Chapter Text
Ever since Will's attempt on Hannibal’s life, by proxy or not, Hannibal had been feeling strange. It wasn't something superficial, something easily dismissed. It wasn't a change in the mood or the weather. It was all about the shadows growing longer in Hannibal's mind palace.
He'd never given it much thought, to be honest; he'd never considered setting a certain time of the day to linger in those fragile chambers of space-time. Whatever light there was when he set up this or that room, such it remained.
And now the shadows grew longer in every room; now Hannibal could feel a tunnel being built under the solid ancient fundament. He loved to think of his mind palace as something older than him, something written in the very laws of nature, however defiant Hannibal was of those.
His sun proved to be harder to break, to shun, to lock up in a room or a box. His sun proved to be quite anthropomorphic, with his blue eyes and dark hair and sharp face. His sun was casting shadows now.
And down that tunnel, swift and dark, there was a worm making its way to the surface, its blunt and stubborn head digging, devouring, fertilising the ground.
Hannibal had been ignoring it as a caprice of his mind. He was fond of those but he was by no means a slave to them, or so he thought.
So he let the shadows get longer and longer. He was eagerly awaiting the arrival of the tunnel worm in all its eldritch glory. But life went on, and Will remained in the BSHCI until Hannibal couldn't take it anymore. (He didn't connect that feeling to the shadows, he didn't think it was a necessary connection or a reasonable one, and, in hindsight, alright, he was wrong.) Life went on and Alana was sweet and domestic in his bed. Life went on and Hannibal tended to his patients while wandering in his mind palace halls, admiring the shadows and admitting that they fit him better. Life went on and Will, his impossible, ineffable Will was out of prison, and Hannibal was waiting for him to come.
And he did, he did come. Hannibal opened the door to check his waiting room, expecting to find no one there, to find Will, clean, dressed up as much as he could manage…
He saw the worm closing in, he saw the shadows getting so long that there was nothing else left, no light and no perspective.
Hannibal heard himself inviting Will in and he heard Will saying something about resuming his therapy, but then everything turned dark, blurred and dreamlike. Then he opened his mouth and could say nothing. Then he looked up at Will and snarled and retreated to his chair and drawings and books. Then there was nothing.
*
Will was confident when he entered Hannibal's waiting room. He retained that confidence when Hannibal invited him in and when he told him he'd like to resume his therapy. He kept himself calm and collected, he was certain he wouldn't allow Hannibal's presence to unsettle him, to make him see that it had to be an asylum, the deepest pit of hell for Will to realise that all he wanted was to stand by Hannibal and hunt beside him…
Will noticed, of course he fucking did, how Hannibal's eyes shifted and changed, how his friend, his enemy, his mirror twin, his next of kin folden into himself, a shy snail instead of a monster he'd pictured him to be.
All masks abandoned, Will turned to see Hannibal scurrying to his things, to his most intimate things, and then Hannibal Lecter was no more.
There was a scared, scarred, angry, vicious thing there, glaring at Will, ready to attack and being so uncharacteristically hesitant to attack.
"Hannibal?" Will called. He dropped his jacket and gingerly approached Hannibal. The older man snarled and raised a scalpel.
"Hey… hey, I… you… OK, this isn't about Matthew Brown. You were pretty proud of that, right?"
Hannibal cornered himself so far that his back hit the bookshelves. His scalpel remained dangerous and raised.
"Hannibal? Hannibal, what is it?" Will kept approaching. "This… this isn't one of your games. You wouldn't have allowed yourself to appear scared."
Will rolled his sleeves. Hannibal's eyes ran over his bared skin.
"That's right, you have it bad for me, hehe? OK, this is humiliating and I didn't want to do that… Just catch you." Will laughed bitterly. "Look, how bad I am, can't lie to you even now." Will was right in front of Hannibal now and Hannibal kept snarling at him, so scared and raw.
"Hey… hey, baby, we can work it out… Hannibal? Are you in there?"
Hannibal fell on him, the only thing separating them was Will's wrist, and Hannibal was pushing his scalpel into Will's skin.
"Does it have to be about blood? I loved you, baby, I still do, so much… Come back to me."
Nothing about Hannibal indicated any change.
Will raised up his arm half-heartedly and Hannibal ignored it, deadly set on cutting through Will's wrist.
"You leave me no other choice," Will said tenderly. He shocked himself with that tenderness.
He knocked Hannibal out and pushed him down and onto the floor.
"What is this shit, Hannibal? If you let me overcome you, you must be oh so clean…" Will pressed his forehead to Hannibal's shoulder. "I don't want them to have you. I don't want Jack to have you. Only I can have you and… and…"
Will looked at Hannibal, out cold and peaceful for once. He took him in, he took him in with so much hunger and yearning it seemed unnatural to have survived without him for so long. "What are you playing at?"
For all his desire for vengeance, for all his scheming, Will couldn't bear seeing Hannibal in any way undignified. It would have meant hurting the raw and young part of himself that Will wasn't ready to give up, now that he'd finally caught sight of it.
So he tied Hannibal's hands with Hannibal's own tie, quite certain that Hannibal would undo it, if he wanted to.
Will left and returned two hours later with his dogs, their things and some clothes. He'd brought nothing else, but then again, he didn't have much else.
Hannibal was still out on the floor.
It was precious and refreshing to untie him and carry him upstairs. Will hadn't known he was so strong. Turned out he was, turned out he was capable of so much more than he had allowed himself to dream of.
"Happy now?" He asked Hannibal as he undressed him, rather medically, never taking a moment to pause and admire the sight before his very eyes. Will was far too out of breath for it, and far too worried besides.
He turned off the lights and settled on the floor, wrapped in the duvet he had taken off Hannibal's bed.
It felt warm and safe like that; so much so actually that for a moment Will forgot everything else. He only came to the burden of the present when he smelled Alana's perfume on Hannibal's sheets. It had been helpfully carried over to him.
Will looked up at Hannibal's sleeping form. "I'll kill you if you touch anyone who's not me."
He woke up in the middle of the night because he got stepped on by Hannibal, and this time it was literal.
Will sputtered and sat up and ended up with Hannibal sprawled on top of him. "I took away your scalpel," Will informed him. His treacherous hands reached up to hold the older man. Fuck, but he missed him, he missed that knowing glint of his eyes, the endless abyss of Hannibal's soul there for a study and admiration and somehow elusive to most people.
Hannibal's eyes were confused now.
Will had left the night light on, so he could see him clearly and there was nothing but fear and agony.
"Will you talk now?"
Hannibal kept looking at him.
*
And inside Hannibal's head, lost in the shadows, devoured and hungry, the man was trying to make sense of what he saw.
He knew that the room was softly, dimly lit. He knew that Will was somehow there with him, sleeping by his bed.
Hannibal wanted him in his bed, in his life and head and every little thing. He wanted Will to be a part of every piece of art, every step Hannibal had ever taken. He thought of Will as of a precious jewel that, once broken, could be added like a puzzle piece to all Hannibal saw and knew.
He didn't feel like saying it, though, he didn't understand a thing, he couldn't gather his thoughts, couldn't lead or lure or, to the contrary, follow.
A dog barked and Hannibal looked up to see all Will's pets in the room's corner. Was he hallucinating? Was it what he'd put Will through? He didn't feel any shame about it, because it was glorious. His mind couldn't hold on to things at the moment, not at their most complex. He couldn't even picture his own house, and as for his mind palace, it was all dark, it was all stuffed into one point and Hannibal stood upon it, looking outside as if through a keyhole. He didn't have any strength to push the door open, to break it. He could only look.
Hannibal saw Will's lips moving, felt his hands on his back, but couldn't reach out himself. He wasn't sure he wanted to.
He heard Will asking him to come back, but he didn't feel like he'd left. His body was there, his mind was there as well. It would just take more effort to get to him, and he wanted Will to get to him.
Hannibal's head hurt so much, he couldn't resist dropping it, hitting his forehead on Will's sharp shoulder and hearing Will's pained hiss.
He closed his eyes and let himself be swallowed again.
*
In the morning Will prayed that Alana wouldn't come to her boyfriend for breakfast or anything of the kind. He wouldn't be able to manage both his jealousy and Alana's intervention. She'd have them both locked up and maybe she'd even visit. Alana was very talented at making mercy seem like a punishment.
Will made a simple meal, let the dogs out to ruin Hannibal's yard, called them back…
Hannibal was still asleep, and on the floor, no less. Will had covered him but it still felt wrong. Hannibal and indignity couldn't go together well.
And he was still his maddeningly beautiful self, his ineffable, unreadable self. Will hadn't done well in physics back in high school, so he'd never grasped how magnets worked, therefore it was only fitting that he was pulled to Hannibal and had no full understanding of the process.
Hannibal agreed to eat on the floor. Well, he didn't indicate any intention of moving somewhere else. He ate like a man starved, like someone who hadn't seen any food for a while and didn't have hope of seeing more anytime soon.
Then he froze. Will froze as well. He watched Hannibal suddenly start to claw at his neck and mouth.
"Hannibal? Hannibal, it's OK… Hannibal?"
Hannibal was retching on Will's pants.
*
How come he'd ever allowed it, being fed again? Hannibal remembered telling Will about making most meals himself, he wouldn't be tricked again, he would always know what he was putting into his mouth, and he had forgotten.
He had forgotten and he had eaten something wrong, something that Will had made for him. Will wouldn't feed him Mischa, would he? Will didn't know about Mischa. But what had he put into Hannibal's meal? What was it? Had Hannibal eaten a part of Will? Had he devoured him whole, only to be alone again, to have lost?
The stench of vomit filled the room. Will pulled Hannibal up by his hair. "Sorry. Sorry, that was rude. What is it?"
Will's eyes watched him, read him, and Hannibal wanted him to see and understand and get mad or sad or…
"It's bacon. Real proper bacon, not people. Would you like some people bacon? Do you want to cook yourself?"
Hannibal didn't reply, just kept staring at Will.
"I'm gonna take you to the bathroom first, ok?"
Hannibal hadn't realised he needed it. He didn't have any mental capacity to feel embarrassed or ashamed when Will came in to check on him, still perched on the toilet.
Will wiped him clean, without a comment, without a single remark, apart from the one about the quality of his toilet paper that Will found ridiculous.
A stool was put into the shower and Hannibal was put onto the stool.
"Can't have you all filthy. Damn it, Hannibal, no one deserves this… Not even you."
Hannibal was stiff but more or less cooperative. Will dried him and dressed him. He turned Hannibal to face the mirror. "Doesn't look all that bad, you know? I'll need to cancel your patients." He paused. "I'm afraid you're mine now. I thought I wanted it. Bet you wanted it too, just with me being at your mercy. I think you can't handle kindness. To be honest, neither can I. But I'll be kind to you, because that will hurt you worse… No, no, that's not what I want…"
He led Hannibal downstairs. In Hannibal's mind he was slaying it in the kitchen as per usual. Will argued with him and ended up tying him to the fridge.
"You've burnt it all. I don't even know what you were trying to cook… Oh man. What a mess. But it's OK, I'll clean it. I'll do it. You just hang in there."
Hannibal watched him move. He didn't understand what was happening. He couldn't remember how the day had started. He felt so very tired.
*
Will successfully pretended to be Hannibal's new secretary and ransacked Hannibal's study to get a hold of a few psychiatrists he could refer Hannibal's patients to.
He felt himself unraveling too, following Hannibal without any wish to do so. Still, it was the closest they had been.
Will went as far as to call Jack and tell him he hadn't been as ready as he had claimed. Jack, for once, sounded very understanding.
It would keep everyone away for at least some time and who knew? Maybe Hannibal would be back to himself in a few days.
For now, Will resigned to following Hannibal around the house, making sure the other man didn't hurt himself or the dogs or the art. Hannibal kept silent and didn't react to anything.
When the lunchtime came, Will let Hannibal back into the kitchen. Hannibal was apparently trying to make some soup. Will didn't intervene but told Hannibal the result was shit. Hannibal ate it all the same.
They spent the afternoon sitting in Hannibal's room and being silent. Will forced Hannibal to go to the bathroom a few times. He coaxed him into drinking water.
*
Self awareness didn't make much sense. So Hannibal decided he couldn't handle it anymore. He retreated into the basement of his mind palace and curled into himself there. He didn't want to know what was happening. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to do anything.
Still it was comforting somewhat to have Will by his side there.
Hannibal held on to him. He'd stay there in the basement forever, if Will was there with him. He'd lock them both there and let time do the rest.
It was his last thought.