Inspired by season 2 Will being forced to put the sickness and sorrow Hannibal caused behind him in order to try to catch him. I had this vague idea of Will yanking his memories out and winding them all around a reel, storing them away along with his heart – which is why the film is all jumbled numbers in the style of his encephalitis clock.
It took a long time for him to be comfortable enough to play in front of Hannibal. It was the last, hidden piece of himself, kept close like a treasured secret for almost twenty years.
And thus came a new paradigm shift in the life of Hannibal Lecter: the sweetest music to reach his ears now flowed in the form of Will Graham strumming out to Joni Mitchell, voice pleasantly off-key.
Will wakes slowly. His eyelids are too heavy, pressing down on his eyes and barely lifting up when he tries to open them. His mouth tastes like it’s been used as a wastebasket, and no one’s taken out the trash in days. When he tries to lift his head, the muscles in his neck throb and his back spasms. He scrabbles at the sheets around him, clawing his fingers, grabbing tight to the fabric as though he can use it to pull himself up.
“Will. You’re away.” It’s Hannibal’s voice, and Will’s fingers clench harder, even as his breathing slows. He pries his eyes open all the way. The world swims into focus, and he blinks several times to clear the blurry patches from his vision.
“Hannibal?” he asks. Hannibal isn’t sitting where Will can see him, and the back of Will’s neck prickles.
“You’re safe now. We’re safe now,” Hannibal murmurs. Behind the words, Will can hear the echo of others Hannibal will never say. You’re safe from me. I won’t hurt you, not now. How could he ever say it, knowing that it might be a lie.
Will clears his throat, and even the small motion sends tiny sparks of pain flaring through him. “What happened?” he asks, his voice rasping.
“We fell. Or… you threw us off the cliff. I did not expect that. You still manage to astonish me, even after all that time.”
Will laughs, even though it makes his stomach ache and his hands clench harder in the sheets. Hannibal laughs too, and now he’s close enough that Will can see him without moving his head too much. Hannibal’s beard is growing in, and he looks scruffier than Will has ever seen him. There are cuts across his face, and he moves gingerly, one hand fluttering across his chest. Will remembers the slide of the knife, remembers how much Hannibal had bled. He raises an eyebrow.
“How are you moving about when I’m laid out in a bed?” Will asks.
“You…” Hannibal swallows convulsively. It’s the first time Will has ever seen him like this, as though words cannot contain, cannot express what he wants. Words are Hannibal’s hiding place, tools he can twist and friends he can live with forever. Will’s heart speeds. He has finally, finally taken Hannibal apart so thoroughly that even language seems inadequate.
Hannibal coughs. “You saved me. Cushioned my fall so that you took the worst of the impact when we hit the sea. Then you managed to drag me to safety. You… Will, you tried to kill us, and then you almost killed yourself saving me. Why?”
“Never tried to kill us.” Will mutters. Then he pushes himself up onto his elbows, staring straight even as pain explodes down his spine. “Tried to save you. If we’re dead, no one’s coming for us. If we’re dead… we don’t have to be apart. If we’re dead, I don’t have to look over my shoulder waiting for you, because you’ll be with me already. Tried to save us both.”
Hannibal’s eyes go wide. Then he leans in, and his lips taste like blood and sweat and unwashed skin. Will knows it’s the most beautiful thing Hannibal has ever fed him.
The Murder Husbands stayed in for the new year and Hannibal made sure to take records 😛
I have a desperate need to see the full page … zoom out. I’m imagining dicks in the margins. When Hanni gets overwhelmed he draws dicks. Fairly certain that’s canon …
saltandlimes 