Yearn | Hannigram

teacup shards

Will's memory was a deep and misty forest that he wandered through endlessly. Cold moss under his feet and clouds surrounding him from seeing what may be right in front of him.

     Only seeing glimpses of what he did in quick flashes at the corners of his peripheral vision. He could make out organs spraying across the silver of Hannibal's kitchen. After the knock, Will was floating in that black sea once again. Hearing a booming voice coming from the foyer, being transported back to the sound of his father's screams rattling the trailer.

In many ways Will still felt so young, like he'd never truly understand what it was like to feel normal and grown up. As if he was forever trapped behind the stained shutter door of his rotting trailer in Louisiana. Head swimming in the stench of cigarettes and brandy. But at the same time his heart was weathered and scarred, covered in tar and teeth marks. His eyes were heavy, sunken in his cheeks, and his hands showed his years with scars and callouses.

The void pulled him into its arms. Embraced him like a mother. Suffocating and empty, choking Will as it brings him far enough away from reality. This has been happening long before his brain was set on fire. His mind soaring above his body and into the night sky so he forgets what happens after men scream. What could be lost if Will did had something wrong?

Will comes to, slowly. Like he's shifting in and out of a dream. Then realizes he's no longer in Hannibal's room. He's downstairs and it smells like iron and acid. He tastes it on his tongue, feels his hair still wet from the shower.

The only thing he sees now is Hannibal, covered in blood. Standing in a pool of guts. Looking at him with anger in his watery eyes. "This is far too messy, Will."

"I-uh what? What's happening?" He felt sweaty, or wet. His breathing felt harsh and hot. The world around him seemed to be piecing itself back together.

Hannibal softened. "Did you have a blackout?" He dropped the knife in his hand and the clang of it on the floor made Will flinch. He had no idea what had happened in the past... however long it had been.

"I know this is scary, we'll talk about all of this when we get the hell out of here. Which needs to be right now," Hannibal said. He sounded so worried, unlike himself.

Will nodded, now noticing his hair was not wet from the shower but completely soaked in blood and dripping. The white silk shorts he was wearing were splattered in red and the sweater was torn and sticky. He felt bad about ruining the things Hannibal bought for him.

      "I-I'm sorry, Hannibal."

      "For what? Do you remember?"

      "No...but I feel sorry." Will looked down, playing with the lace at the trim of his shorts. It looked kinda pretty stained red.

"No need to apologize, dear. Go get cleaned up and pack your things from my room. I'll take care of everything down here. We need to be out of the country by morning. We'll go somewhere unexpected for a while. Everything will be okay."

      Will nodded, gave Hannibal a kiss on his cheek. He accepted it but didn't give Will anything back. He just gave him a weak smile and rubbed his shoulder.

Hannibal turned to go into the basement and grab the cleaning supplies. Will went to head up the stairs but as he did he heard a loud thump and turned to see Hannibal dragging Jack's mutilated body from the other side of the kitchen down the stairs.

He was gonna be sick.

———

Will was heaving blood and god only knows what into the toilet bowl, leaving red hand prints on the seat. He wiped it off and got into the shower. The second the hot water ran over the drying blood on his skin, everything that had happened came rushing back.

He remembered Jack screaming in the foyer, Hannibal trying to calm him down. Then he heard a slam, followed by the shatter of glass breaking. So he ran. Stumbling down the staircase on faun legs. He followed the noises to the kitchen.

Will was greeted by Jack's shocked face. Eyebrows furred and mouth downturned in a grimace. Will had then realized he had completely forgotten his attire, a mural of hickeys on display in his low hanging sweater and in silk, lacy short shorts.

This is where it all kicked in, where Will Graham the FBI special investigator died and Will, the cannibal killer was born. The deception and lies were gone, Jack could see them both clearly for the first time. The disgust and nausea on his face was clear and it made Will angry. What he and Hannibal had was so beautiful.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" Jack's deep voice booming through the kitchen. "You two are sleeping together?!" He sounded betrayed, shocked and...disgusted. "Jesus Christ, out of everything I thought Will may have abandoned his job for never would I guess you were fucking-"

Hannibal took advantage of Jack's moment of confusion, and he hit the gun out of his hand before he stabbed him in the gut. As he twisted the knife in he growled, "We are not 'fucking'." The word sounded so dirty in Hannibal's syrupy accent. "Will is mine, he always has been. And I am his just the same. You can't control him any more."

"You're the one controlling him! Will if he manipulated you into this, I can still help you!" Jack cried and Hannibal stabbed him again, in the side of his neck.

Will let out a little yelp as he watched Jack fall to the floor. And he blushed at Hannibal's declaration. He felt it light him up inside. He walked toward them, feeling his body go numb and the monster coming forward. "I may have played agent for you, Jack. We both have made mistakes. But Hannibal is everything to me, he is my god, my end and beginning. I will never let you cage him." Will, now looking back on what happened, wondered how he found the confidence to say those words. He remembered Hannibal being a bit shocked too.

This is when Will's memory becomes foggy. He remembers Jack yelling in gurgled tongues, remembers pulling a knife from the kitchen table and just...stabbing, tearing, and pulling and biting. He remembers Hannibal's hands on his shoulder trying to pull him back. Then it's a mouth full of blood and muscle.

The taste of Will's true freedom. Of his becoming.