Chapter Text
Will steps out of his car and pulls his wool coat close, trying to shield himself from the balmy Baltimore night. He walks towards the front door with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, fingers grazing the cool metal. The metal of the gun he’s going to use to kill his therapist.
The thought alone causes a half-crazed wave of nerves to bubble up in Will making a short, clipped laugh fall out. He feels crazy, though he usually does so it’s nothing new really. This, oddly enough, is probably the sanest thing he’s ever done though. Because Will’s knows that his therapist, Doctor Hannibal Lecter, has the ability to control people.
Okay, so he does sound crazy...
But it doesn't make it any less real or true. Will doesn’t remember the exact moment he knew Doctor Lecter had these powers; it really was an accumulation of moments. Mostly small things like being commanded to talk about topics Will didn’t want to speak on, or divulge dark thoughts he refused to even admit to himself. Will would feel the influence of Hannibal’s commands seep through his skull and into the synapses of his neurons; the infliction of those words overriding everything else. Even with his whole being rebelling against the demand Will would find the words spilling out anyway.
The first time it had happened Will chalked it up to the therapeutic environment making his lips loose. The second and third time however…. Well, Will was hardly an open book, but Hannibal was somehow able to crack open his mind like a ripe watermelon, and with commands alone. That in itself should have been enough to have him running through the Baltimore streets screaming, but after each meeting Hannibal would simply tell Will ‘you had a wonderful time at your therapy session and noticed nothing unusual’ before herding him out to door. And somehow Hannibal’s words slipped into his mind and made it so, pushing thoughts that contradicted the command to the dark corners of his mind. Any attempt to try and pull those thoughts forward felt like trying to remember something on the tip of your tongue, more of a vague impression than anything tangible. Will should think himself crazy for believing that Dr. Lector has the power to control people, it being more likely he is just as insane as society believes him to be. That would be the case too, if Will didn’t have powers of his own.
Hannibal was lucky, his gifts were more useful by a long shot even if it was more corrupting. Being a manipulative dick hole wasn’t enough for Will to kill him though. Hannibal being a morally corrupt psychologist isn’t all that uncommon and definitely not enough to make Will want to shoot him. The real reason being was what he saw when he shook Doctor Lector’s hand after their last therapy session.
And what Will saw was a killer.
Knocking on the front door, Will waits with his whole body tense, pulse thrumming in his throat. Part of him wishes he could turn around and walk away; just leave this endeavor behind, get a new psychologist and stick his head in the sand of blissful ignorance. The idea is a soothing one. The thought, however, is soon snatched away when the door opens spilling the soft melody of classical music and warm light onto the front porch.
“Good to see you, Will. I’m glad you could join me for dinner.” Hannibal says in greeting. As is I had a choice Will thinks, recalling how Hannibal had called him a couple days earlier telling Will he was coming to dinner at his house. Probably will regret that demand once I kill him. Will thinks bitterly.
“What can I say; I couldn’t miss it for the world.” Will says brazenly, his nerves making him snarky. Something darts across Hannibal’s face as the words but is gone quickly, his welcoming smile still in place.
“Please, come in.” Hannibal says with a gesture, opening the door wide. Will walks in, gripping the handle of the gun in his pocket as waves of anxiety cause his whole body to feel like jello. He’s almost afraid he’s going to trip right in the foyer and the gun will come tumbling out of his pocket. Lamest way to die ever. Will thinks imagining himself falling over like a new born fawn as he walking into the foyer.
“Hang your coat on the hanger.” Hannibal says. The command almost seems nonchalant but the strength of their effect it immediate, making Will’s tense body twitch at the need to respond. This is the only chance I have, Will thinks as he starts to slide the coat off his shoulders. As he pulls his arm out, the gun comes with it and in a fluid, if a little shaky, motion Will brings it up and… “Drop the gun William. Now.”
The command vibrates through Will and, in mid-motion, the gun clatters to the ground. Will's arm follows the upward momentum however leaving him standing empty handed with his arm sticking straight out at Hannibal. A small smirk crosses Hannibal’s face at his empty hand, just as realization dawns on Will. The urge to say 'freeze partner' in a cheesy southern accent flutters across Will's brain despite the panic. With the first command still in effect, Will toss the coat at the rack and tries to dive for his gun on the floor. “Do not shoot me Will and hand me the gun.”
A gasp escapes Will as he stands, gun poised at Hannibal, seconds away from pulling the trigger only to have his hand cramp against the urge. Will’s eyes go wide as he struggles to push the weight of the command off him. His body takes over and Will glares at Hannibal as he walks towards him, his dress shoes dragging against Persian rug in resistance, thoroughly scuffing the fabric. The sight gives Will a small spark of satisfaction.
“I hope this rug is expensive.” Will growls out as he offers the butt of the gun to Hannibal.
“It is. About five thousand.” Hannibal says, looking down at the ruined rug as if someone just kicked his puppy. It almost makes Will smile; glad he’s able to do something, even if it’s small, to piss Hannibal off. Will already knows begging doesn’t work on Hannibal. All begging does is annoy him so much Hannibal usually tells the person to cut off their own tongue, something Will is set on avoiding. So at the moment, the best bet Will has is to piss Hannibal off enough that he kills him quickly.
“Good. Fuck you.” Wills says and in a flash the barrel of the pistol is on his forehead.
“Do not move and tell me why you were going to kill me.” Hannibal says sternly.
“As if you need the gun to make me talk…” Will says. A groan escapes him as he tries to hold back the truth, his breathe coming in pants at the strain. The words makes Hannibal freeze and lower the gun.
“I’m impressed that you’re able to resist my influence.” Hannibal says making Will scoff at the fucked up complement. “You have to tell me how you do it.”
Will grinds his teeth to keep his words in, only letting a short ‘cuz you’re a killer’ and ‘I don’t know’ slip out past his locked jaw. Hannibal simple nods at the answers making Will thinks he’s going to accept the simple truths and chalk his ability to resist up to sheer will-power. Silently he hopes that Hannibal will get this whole charade over with and kill him already.
Hannibal tilts his heading, looking Will over. “Tell me then why you think you are able to resist my control?”
Will groan and clenches his jaw while his lips purse shut in a feeble attempt, the strain causes his breathing to come frantically in and out through his nose. The exertion is for nothing though, as his jaw unlocks with a click and his body betrays him to follow the order.
“I think it’s because I have powers as well.” Will bites out, holding back an elaboration. He’s unsure why though, knowing Hannibal can easily demand him to explain. His nature just seems to demand that he fight despite the inevitability of being forced. It makes him wonder if his ability to resists Hannibal’s influence isn’t just his power alone but a combination of that and ill-tempered vigor.
Hannibal’s surprise and excitement is evident on his face as Will’s answer. “Tell me what your powers are.” Hannibal asks, looking Will over with a new found interest that makes Will’s skin crawl.
Will does the same song and dance of resisting only to have the words eventually spill out. “When I touch someone an empathic connection forms.” Hannibal smiles at Will’s vague answer and simple says ‘elaborate’. “I can feel the person’s being. I become them in an instant and their mind slips into my body. Once the connection is gone though it fades.”
Will hates his empathic power, the fact that he can touch someone and know how they feel and who they really are, making it much more like a curse than a blessing. Will is only glad he can control it now and doesn’t have to fear touch anymore, though he still avoids it out of habit. Because every once in a while Will did slip up and each time he would slips into the being of another person and he would feel who he is drift away in an instant while that person’s identity became his. It did fade when he broke contact, he didn’t lie about that, but the being of the people he touches never completely leaves either. Even after the contact is broken, Will can still feel pieces of them drifting in his mind, like lost objects out at sea. Hence why he needed a therapist, he was the walking definition of an identity disorder. That, and the fact he was court ordered to.
“What did you see when you touched me?” Hannibal asks, narcissistic fascination seeping through making Will feel like a fucked up human crystal ball.
“A fucking monster.” Will spits out hoping to piss him off but the comment only seems to make Hannibal smile and command again for him to ‘elaborate’.
“You’re a serial killer who uses your powers to evade ever getting caught. And, despite being able to make anyone kill themselves with just a command, you prefer to do it yourself and… prolong their suffering.” Will says, this time not fighting the words that come out on the own volition. His chest rises and falls in short in gasps as Will feels a panic attack over taking him as the words spill out. “You’re a sadist…”
Hannibal smiles at Will’s words and strokes the back of a finger across the stubble on Will’s face. He quickly smacks away the hand making Hannibal chuckle. “I find you immensely entertaining Will so, from now on, you will not leave this house unless granted permission by me.” Hannibal commands, his words silky smooth and, if Will isn’t hyperventilating himself into hallucinating things, laced with even more power. “Now come have dinner with me. The food is getting cold.”