Chapter Text
It felt so macabre, waiting for the man to die. Perhaps not in and of itself, for the execution was public and a small group had gathered a few yards from the guillotine. It was his purpose for being there that caused Will Graham to fidget and look away when the prisoner gazed out at the crowd.
Could it be more defensible to stand before the square simply to see a man lose his head? Perhaps it was so. These people were acknowledging their instinct to see blood spill. More importantly, they had nothing to gain from his death except for the sense of justice in watching a murderer meet his end. Will Graham was waiting, staring at the man as he took his last breaths, not caring for justice or keeping the peace, but for the opportunity to steal his head. The basket it would fall into was filled with sawdust, as was the damp cobblestones around the dread apparatus. Not far from the square, Will could hear vendors advertising their wares. He could smell fried dough on the morning air. One street over were people who did not realize a man was about to die so close to them. They shouted mundane orders and requests while the man’s chest began to heave and his eyes water as the executioner led him with hands bound to the chopping block.
The Monster of Ingolstadt, the newspapers called him. He didn’t look very monstrous. Will had seen a drawing of him in the papers and thought his profile appeared regal, like the face of a Roman emperor on a coin. Looking at him now, though his hair fell in his eyes and his skin was sallow from the anticipation of these grisly proceedings, Will admired his high cheekbones, straight nose, and prominent lips. The body parts he had assembled thus far had been chosen for their aesthetic properties. If he was going to create life, it may as well be pleasant to look upon.
He shuddered with guilt once more at reducing a human life to an assortment of inanimate objects. Though he may be a killer, he was still a human being who felt fear and pain and all Will could think about was how that head of his would look sewn upon the lovely shoulders he had selected. They lowered his neck to the block and Will could see a tear fall down his cheek. He swallowed a pang of pity and allowed himself once more to think about how pristine the head would be when removed this way. There would be no damage to the skull or eyes, the brain would be deprived of oxygen for a relatively brief period of time, the nerves would all be intact. It was the perfect find.
The blade of the guillotine fell with a metallic swoop and a sound that was not unlike chopping broccoli. He watched the head fall into the basket, and kept his eyes on that basket as they moved it to the back of a wagon, until the moment when he nonchalantly strode by and grabbed it while the crowd dispersed and the executioner wiped the blood from the blade.
Will Graham’s laboratory was actually a boarding room that he had transformed for his own purposes. It smelled like a charnel-house and looked it as well. The coppery smell of blood mingled with chemicals and salts. The table on which his stitched doll of a man lay was separated from his own messy bed by a thin curtain that he’d hung from the ceiling.
As Will attached the murderer’s head onto his new body he wondered to himself what sort of person this would be. One man’s heart, another man’s brain, but whose soul? Perhaps something brand new would arise. Perhaps what he was truly inventing was a new species that would bless him as its creator and source. Many happy and excellent individuals would owe their being to him, and he would be their father and god.
It was one in the morning when Will finally began to stimulate his creation’s brain. The limbs convulsed but grew still again after each zap of electricity. Outside a cold rain pattered on the window panes and the candles he worked by were melted to slouching nubs of wax, barely able to hold their flames alight. Sweat dripped from Will’s hairline, his curls wild from running his hands through them in frustration. When he held the electricity to the brain once more he nearly screamed to see the body open its eyes. A strangling sound escaped the lips and Will watched his creature’s chest heave hard. He brought the wires away and walked around to look into his eyes.
The creature blinked and stared ahead into space until Will lowered his head very close to him. Then his eyes focused and he looked back at Will. A small grin wrinkled at the corners of the creature’s mouth and he muttered inarticulate sounds.
Will had thought ahead of time what he wanted his first word to be toward his creation. He decided that it should be the name he had chosen for him. That decision was also one he’d spent some time thinking about. When he finally managed to secure a head for the creature he stared back at it while he stitched it in place, considering what name would soon accompany that face. Looking at it he thought of ancient people, of great people whose formidable profiles adorned busts and vases. An appropriate name came to him then.
He cleared his throat, gazed into his creation’s eyes and said as clearly as he could despite his trembling voice, “Hannibal.”
Every day Will spent almost all of his hours with Hannibal. He put down a bed and blankets for him in the laboratory and showed him how to pull the blanket over himself for warmth. He brought him food and taught him how to hold a fork in his hand. Hannibal’s dexterity was poor at first, but every movement his father made he watched with undivided attention and a sense of wonder. Will performed every action with emphatic gestures while enunciating each word to him. Bed, blanket, food, fork. Hannibal wasn’t able to speak any more than the occasional guttural sound and a clicking at the back of his throat so Will taught him to make different hand motions to express when he was hungry or thirsty, tired, or confused.
Over time Will forgot that he had any life at all outside of Hannibal. The days turned into weeks and eventually he resorted to stockpiling food and drink so that he would not have to leave his boarding room. He observed Hannibal and wondered if perhaps he might be able to pass for normal amongst other human beings. He feared what might happen if they were afraid of his creation, and the thought of Hannibal being treated cruelly made him sick to his stomach.
One day, Will stepped outside to observe his surroundings. The street was mostly empty and he considered bringing Hannibal outside to see the sun and teach him that the world was at least somewhat larger than the room he kept him in. So far, that lesson extended only to pointing outside of the window.
Will felt something soft brush against his leg and he looked down to see a golden cat. The cat purred and Will knelt down to scoop it into his arms. He brought it inside to Hannibal.
“Cat,” he said, placing the animal down in front of him. He stroked the cat while looking at Hannibal’s expression.
Hannibal’s jaw dropped when he saw the tiny moving ball of fur. At first he recoiled from it as the cat minced along the table and crouched, pushing his back up and flicking his tail as Will ran his hand over it. Then he leaned forward and watched intently. He turned an ear toward it when it meowed. Hannibal made a light noise with his throat in an attempt to imitate it and Will chuckled.
“Meow,” Will said.
Hannibal looked up at him suddenly with surprise. Will took his hand and slowly led it toward the cat.
“Pet,” he said.
He placed Hannibal’s hand on the back of the cat and moved it along his spine as it purred and arched its back. Hannibal made a “p” sound and stared at his hand. The feel of the soft fur was curious to him. He pushed down on the cat and it slinked away. Will picked it back up and returned it.
“Gently,” Will said, showing him how. “Pet gently.”
Hannibal let Will move his hand for him, let the cat rub its cheek against the back of his knuckles. Then the cat jumped down from the table and began to explore the room. Hannibal watched him and Will scraped together bits of leftover food on a small plate which he put down for the animal. As Will crouched, Hannibal walked over to him and put his hand on Will’s head. He began to pet him, moving his hand through Will’s curls and over his face with his knuckles. Will bowed his head and looked up at him with a smile. Hannibal imitated his smile.
“Peh… jinty…” Hannibal said.
Will stood up and put his hands on Hannibal’s shoulders.
“Pet gently!” he exclaimed. He was quite proud. “Very good!”
Hannibal moved his hands over Will’s face and neck, looking at him the way Will had looked at the cat; with fondness and compassion. Will took Hannibal’s hand and gave it a kiss.
“Kiss,” he told him.
Hannibal made a clicking noise. He seemed disappointed that he couldn’t imitate him again.
“It’s all right,” Will assured him. He put his hand on the side of Hannibal’s face and began to pet him as well. He pushed his light brown hair back and ran his fingers through it. Hannibal closed his eyes and sighed, enjoying the sensation of being touched.
When the cat had finished eating the food, Will picked it up and put it outside. The animal walked away, tail moving back and forth. Hannibal watched him leave and made a noise when the cat rounded a corner and to his mind, ceased to exist. Will closed the door and led Hannibal to the window, to show him that the cat was simply on another side of the building.
That night Will lie awake in his bed wondering how he could show Hannibal the world without exposing him to any poor treatment. He wanted to be the best father he could possibly be. When he slept, he dreamed of his beautiful, innocent creation being bound and led to a guillotine. The crowd gathered again and they hissed that he was a monster and an abomination. Hannibal reached out to Will with his tied hands, a look of confused anguish on his face.
Will cried out as he awoke. He shivered and pulled his blanket over his shoulder, rolling over and trying to block out the horrifying image. Then he heard a noise; a cry that mimicked his own. He looked over and saw a silhouette through his curtain. A hand reached out and pulled it back. Hannibal looked down at him with concern.
“Hannibal,” Will sighed. “It’s all right.”
Hannibal walked beside Will’s bed and sat down on the edge. He reached out and began to pet Will’s hair, then his neck, and his shoulders. Then he lifted his hand to Will’s lips.
He clicked and said “iss.”
Will smiled and kissed Hannibal’s hand. Then Hannibal took Will’s hand and lifted it to his own lips, pressing them against it and nuzzling him.
“Back to bed,” Will told him. “Sleep.”
He lay down and closed his eyes. He opened them again when he felt Hannibal crawl under the covers with him.
“Hannibal,” he said.
Hannibal stared back at him and continued to run his fingers over Will’s features and his throat, his Adam’s apple, and the edges of his collarbone.
“Pet… genty…” Hannibal said.
Will’s broad smile spread over his face and he laughed happily.
“Very good!”
“Good,” Hannibal repeated. Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Will’s bare chest. He rubbed his cheek against Will’s body like a cat.
Will put his hands on Hannibal’s shoulders and embraced him. He rubbed his back and whispered in his ear, “Hug.”
Hannibal pushed into the hug, grunting. Then he gasped and pulled back.
“What’s wrong?” Will asked.
Hannibal lay back and looked down at the front of his drawers. His mouth parted when he saw himself swelling under the fabric.
“It’s all right,” Will said. It hadn’t occurred to him until that moment that Hannibal might need to be taught about something like this.
Will lay on his back beside Hannibal and threw back the blanket. He reached down and stroked the front of his own drawers. Hannibal watched him for a moment and Will gestured to Hannibal’s hand. Hannibal grunted and took hold of Will’s hand and placed it over his erection.
Will froze. He stared at Hannibal in surprise, but his creation just closed his eyes and began to rub himself up against Will’s hand. His mouth hung open and happy noises emerged from his throat.
“Pet,” he urged. “Iss.”
What am I teaching him? Will wondered. But he didn’t pause for long. He felt the urge to show Hannibal intense pleasure; to give him every sort of love in this world. He slipped his fingers into the front of Hannibal’s drawers and began to fondle him.
Hannibal moaned and arched his back into Will’s touch. Will rolled over and hovered above him, stroking him. He dipped down and kissed Hannibal on the lips. Hannibal’s eyes popped open and he stared back at Will.
“Kiss,” Will whispered, and kissed him once more.
Hannibal put his arms around Will and brought him to his chest, humping against his hand.
“’Ug,” he said.
“Hug,” Will repeated. He kissed Hannibal’s chest and nuzzled him while he stroked. He felt Hannibal’s hand drift over the front of his drawers and begin to massage him. He moved his hips with him, and reached down to release his cock from the fabric.
Hannibal watched Will swell and stiffen as he touched him. He smiled and kissed him. He looked a happy sort of confused and curious. Then his eyes opened wide and he moaned as his body began to convulse. Will stroked him faster murmuring, “It’s all right,” in his ear. Hannibal experienced his first orgasm since he had risen and he watched in disbelief as cum spat out of his cock over Will’s hand. He threw his head back and bucked his hips at the last moments, overcome with the new sensation.
Will kissed him on the cheek and Hannibal pushed against him, staring at Will’s cock as he ran his hands over it. Will repositioned the way he held him and showed him how to stroke. Soon he was moving his hips along with the motions and moaning.
“Very good,” he groaned, “Hannibal. Very good.”
Will came onto Hannibal’s hand and the creation stared at the milky fluid for a moment before leaning over and kissing Will’s cheek.
“Good,” Hannibal whispered.