Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Slightly overwhelmed by the suddenness of his continuous involvement in such emotionally heavy cases, Marissa’s body brought out the worst of his empathy in him. In his dreams, he saw himself reach into the mouth of a lion and live through every second as it devoured him, leaving behind a choreographed painting of all the negative emotion in the world. Though he stood unmoving in front of the girl, there was too much chaos inside his mind and it showed on his face. Only Hannibal could see the finer details in Will, how deep he fell into the mind of Marissa as she was dying.

Hannibal found Will most beautiful and fascinating at his weakest moments. Although he just appeared to be this way all the time, the doctor of character knew that only when Will stepped into the bodies of the victim and not the killers was he at his weakest. He didn’t need a doctorate to know that such powerful form of empathy would only seize Will’s heart and pull him under unless someone was there to bring him back.

Hannibal was wondering what he would do to Will. Yet each time he was prepared to take his life, Will showed another side that had to be explored and prodded. A rather captivating idea came to Hannibal’s mind when he saw what a momentary connection with Marissa did to Will. He realized that he did not have to touch Will to play with him. Perhaps manipulating Will’s mind would be even more beneficial than the satisfaction of having him once. He will succumb to his imagination, which will be completely under Hannibal’s control. Plus he is always in need of fresh produce.

“You seem on edge, Will. Is something bothering you?” Though he has not seen Will in some time, he knew that his handiwork would eventually break Will, and he would come to him for help. “Is Uncle Jack pushing you too close?”

Will’s nervously paced, paying no attention to the book he was supposed to be reading. Hannibal was greatly amused by the irony of Will showing up in his office asking for help to track down someone standing so close. For someone gifted with such vivid empathy, it was a true miracle that Will had a blind spot for his dear psychiatrist.

“The brain needs to be exercised. Like with muscles, the more you work them the better they become. And I feel like I worked my mind too much and it’s turning on me.”

“Having difficulty separating yourself from the minds of the killer?” Playing innocent was rather refreshing in this context. “Perhaps it’s time for another break. Jack Crawford will understand.”

“It’s not the killers. It’s the one killer, the things he makes them feel... I feel them, Dr. Lecter. I can’t separate myself from the victims. The ghosts of their last moments overpower me, haunt me, and linger in my dreams, allowing me no rest.”

Hannibal sat down in an arm chair, and gestured at the one across, inviting Will to sit. Will reluctantly put the book on Hannibal’s desk and accepted the invitation.
“Have you tried to stop resisting those emotions?” Hannibal wasted no time. He had to get Will to experience them again, free of outsiders. “You need to deal with them, let them wash over you so you can forget they existed. Let the dam burst and all the tension will disappear.”

“I am afraid I will fall in too deep.”

“Trust me, Will. I will pull you out if you will be in any danger.” Will stared at a particularly interesting fold of Hannibal’s jacket. “Let me safely guide you through this.”
Will hadn’t voiced his agreement, but he did lean back into the arm chair.

“Close your eyes, and relax. I want you to tell me what you see and what you feel. This way I will know when to stop.” Will obediently opened himself to the darkness, where the calming swings of the pendulum followed his heartbeat.

“I am walking through the woods. I feel followed, so I keep turning back. I can hear my heart pumping, another ominous sign of danger. I decide to turn back to where I think I will be safe.”

“Whose eyes are you using?”

“I am a man, so unlike myself, free from the burden of the thoughts of others. I hear a crunch of dead leaves too close for my comfort.” Will’s face cringed slightly, and his chest began rising faster. He attempted to shake it off, take deeper breaths.

“No, Will,” Hannibal said calmly. He wanted Will fully submerged. He could already smell a dangerous surge of adrenaline, pumped everywhere by Will’s heart. “Keep going, do not stop for breath. You must let the emotions wash over you.”

“I feel a knife at my throat, someone is standing behind me,” Will continued with a cracked voice. His head rolled back to allow an imaginary blade to sit there. He gasped. His fingers dug into the arm of the chair, knuckles turning white. This was only the beginning, and yet Will was already paralysed by fear that was now his own.

“He moves too fast for me. He takes hold of my arm, and forces it behind my back...” Will stammered, sweat pouring down from his face. He let out a yelp. “I think it’s pulled out of its socket.” He leaned forward a bit, his right shoulder dipped slightly, mirroring what Will experienced in his imagination. He grunted and bit his lip to suppress another yelp. Hannibal watched Will with an unblinking gaze, feeling his erection swell.

“He’s being so careful, not a single gesture wasted. I try to move but the dislocated shoulder makes it nearly impossible. I try to ask what he wants, but before I can say the words, I feel a heavy blow to the back of my neck.” Will’s body responded beautifully to the memory. He arched his back and fell back. His arms began to tremble, holding on to the chair with all his might. His forehead glistened with sweat. Will’s grunts were louder. His breaths became erratic and turned to pants. Even with closed eyes, the sheer terror of this hallucination was painted all over his face. Will didn’t need to be encouraged to keep going any longer. He was in too deep and was no longer aware of his surroundings.

“It dawns on me that I am paralyzed. I cannot feel anything below my neck. I have a life, I need my body! How will I survive this?” Will’s voice was no longer his own. He was stammering, like his lungs were not sure what was more important: breathing or speaking. Hannibal leaned forward to take in the unique scent Will’s panic created. It was delicious. He wanted to take Will right there, but he did not want to miss a second of the man’s pale face twisted by torment.

“He lowers me to the ground. I am helpless as he stands over me.” Will’s whole body shook; the words he spoke were forced between gasps. Hannibal watched Will with hunger he always suppressed.

“I am thankful now for the paralysis. I can’t feel the blade, but I can see it as it comes down into my stomach. I watch my blood spilling and realize that I am hopeless, I am alone.” Will’s fingers finally relaxed. He leaned his head into his hands, curling into a ball, and sobbing.

Hannibal took a moment to admire Will, who was shattered completely by his own imagination. He also needed few minutes to compose himself, he couldn’t have Will figuring things out just yet. When Hannibal felt that he could once again become the anchor to Will, he reached for him.

“You’ve done it, Will. You lived through this and you returned unharmed. Look at me, Will!”

It took a while for Hannibal to soothe Will, and get him to his normal self again. Will had to be convinced that this experience was beneficial.

“You are a bad man, Dr. Lecter,” Will said after he could speak normally again. “I don’t think anyone else would have dared to attempt something this dangerous with me.”
“How do you feel?” It was an honest question. Hannibal needed to learn from his mistakes, if there were any.

“I feel exhausted. But somehow it seems like I will sleep better tonight.” It seemed as though Hannibal made no mistakes after all. “Also I feel like I need to take a shower.” Will chuckled, a vain attempt at hiding the embarrassment. Both of them got up and headed for the door. “I hope I won’t have the need to do this again,” Will said just before he left.

“Oh but you will,” Hannibal said to the closed door.

Chapter Text

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” Will admitted. “I feel my mind stirring, taking control over me. I tried the exercises you suggested, but doctor, apart from feeling rather silly, I’ve had no relief.”

“I’m afraid I have to press on. I can’t guide your mind to rest every time because eventually I won’t be around,” Hannibal paused. “I don’t want you to get too dependent on me, Will.”

Will actually laughed. It was difficult to tell whether he was laughing at the irony of the predicament or at the fact that Hannibal spoke about his concern too late. A smile was so rare on Will, that Hannibal could almost see the neurons sending messages to his brain, convincing himself that he was happy. It was a great exercise really, but not for today. “I suggest we should attempt a walk through the memories your empathy wants your brain to see.”

“Believe me, the last time I tried that it did help, but it was so intense, I don’t think – ”

“You told me you trust me. So trust me to know what is best for you.” Hannibal settled comfortably in the armchair. He looked at Will’s face, so full of hesitation. He avoided eye contact because there was no need to assert dominance here. Will already made up his mind, but doubt kept creeping up.

“From our last attempt, I only remember intense emotion, but no vivid recall of even a second. It is a blank in my memory, and I am not very comfortable with this.”

 “It’s to be expected. Your body can only handle so much. It longs for relief now. Allow me to provide it here in the privacy of this room. Or else it will manifest itself somewhere less convenient.”

The arguments were persuasive, irresistible. Will wanted to take what Hannibal was offering. He was desperate for any kind of help that wouldn’t end up with a four white walls and a door with a lock on the outside.

Hannibal watched Will bite his lip.

“I have to warn you, Dr. Lecter, this was not a merciful death. The victim went through a special kind of hell before he died. I had to add an extra wall to my fort just to stop myself from seeing his last moments.” Will shuffled in the seat, trying to find a comfortable position. He stretched his legs so they pressed firmly into the floor, keeping him grounded. He rubbed his palms together, then ran a hand through his hair.

“Will,” Hannibal said, leaning forward. “Let me in.”

Will lowered his head and slowly sucked in some air through his nose.

“Where are you, Will?” Hannibal asked when Will’s eyes began twitching, resembling the way eyes look during normal REM stage sleep. He wanted to touch Will so he could feel his body changing as he merged with the dead man. But this was not the point of this exercise. He wanted Will to give him his full trust, and that was already accomplished. He wanted to violate Will’s mind and body, and Will was about to do it himself, repeatedly. He wanted to see how long it would take to break Will. Just before he would shatter, Hannibal wanted to deliver the final blow and taste Will’s full surrender.

There was a hunger in Hannibal’s eyes, he wasn’t hiding it since Will had already gone under. He knew he had to be patient even now because there was still that petulant part of Will’s subconscious that was responsive to dangerous stimuli. Hannibal will have to work hard to make it submit. He hoped he wouldn’t need to.

“I can’t tell where I am. I know it’s raining but there’s no water around me. It smells of plastic, wet pines, gasoline. I can’t sleep because my back bothers me.” Will shifted in his seat, stretching his back. “I’m in a tent, it’s dark, it’s the middle of the night.”

“There is a woman on my right. She is curled into a ball, and her breaths are steady and soothing. She has a peaceful face. She must be having pleasant dreams.” Will turned his head to the side and smiled. “I love her.”

Hannibal was amazed by the amount of detail Will managed to grasp. Since the last time he had Will in this position, he only managed to capture fear. He was right to use the muscle training metaphor. His empathy got a fine work out, and now it seemed to expand on the castles Hannibal started building.

“I hear rustling outside. I freeze; I think it may be an animal. I hear my heart pumping, my blood throbbing in my temples. I climb out of my sleeping bag and quietly unzip the tent open.” Will gasped. As he spoke, his voice got quiet, almost to a whisper. Hannibal uncrossed his legs and shifted to the edge of his seat. He took in the smell of fear that suddenly occupied the space around Will.

“Someone grabs me by my throat, pushes me backwards. I fall, with the dark man on top of me. I f-feel his full weight –” Will stammered and choked. His head fell back, and the terror was obvious on his face, even with closed eyes. Hannibal worried that Will would not be able to describe his visions, since the man also had a rather bothersome trouble with speech after Hannibal entered his tent.

“Will,” the doctor said firmly. Will had to be pulled out slightly, so his own mind could still function. “I want you to breathe deeply and concentrate on emotions. They are not truly yours, remember this as you recall these details.”

Will nodded, his eyes still closed, and followed his instructions. He breathed in through parted lips, as if fresh air was precious. After few more breaths, Hannibal urged him to continue.

“My eyes are not used to the darkness. I can’t see the man’s face but I can feel his breath on my face. I can’t see the blade he’s holding up to my neck but I can feel how cold it is, how ruthless it may be. I want to call out for help. I feel the blade pressing harder. “If you make a sound I will slice your lady’s throat and make you watch her die,” the man says.”

Will’s voice broke, and he whimpered. There was a sob in there somewhere, Hannibal thought. Will’s perception was exquisite.  His mind was driving his body into oblivion, and he has given the doctor full control of the ride. In fact Hannibal felt like he didn’t even need to guide Will, who was doing all the work himself.

“It’s difficult to breathe, his weight is crushing my ribs.” Will’s legs twitched, as though he was trying to kick off his invisible assailant. Suddenly, Will let out a beautiful yelp and his hand flew to his neck. “He makes a cut on my neck and I feel few drops of blood roll down my neck. He presses his hand on top of the stinging wound, like he’s trying to stop the bleeding.”

Will’s voice was shaking, taking rugged gasps mixed with quiet whimpers. He was nearing hyperventilation. Hannibal stood up from his chair. He approached Will, leaning close to his face. He stopped himself from touching his sweaty face and his soft tangled curls. But he took his time looking at Will from this angle. He could almost picture that moment in the tent when he smelled blood, pumped so fast by a frightened frantic heart.

“He drags his other hand down my ribs. He reaches to the hem of my pants...” Will’s body arched. He grabbed the arms of the chair and dug his nails in the leather. “I can feel his fingers on my cock, he’s not gentle, and he wants to cause me pain.”

Hannibal desperately took in the smell of Will’s involuntary arousal, mixed with his own. He quickly sat down again, wanting to watch Will’s body contort in response to two distinct sensations, horror and bliss.

“He strokes me, I feel guilty to experience so much pleasure.” Will was close to screaming himself. Swear poured down from his face and chest, soaking through his shirt. The crescendo of this moment was Will’s moan mixed with a scream. “He lets my neck go and I feel his fingers tighten around my cock. There’s liquid pooling around my head. I know it’s my blood. I panic and try my best to fight him off but before I even lift my hands I start seeing spots and lights...”

Will snapped out of his state with a start. He hid his face in his hands, trying to subdue the sobs stuck in his throat. Hannibal said nothing, he knew words would not be helpful. He got Will a glass of cold water instead.

With the glass in one hand, he placed another on Will’s shoulder. Though he did not look up, he seemed to relax almost instantly.

“Hang on to me, Will. I’m here and I won’t hurt you,” Hannibal said over him, taking his hand and placing the glass in it. “Drink this. Take deep breaths.”

Will drank all the water at once and pressed the cool glass against his forehead. “Your methods are unorthodox.”

“They may be, but telling me that you do not feel the release of energy that kept you awake for so long would be a lie, wouldn’t?”

“No, I... I do feel lighter.” He laughed nervously. “I don’t understand why this made me feel better, whenever I’ve done similar things in the past I felt no relief. What is your secret?”

“I posit you’ve never trusted anyone with the full weight of all the emotional stress. But you trusted me, Will. And we both know that I give you strength, surely I don’t need to tell you this.”

Will looked into Hannibal’s eyes. They were calm and soothing, just like the rest of him. While Will looked beaten and exhausted, his eyes showed a tingle of residual uncertainty, kept alive by that part of him that beats against Hannibal’s attempts at manipulation. Will’s eyes returned to the floor.

He was getting frustrated with surprisingly effective ways Will had to defend himself from empathetic overload. Hannibal had to find a discreet way to force all of Will into submission. Despite that fact that Will was clearly willing, he just would not fall. Perhaps he had to apply more force.

Chapter Text

Will handed him the keys to his house, albeit with some hesitation. He was worried for his dogs, how they would react to a stranger suddenly walking in. Hannibal ensured him that he would be able to manage.

Hannibal visited the house on schedule, feeding the dogs sausages each time, playing with them, slowly gaining their trust. He grew fond of them – they gave in faster than their master. He mentally mapped out every inch of Will Graham’s house. He wasn’t messy, in fact some of the corners were very organized. Will seemed to devote the majority of his living space to the dogs. The living room had a layer of fur over everything. Hannibal poked at Will’s belongings, moving them ever so slightly. He rearranged the order of books lying on the tables, moved the lamps few inches to the left or right, lowered the blinds or closed the curtains, poured a little alcohol out of some bottles down the sink, even moved some of the lighter furniture, turning it to face another direction also by few inches. Will was not going to notice these changes because he was not detail oriented and wasn’t fond of symmetry. He would feel slightly uncomfortable in his own house and he would not know why.

He lowered himself carefully in one of the chairs. A small dog with soft white curls jumped on his legs and curled itself into a ball on top of him. He put his hand on its head, scratching behind the ear. He understood why Will kept so many dogs around, there gave him unconditional love, they didn’t judge, they don’t look in the eye. Another one sat down by his feet, demanding attention. Perhaps his hands still smelled like meat.

Hannibal learned Will’s schedule, he knew when Will was at his weakest and strongest, he knew when Will would not be anywhere close to home. Alana and Jack were most helpful at keeping Will constantly busy and under all kinds of stress.

He came to Will’s house unexpected, but this time he didn’t use keys. Instead, he picked the lock. The dogs got used to seeing him certain times of day, so this time they all came running and barking. He fed them again, of course, but his intentions were not as innocent as before. Hannibal picked up one of the small dogs, put it in a big traveling bag, where it continued to pant and wiggle. He then left the door open, knowing very well that none of the other dogs would care enough to run away – they were happy here.

It worked like a charm. Barely past sunrise, Will came knocking at his door. He looked exhausted and dirty.

“I wasn’t expecting you today, Will.” Hannibal said, inviting him in. “What’s the matter?”

“I know it’s really early, but...” Will spoke too fast, stammering over words, clawing at his hair and face. He followed Hannibal into the kitchen, but once there he never stood still, he paced, unsure what to do with his limbs. He took few deep breaths before he continued. “I think someone broke into my house, but nothing was taken, but my dog, one of my dogs is missing, and the door was left open, and he didn’t come back...” The breathing obviously wasn’t helping him.

“Slow down for a moment. Your dog is missing?” He wished he could tell Will how much he was enjoying seeing him work himself into a panic this way. It was a different kind of panic, not related at all to his empathy. These were Will’s own emotions, uncontained and unrestricted. Will had a problem with them too, despite knowing how they affect him and having been dealing with them after so many years. He let them take control and ride his body until something or someone forced a calm onto him. Will’s attachment to his pets wrecked havoc on him and Hannibal was already enjoying the show. Ironic, how the dog Will was looking for was currently having a nice little nap upstairs.

“Usually they come back, you know? When I let them out they wander around the house, but they don’t go far and they always come back. I just don’t understand. Maybe they all went out for an extra walk because someone left the door open, but he didn’t come back. Do you remember him, Hannibal? Small, white hair? Very sweet and excitable?”

“I remember. But I have to be honest with you, Will. I can offer you breakfast, coffee, or moral support, but I don’t see how I can help you.” Hannibal smiled warmly at Will. “I can give you something to help you relax.”

Will managed to stop and a smile briefly flashed across his face. “I’m not taking any drugs. I have to drive home and continue looking.” They locked eyes for a second. “I should go. I don’t know why I came here...”

Hannibal walked around the counter towards Will. He nearly flinched, but he didn’t move. He put his hands in his pockets, and sighed. If anything, he seemed more relaxed than few seconds ago.

“You came to me when you felt lost. If it’d make you feel better, I am flattered.”

Will chuckled nervously. “I think I’ll have that cup of coffee before I leave.”

“I don’t know much about your dogs, but you seem to trust them and they trust you. If after all this time you know that they eventually come back, what makes you think that this one would not?” He filled the cup halfway with coffee, added a hint of sugar, and then fresh milk. Will eagerly took the cup in his hands, taking a slow sip.

The cup was warm. The room suddenly felt like home, comfortable and calming. The warmth spread from his fingertips to the rest of him, and he was finally able to subdue his shaking limbs. Even this drink, so ordinary, had never tasted better. Will even felt strangely comfortable with knowing that Hannibal’s eyes were searching for his own.

“I suppose I shouldn’t think the worse... He should come back.”

“He will.”

Hannibal released Will’s precious dog that night, few miles away from his house, driving away unnoticed. 

Chapter Text

“I’m sure that one of the investigators, or perhaps their boss, or even Graham himself threatened you to never mention him again. You seem to be a rare type of a person, one who possesses the skill to find the truth no matter where it hides. I say now that you are right about him. I prefer to remain anonymous because I value my job, but I have seen him often enough at crimes scenes to feel it deep in my gut that he is not safe. Letting the world know can’t hurt, and you should inform the public of this dangerous man. There will come a time when he will snap and kill someone in cold blood. And judging by his recent behaviour, you might not even have a chance to publish a new article.”

Hannibal knew that Lounds was desperate for something new. She seemed to disappear from crime scenes, no longer lingering behind the police tape. Her articles began to sound like conspiracy theories. Her hunger and her petulant personality would at last be of use, he thought as he sent her that anonymous letter. His intended audience, however, will merely look down upon the article, so they needed something more convincing. Thankfully, a trip to Will Graham’s house would give him the tools he needed to set the stage.

~

Will Graham ran his hand through his wet hair. It was raining. To preserve the evidence, the first officers at the scene set up a plastic tent over the body. A buzz from conversations all around, mixed with heavy rain hitting the ground made this picture worthy of a horror film. The two-way road had to be blocked both ways. Though there was little traffic, soon enough a crowd of people gathered around the tape, watching the infamous profiler before he disappeared inside the tent. Perhaps they were hoping for his arrest. Freddie Lounds took down that article, but it was out there long enough to cause serious damage.

The tent did little to block out the noise. He was thankful that there was little mystery to the latest victim of the Ripper. Jack Crawford joined him in the tent.

“This was surprisingly easy,” Will said. “The killer slashed the tires of the victim’s car, who managed to drive a while before the tires attracted his attention. Under the cover of darkness, in the middle of the night, he pulled over to offer help. He paralysed the vocal cords, struck him in the stomach. He stepped on his hands and feet, breaking bones so any movement would be painful. The kidney was removed first, then the liver. He dragged the victim to the middle of the road,” Will paused, sighing nervously. “His uhm...position is one of the Vitruvian Man.”

“So we’re looking for a surgeon, and an artist.” Jack said with exasperation. “Well that considerably narrows the field.”

“The Ripper could be an artist, but Jack, he’s only laughing at us. He thinks that this man is an abomination because his body is not proportionate – that’s why he only took one kidney. It’s probably one of many crimes against the Ripper.” Will rubbed his temples. Something wasn't right about this but he just couldn't place it.

“He’s getting sloppy. Look at all the mud! I think we can get a very nice boot prints from this,” Katz said as she leaned over the broken bones.

“I don’t know why you called me. This is obviously the Ripper and there’s no mystery here.” Will stared at Jack Crawford’s tie. “Is this about Freddie Lounds’ new article?”

The tent got quiet for a moment as everyone inside exchanged meaningful looks. Will felt very uncomfortable when everyone collectively stared at him.

“None of us believe her, you know? She probably made it up!”

“So what, you call me here to see if I am still functioning properly?”

Another moment of silence, and the situation became truly unbearable. Will wanted to leave. “If I wanted support, I’d find it, but not in a dead body, not in someone who’s waiting for me to snap, which is not happening, I promise.” he barked, storming out of the tent. His sudden movements excited the crowd and they stopped talking. There were too many eyes on him even as he was speeding away.

Will took a long hot shower to wash away the alien emotions, the blood he imagined on his hands. Another headache hammered against his temples. The shower brought no comfort, and neither did his house. Perhaps it was the storm, or the strange simplicity of the murder... Whatever it was, he couldn’t relax.

The dogs crowded around his body on the bed, their calm breathing and body warmth finally lulled him to sleep.  In his dream, he was back in the forest, where the smoggy air smelled like blood. A shadowy figure followed him, reaching for him, and then silently demanding him to stand still as it morphed into a stag and charged at him.

Will woke up with a start. He actually checked his body for wounds to make sure he wasn’t bleeding. His shirt was soaked with sweat. Will felt angry with himself. What little control he had over his gift was now slipping through his fingers. He had unpleasant dreams before, but nothing of this sinister nature. The time on the clock read 5am and the sun has not yet risen. Jack hadn’t made a single urgent call, so Will assumed that he’d have a day off. After another quick shower and more failed attempts at ignoring his vivid hallucinations, he decided to distract himself by looking over the Ripper files again. It wasn’t often that a restless night helped him see a case in a new light, but perhaps this morning was going to be a lucky one.

He noticed something peculiar right away. While the Ripper used to kill in three, he suddenly stopped following the only pattern the FBI could find, and began killing more often, without any pattern at all. In fact, he started torturing his victims, both physically and emotionally, before he removed their organs, before adding any of his usual theatrical signatures. Will organized a timeline of all the known Ripper’s kills and something snapped in his mind. He realized that this new pattern emerged immediately after Jack invited him to track down Hobbs. Each time he used his empathy to help FBI, the Chesapeake Ripper gifted him with another body. Not only did the killer have access to sensitive information, he also fixated on testing and tearing down Will Graham’s forts, one mutilated body at the time.

With shaking hands, he reached for his phone: Jack had to know about this, perhaps the Ripper was involved in law enforcement somehow, or hacked into databases, there had to be something... Yet before he made that call, his dogs jumped on their feet and began barking at the doors and windows. Will attempted to soothe them when he saw movement outside.

The door flew off the handles, and a wall of officers stomped inside. It was all a blur for Will. Between the dogs barking and people yelling at him to get on the floor, he had no idea what was happening.

At last, he saw Jack Crawford walk in. He also had a weapon in his hands.

“Will Graham,” Jack said solemnly with a strained face. “You are being arrested on the suspicion of the Chesapeake Ripper murders.” 

Chapter Text

Will sat in the interrogation room. He wasn’t restrained in any way, but they still left him there alone to ‘sweat’. He folded his arms on the small cool metal desk and placed his head on top of them. He did feel slightly anxious. He was almost certain that he was not a murderer but some doubt still lingered in his mind, as it always had when he helped the FBI understand the killer’s motives. Will knew that his arrest was solely the Ripper’s work. Eventually the one person that caused this would also rescue him. And it was terrifying to think that he just found solace in the cause of all his troubles. Never before Will found himself to be the target of so much attention, of a killer whose sadistic hand sullied his gift of perception so skilfully. Was there a method to his madness? Was he killing for some twisted purpose or just to connect with Will’s mind and heart? When should he expect help?

There was no way of knowing when he would walk free, days, weeks, years? The notion of the Ripper going through all this trouble to use Will as a get out of jail free card seemed more plausible. At crime scenes, The Ripper’s real motives were always shrouded in a dark mystery. Why hadn’t this occurred to him before? When the Ripper copied Hobbs and killed Marissa, he only took trophies, humiliated the victims, all well within his profile. Yet he brought unnecessary fear to that man in the woods, and he raped the one in the camp. This was so unlike him but made perfect sense when Will factored himself into the equation.

Will’s brain would not stop thinking. He tugged his hair a little harder to keep the feeling of despair at bay, in vain. There wouldn’t be enough evidence for conviction, he kept saying to himself over and over. At the back of his mind, he knew that being accused of these crimes would be the least of his worries with the Ripper still out there, looking to get Will’s attention.

Suddenly Will realized that there was a person sitting in front of him. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t still dreaming. Dr. Lecter somehow walked inside the room without Will noticing.

“What are you doing here, doctor?”

“I could ask you the same question.” Hannibal said, a smile hiding behind his calm face and piercing eyes. “I’ve asked for privacy, so no one is watching or listening. They were reluctant to comply, so I fear we don’t have much time.”

Will placed his hands on his legs beneath the table and slumped in the chair a little. The new position reminded him of the armchair in Hannibal’s office, and all those times Hannibal pushed him into the minds of the latest of Ripper’s victims and brought him back with a calmer mind. He wanted to thank the doctor for visiting, but the words were stuck in his throat for he feared that if he opened his mouth again he would break. Hannibal’s eyes never left Will’s face.

“I told the FBI I would try to get you to say something new, but I’m here to help you solve the case since you are obviously not the real solution.”

“And why are you so sure?” Will finally said without looking up. “Even I’m not sure anymore.”

“I’m sure because I know you. You take their point of view but you can’t keep it long enough for it to consume you. It keeps you up at night and bothers you constantly if you don’t get control over it. It can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. You don’t want to be a killer, do you, Will?” Hannibal placed his hands on the table and leaned closer to Will. Had he done this few weeks earlier, Will would have moved away. But not this time. A man of such calm demeanour brought an overwhelming sense of relief to Will and it scared him a little to admit this even to himself.

Hannibal didn’t really need an answer, especially when he saw tension slowly fade from Will’s shoulders. He relaxed and took one more deep breath.

“What do they have on you? What made them suspect you?”

Will cleared his throat, a more successful attempt to restrain despair. “There were muddy footprints where the killer broke the bones. I wear the same boots. There were fibers in the mud that matched my carpet. They also found my... my hair on the victim’s jacket, and a mix of dog hair on his pants that match all of my dog’s hairs. Just one of these would be merely circumstantial, but such a fine collection really does point to me.” He’s been in my house and touched my dogs.

“But it’s the only evidence that points to you out of all the victims. Surely you must have an alibi for the rest of the murders?”

“The Ripper rarely kills in the daylight, and it’s kind of hard to prove I didn’t do it when I live alone, and have no friends or family to do it for me.”

“You sound like you’ve given up.” Hannibal finally looked away from Will’s face.

”I value your presence, Hannibal, even crave it at times. You give me a calmness that lasts longer that I could have ever hoped. I really am glad that our paths have crossed. That you didn’t abandon me like most people always do.”

Hannibal was pleased: Will Graham spoke his mind at last. Perhaps Will shouldn’t have lowered his defences so quickly to let his self-doubt cloud his judgement. The moment those words left his mouth they rang true in his own mind. Now that he admitted his need for Hannibal nothing was stopping him from tethering Will to his side permanently. This would prove to be a less difficult task since Will finally stopped fighting back.

His time was over, and since he had nothing of value to offer, the police tried their best to ask him to leave politely. Of course, Hannibal did not want Will to suffer much longer, so that night, Jack Crawford found another part of Miriam Lass on his pillow. Unfortunately, it took them longer to identify that slab of meat than Hannibal hoped. The delay would be worth the look on Crawford’s face for next few days. His attention was focused inwardly, away from Will, as he faced his growing guilt and shame one more time.

When Will returned home, he was unable to relax. It frightened him to think that the Ripper was in his house, with his dogs... He still had no idea why his own home stopped feeling comfortable, and now he had to add ‘not safe’ to his list of concerns about his space.  Halfway through the night Will couldn’t take it anymore. He called his neighbours and begged them to look after the dogs, and then he packed a small bag and rented a room in a first motel he could find.

Chapter Text

He slept better in the motel room, but bad dreams still haunted him. He woke up twice, drenched in sweat. He must have used up all the towels in the room before the morning finally came. Will packed up and realized that he needed a more permanent solution than sleeping pills. Hannibal Lecter never failed to calm him down so he decided to seek his help again. He waited until afternoon because he didn’t want to bother him early in the morning again. Even though Hannibal never expressed his annoyance whenever Will showed up uninvited at the crack of dawn, he didn’t want this to be a pattern, he didn’t want Hannibal to think that he was taking advantage of his hospitality. He was much too valuable to his sanity than Will cared to admit.

Hannibal was saying goodbye to a patient when Will walked into his waiting room. He was welcomed in, as always, like the doctor always had time for him.

“I can’t sleep anymore. I can’t think. If we don’t catch him soon, I think I’m going to break,” Will said, rushing his words because he waited so long to speak them. Full of nervous energy, he paced around the room.

Hannibal sat down in his chair. “We looked over the evidence, we profiled him. You know everything about him. What’s stopping you from seeing his face?”

“I don’t know, Dr. Lecter. His obsession with me, perhaps?” Will realized that he still hadn’t shared his new theory with Hannibal. “He started killing because of me, for me. To test me, or get me to connect with him? I don’t know.”

“Does it scare you?”

Will sighed, and sat down in the familiar chair. He reached for Hannibal mentally, but for some reason he didn’t feel a calmness from him. “Of course it does! What stops him from killing me? He knows where I live, he knows where I work, he knows how I work, he knows everything... He might as well be you, doctor.”

For that split second, something changed in Hannibal’s face. He stared at Will without blinking. His body stiffened and he crossed his legs. The thought seemed so bizarre, Will only said that because he felt that the Ripper would be someone close to him or someone who had access to the same things. But the thought appeared out of nowhere, and now a slight change in Hannibal raised the hairs on the back of his neck. “He might as well be you,” Will repeated. His eyes widened. He felt his body tense up, and blood rushed to his legs, his brain screaming at him to run. Everything could be explained so easily if Hannibal Lecter and the Chesapeake Ripper were one and the same person.

“Stay in your seat, Will, no sudden movements please,” Hannibal said. He voice was ice. Will felt no emotions from him, not even fear. He might as well be looking at an empty spot. An empty spot that was staring directly into his eyes. Will wanted to melt into his seat and disappear.

“You... You’re – ”

“Your gift of perception is so elaborate and precise. I’m surprised it took you so long.” Will legs twitched – he tried to run. Hannibal put his hand up and Will froze. “Those pesky dreams clouded your vision, didn’t they? The unspoken motives, the invisible faces, and all the pain blinded you.”

Pain is what Will felt now. He spent so long trying to get himself to admit that Hannibal was helping him this whole time. That’s what it felt like. Each time the world was too much, Hannibal was there to pull him out, to calm the waters of his mind, to soothe him. The effect he made lasted for weeks, he rejoiced in this relationship, proud and happy to feel that calmness, to drink it from Hannibal. He gave him so much trust, so much of himself, and all this time Hannibal only used it against him. His heart beat painfully against his ribcage. If he wasn’t so scared he would have been crying now. This realization was worse than any break up he ever had, even worse than any family trouble he had, worse than losing his first dog...

Yet still he found himself wanting to be here, in the arms of a cold and sadistic killer, the only person in his life who could give him peace of mind. He fought with himself over wanting and not wanting, running and staying. He realized how Hannibal has been slowly torturing him ever since they met.

“Why?..” Will said, voice barely above a whisper.

Hannibal grinned, something menacing clawing at Will from his eyes. Terrified, Will sat still and quiet, staring back at what seemed to be the devil himself mimicking the grin on Hannibal’s lips. It dawned on him slowly that Hannibal has always been this way but for some reason he was never able to see. He could see now. And it pinned him to his seat.

“You will remember me for the rest of your life,” Hannibal said. Then he leaned forward. Though there was distance between them, Will flinched nonetheless. “Even when you turn me in, you will never be able to erase me from your life, your consciousness, your memories.”

Will held still, trying to convince himself that the words were not true. Hannibal got up, and slid behind Will’s chair. He put his hands firmly on Will’s shoulders, and whispered into his ear. “And you will never find anyone who will provide you with more comfort than I can, Will. Not unless I free you with the same methods I reined you in.”

Hannibal then took Will’s phone out of his pant pocket and dropped it in Will’s lap. “Tell Jack. Turn me in. I will surrender without more death if you do it,” he whispered, lingering at Will’s ear for an eternity before he returned to the armchair across from Will.

Will stared at his phone, feeling the weight of every chill Hannibal’s warm breath sent down his spine. Something snapped in his brain, perhaps he opened himself too much and connected with Hannibal, or he felt that he had to take care of himself and to do that he needed his doctor. Or even a violence he’s been subduing for so long managed to tear through his forts.

He stopped shaking, and looked up to make direct eye contact with Hannibal. “No,” he said with a low snarl.

Hannibal froze for a mere second, surprise washing over his face: he was sure that Will would take priority over saving lives of others than himself. Perhaps he misjudged him or somewhere along his plan he took a wrong turn. “No?”

“No,” he tiled his head, moved to the edge of the chair, staring in Hannibal’s eyes, reflecting the same monster that appeared there not a moment ago. His fingers gripped the arms of the chair and his knuckles turned white with the force. “This is what you wanted. You wanted me. You have me. Now you want me to disappear from your life?”

Will bit his lip, but a quiet chuckle still escaped. He lifted his chin to look down at Hannibal. “Or have you not thought this all the way through?”

Suddenly, Will received a wave of completely new, but powerful emotions that he was not used to receiving from Hannibal. It was rage and silent amusement mixed with a steady amount of cold calm. It snapped him out of the darkness of Hannibal’s mind and he immediately returned to his own self. Will cowered, melted back into the chair; dominance was gone, his posture now projected a defensive position. He deeply regretted every word that just left his mouth. The moment he looked down and his shoulders slumped, a familiar clam returned – Hannibal just used Will’s empathy against him to get his control back. How far they’ve come. He didn’t want the calm now, but it scared him too much to think that he’d lose it forever, so he let it engulf him. His stomach turned, he thought he was going to vomit.

“I have to admit that I was not expecting you to react this way. But it’s entirely not unwanted,” Hannibal said with a smile. There was no need to hide it now. “Did it feel good? To surprise me, to challenge me? To take my disposition and use it against me?”

Will’s breath hitched as he tried to swallow his panic. He opened and closed his mouth several times before he found the courage to speak again. “It felt good at the time but when it stopped I felt terrified to feel that way again. I wasn’t meant to contain your...intensity.”

“You know that you can’t live with yourself knowing that I am still out there. You can’t turn me in and yet you can’t let me go. What shall we do about this interesting predicament, Will?” Hannibal kept pressing, he didn’t raise his voice but it felt like his words cut through Will’s very soul, and truth of them bleeding through. He looked at Hannibal’s hairline, avoiding the eyes at any cost, but not wanting to be rude.

“What – what are you going to do?” Asking the question gave him some relief. He let go of the chair and placed his hands on his knees. His palms were sweaty and warm.

“I haven’t decided.”

Will found that hard to believe. The doctor’s mind was always hard at work, he always seemed to be prepared for every situation. Though perhaps Will not turning him in when told to do so was a surprise, he had a feeling that Hannibal would have already thought of a thousand more solutions. The few that Will could think of himself he’d rather not picture. The doctor was right, though. He could no longer deny that he needed Hannibal to keep him stable. Yet knowing that Hannibal found a way to control what he let Will feel meant that he couldn’t receive that stability by visiting him in the cell. The thought of letting another psychiatrist dig into his mind was even less pleasant. But no matter how much he wanted to keep his anchor, he would never forgive himself for letting the Chesapeake Ripper remain free to murder more people. Will Graham saw his own death as the only answer. He almost prayed that the doctor had a better way.

“What will you do if I turn you in? Will you kill me? Let me go? Pretend that I don’t exist?”

“What do you want more? Your sanity or the health of your conscience?”

Will thought that could find his sanity if he locked himself up. If he went into new therapy with an open mind of a broken man. It wasn’t promising but it made Will realize that he wanted the Ripper’s hands away from the blade forever more than saving his own skin.

Perhaps his decision was evident on his face. Will reached for the phone, it was so close, but Hannibal leaped at him, grabbed his wrist and squeezed it painfully. Will looked up to see Hannibal standing in front of him. He was tall, his broad shoulders blocked all light from behind him. From this angle, he looked more like a wrathful god than a man.

“That was a bad choice,” Hannibal smiled as he pulled on Will’s arm to force Will into his personal space. His face was so close that Will could feel each steady breath from Hannibal’s nose on his own cheek. “You are supposed to help yourself before you help others.”

A cold hand landed on his throat and now both of Hannibal’s hands efficiently worked at blocking the flow of circulation. Will gasped and tried to fight. He neck and his wrist protested painfully against their mistreatment. With his free hand, he managed to get his phone. He pressed what he hoped was the button he used to speed dial Jack. Hannibal didn’t seem to notice. His mind began shutting down, he could not think of ways to escape his situation. Tears started forming in his eyes, and his panicked heart pumped blood against his temples so loud that he couldn’t hear anything else.

Pain and pressure were gone just as suddenly. Hannibal let go of his arm and throat. He slumped and began coughing and gasping. It only took him a moment to remember how close Hannibal’s face was to his own. It also suddenly dawned on him that this was the first time Hannibal had really touched him.

Hannibal was watching Will with unblinking gaze. Will felt good under his fingertips. He noticed that a blue light on Will’s free hand. His smile turned sad. He placed his hand back on Will’s throat, not pressing but warning. “You should have done that when I asked you.”

Hannibal took the phone from Will’s pliant fingers and pressed it to Will’s ear. “Since you want to do it, so do it. Turn me in.”

Will watched Hannibal’s face, not sure if he was really asking him to do this. He was encouraged with a nod. “I’m in Lecter’s office... he’s the Ripper.” His voice was hoarse. When he stopped talking he started coughing.

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Hannibal ended the call and threw the phone on the floor over his shoulder. It started ringing, no doubt Jack wanted to know what was happening so he could brief his SWAT team. They both ignored the calls. Will waited for his doctor to do something to him in their last few minutes together. But Hannibal only watched him with dark fascination, finally revealed to be there ever since they met. Will could see it in his eyes just as it was there in the stag’s eyes when it appeared in his dreams. He really wished he figured this out without Hannibal being two steps away, where he could have been safe.

Hannibal grabbed Will by his shirt, pulled him up, dragged him across the room, and slammed his back against the door. He lodged his knee between Will’s thighs.

“I think we still have time before anyone comes to your rescue.” He pressed Will into the wooden door, letting him feel the power stored in his muscles. He licked Will’s ear, and took a slow deep breath to inhale his scent. He pressed his knee lightly but steadily against Will’s groin. Will’s body grew limp – he wasn’t fighting back.

“You soothed your conscience now. How do you feel about that?”

“How I f – ?” Will chuckled nervously. He clawed at the door with his nails. He was hyperaware of Hannibal’s hands so near his throat again, and how forcefully Hannibal was pressing himself against his body. How his heart pumped blood where it really didn’t need to be at this moment. “You want to talk about my feelings?”

“We can talk about me. I can tell you how I prepared meals for you, where they came from, how I killed them,” Will grimaced at the memory of sharing meals with Hannibal, he feared that he would vomit. The doctor grabbed Will’s jaw and lifted his face up. “I could kill you now, Will. I could cut out your heart and take it with me, and the FBI will spend many years trying to find me again. Why do you think I haven’t done that yet, can you tell me?”

“You knew who I was before your logical brain forced you to see it, didn’t you? Can you tell me why you ignored the signs for so long? Can you tell me why you won’t admit that you’ve had a blind spot for me, why the leftovers you investigated were always a mystery to you, Will?” He spoke slowly, stretching every word, breathing down on Will’s flushed neck. Hannibal delivered a blow to Will’s stomach, then moved away to let him fall to the floor on his knees. One more blow landed on Will’s shoulder and the crunch of bone was lost to Will’s scream.

Hannibal couldn’t help but smile again: Will’s pain was beautiful, just like the rest of him.

“Because you see yourself in me.” Will finally said between gasps. He curled into a ball on the floor, and started to resemble one of his precious pups. Hannibal nodded. He took Will’s gun from the holster.

Hannibal aimed it at Will’s crushed shoulder and pulled the trigger. The bullet went right through and lodged in the floorboards. Hannibal kneeled beside him and pressed his thumb to the bleeding wound. Will felt a warm and sticky pool of blood forming under him. His body was in shock, it trembled, and his vision became blurry. Hannibal stuck his fingers deep in the wound, not letting Will lose consciousness.

They both heard the front door fly off the handles. The police arrived with impressive speed.

Hannibal stood up and licked Will’s blood of his fingers. His eyes never left Will’s even as he was arrested.

“You should visit me. It will give you peace” were the last words Will heard from his consultant, his psychiatrist, his friend.