy. As he swiveled his head around to gauge his surroundings, the trees blurred together into one giant green wall towering over him, trapping him in their magnitude. He stumbled backward, made dizzy by the effort.

Hannibal? Will called out. He flinched at the sound of his voice; it was light, echoing, ringing with the same variety of timbres Hannibal's did when he shed his human body. He was speaking with hundreds of voices at once: the voice of the wind, the leaves, the flapping wings of starlings. Hopelessness crept through him, and he looked up at the sky to fight back the incoming tears. The stars formed no discernible pattern; even they were scattered and disorganized.

Hannibal? The night was devouring him. It was going to swallow him whole and leave no lasting trace of him. He'd grown so accustomed to the thin thread connecting his and Hannibal's souls he'd failed to recognize it — he hadn't realized what he had until it was gone. The thread had been severed. He was utterly isolated.

The strange feeling on his back was still there. He raised a hand to touch it and froze.

His hands were the color of light fog on a cloudy day, and just as translucent. They shimmered under the light of the stars, their form inconclusive and alien. The rest of his body was in the same state; he was human-shaped, but that was it. He was made of mist, no longer human but something entirely different. Eyes wide, he reached for his back, desperate to know what was attached to him.

He no longer had the nerves to recognize touch. He blended with the rest of the world. He was the night air. The night air was him. He brushed against the appendages in his back, his fingers rustling them like the wind rustles new leaves. He turned his head.

He couldn't mistake the sight of feathers.

Narrow gray feathers had emerged from his shoulder blades, coming to a sharp point at the ends. They were crusted with dried blood and ragged from disuse, but they still glimmered silver in the moonlight. They were the moonlight, that exact color and shine. There was structure to them, a bone-like foundation that gave them shape.

Hannibal.

Still no answer. Hannibal was gone. His body was gone. He could never return to the same life again.

Despite all of that, he'd never been more at home in his life.

He recognized this body somehow. His movements came easily; his appearance was familiar. Everything about it was so right, like the body was something he had known of all along yet couldn't recall. It was warm, it was beautiful, it was perfect. A warm light emitted from his core, illuminating the forest, and a warm cloud of serenity engulfed him. No stress, no fear, no sadness, no confusion — only absolute contentment that permeated every part of him.

He lowered himself to the grass and sat on his knees. He left wispy trails of fog in his wake as he moved. There was no weight to it; part of his lower body dissipated into the ground, and he floated like he would in water. He held his palm over a patch of grass, and a small yellow flower sprouted from the ground and unfurled underneath it. A laugh bubbled in his chest.

"Will!"

Hannibal. Will was still focused on the grass, on the little sprig of life he had just created. I'm here.

From the blurred expanse of the trees, Hannibal's figure emerged into the clearing. Part of Will clicked back into place, and he sagged with relief.

"Your body. Oh, look at you, my darling." Hannibal ran to him and fell at his feet, attempting to grasp at Will's hands but falling short. His human skin phased right through Will's new form; his foggy hands dissolved and immediately reformed back to their previous state. "Will, thank goodness. I fell asleep, and when I woke up you were gone. I was so worried about you."

Look what I did.

Hannibal followed his gaze. "Yes," he said, "Oh, you made something already. Look at how far you've come, angel. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

I'm an angel. Will beamed, tilting his head up to the sky. That's what I am, aren't I? That's what you wanted me to know. That's what you kept calling me.

"Yes. Are you alright? Are you hurt?" His eyes traveled along Will's body. "We're not far, don't worry. You just wandered a little ways past the backyard. I'll get you back home, and we can talk."

Look at me. Will held out his hands. Look at how beautiful I am.

"Yes. This is your real body, love. Your real wings." Hannibal's eyes were shining with wonder, and they brimmed with tears. "Are you feeling alright?"

My wings. Each shoulder had grown a large, wide wing covered in silvery-grey feathers. Blood and moonlight clashed together. They were sharp around the edges, jagged with pieces of bone. They were simultaneously grotesque and beautiful, a bloodied miracle from an unmerciful God. I look like you now.

Hannibal reached for Will's wings, stroking them. Waves of pleasure ran through his midsection. "You're much more lovely than I could ever be, angel. You're perfect."

I'm perfect. Will ruffled his feathers in enjoyment.This feels nice. It feels like home.

"It is home. This body is your home. It always has been."

Not always. I used to be human. He looked into Hannibal's eyes. He was so small compared to Will now. So insignificant. What happened to me?

Instantly, as if in response to his question, a massive weight fell upon his shoulders. He lurched forward, and Hannibal's arms shot out to catch him. His heavy body fell into Hannibal's grasp, and as he toppled he caught a glimpse of his bathrobe in a heap on the grass. He was naked. His wings still stuck out from his back, drawn to the moon like sunflowers.

"There you are," Hannibal said. "Now, it's going to come rushing back to you. Try to stay calm."

He was right. Within seconds, the euphoria from the past few moments vanished, replaced with sober astonishment. The implications of what had just happened encompassed him, and he brought a hand to his mouth. Bile churned in his stomach.

He had just changed. There were wings sprouting from his back, and now that he was in his human body his back pulsed with dull pain. The sharp pieces of bone dug into his fragile skin, poking him in the most uncomfortable places. He tried to shift them, and they flopped about aimlessly, unsure what to do in this uncomfortably solid form.

"Oh, my God," Will whispered. That tranquil version of him was gone now, replaced with a mere terrified man. "What happened to me?" He gazed up at Hannibal with tears in his eyes, trembling in fear. "Hannibal, what am I?"

"You are an angel." Hannibal cradled his cheek. "That was your real body. Remember how it felt like home?"

He stared down at the flower again, and it began to wilt. The colors dissipated as the petals shriveled and fell off. "Did I make that?"

"You did. Angels can create."

Angels angels angel angel angel you are an angel my angel my angel-

Will's face crumbled as he began to cry. The last petal fell. "Oh, God..."

He could no longer hold back the sobs contained in his chest, and his body shook as he let them all out. He had been holding in that fear, that despair, ever since he'd driven the knife into Hobbs's body, and it was so wonderful to release it.

Hannibal wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close and letting him cry into his chest. "I hid the truth from you for a reason," he said, rubbing Will's back. "I'm sorry. It was for the better."

"I can't do this anymore. I'm so scared," Will sobbed. "I'm so scared. I'm so scared, Hannibal."

"I know. Oh, darling..." Hannibal cradled him, working his fingers deep underneath his curls and massaging his scalp. "Oh, sweet Will. I'm so sorry."

"Please, just...just make this all stop. You keep telling me the hard part is over, and this is the worst part of all. I just want to be happy again. Please tell me the truth. Please."

"I will. We're going to go inside, and I'll tell you everything. No more hiding. I'm sorry."

"I can't even trust my own body anymore. I don't understand." He let out a loud groan of frustration and anguish. "What did you do to me?"

Hannibal sighed. "I didn't do anything to you, love. This is how things have been all along. How they're meant to be. Didn't you feel it moments ago?"

"I don't care how it felt. It wasn't me."

"It was you. It's who you've always been."

"Hannibal, please." Will clenched his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms. "Please make this worth it. I chose you because I wanted to be happy. I wanted to feel peace. I wanted you. And I don't have any of that."

Hannibal's grip slackened, and he pulled away to look into Will's eyes. "You have me," he said. "You will always have me. I am never, never leaving you alone again."

"I don't have you," Will insisted, "because all I've done is exist below you. I'm nothing compared to you, and you don't even have the decency to be honest with me. Isn't that the least I deserve?"

"Let me explain everything." Hannibal worked his arms under Will, ready to pick him up. "Let me make it up to you."

Will relaxed. Fighting back wasn't going to do anything. "Okay."

He eased Will off the ground, and the wind threaded through Will's feathered wings as they stumbled back inside. He closed his eyes, and he could almost imagine he was flying.

Chapter Text

"Chamomile, warm milk, and honey," Hannibal said as he passed a steaming mug into Will's hands. "It should get you nice and relaxed. And I've let it cool down quite a bit, so it shouldn't burn you."

"Thank you." Will took a small sip. He savored the earthy taste and the comforting heat of the milk as it traveled down his throat. It helped free his clogged sinuses, which were swollen and stuffed from crying. He closed his eyes and listened to the crackling of the fireplace, content. "It's good."

"What else can I get you? Are you hungry? Do you want another blanket? Oh, I should get you some water, too--"

"Wait. Stop." Will reached for him as he turned to leave. "You don't have to do all this."

Hannibal paused. "But I have to take care of you. I have to make you feel comfortable. You've been through so much already." 

"It would make me feel comfortable if you sat with me and talked to me like a normal person. Please?"  

Hannibal sank to the floor and sat cross-legged across from him, and they faced each other with their sides turned to the fire. Will wore his robe, but he'd shrugged it off his shoulders to let the wings free. The fabric bunched around his waist and covered his legs. Hannibal's own wings were out, as well, standing much wider and stronger than Will's. 

"I brought you something," Hannibal said, tentatively offering his hand. He held two pieces of sketchbook paper containing charcoal drawings. "You asked me about this while you were in my office. You deserve to see them now."

"The drawings." Will took them, relief flooding through him. He was finally getting answers.

The relief quickly became shock. What had once been clouds of grey charcoal in his mind were now full sketches, just as detailed as the other ones he'd seen, and they explained everything. Following the theme of the other drawings, they were pictures of him, but these were less grounded in reality. They were not replications of scenes from their time together; rather, they were products of Hannibal's imagination, drawn long before Will's transformation had occurred. 

The first one showed him crumpled naked on the ground on his knees, a ruffled pair of wings sprouting from his back. His mouth was open in a silent scream, tears flowing down his flushed face, and his hands were clenched into fists in the grass. A light shone from the middle of his chest, illuminating his sorrowful cries. The expression was haunting, and he couldn't help but wonder if that's what he really looked like just hours ago, his own body morphing before his eyes.

The second drawing was much calmer, a vision of him standing with his back to the viewer. Again, he was wearing no clothes, and each curve of his body was sketched out with love and careful precision. His wings were there, as well, and one piercing eye was visible as he looked over his shoulder. It was magnificent. If he didn't know any better, he would assume this was a painting from Renaissance times depicting one of God's finest angels. 

"You saw them at my house the night you killed Elliot," Hannibal explained. "But you were not ready to see them yet. I couldn't let you remember them, and I'm sorry."

"They're...they're stunning." Will stared down at both of them. "They're so beautiful."

"They kept me sane. Knowing that you were so close to salvation."

Will licked his lips. "You..." Words evaded him. He'd never witnessed such striking pieces of art before. "You really like to draw me naked."

Hannibal laughed, blushing. "Angels don't have to wear clothes."

"Did you know what I was going to look like?"

"Not entirely. I combined what I remembered your wings looking like and what I know you look like now. It makes sense that both of those aspects just came together."

"But the expression." He pointed to the first one. "Did you know?"

"I've witnessed thousands of years worth of human suffering. I know the expression of sorrow like a woodpecker knows the trees."

"You made it beautiful."

"It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Hannibal said. "This was nothing compared to the real event. Nature bowed to you. I wish you could have been more present to enjoy it."

Will's wings fluttered on their own, and he was snapped back to reality. These drawings were not fiction. This was his life now, and he only knew a fraction of the truth. 

Hannibal seemed to notice the shift in his attitude. "How are you feeling?" 

"Better." Will looked into the flames, holding the drawings like a lifeline. "There's a certain...clarity that wasn't there earlier tonight. How long was I out before I started walking?"

A muscle in Hannibal's face twitched, grabbing Will's attention. 

"What is it?"

"...You've been asleep much longer than a few hours, Will."

Will's stomach dropped. "How long?"

"It's been about three days since you first fell asleep here, after killing Hobbs."

"Three days? Have you been here the whole time?"

"Of course. I wouldn't go into work. I'm in mourning, grieving a close friend. I haven't left your side."

"...Have you gotten any calls? Anyone asking about me?" There was a twinge of useless hope in the question. He had no one in his life that would be asking about him. No one except Jack and Beverly, and Jack had done nothing but use him. He would only be sad that his favorite tool was now missing from his toolbox.

"People are beginning to give up hope." Hannibal took Will's hand, gently cradling it in his own. "They found your car along with the note and your cell phone, but they're examining all avenues in the event that it's a hoax."

"I can't believe I've been out that long. I didn't know that was possible." He rubbed his temple. 

"Your body was exhausted. It went through an immense transformation that it didn't understand. There were times where you woke up to use the bathroom, eat, drink some water. But other than that, you were completely out. I suppose your body grew desperate to finally air out its real skin. Its real wings."

They both turned to stare at Will's wings. Hannibal had cleaned them of blood, and they now hung much lighter on Will's back. 

"Are you able to move them?" Hannibal asked. "Have you tried?"

"I haven't tried yet." Will glanced back at them. "I don't know how. It was a lot easier when I was in the other body."

"It's all in the shoulders. You should feel a new bundle of muscles back there. Try flexing your back muscles and experiment with them that way."

Will did. He raised his shoulders, then stretched them outward; he found the correct muscles somewhere between those two movements. The wings shifted, and he focused on fluttering them back and forth. Once he did that, the rest of the movements came naturally to him. 

"There you go." Hannibal smiled. "We'll work on putting them back in later. It won't hurt."

"They hurt right now. They're digging into me."

"It always hurts more when they're emerging. They must brush past old wounds, and the bones prick at your skin. Soon, you'll build up the callouses, and it won't matter."

"What are they made of?"

"A mixture of feathers, twigs, and small shards of bone. The base is made of larger bone fragments that form the structure. Think of it like a skeletal hand, in a way."

"They're really mine?"

"They're all yours to keep. You grew them yourself, after all."

Will remembered the knots gathering in his back, the pulsing of his shoulders, the blood running down his back. A tingling in his fingers as life sprouted underneath his touch. "How did I make the...a flower. A flower sprouted underneath me. How did I do that?"

"When the Earth was made, it was as barren as Mars or Jupiter. Angels were the ones who created nature, greenery. Life." He took Will's hand, unfolding the fingers and placing something soft inside Will's palm. It was the flower, or what was left of it - the stem and bulb were all that remained, the petals having fallen under Will's despair. "You're capable of a lot more than that. You simply don't know how to harness it yet."

Will refused to process that at the moment. He couldn't. He figured this was only the beginning of what he was about to hear. 

"Do all angels have wings like this?"

"No. You and I are the only ones with earthly wings. Angels in Heaven have wings of light."

Will swallowed. "So I'm not from Heaven?"

"Not anymore. But you and I used to be." Hannibal held out his hands, and Will set the drawings to the side to hold them. Hannibal's grip was warm and comforting. "You're younger than I, but not by much. I created you." He gazed wistfully into Will's eyes. "It was the most beautiful sight. Watching stars gather to create a living shape, watching you open your eyes for the first time...you were so afraid. You were thrust into a terrifying existence, having never known life before. I was there to comfort you." He pointed to the drawing on the floor, the one of Will on his knees. "I suppose it was my inspiration for this. I thought it would be similar to your original birth. It was a resurrection."

"How long ago was this?"

Hannibal hesitated. "Not long after the creation of the universe."

"Billions of years ago, then." The blood drained from Will's face. His wings sagged. "Right?"

Hannibal nodded. Will buried his face in his hands, unable to stop himself from shaking. 

"I've been alive for billions of years?" 

"You've been in existence for that long, yes. I wouldn't say alive, as that's a particularly human trait." Hannibal ran his thumb along the back of Will's hand. "Your soul has existed in this universe for billions of years."

"Why am I not in Heaven anymore? Did I fall, like you?"

Hannibal averted his gaze, shame creeping into his features. "My hesitance to reveal the truth wasn't only for your sake," he admitted. "It was also for my own. I don't believe you'll see me the same way ever again after I tell you what happened. I worry you will despise me for what I've done to you."

"I don't hate you. I can't." Will leaned closer. "I know I snapped, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate you. I can tell that you want to help. I can tell that you care. You just weren't thinking about what it would all do to me." He shrugged. "You can tell me anything."

Hannibal wrapped his arms around Will's neck, pulling him into a tight embrace. Will sank into it. "I don't know if you can promise that, knowing what I have to tell you."

There was a finality to his hold, like Hannibal believed this would be the final time they touched each other. Dread squeezed Will's throat. 

"You can't leave me in the dark forever." He nestled his head into the crook of Hannibal's neck. "After all of this, it's the least I deserve. You told me we would have eternity."

"We will. That's all I've ever wanted."

"Then why are you holding me like we won't?" Will touched his chest. "Trust me, Hannibal. I've trusted you with everything. Trust me." 

There was a long pause before Hannibal spoke. "It's a story that would take eons to tell. I feel it would be better to show you."

"How will you do that?"

"Our souls are connected, remember? It should be easy. Come here." Hannibal guided Will so his head was resting on his chest. Hannibal's heartbeat was a warm, steady sound, coaxing him into tranquility. His head bobbed with every breath Hannibal took. 

"Close your eyes," Hannibal murmured, "and listen."

Will's eyes sank closed, and he let each thump vibrate through his head. Gradually, a pinprick of white light grew larger in the blackness, and an image swirled into place before him. 

The landscape was infinite, and the sky was filled with an otherworldly glow. Golden beams of light streamed onto the sheet of silver clouds that made up the ground, but with each turn of his head a new color materialized in the atmosphere. Ruby, emerald, amethyst; it was an ever-changing rainbow of jewel tones with little diamond stars scattered throughout. He floated on swirling gray clouds, picking up the scent of fresh rain. 

A clear figure lay among the clouds. Its body stood stark white against the dark clouds and rainbow sky, and its wings blended in with the clouds. It stared up at the sky, as if it was waiting for something. That same sense of nostalgia and yearning washed over him, just as it had in the backyard.

That's me, Will thought. That's me.

His line of sight changed, and he became the other figure. His body was now light and free, no longer burdened by human needs. He was curled up into the clouds, patiently waiting for his love to return. 

A low rumble sounded through the sky, and the clouds around him began to lift him up. He lay against them, letting them carry him as far as they wanted. All around him, the silver tufts of fog began to cluster into something much larger. Their color grew dark, but a golden glow lit them from the inside. A spiraling hurricane twisted before Will's eyes, gathering the colors and the stars like a vacuum, and his soul fluttered in excitement. 

The clouds spoke his name, and a blinding light overtook him. He stared into it with little care; his eyes were not limited by fear of blindness, his soul was not limited by fear of death. He had to watch this unfold. 

The sky tore open. The eyes were watching. 

Will was surrounded by thousands of what appeared to be stars - however, their true nature made itself known to him. They were eyes. They were the eyes of the Devil, of his own God, his love. They gazed at him, learning his every asset, his every flaw and characteristic, with one millisecond of sight. 

His mind wanted to shatter under the pressure, yet that fear was confounded by the extreme sense of comfort the Being brought. He was being torn apart. He was being put back together. 

With a fluttering of wings, the sky reached for him.

A wave of emotion hit him, one so intense it made him light-headed. It was the most profound rush of love and bliss he'd ever experienced. He swooned, so overtaken with euphoria he thought he would never resurface. This Being - Hannibal - was magnetizing. Will longed for him more than anything in the universe. His mind was flooded with thoughts of him and him alone. All his senses were gone: the only thing he heard was the faint ringing of Hannibal's soul; he was enveloped in cotton; Hannibal's beautiful figure took up every inch of his sight. 

It was perfect. He could have existed in this moment forever. 

He was finally sinking into eternity when the blast hit. 

It was like lightning, striking right between them and ripping them apart at the seams. Will cried out in pain, bracing himself for the impact as he flew across the sky. Despair racked him at the loss of his other half, and the last thing he heard was Hannibal's shrieking voice, the howl of his winds, as he begged for mercy -- not for himself, but for Will. 

Will opened his eyes with a gasp, coming to his senses. He was back by the warmth of the fire, bearing a pair of wings he didn't know how to use, clueless on how to operate in this new life. The remnants of the explosion still shook him, ringing through his hollow chest.

"It's alright," Hannibal soothed. "I know that's a lot to handle. Just breathe."

"What- what was that? Was that you?"

"That was Heaven. And that was me."

"Your true form."

There were no other words to say about it. It spoke for itself. 

"Something separated us. We were always together, but then something happened. It was like this...explosion." 

"The creature you all know as God and I were equals," Hannibal said. "In the beginning, we appeared as products of the universe, and we formed our world from there. We were always consulting each other, working together...we loved each other." He frowned. "We created angels to help us look after the universe, as it was so vast that even we couldn't handle it ourselves."

"So you made me. Why did I look so different from you?"

"We always knew that we wanted to create other living creatures. We wanted your forms to be comprehensible for them. Something they could understand." Hannibal rubbed his back. "I didn't plan on humans."

"Who did?"

"God. Behind my back. I wasn't aware of human development until it was too late, until they had already developed language. God told me that he was creating a creature that would exist to worship Him, to fear Him. He wanted something new."

"And you didn't want that?"

"I called Him arrogant. I told Him that this was unnecessary, that our love for our angels and each other should have been enough. But He wouldn't listen, so in the moment I threatened to kill and corrupt every human on the planet. I told Him I wouldn't stop until they were all dead, or until they no longer belonged to Him."

"Wow." Will raised his brows. "I see why he didn't like that."

"But I was not the only one punished." Hannibal finally pulled away from him, looking into his eyes. "You and I were in love, Will. The moment you laid eyes on me, you were different from the rest. You treated me with interest, with love, not just blind worship. I was enthralled by you. We were inseparable. We were everything."

"I felt it. I felt how much love we had for each other."

"Yes. And God did not approve of that. He accused us of idolatry. Worshiping each other instead of Him." He squeezed Will's upper arms. "You wouldn't accept that. You heard of the way He betrayed me, and of his accusations toward us, and you spoke blasphemy. You told Him that you would follow me anywhere, even if it meant existing away from His presence."

"Oh." Will's mind still clawed at the information without truly reaching it; to him, this was still a story. A Biblical tale that would never apply to his own life. This wasn't a story of him and Hannibal; this was a story of two creatures, two beings that had nothing to do with them. 

The wings on his back said otherwise. He blinked back the approaching tears in his eyes, absently reaching for one of his own wings. He stroked the soft feathers and shuddered at how sensitive they were.

"I tried to stop you. I begged God to give you mercy, but He refused. He was enraged we'd become so close, and now He finally had a reason to punish us for it."

"He drove us apart so we wouldn't have each other."

"Yes. Hundreds of thousands of years ago, not long after humans came to be, God cast us out of Heaven. But instead of us falling into the depths of Hell together, I was sent to Hell alone and forced to be confined there."

"Confined? But...you're here." It was such a stupid thing to say. His face flushed.

"I was confined for a long time, but not eternity. In God's words, I was trapped there until humans learned to fear me. I would not be allowed on Earth until there was no way I would be welcome there, if that makes sense."

Will wasn't sure it did. "You had to stay there until the Earth knew about you?"

"He wanted to spread the word of my name. Create an image of me that screamed corrupter, murderer, manipulator. Once humanity knew that the devil was the root of all evil, only then was I released. I was free from my chains in Hell, but I would gain new shackles should I go up to Earth. I could never show them my true self, could never gain their trust. No one to listen to me. No one to love me. I would always be alone."

"What about me?"

"I had no idea where you were. I couldn't feel you when I was down in Hell, and I had given up hope that you were still alive. I thought He would have killed you to prove a point to me." His eyes hardened. "I would have wrought Hell upon Him if that were the case."

"It's not the case, though." Will took his hand. "What happened?"

"When I was finally released, I went up to Earth and forcefully took over a body." He shook his head, a slight smirk on his face. "I never did that again. Humans put up a hell of a fight. It's easier to convince them to give it up. When I was there, I felt this overwhelming rush, this buzzing in my soul. Something was different here.

"I couldn't figure out what was doing it, so I simply wandered for a long time. I'm not sure how long it was, but after some time had passed, something seized me. This horrific pain, the skeletal clench of death. My soul was closing in on me." His eyes glazed over at the memory. "Before long, the buzz rekindled with the same fervor as before, like the pain had never happened."

"What did that mean?"

"It was you. My connection to you, severing and then being reborn. It meant you were alive. Your soul pulsed in time with mine, and the only thing that brought me hope was that I could still feel you fluttering with life." His voice caught in his throat. 

"What did that mean?"

"You were on Earth, and you were cursed. God doomed you to be trapped inside a human body for eternity, reincarnating over and over again. Every time one body died, your soul would be reborn with no memories of your previous life. Could be anywhere in the world, could be any type of person. It was a way to prevent me from carrying out my threat, as well - how could I kill or corrupt any human beings, knowing that one of them might have been you?"

Will pulled away from Hannibal's grasp, his eyes wide and glassy. "I've been alive this whole time?"

"Yes. You've existed on Earth alone for all this time, going through the most torturous lives for the sake of God's petty vengeance. Since the moment I lost you, I've sought after you with all my might. I've dedicated my existence to finding you."

"How long has it been? And how did you finally do it?"

"Pure fortune and effort. It was nearly impossible. Each time I made any progress, I would get that terrible feeling again. You would revive, and I would be back at square one." He didn't tear his eyes away from Will. "Nothing was going to stop me, though."

"How did you know it was me? When you met me?"

"I would have known you anywhere." Hannibal smiled wistfully. "When Jack told me about you, a day or two before we met, I researched you. I'd heard your name, but I wanted to know what the world was saying about you. Why you mattered so much to Jack.

"I saw your picture, and a feeling washed over me that I've never experienced before. Intense serenity, intense magnetism. You were everything. I could immediately tell it was you."

"Is that why you visited me in my dream? Before we met."

"Yes. I knew that if it was you, I had to gain hold of your soul. I couldn't risk any harm coming to you; I had to connect us together to protect you from harm. So I appeared in your dreams and urged you to accept my offer."

"And I did." Will had never been more grateful for anything in his life. "So you knew for sure?"

"When we met in person for the first time, your presence affected me so much that I had to stop time and recuperate. I wept over you. Any doubts I had were erased the moment we made that deal and I held your soul in my hands. I'd spent billions of years gazing at that soul, and then it was in front of me once more."

"Why did I have to kill Hobbs?"

"To break the cycle. I had to influence you, corrupt your soul and make it mine again, not a tool of God's. I had to coax you into sin and show you that you were far above humanity. You were a God compared to them. Once you realized that, once you showed them your wrath, you could be reborn."

"You never answered the first question. How," Will choked on a quickly-developing sob in his throat, "how long has it been?"

More hesitation. "It's all my fault, Will. It's my fault, I didn't work hard enough to stop you. I should have fought more about it, offered my life to God in exchange for yours in Heaven. I was just so distracted and confused--"

"How long, Hannibal?"

"One hundred and fifty thousand years," Hannibal blurted. "I don't know the exact amount, but..."

"Fuck. Oh my fucking God." Will retched. It was a period of time so long he could hardly comprehend it. He'd been through thousands of lives -- breathing, eating, drinking, laughing, crying, dancing, screaming, aching -- and he didn't remember a single bit of it. He'd been forced through pain, through trials, through mistakes he didn't have the knowledge to correct. He'd been shown nothing but torture and hatred from a God who was meant to care for him. 

That entire time, he'd been separated from the only soul who could truly love him. 

Now, when finally given the chance at salvation, he had nearly ruined it all. He nearly left everything valuable behind because he was too stubborn to listen. He thought he couldn't trust Hannibal, when in reality the only person he couldn't trust was himself. 

A low, keening wail escaped Will's lips, and he doubled over and buried his face in his hands. He couldn't cry; his body had long ago been drained of tears. He was too exhausted to do anything but let out a low cry of despair as nausea overtook him. His stomach churned, his abdomen aching from the toll that sobbing had taken on him.

"Oh, Will." Hannibal bent over him, enveloping him with his wings and rubbing his back. He kissed Will's neck, the top of his head, his bare shoulders. "It's alright. It's going to be okay."

"You tried so hard to save me, and I didn't listen. I pushed you aside. I was so horrible."

"That's not your fault." Hannibal's voice wavered with tears. "You didn't understand. It's okay."

"I should have trusted you. I'm so sorry. I was so blind. I could have ruined everything."

"I hid too much from you. I was...I was so afraid to tell you." Hot tears dripped onto Will's bare back. "I feared revealing even the slightest of details. I thought if I made any mistakes, it would jeopardize everything. I thought you would disappear, and all my efforts would be wasted again. I thought you would slip through my fingers, gone right when I finally had you."

"You just wanted to save me. And you told me not to resist, and I did. I should have listened."

"It's part of your human nature. You cannot fault yourself for being human. You were only trying to protect yourself."

"This can't be right. You have the wrong person. I'm nothing, Hannibal. Just a few days ago, I was human. I was nothing compared to you."

"Will. Look at me, please."

Will did. He was operating inches away from his body, sitting on his shoulder; his movements weren't his own. He stared at Hannibal as he reached for him, cupping Will's face in his palm and gazing upon him with awe.

"For hundreds of millennia, I have stopped at nothing to find you. It's the only reason I have stayed on Earth. I've lived in all types of bodies; I've explored every inch of the globe dozens of times; I've paced around this planet with time frozen in place, examining every human I saw until I couldn't grasp it any longer. You have consumed my every intention. Not one moment passes in which I am not thinking of you." 

"Why?" Will asked, his voice so soft he could only just hear himself over the crackling of the fire. "Why even bother to find me?"

"Do not dare ask me that. I could speak for eternity and never cover all the reasons why. You are perfection personified." He traced Will's jaw with his finger. "What did you feel when I showed you that scene in Heaven? As you lay curled up against me?"

"...Love," Will said. "The most love I've ever felt."

"Imagine that, but exponentially greater. That is what I feel when you grace me with your presence." Hannibal's lips parted. He inhaled, holding it in for a moment before speaking again. "You are the love of my life. You are my soulmate. I have no doubt you are the one I've been looking for." He stroked the top of one of Will's wings, and a tingle shot down Will's back. "If you are not my angel, then what are these? And what of your magnificent face, your body, your mind?"

He leaned his forehead against Will's, a smile stretching up his face. "Your pain is over. We have found each other, and we will never be alone again. I swear it."

"You found me. I didn't do anything. All I did was wander this Earth like a clueless fool, and you were putting your entire soul into me without getting anything back."

"Will. The mere hope of laying eyes on you again was enough for me."

"You found me. After all this time, you never gave up on me?"

"I could never give up on you. I scoured this world up and down to find you, and here you are. My efforts were not wasted. Now I can show you my love again, the love that I have been holding in for so long."

Will's gratitude was almost too much to bear. Suffering for one lifetime was enough — he couldn't imagine what his poor soul had been through. It had culminated in so much exhaustion, a deep depression that had made a home inside of him centuries ago. He'd been close to crumbling under all the weight; his next lives would have been even more miserable, and the cycle would have never ended. His brain would never remember, but his soul would. He would have given into decay until there was none of him left.

But now he was wiped clean. He could fly free again.

"Thank you." He was impenetrably safe. His soul was conjoined with Hannibal's, twisting and binding until they were one. There was nothing to be afraid of ever again. "Thank you, Hannibal. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, oh my God, thank you..."

He repeated the words until Hannibal silenced him with a kiss. They shared it tenderly, tasting the salt of each other's tears and the sweet, sticky remnants of honey. Will's heart was overflowing with relief.

"Do something for me. Give into the moment," Hannibal said between kisses, "and imagine yourself as the being you once were. Allow the feeling to overtake you."

Will kept his eyes closed, lips colliding with Hannibal's. Hannibal's touch became colder, and Will heard the fluttering of his dark wings and the creaking of his antlers. Will feared nothing; he embraced it. He welcomed whatever was to come. 

The weight left his body. The ground dissipated from underneath him, and he was back to floating above the clouds. It was so good to have Hannibal holding him, kissing him, loving him with all of his heart.

"Look."

Will opened his eyes, looking down on himself with awe. He'd returned to that beautiful, wispy state, becoming an entity far above human. Peace fell upon him again. Hannibal had also transformed, smiling down upon him with his beautiful lilac eyes. Will could see the reflection of meteors inside them, streaking down those pools of violet and out onto his cheeks. 

When Hannibal reached out to touch Will, their bodies collided just like they would as humans. Hannibal was the only solid thing in this new reality. They fell into an embrace. "I'm so sorry," Will said. "I was so awful. I'm so sorry..."

"Will, no. I don't blame you. I was just so worried that I was...I would be alone forever. And that you would miss your chance. But it's over now," Hannibal said. "We don't have to be alone anymore."

They both wept as they held each other, their bodies shimmering, beings of light with human minds. Their ethereal selves combined with human emotion generated enough power to rule galaxies. Nothing was stronger than the two of them together. 

"You saved me. You saved me, Hannibal."

"You have saved yourself. It was up to you to listen, to follow, to Become. You went through so much pain for this, and now your pain is over."

"You're not hiding anything else? There's no more pain?"

"Your mind may struggle to reconcile this. It's going to be hard to adapt, and there will be struggles. But I will be here. I can promise with all of my soul that I will never leave your side again."

"Thank you." The world around them was tranquil. "I want to know my name."

It was such a beautiful sound. The babbling of a calm brook, the light pattering of falling snow, the fluttering of a butterfly's wings. It fit so well with Hannibal's true name, a sound he hadn't forgotten since the night he'd heard it. They were meant for each other.

Will spread his wings and smiled. He spoke their names, and they rolled off his tongue easily. He was equipped to speak the language of the universe. 

"Oh, you're magnificent," Hannibal said, beaming. "You beautiful creature. My everything. I've found you, and I'm never letting you go again."

"I love you."

"I love you."

They kissed, and for the first time, the true peace that Will had hoped for was here. 

Chapter Text

The next few days were as unpredictable as the tide. They ebbed and flowed, moving between rough, crashing waves and gentle ripples. Will slept through most of the days, waiting for Hannibal to get home from work -- he had to keep up appearances. The rest of the world believed Will Graham was dead, and Hannibal had to solidify that belief. His influence around the FBI was important for their plan. Thanks to him, Jack was set on organizing Will's funeral.

That didn't mean that his rest was peaceful, though. The trauma from his transformation had overridden Hannibal's gift of serene rest, and now he was plagued with dreams of nature ravaging his body. Starlings ate away at his skin, freezing wind solidified his fingers until they sloughed off his hand, the grass morphed into sharp blades that cut him open until he bled out in the dirt. 

Each night was a new sort of torture, and each night was a different outcome. Some nights were much more peaceful than others; most of the time, he would only be awake for a few moments before falling back asleep in Hannibal's grasp. The rest of the time, however, was a torturous rush of a seemingly random emotion that his brain had fetched in an attempt to cope. 

One night, he woke in a fit of uncontrollable laughter, unable to stop despite tears pouring down his face, his chest burning, and Hannibal had no choice but to hypnotize him back into slumber. Another night, he entered a fit of uncontrollable rage, screaming and hitting anything he could find - including Hannibal. Another, he spent about five minutes completely unaware who he was, who Hannibal was, or what either of them were doing there. 

No matter the emotion, he was always horribly embarrassed when he came to his senses. They were as quick to fade as they were to spark, subsiding within a few moments, but the terror of the psychological swells remained. He always apologized profusely, and Hannibal always forgave him.

"This is natural," Hannibal reassured him every night. "This happens to me every time I inhabit a new body. It should be over within a few weeks." 

On this night, Will was nestled against his chest, biting his lip. "But what is it? What's happening?"

"Your body doesn't understand. Think of the immune system. When foreign antigens are brought in, the body launches its defenses. Like how your body may respond negatively to a vaccine for the first few days." He kissed the top of Will's head. "We have to give you time to adapt." 

"But I thought my soul was still the same." 

"It is. But now that you have transformed, you have infinitesimally more knowledge than you did before. More than humans can comprehend. Your brain is trying to keep itself safe. It runs through every emotion it can to find one that copes the best. It forgets the source of the issue. It will soon realize that none of these things work, and then it will return to normal." 

"Have you ever had it not return to normal?"

"No. You have more control over your mind than you realize." He extracted himself from Will's grip. "I'll get you some water." 

 The following day, Will was strong enough to get out of bed and explore the house. He'd regained a bit of strength with each morning, and now he was able to get himself in the shower and heat up the food Hannibal had left him. He could almost pretend things were normal. 

When the sun set and it grew closer to the typical time Hannibal came home, Will stepped out onto the back porch. The day was still light with the remnants of the sun, dozens of beautiful colors spread across the sky. It was beautiful, but he couldn't see the world the same way ever since he'd gotten a glimpse of Heaven. 

Hannibal's car pulled into the driveway soon after he sat down on the stairs. When the lights switched off, throwing Will into the darkness again, Will stood and approached the car. 

"I'm glad to see you're up and about," Hannibal said, lingering behind the open car door, "but you need to be careful. Someone could have seen you." 

"You wouldn't have let anything happen to me. I'm sure of that." The inside of the car was dark, and Will couldn't see anything on the inside. 

Hannibal smiled. "You're right. Now, I need your help getting all this stuff."

"What's that supposed to mean?" His first thought was a body - that Hannibal had grown comfortable enough to start bringing his prizes home, out in the open, visible for Will to see and accept. He would have felt honored, if that was the case. 

But it wasn't. Hannibal opened the back door, and an army came hustling out of the car. Will gasped, a grin spreading across his face as he knelt on the ground to face the most energetic of the pack. 

"Winston!"

Hannibal watched with a smile as the dogs clamored over Will. "Surprise." 

"Oh, my God, I missed you guys. I missed you, I missed you..." He laughed, scratching all of their ears and letting them lick his face. While they played, Hannibal lugged a massive bag of food out of the trunk. "How did you do this?"

"I picked them up from Miss Katz. I told her that I wanted to take care of them, as a memory of you." He got out a stack of bowls and a pile of toys. "I got all of them except for one. She insisted on keeping the little one."

Will counted; sure enough, Bacon was gone. A pang of appreciation sounded through his heart. He would miss the pug, but he was glad Beverly had some little souvenir of their friendship. 

"How is Beverly?"

"She hasn't accepted that you're gone yet. She believes that you may still be out there."

"Well, she always was the smartest out of all of us." Will sighed. "I feel terrible, leaving her in the dark like this."

"She'll prevail. Once we're gone, I was thinking of writing a letter to her. You ought to help me." He set the stack of dog beds on the ground. "Do you mind to help me now?"

Will stood, taking Hannibal's face in his hands and planting a kiss on his lips. "Thank you." 

"I wanted to give you something to help you feel better. You've had a rough few days." He bent down, picking up the bag of food. "This should cover us until we leave in a few weeks."

Will followed along, carrying as much stuff as he could. Hannibal was planning the most natural exit possible, dropping hints left and right about how Will's death had affected him terribly and he wanted to return home. It made sense that after such a loss, he would be shaken into returning to see his family in his home country. That was all anyone had to know. 

The dogs ran up the porch steps, examining the house and running through the halls. They were already getting hair on everything, and Hannibal held back a grimace. He would do anything for Will, even the most painful endeavor of getting dog hair on his beloved possessions. 

Once they had set all of the stuff in the kitchen, they went back outside to let the dogs wander the backyard. Smoothie and Winston refused to leave at first, sticking by Will's side instead of joining the others, but he was eventually able to coax them away. He sat next to Hannibal on the porch steps, and the two of them gazed at the stars. 

"I created this," Hannibal said after a long, comfortable silence. "This darkness, these stars. The moon. All of it was formed under my hand." He took Will's hand. "None of it compares to you."

Will let out a small chuckle. "I could say the same about you." He leaned his head on Hannibal's shoulder. 

"I've been wondering about something," Hannibal said, "and you do not have to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable." He licked his lips, hesitating. "What happened between you and your father?"

Will stiffened. "It...I don't know. Nothing happened, that's the thing." He sighed. "He lived and died like a normal man. I guess it just struck me the wrong way, how he died."

"You told me he used to teach you lessons of the lamb. To beware its wrath. What does that mean?"

Will ran over a plethora of memories, settling on the one that had always stuck with him. He could still picture the distinct sound of hooves on dry leaves, the deafening bang of his father's gun, the cries of the elk. 

"My dad used to take me hunting," he said, "just so I could watch how it was done. He didn't have me firing a gun until I was about sixteen, but when I was younger than that I would trail behind and carry some of the supplies he needed. It was fun, just him and I in the woods. We'd wear ourselves out, grill up what we caught, and feast." He smiled. 

"We were sitting by this creek one day, looking at the fish. I was eight, I think? And I heard something walking toward us." He focused his attention on the dogs. "We both turned, and there was this massive elk. I mean, the biggest one I've ever seen. Maybe it's because I was still small, and the rest of the world was so much bigger. But I don't know. It was just standing in the trees, maybe fifteen feet away, staring us right in the face. 

"I was excited. It was a really good view, and I told my dad that we should keep it alive. I'd never been so close to one before. I'd never been that...immersed before."

"Elk are extremely dangerous to humans. Especially around mating season."

"I know." 

The massive creature stalked toward them, dried leaves crackling under its massive hooves. Will could hear it huffing its breath as it lowered its head, and he stared, entranced by such a majestic sight. He took a step closer, the distance between him and the elk now growing smaller and smaller. It was running for him.

His father seized him, wrapping his arm around Will's chest and yanking him back. Before Will could process the scene, he was being shoved away from the animal, and his father was already aiming his rifle. 

"Dad-"

A massive bang sounded through the trees, and Will fell to the ground. He cowered, squeezing his eyes shut as something wet made contact with his exposed skin. The creature cried out, guttural cries spouting from its throat as it took its last breaths. Will couldn't bring himself to look. 

His father knelt in front of him and wiped the blood from his face. Only then could he open his eyes.

"Now," Dad said, "I don't want you involved with all that Bible nonsense. We know that ain't true, right?"

Will sniffed, the backs of his eyes burning. "Yeah."

"Yeah. But even a broken clock is right twice a day." He smiled. "There's something they say about a lamb."

Will leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Dad told me about that Bible verse. Hide from the wrath of the lamb. He told me that the elk looked majestic and gentle, but it was actually about to put its head down and ram me with its antlers. It appeared like a lamb, but I had to beware of its true strength." 

Hannibal nodded. "How did that affect you?"

"It's not like I hadn't watched my father shoot things before. I don't know why it hurt me so much. It was like he severed my final connection to the world. My final hope."

"It was a transitional period. You lost your innocence. There was always a veil between you and death, when you and your father stood in the distance. Now, being so close, feeling the blood of that elk spatter across your face...that changed you." 

"I felt like I had been the one shot. I felt the same anguish that the elk did in its final breaths." He smirked. "Even at that age, I was sympathizing with someone dangerous."

"You were meant to be that lamb. You were meant to sprout antlers and charge. You understood the pain that would have come with being killed before you got the chance to strike." Hannibal paused. "What happened to your father?"

"Like I said. Died like a normal man." He shrugged. "He got cancer. He didn't want any treatment, no chemo or anything like that. He died eleven years ago." 

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"My dad and I were close," Will admitted, "and the memories I have with him are sacred. I don't want you to touch them. That's why I got all sensitive about it, I guess."

"It's completely understandable. I'm sorry I broke that boundary."

"You had no idea." Will's forehead creased. "That's never happened to me before. Never."

"It makes sense your body would react in novel ways. You've never transformed into an angel before." 

Will smirked at this. The dogs had begun to stray back toward the house, ready to see Will again. 

"I suppose I never asked," Hannibal said. "Do you still want to be on Earth? This will be your last lifetime here - as a human, at least. Do you want to live out the rest of that time?"

"I didn't know that leaving here early was an option."

"Anything is an option. I would do anything to make you comfortable."

"I don't...I mean, this world is all I know," Will said. "We can go anywhere you want to go, I don't care - as long as I'm with you. But I want to spend this life on Earth."

"Of course. This Earth is much more bearable when I am with you." He kissed the top of Will's head. "If you wish to spend more time here, we may be able to live together in other bodies. I can make deals with multiple people for multiple bodies, if you need."

"I don't want that. I don't think I could live in another body, not with the memories of being Will Graham. It would be too weird."

"Then we will make the most of this life. And when it's over, I have your soul now. We can finally return to the world we were meant to live in."

"Not Heaven."

"Not Heaven, no. But Hell is my domain. I can do what I wish with it. And that means your existence will be filled with just as much paradise as it would in Heaven."

Hannibal wasn't going to break his promises. He'd sworn to Will that he would drape him in silk, craft palaces of gold. Will believed him. They were going to exist in a world that was theirs and theirs alone for eternity.

Winston had wandered back up to the deck. Will scratched his ears.

"You and I...have begun to blur," Will said, glancing over at him.

Hannibal nodded. "We have each lost so the other could gain. We have each sacrificed everything we've ever known to be with each other forever. You've changed me just as much as I've changed you."

"We're conjoined," Will continued. "I'm...curious as to whether either of us can survive separation."

"We already did. But it left us permanently marked." Hannibal squeezed Will's hand. "I don't want to test our capabilities again."

"I've never felt this...exposed." Will thought of the eyes in Heaven, thousands of stars staring well past his skin and deep into his nerves, not a single part of him left untouched by Hannibal's vision.

"No one can ever be fully aware of another human being unless we love them," Hannibal replied. "By that love, we see potential in our beloved." He turned his head to kiss Will's neck. "Through that love, we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love...our beloved's potential comes true."

Another kiss, this time close to the ear. "I love you, Will," he whispered.

Will couldn't bring himself to repeat the words back, not yet. Not now that clarity had hit, and he'd had the chance to come back to himself. It was so easy when he'd heard their story, when he'd been half-entranced after Hobbs's death, after he'd been through physical trauma and only wanted someone to hold. Now that the ground had become more solid under his feet, he was back to his reserved self.

The worst part was that he would never love Hannibal in the way Hannibal loved him. Not without his memories. Not with the massive gap when Will wasn't even aware of his existence. The idea hurt him as much as it likely hurt Hannibal. 

He closed his eyes to make the next words easier to say. "Before you, no one's told me that in years. Not since my father died."

"No one?"

"No one."

This seemed to crush Hannibal. "I would have said it much earlier if I knew that."

"It's alright. I wasn't ready to hear it until now." Will's lips turned up in a somber smile. "Just like I wasn't ready to hear any of this until now. You were right all along about that."

"Being right is nothing compared to making sure you're feeling well. Seeing you again was the best moment of my existence."

"And being reborn was the best moment of mine." Will closed his eyes. "But also the most terrifying."

"It was trauma. Physical, psychological, and emotional trauma. I don't expect you to be healed anytime soon. Perhaps not even in this life. But I am here for you no matter what."

"Thank you." 

"Of course." Hannibal smiled. 

"And thanks for bringing my dogs." Will whistled for the rest of them and grinned at the approaching pack. "You know the way into my heart."

"I've never lived with animals. I'll need some adjustment time."

"I'll keep them off the couch."

Hannibal held back a grimace. "Please."

"How are you gonna get them all to the new place?"

He winked. "I have my ways."

They stood, leading the dogs into the house and closing the door. After getting all of the affairs in order, setting down their beds, preparing food and water bowls, and hanging leashes up, they migrated into the master bedroom, where they sat down on the edge with their fingers entwined. Will leaned into Hannibal, and he slowly began to unbutton his own shirt. 

"Follow me," Will whispered, and Hannibal did without question. They removed their clothes bit by bit, leaving themselves naked, warm, and full of need. Will placed his hand on Hannibal's chest and lightly pushed him down onto the mattress. 

"Just let me lead the way for once," he said. "Follow me."

"Anything for you, angel."

Will was so close now, straddling him. Each warm breath brushed against Hannibal's bare chest. Will leaned down to whisper in his ear. 

"I worship you," he said, kissing him on the cheek. A warmth blossomed inside both of them. 

"I don't ask for your devotion."

"I don't ask for yours. Doesn't mean you don't give it to me." Another kiss. "I've watched you create miracles out of nothing. You've healed me. Brought me back from the dead. Let me worship you."

Hannibal obeyed, sinking into the mattress and closing his eyes. 

Will kissed Hannibal's jawline, his stubble brushing Hannibal's face. He moved down to the neck, where he sucked the skin into his mouth but refused to bite. It was gentle.

He kissed him on the shoulders and collarbone, then the chest, lingering there for a moment and relishing in the feeling of his skin. Hannibal lay his head back and smiled.

Will rested his forehead on Hannibal's warm chest. "Will you let me touch you?"

"I thought you weren't interested in sex. Last time you said you didn't want to."

"I know what I said. Doesn't mean I can't ever have it." He stroked Hannibal's hips. "Just touching. Nothing more. I want to be that close to you."

"You don't have to do this."

"I know."

Will caressed Hannibal's stomach, and the skin was so warm. His fingers crept toward the V of Hannibal's hips, tracing the creases, and he shifted his body to press his lips to the spot where his thigh met his groin. His lips brushed against the base of Hannibal's cock, and Hannibal let out a small sigh of pleasure. 

"You're perfect. Oh, your body..." Hannibal murmured. "Merely looking at you astounds me." 

"Hannibal..." With each word, each kiss, Hannibal grew more and more hard. "You are the only god I need."

"My dearest angel." Hannibal tilted his head back as Will began to stroke. He kept his movements slow, drawing out the pleasure for Hannibal. "You're mine. For eternity, you are mine."

"Our experiences are substantially different," Will said, kissing the side of Hannibal's cock. Hannibal let out a hum of pleasure. "I may find it difficult to love in the same way that you do, Hannibal."

"I'm aware. But it does not make me love you any less." Hannibal raked his fingers through Will's curls. "And you should know by now that my love is unconditional. There's nothing for you to be forgiven for. So you don't have to make it up to me with this."

Will froze, blushing. He took in a slow, deep breath, and then he let go. 

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just wanted...I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing."

"No apologies. I figured that was the case." Hannibal took his hand, easing him back down onto the bed beside him. Their legs tangled, and they pressed their hips together. Hannibal's body was so comforting, so soothing. "I'm sorry that you felt the need to do that."

"Don't leave me, Hannibal," Will asked quietly, shame creeping into his voice. "Please. Don't make me regret choosing you. Don't bring me the world and then abandon me to take care of it myself."

"Never. Oh, never, my sweet angel." Hannibal kissed his forehead. "You could never make me leave. Not again. Those years were the most torturous of my existence. I cannot go through that again."

"I want you to keep me because you want me, not because you're afraid of losing me."

"I want nothing but you. There is nothing in this world I want more than you."

"Do you want the angel, or do you want Will?"

The question had been festering inside him for a while, and now that it was out, Will regretted saying anything. He hadn't meant for it so come out so accusatory, and from the way it made Hannibal tense, the answer couldn't be perfect to hear. 

"There is no difference between the two," Hannibal said after a pregnant pause. "You still contain the same soul that you did at the time of your birth, billions of years ago. You are the same, fundamentally. There is no world in which Will Graham and the angel within him are any different."

"Would you love me if I was a human? If I wasn't...that?"

"If that were the case, then you wouldn't be Will Graham. You would be someone completely different. Different soul, different mind, different personality and body. If you were not an angel, then you wouldn't be. Will Graham would not exist as a person."

Will stayed silent. He wasn't sure how to interpret that. 

"Let me say this. Pretend that somehow, you didn't exist, but then a man appeared on this Earth that looked exactly like you. He had your personality, your exact mannerisms, every trait, every flaw, and he responded to every situation in the exact same way you would. And his name was Will Graham, and he was human. Do you think that would be you?"

"...No. Because I don't exist, right?"

"Right. Because there is a wall between you and him. You do not have the same soul. You cannot exist as one person without the other. Understand?"

"It's not that you love me because I'm an angel."

"You are an angel, and I love you. Those are two truths that have nothing to do with each other." 

Will nestled into him. "It may take me a while to understand."

"The moment you enter the afterlife, that apprehension will disappear. No more human doubts to hold you back." Hannibal wrapped his arm around him. "But that doesn't mean being human is a bad thing. Not all the time."

Will closed his eyes. "Thank you for saving me."

"Thank you." 

"You're not going to leave me," Will said. "I know you won't."

I'll make sure you won't. 

It was an intrusive, malicious thought that flew through his head rather quickly, but he couldn't forget it once it had passed. The idea seemed appealing: cementing their escape and ensuring that Hannibal had no way of returning to this old life. If he truly had the power he claimed to have, it wouldn't matter at all - but the symbolism of it all appealed to Will. 

The only issue was how. That would likely be what held him back from carrying it out. 

"I had good news bringing the dogs in," Hannibal suddenly said, "but I also have some news that's not so great."

"Oh." Will frowned. "Should I be worried?"

"No, just irritated. Jack Crawford wants to come over for dinner."

Will blinked. Now that was an idea. 

"Let him. I'll just hide away for a little while."

"As long as you're sure. I don't want you to be angry or uncomfortable."

"I won't be. I'll hang with the dogs. Scour your massive library." He put his hand on Hannibal's chest, hoping to draw him away from the issue at hand. "Tell me about where we'll go, after this."

Hannibal obeyed, and Will fell asleep to his beautiful voice within minutes. 

Chapter Text

It's a quiet evening in Baltimore. Winter is still bearing its teeth, its cold winds nipping at Jack Crawford's uncovered cheeks, but as he exits his car in Hannibal's neighborhood, he can't help but take note of how much warmer it is here. Like the heart of the city flourishes here, like the sun is hiding behind the massive houses. 

His bewilderment increases when he strolls up to Hannibal's front yard. The greenery standing over the front door seems to defy the laws of the season; pink flowers bloom between lush green leaves, oblivious to the cold. They're too soft and thin to be fake - or else Hannibal has the money for some pretty damn convincing plastic. 

Crawford stands at his colleague's doorstep with one hand in his pocket, carrying a bottle of red wine by the neck. He rings the bell and waits, his body tense and his mind unnerved. Considering the fate of his most prized investigator, it's understandable — he's become desensitized to the idea of death, but he's never had it brush this close. He's never had to directly blame himself for a loss. 

Hiding in plain sight, around the house's corner, there lurks a man with a knife. 

He gazes at Jack Crawford, both hatred and appreciation burning in his gut. Jack has ruined him, but he is also the reason his life has flourished into something new. He wouldn't be in paradise if it weren't for Jack's shoving. 

But Jack has put him through unnecessary pain. He's brushed off his every concern, treating him like a toy. He is selfish and dangerous.

The man's plan calls for someone to die, and Jack happens to be that lucky guest. It's a shame to say goodbye to an old friend, but it will also be liberating to gain justice for his suffering. 

Jack waits a long while for his colleague to answer the door, and he eventually reaches up to ring the bell again. The man in the shadows watches, his gloved fingers curled around the handle of the knife. 

He hesitates one last time. His morals nearly win out, but his heart, his soul, his passion, are leagues more powerful. 

He emerges from the shadows. 

Jack turns his head, and his eyes widen. He stumbles backward, moving with urgency down the stairs and over to the corner of the yard. 

"Will?!"

Will holds a finger to his lips, eyes darting in fear. He wraps his fingers around Jack's wrist, leading him past the side of the house and into the backyard. When Jack tries to speak, Will shushes him. 

"I don't want him to hear you," he says, voice shaking. He brings Jack to the back shed, hidden among the trees, and shoves his hands in his pockets. His demeanor is fearful, jumpy. 

"Don't want Hannibal to hear? What's happening?" Jack whispers, leaning in. "Will, I thought you were dead. We all thought-"

Will lunges. His arm wraps around Jack's neck, and he yanks him close. Jack's throat sticks out, Adam's apple bobbing as he gulps in surprise, and Will licks his lips before raising the knife to slice it.

The blade cuts Jack's vocal cords before he can scream, leaving him with nothing but squeaking, desperate gasps for air. Will lets go of him, and he sinks to the ground. Dark blood spills out onto the grass, and Will watches, emotionless. His brown curls fall across his face, but there's no mistaking the fiery rage in his eyes. 

He kneels down on the ground. 

"I want you to look at me," he hisses through clenched teeth. "I want you to see what I've Become." 

He inhales, shoulders rising, and unfolds his wings. 

He's grown used to them now. They are the only remnant of his old life, his old form, he has left. They are strong, shining silver in the moonlight, and an intense warmth emanates from Will's body as he lets them loose. He smiles, relieved.  

Jack's eyes are filled with amazement and pain. His arm flails upward, a last attempt at extending an olive branch to what was once his friend. Will stares at him, unable to choose between disgust and remorse. 

"I will never be the same again," Will says, "and it's your fault. You did this to me."

The light is dying. He doesn't have much time. 

"You broke me, Jack Crawford. You saw the cracks and took a hammer to me anyway." He lets out a small chuckle, running through a mixture of disbelief at his own actions and utter solace. "But you created the space for gold. You turned up the oxygen and fanned the flame. If it weren't for that...I wouldn't have been saved." 

He sinks to the ground now, sitting next to his dying colleague. He places his palm on the back of Jack's head, lifting him and watching the blood pool in the folds of his neck. 

"These things happen. They have to happen. I'm sorry you were the one who ended up caught in the way."

Jack has gone limp. He takes in a shaky breath, and Will is certain it's going to be one of his last. 

"Thank you."

And the deed is done. Jack is no longer Jack. He has escaped into the clouds, travelling somewhere Will can never return to. Envy never crosses his mind, however; he knows there is much better waiting for him. 

It was time to prepare the gift. 

He unbuttons Jack's shirt and exposes his stomach, then uses the knife to start cutting a Y into his abdomen. 

"I slit Jack Crawford's throat. It's the most merciful manner of death I can think to execute," he utters to himself. "I need him to understand who I am. What I've become under his hand." 

He discards the knife and goes in with his bare hands, his nails digging into the moist tissue. Blood seeps under his fingernails. 

"I perform an autopsy. It's one of the most formal ways to desecrate a body. The most acceptable way. But it's also the coldest."

He pries the torso open and stares at what lies beneath. Thick, saturated organs, puttering out their final weak cycles. His mouth waters. 

"My palate has changed since I entered this world." His hand snakes inside the cavern, fingers wrapping around the rib cage. It's weak, ready to give under his power. "And for that, I prepare a gift of thanks. A feast." 

He cracks each rib in half, snapping them like wishbones, and he wraps his hand around a warm lung. Then the heart, which spurts blood onto his face. He doesn't seem to notice. 

As he mutilates the body, setting each organ to the side like a child digging through his toy box, his skin begins to shed. His body evaporates, white fog creeping over the garden and forming the shape of a man. He is now intangible, something other than human. His body floats, unable to touch the solid ground. The wings appear more at home now. 

This is my design.

The entire city falls silent. It's a different kind of quiet from the usual nighttime affair, like the world itself has stilled. No one comes to help Jack Crawford. They couldn't even if they wanted to.

The back door opens too late. Hannibal Lecter stands on the back porch, body sagging with relief. 

"Angel." He watches with no fear as the creature - Will - pulls out Jack's stomach. His eyes are filled with fascination and amazement as he witnesses the violence before him. "I couldn't find you inside. I was worried."

Will doesn't look up from his task. Come to me. 

Hannibal obeys. He ambles down the steps of the back porch, drawn like a moth to a flame. The angel is nearly finished now, nearly out of organs to fish through. Hannibal gets down on his knees, and when he reaches up to touch Will, his hand phases right through his skin. Hannibal shudders, but not with unease - he's astounded. He is so full of adoration it radiates from him, his eyes watering. 

"What have you done?" He is not angry; he is curious. This creature is a wild animal, not to be interfered with. He is a force of nature. Human anger would do nothing against him, so the only choice was observation. "Why did you do this?"

Will doesn't respond at first, but he picks up the pair of lungs and holds one in each hand. He holds one out to Hannibal with an expectant look on his face.

I wanted to. His voice is layered and soft. When Hannibal doesn't move to accept his gift, he sets it back down on the ground.

"You've done this at my home. They'll be looking for both of us now." Hannibal is surprisingly calm, given his words. He's almost satisfied, like this is what he wanted all along. 

Exactly. Will beams a mischievous smile and raises a foggy hand to Hannibal's face. Cold, dewy condensation gathers on Hannibal's skin as the chilly cloud makes contact with his flushed cheeks. You've gotten away with all your crimes up to this point. I haven't. You could have covered up my crimes easily, couldn't you? You could have wiped away all the evidence with a snap of your fingers. But you chose to alienate me from the outside world. Turn me into a criminal. 

Just as Hannibal was before, he is not angry. His words are mere facts. He is curious as to why things are the way they are. 

"It was for selfish reasons," Hannibal admits. There is no reason to hide anymore. "I've lived in a world without you for a hundred and fifty thousand years. I simply wanted to create one with just the two of us. Where we had nothing but each other. Equals, you and I."

We don't look equal right now. 

In a flash of light, Hannibal is gone, replaced by a dark being with black wings and thick antlers. The first creature is much smaller in its presence.

You know I'd never leave you, Hannibal says. 

Yes. And you know I'd never leave you. But you locked me in anyway.

By showing you the truth?

You encouraged me to be like you. More importantly, though, you made me become obsessed with you. Will leans in close. It's only fair that I lock you in, too. I can't leave you, he kisses Hannibal's lips, and you can't leave me.

What a cunning boy you are. I can't fathom why you would be so obsessed with me.

They laugh, as if sharing an inside joke.

Only as much as you are with me. Will picks up the pair of lungs once more. I normally can't touch things. Why can I touch this?

You're getting stronger. You're more in touch with the world around you. See? 

He nodded at the ground. Will's legs, which had vaguely dissipated into the grass upon his first transformation, were now making solid contact with the surface.

Take this, Will says. Indulge with me.

Hannibal takes a lung. They gaze at the flesh in their hands with the eyes of starving wolves, salivating. 

They bite.

Their teeth sink into the raw meat, tearing the lungs apart. Blood gushes from the pulsating tissue, and they let it all fall into their mouths like fine wine. They feast together, hunched over the desecrated body of Jack Crawford. 

Will picks from the bouquet of organs before them, one by one. They take bites of the heart together, sharing it. Savoring it as visceral matter dribbles down their chins. The stomach, the kidneys, the liver; bulbous sacks of pink meat writhe all the way down their throats. They are gluttonous, but this is not a flaw - they are starving. They are feeding their souls, their existences. 

When the good meat has all been consumed, the two rise. They hold bloody hands, grabbing onto each other for dear life.

Despite their exchange, the two gaze at each other with love. They don't need to lock each other in. They need each other too much already. Every action is a desperate call for the other's attention, and it's so wonderful to have someone listen. They couldn't live without each other now, not after realizing how incomplete their lives were before.

In another spark of light, the two become human again, drenched in blood and breathing heavily. They smile, share a brief kiss on the lips, and then they run.

~~~

Three Years Later

Doctor Beverly Katz arrives home after work to a rather excited pug. She grins at him, investigative troubles forgotten as she pets his head. Her wife, busy in the kitchen, calls out a greeting, and Beverly stops by on the way to their bedroom to kiss her cheek. She has to stand on her toes to do it. The house smells rich and savory.

In her bedroom, Beverly sheds her suffocating outfit and puts on something more comfortable. She throws her belt into the second row dresser drawer, haphazardly slamming it shut before walking back into the kitchen.

They eat together. They talk about their days and laugh, and Beverly admires the way her wife's eyes crinkle when she does so. The way her dark hair shines when she throws her head back. Her food is delicious.

They lay in bed later that evening and watch mindless reality TV. Their room is decked with their accomplishments: Beverly's degrees, including her new MD, and her wife's accolades for her music. The walls are covered with post-it notes, which are filled with affirmations ranging from smiley faces to heartfelt poems.

Beverly's wife is more focused on cuddling up to her than whatever is playing on the TV. Beverly's gaze, however, is fixed below the TV. She is staring at the dresser, eyes locked on the silver knobs of the second row. Her wife nudges her, teasing her for zoning out, and they both laugh. She tries to forget.

But Beverly Katz cannot forget she has a note in her second row dresser drawer.

Miss Katz,

I apologize for disappearing without a goodbye. I believe you deserve more than that. I hope this may bring you closure.

I take it the press has desecrated my name since they found out my truth. I'm a bit of a hot commodity, I suppose. I wouldn't blame you if you wished to take this letter to them. It would probably be a smarter move than taking it to the FBI, judging by their track record.

Let me preface this by saying this letter is for your eyes only. If you show this letter to anyone, I will know. If you speak of it, I will know. I will find out, and I will destroy all traces of it. I always find out, Miss Katz. Please employ the courtesy of keeping this to yourself. After all, your omission of vital evidence has been kept under wraps.

What did you think when you saw Will's name connected to the DNA at Elliot Budish's barn? Did you think it was a mistake? Surely you found it hard to believe such a good friend of yours could do such a thing. You thought you knew him well. 

You saw his name on the screen, and you gave him the benefit of the doubt. I remember the look in your dark eyes, the fire threatening to flare as you spoke. You have a lovely spark of energy, Miss Katz. I have no doubt you will get what you want in life. 

You told me you were willing to stall. You gave me two hours to find Will and get the story straight. You didn't ask what he did; you merely moved to defend a friend when he needed it most. 

If this were a typical world, if he and I were typical men operating under the laws of reality, this would have saved his life. I told Will the story, and he is endlessly grateful. He is amazed at your bravery, as am I. 

Have they held Will's funeral yet? Did you wear your best black? The casket was empty, remember. They never found his body. Have you ever considered there was no body to be found? It is always important to be open-minded.

In truth, Will is with me. We are sitting here together, in front of the fireplace. His head is in my lap, and he has fallen asleep. The firelight makes his face look so beautiful. He is such a flawless man. I'll have to get him into bed soon - we can't be on the couch all night. I may have to carry him.

I will not reveal any details as to where we are, for obvious reasons. I will instead confess to you that I love him. Here's another secret for you: he will not sleep without me there to hold him. He likes the way I make him feel. That's alright with me; I never wish to leave him anyway.

I'd like for you to reminisce for a moment, and pinpoint the last time you saw Will smile. I'm sure he did not smile often. He does now. It's bright and joyful and it sends me into bliss. He smiles when he wakes up every morning, during every conversation we have, at night before he kisses me. A smile suits him.

I love him, Beverly. I love him with a strength that surpasses humanity. Whether you choose to believe what you've read is up to you; I will say, however, that my reputation for deceit is false. I always choose to tell the truth.

Without you, I may not have him. For that, you deserve peace of mind. You do not have to mourn Will Graham anymore. Your actions will not be forgotten.

I send you my best.

-Doctor Hannibal Lecter

The letter is dated the week after Jack Crawford died. No, the week after Hannibal killed him. Hannibal Lecter, cold-blooded murderer, with a kill count thought to be in the triple digits. 

Beverly often wonders if she did the wrong thing. 

She'd been given the task to investigate the foreign DNA at Elliot Budish's barn, and the last thing she had expected was to find out it belonged to Will. He'd left a mark all over the place, including all over the body - which would have been impossible for him to do while he was profiling. There was something off, and the only thing she knew for sure was the evidence, his name on the screen, was not the whole story.

She held off Jack for two hours, claiming something was wrong with the processing. That must have given Will and Hannibal the time they needed to escape. 

Even then, she isn't sure if she regrets it. She doesn't think so. 

Beverly has never shown the letter to anyone before. She keeps it hidden underneath the second dresser drawer, taped to the bottom of the frame. The other gifts in the envelope, however, had different fates.

Hannibal attached a photograph and a piece of sketchbook paper to the letter with a paperclip. The sketch was of Will, drawn from the perspective of someone sleeping right next to him in bed. Every long lash, every hair of his stubble, every line of his face, was captured in perfect detail. The realism was haunting. 

The photograph was also of Will, a beaming smile on his face as he pet one of his dogs. He looked truly joyful and healthy; his face was fuller and flushed with life, and he was well-groomed and handsome. It was clear Hannibal's style had influenced him, but Will embodied it nicely. 

The other surprise was a pair of large feathers, one black and one silver. They were softer than velvet, brushing against her fingers like clouds. They shimmered under the sunlight like nothing she had ever seen before. She spent months behind closed doors running dozens of tests, and she could never find the species they came from. There was no synthetic material in them, but it seemed they weren't real, either. They matched not a single creature in the world. 

She tied them together with twine and released them into the wind. As they got smaller and smaller in the distance, she could no longer discern which one was which. 

She ran tests on the papers, as well, but there were no fingerprints. It was common sketchbook and photo paper, common ink, common graphite. Practically untraceable. She was living in her apartment at the time, and the envelope had arrived in her mailbox without a postage stamp or return address. She has no idea to this day how it got to her. Every possibility is scarier than the next. 

In the end, she kept it all. She keeps the photo and sketch in her wallet, hidden behind receipts. She likes the idea of her friend, mentally tortured for years on end, sleeping peacefully with someone he loves. The man who called her panicking, telling her he was ready to move onto the next life, isn't the same man in these pictures. He has changed for the better, and that makes her happy. She finds some sort of sick comfort in the letter's presence, with it having been so close to Will. 

She knows they're evil; the evidence tells her so. They killed Jack Crawford together and brutally cannibalized his body. Will killed Nick Boyle, Elliot Budish, and Garrett Jacob Hobbs, and Hannibal...God, Hannibal was pure evil. Not only was he killing innocent people, but he was also cooking and feeding his victims to an unsuspecting crowd. 

Had Hannibal thought about killing her? Were there moments where he stared at the back of her neck, aching to wrap his fingers around her fragile skin and dig into it? Did her body appeal to him? 

She doesn't like to think about it.

The letter was useful evidence, possibly the only step to finding them. Still, she doesn't want to risk breaking Hannibal's trust or invoking his wrath. She likes her life right now. She likes thinking of Will, face lit up with warm light, opening his eyes and smiling as his lover holds and cherishes him. 

Beverly Katz goes to bed. She is held and cherished, too.

She dreams of two feathers tangled in the sky, flying in the breeze and never touching the ground.

~~~

20 Years Later

A steep set of cliffs stretches above the Atlantic, peering down at the Earth from the night sky. The water they hover over is deep and dark without the sun to light it. The environment blends into itself, all shades of deep grey and black. The night is quiet.

Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham stand on one of the rocky bluffs, taking in the sight of the ocean. They lean against each other. 

"Are you sure you're ready?" Hannibal asks. 

"Yes," Will replies, full of determination. "Are you?"

"Absolutely. Come here."

They enfold each other in a fervent embrace. Will relishes the sensation, knowing this is the last pleasure his human body will ever experience. Hannibal's scent is enough to make him forget the entire world. 

"If you aren't ready, I understand. We can have many more years."

"I want to do this. I was the one who told you I wanted it."

"Will..." Hannibal sighs. 

"I know you're worried about it. But I'm not letting myself wither away from cancer. Not when Paradise is waiting for me."

Hannibal strokes Will's hair, shaking his head in disbelief. "That brilliant brain is what eventually betrayed you."

"No. It's sending me along. It just means it's my time."

"There are quicker ways. Less painful ways."

"We saw this precipice in our dreams for a reason. It's a place we were always meant to be." 

The place is just like the one they saw in their dreams all those years ago, the dreams that drew them together and foretold what was to come. They had returned to Will in a vision the previous night, along with a precise location. He wasn't sure how, but he knew better than to question the Universe after every gift it had given him.

"Just don't lose me," Will asks. "Please, please don't lose me again."

"We're bonded. Nothing is going to break that."

Will nods, teary-eyed. "I love you."

"I love you. Whenever you are ready."

Will kisses him. It's a long, breathless kiss, and they don't surface for air until they've nearly drowned in it. Will heaves a sigh, laying his head on Hannibal's chest and hearing his heart thump. The sound is comforting. 

They are dangerously close to the edge. 

Before he can question his decision, Will leans forward, shoving them both off the precipice and toward the sea. There is a moment where they float, weightless, before beginning to fall. 

They hit the water hard, leaving a massive splash in their wake. They don't fight the tide. They stay in each other's arms, gripping each other's clothing. They breathe and let the murky water enter their lungs. Salt, algae, and specks of dirt and sand enter their lungs.

They choke. They cough. They gasp, and more water seeps in. There is no escaping the sea. 

Will is the first to go. Their eyes are already closed under the water, but Hannibal can sense the life draining from him. His body crumbles, falling limp, and his fingers release Hannibal's shirt. Hannibal holds onto him, determined not to lose him to the waves. 

He screams for his lost love. The water swallows the sound. Bubbles escape his throat and float to the surface, a place where they can never go again.

A golden light begins to glow, emanating faintly from Will's chest. His mouth opens, and a cluster of glittering particles floats out. Hannibal opens his eyes and desperately grasps for them, gathering them all in his hands and inhaling them as part of his final breath. His eyes sting under the water, and all he can see is that one light.  

His body can't handle much more after that. His vision fizzles out, and he is led into the darkness. 

They both float unconscious for a short moment, until their bodies finally let go of the life they've been clinging to. There is no air. No protection from the salty, dark water. Their hearts slow and their lungs cannot take the pressure.

Their bodies will never be found in the waves of the Atlantic Ocean. They will become part of one of nature's unforgiving cycles, and they do not mind. Their bodies could be on display in a carnival, for all they care — what matters is what comes next.

A twisting beam of light streams from Hannibal's body, a glittering combination of silver and gold entwined. It curls up into itself, forming a comet that rockets down to the bottom of the ocean. It penetrates the sand, then the rock, then the deepest parts of the Earth's core, moving down, down, down. Deeper than mortals can ever go.

The Earth's core opens up for them, a hot and fiery wasteland that neither human bodies nor human souls can tolerate. They squeeze through the various fissures in molten rock with ease. They are no longer falling, they are flying. 

The closer they get to the bottom, the more their celestial bodies begin to take shape again. Silver and gold separate from each other, each sprouting limbs and wings. The bodies migrate toward each other, embracing in relief. The landscape is barren and red, a hellish desert marked with a wide, black river. The water bubbles and churns, but not from human disruption - contrary to the stories crafted thousands of years ago, Hell houses no human souls. It is a lonely, deserted place, meant to drive the one soul punished to remain there into insanity. 

He does not have to worry about that anymore. 

The devil leads them toward the river, toward the barrier between Earth and Hell, and he pushes them across the threshold as Will did moments before. They soar over the river, and with a deafening boom they cross into their new home. 

It is a rough entry. Above ground, the entire Earth quakes for a brief moment. Everyone on the planet feels their arrival. 

Their vision changes. The desolate brown mesa shifts before their eyes as the devil twists his world to his every whim. He is going to create a paradise for his long-lost soulmate. Something he can enjoy for the rest of eternity. 

He knows just what to make, and he does it in the blink of an eye. 

A vast, brilliant garden. He forms endless greenery: trees that twist upward into an endless canopy, bright green grass that houses butterflies and colorful flowers. An ocean lies beyond their range of vision, but it is merely a step away. A clear, beautiful creek rushes by their feet, teeming with fish and plants. 

The devil conjures the sun, bright and beautiful, using all of his power to create something that will forever shine down on the one he loves. He conjures a breeze, clouds, a bright blue sky that blocks out the rest of Hell around them. There is no need to worry about any of it now. There is only Paradise. 

He is exhausted by the end of it, his soul drained from the effort it takes to craft an infinite beauty in a place destined by God to be repulsive. But he does not mind. He has an eternity to rest. He sinks to the ground, basking in the sun, his antlers twisting and turning around the grass. 

When the time is right, he will unveil his true self, the one that only existed in the realm of Heaven, but that time is not now. He needs to let his angel acclimate to the new place before he changes himself, the one stable thing he has in this new environment. 

Oh, his poor angel. The devil turns his attention to his love, placing a hand on his arm. The angel is staring straight ahead, silent tears running down his cheeks. He is more solid now, more cotton than fog, and soon he will gather the strength to become marble. It will just take time. 

Angel. 

You made this, the angel says. I just watched you make this. 

I made it all for you, yes. What do you think?

 The angel falls to his knees. A world of emotion he has never experienced before courses through him. It is something he was always promised, but he never knew the full extent of. It is so much more powerful than he ever could have expected. It is beyond human, beyond angelic, beyond even Godly. He has seen the gates of Heaven, and they are nothing compared to this. 

Bliss. Euphoria. Peace. 

He begins to weep. All negative emotions are completely wiped from his essence; he no longer has even brief memories of sadness or boredom, anger or fear. They are impossible. 

Oh, love. His soulmate is already at his side, gathering the strength to sit up and look him in the eyes. What's wrong? Should I change it? 

The angel shakes his head furiously, gripping his lover with all his might. No, he says. No, it...it's so beautiful. 

The devil sighs in relief. This is our eternity, my everything. This is endless. This is our world. 

It's so beautiful. It's perfect. We're perfect, he cries. For the first time in years, the ground is solid underneath his feet. You saved me. Thank you. 

And you've saved me. They hold each other, smiling through the tears. It's time to embrace eternity.

They gaze at the newly blossoming garden, their own personal Heaven.

Welcome home, Will.