Chapter Text
“He brought out the storm in people, because he knew wherever there were dark skies and wild winds, lies a truth. A truth that describes how much love one can leave behind the moment they accept all the pain they have lived. And that is all he ever wanted, for everyone around him to embrace their storms and make them fall in love with their own violent winds.”
- Robert M. Drake
His heart, for all that had happened, was calm. It pumped hard but steady, reminding him that somehow, he had survived the day.
Francis Dolarhyde hadn’t been quite so lucky.
Will surveyed the scene around them. The ground was slick with blood. The puddles and splashes looked like tar pits, like something long dead and monstrous could claw its way out of the pitch any second to devour them all.
Which was impossible, of course.
The monsters were already here.
“It really does look black in the moonlight,” he said, because what else could he say? Hannibal helped him to his feet, so close, and Will wished more than anything for the scent of rich aftershave and something smoky that usually followed Hannibal around instead of the metallic tang that filled his nose and mouth.
(But that wasn’t quite true.
He had never found Hannibal more appealing than he did right then, covered in blood and looking at Will like he was something to be cherished.)
“See?” Hannibal asked, barely above a whisper. “This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us.”
And yes, he could see. For once, his eyes were open and unclouded by Jack’s conscience or the restrictions he had put on himself. The chains that held him down had shattered the second he had looked across the paving stones and met Hannibal’s eyes. An eternity stretched before him, and in it, he saw one thing for certain: they would face whatever was coming, together.
“It’s beautiful.”
And then they were falling, falling, falling and the waves were rising to greet them and there was salt water in his lungs and…
Nothing.
____________________
Then there was pain. Soul consuming, earth shattering pain broken up by the cool relief of a rag being wiped across his forehead. He wanted to drift, wanted to allow himself to sink into the pain because if he hurt, it meant he was alive and if he was alive, it meant Hannibal might be as well.
“I know you’re awake, Will.”
“Chiyoh,” he said when he cracked his eyes open.
“Good. You recognize me. That’s better than I had feared; you had a concussion. The wounds in both your shoulder and your cheek should be free of infection now, but the stitches will have to stay in for at least a week. Your fever finally broke. You’ll live.”
He closed his eyes again, running his tongue over the stitches in his face, grateful for her detached tone. He had questions, so many questions, but the words for them refused to surface. He wasn’t sure what he wanted the answers to be. He remembered what it felt like to let the fortress he had built around himself crumble under the weight of Hannibal’s stare, the slip of the blade through flesh, the blood on his hands and in his mouth and Hannibal standing gorgeous and victorious before him, despite his own injuries.
He remembered what it was like, at the top of the cliff, to realize that they would end up killing each other eventually, but if he had to choose a time to go, it would have been then. He had never felt more completely himself, Hannibal in his arms, their prey dead. Better to go out on a high note than drag it out further. Besides, some part of him enjoyed the thought that he would have the last word.
But if he hadn’t made it, if Will was the only survivor… What would he do without him?
“He’ll live.”
He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as the relief flooded him.
Guess that clears up the confusion.
“Where are we?”
“Don’t you recognize this place?”
He reopened his eyes then and looked around, realizing that the place was familiar. “Doctor Du Maurier’s house. How…?”
“We arrived after the FBI had already stopped by. They believed that one agent was enough to watch the home, but he’s parked down the street. They weren’t watching the back yard. She is the one who patched you both up, after some… persuasion from Hannibal.”
“How long has it been?”
“Two days.”
He reopened his eyes. “Can I see him?”
She searched his face for a moment. “Are you going to try to kill him again?”
“I think we’re past that.”
“In the morning, then. For now, more antibiotics and pain medication. Then sleep. You need it.”
So he slept and dreamt and woke up in the morning with the sun on his face and Hannibal sitting the chair next to his bed. For one second, he was afraid he was still asleep.
“Hannibal?” he asked, trying to reassure himself, with a voice that cracked and rubbed his throat like sandpaper.
“Chiyoh assured me that you weren’t going to try to kill me.”
“She would be correct.”
It was Hannibal’s turn to study his face like Chiyoh had the night before. “Why not?”
There were a dozen ways he could answer that question, but the one that came out of his mouth was as close to the truth as he could get. “I don’t want you to die.”
Hannibal nodded after a moment. “The sentiment is mutual.”
“There is a condition to that, however.”
At this, Hannibal’s gaze sharpened. “Oh?”
“Honesty, Hannibal. No more and no less. No more manipulations. I don’t care how good you think it is for me. It has to stop.”
“And you? Will you stick to this condition as well?”
“Yes.”
“I will probably slip up.”
“I probably will as well. Make an effort. I’ll know if your ‘slips’ are calculated.”
Unless Will was mistaken, the smile on Hannibal’s face was pleased. “Very well. How are you feeling?”
“I am as well as can be expected after getting stabbed. Probably can use some more pain medication since I’ve slept off the last dose, but I’d rather be lucid at the moment. You?”
“More muscle than internal organ damage. I am assured that I’ll live, though sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.”
Will nodded, and they lapsed into silence. Hannibal reached to the bedside table, wincing slightly, and poured a glass of water for Will.
“You should stay hydrated.”
“Thank you,” Will said, and meant it. He was parched, wrung out, and the water helped him back into his body.
He noticed Hannibal was watching him and followed his gaze, realized he was naked, exposed save for the bandages on his shoulder, and the blanket had slipped down low enough for the smile on his stomach to be visible. He glanced over, saw the white lines on Hannibal’s wrists. They had left their marks on one another, time and again, and yet…
And yet he was happy that Hannibal was sitting by his side.
“May I ask what has brought that smile to your face?”
Will felt himself flush for getting caught.
In for a penny…
“You.”
Hannibal blinked. “That… was not the answer I was expecting.”
“I was thinking about how ludicrous this entire situation is and how, despite everything, I am happy that you survived.”
The silence stretched again as Hannibal processed those words. Will could see him dissecting them, trying to find the insult or the lie in them.
“You really mean that, don’t you.”
It wasn’t said as a question, but Will answered anyway. “I do, yes.”
“I wonder if you will ever cease to surprise me.”
“I certainly hope not,” Will said, shifting to try to get more comfortable and only succeeding in jarring his injuries and tearing a soft grunt of pain from his mouth.
“Chiyoh,” Hannibal said, just slightly louder than conversation tone. It took only a second for her to appear, meaning she had stationed herself just outside the bedroom door. “Will needs his next round of pain medication.”
“Of course.”
“Hannibal-.”
“You need your strength, Will, and in order to do that, you must rest.” Some of Will’s panic must have leaked out into his expression, his fear of what would happen the next time he woke, his fear that this entire conversation would fade back into the dream world as though it never happened. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be alone again. Hannibal stood, slowly, and ran his fingers gently through Will’s hair. “I will be here when you wake, if not in this exact spot, I’ll be in my bed just next door. Okay?”
He flushed again at being read so easily, but nodded his assent. He took the pills from Chiyoh, swallowing them while she hunted up some soft bread and butter for him to coat his stomach with. He grimaced at the way his stitches pulled while he ate, but he felt better with solid food in him. Hannibal pulled the blanket off the back of the chair and draped it over his lap, settling down while Will drifted back to sleep.
The next time he woke, it was dark out. Hannibal wasn’t in the chair any more, and Will tested his feet. He was still incredibly sore and grateful for the sling keeping his arm supported. He found the en suite, ducking in there quickly, before going in search of Hannibal’s room. He paused in the doorway to watch the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest, seemingly asleep.
“You haven’t asked about Du Maurier yet,” Chiyoh said from behind him.
“I don’t particularly care about her.”
“No, your focus is elsewhere. Tell me, Will. Why the captivation with him when before you only wished to see his demise?”
“You say that as though those two things are mutually exclusive,” he responded quietly. “I have always been captivated by him, Chiyoh. Even as he murdered Abigail. Even as his knife cut me open. Always.”
She was silent for so long he thought she may have vanished into the darkened hallway, but her voice came softly. “Dinner will be ready shortly. I’ll bring you both plates when it’s finished.”
He listened to her retreating footsteps until they hit the stairs before making his way to the chair next to Hannibal’s bed. Hannibal shifted, and Will knew immediately that he had heard the entire exchange.
“I don’t know that anyone has ever used the word ‘captivating’ to describe me. I feel like I should be surprised by that fact given the word’s Latin roots.”
“I don’t believe you have imprisoned me, Hannibal. I know I am not your captive. Or, at least, no more than you are mine.”
“An even playing field.”
“Reciprocity.”
They sat in silence until Chiyoh brought their food and another round of medication for the both of them. Will stayed until he felt himself drifting off, and even then he fought against it.
“If you won’t return to your bed to sleep, will you at least lay in this one? Sleeping in that position is no good for you.”
“Are you asking me to sleep with you, Dr. Lecter?”
“I am asking you to not put yourself through any more pain than is absolutely necessary.”
“That’s a shift,” Will said, immediately wishing he could pull the words back into his mouth.
Hannibal sighed. “With some notable exceptions, Will, that has always been the case.”
“Why do you think suffering is necessary?”
“You were hiding from yourself, shirking off your potential. I wanted to see you bloom, to become the magnificent creature I knew that you are. Nothing short of drastic action would have been able to get through the walls you built to protect yourself from yourself.”
“You can’t tell me that this was all out of the goodness of your heart, Hannibal. You aren’t some savior, running around making people into the best versions of themselves that they can be. You were curious.”
Hannibal laughed lightly then, catching Will off guard. “Of course I was curious. Isn’t that what drives all of us? The next discovery, the next adventure, the what ifs. Will, you never responded the way I expected you to. You fought harder than I ever could have imagined, and in the wreckage of you I left in my wake, you built yourself stronger than I ever dreamed you could. And don’t think that I am attempting to take the credit for your becoming, Will. This has been you all along. I simply gave you the keys and waited to see what you would do. You amazed me.”
The silence stretched between them until Will stood, unsteady on his sluggish frame, and turned to go back to his room. Whatever game Hannibal was playing, he didn’t want any part of it.
Or that’s what he told himself as he curled up, cold and longing (for the first time in recent memory) for the warmth of someone under the covers with him.