FOUND: A Hannigram Devil AU

20

Will was forced to go home.
That's how he saw it— he didn't want to lay around his house and watch the FBI try to do his job for him. They needed his insight on the Angel Maker, and they weren't going to get anything useful unless he was there. He needed to be out on the field, as much as he hated the viscera. The dreams. The quicker they could solve this thing, the better.
He used Hannibal as a communicator. Over the week, he shared his theories, which Hannibal would then pass on to the FBI. It was the only way things could move quickly. So far, he knew that the killer was physically ill— Beverly had let Hannibal in on the fact that the vomit was a side effect of some kind of chemotherapy. He made these angels to pray for him in hopes of a cure, and in return he gave them a sick form of salvation.
The information stopped there. Hannibal was close with Will, which everyone knew; people were wary about sharing too much confidential information with him. Beverly was just trying to help Will, and her rebellious sharing could only go so far.
"They think I'm too unstable." Will vented his frustration, running his fingers through his hair. "I've already seen the worst of it. What, am I going to have a panic attack looking at a folder? Fuck."
"I think Jack's trying to make himself look better," Hannibal admitted, sitting in his chair with his legs crossed as he watched Will pace. "If it were only up to him, he would have you back on the field right now. He doesn't seem to care much for your well-being."
Will narrowed his eyes. "Are you trying to alienate me from Jack Crawford?"
"Jack Crawford alienated you all by himself. After everything you've been through, he has the gall to get angry with you for snapping."
"I'm the one who was malnourished and hadn't slept in a while. I put myself here."
"Maybe, but Jack has locked you in."
Will glanced down at the small blue circle on his inner elbow, a slight bruise from his IV drip. "If it makes you feel better, I'm going to quit," he said.
"Are you?" Hannibal tilted his head.
"I'm going to find the Shrike, and then I'm going to quit. I can't leave until I find justice for these girls. This Angel Maker is standing in the way."
"And what if someone else is murdered after we find the Angel Maker? Another killer to draw attention away from the Shrike?" Hannibal seemed to enjoy the idea. "And it happens over and over again..and you can never find him."
Will clenched his hands into fists and turned to face him. "I," he said through clenched teeth, "am going to find Garrett Jacob Hobbs."
"I have no doubt about that." Hannibal's eyes glinted, enthralled. "My only question is when."
"As soon as I catch this Angel Maker."
"So you admit that you're willing to catch him on your own? Without help from the FBI?"
Will hesitated. He hadn't thought about that, actually, but he realized how obvious the option was once Hannibal brought it up. "I couldn't," he said.

"Hypothetically."

"..If it makes things quicker, then I guess so. Find who he is, hunt him down, turn him in. They couldn't bash me for that, could they?"
"Honestly, Will, I have no idea. I think Jack would be pissed that you're better than him, but that's the only certainty in my mind right now."
A small laugh escaped Will's lips. "I'd be willing to find him," he confessed, "and damn the punishments. But I can't do anything without all of the details."
Hannibal smiled. Will waited for his response, but he didn't say a word. He just sat there with a mocking grin on his face-- like he knew a secret that Will wasn't in on.
Will crossed his arms. "What do you know?" He didn't mean for it to sound so accusatory, but he hated the look on Hannibal's face.
"I know a lot of things."
Will sneered back, leaning close to Hannibal. "Funny. What specifically do you know about the Angel Maker case that I don't?" He made air quotes with his fingers. " 'Doctor Lecter?' "
Hannibal suddenly stood, making Will feel a lot smaller. He'd pushed a little too far, he thought. Reminding the Devil that his tricks weren't working probably wasn't the best idea.
But no; Hannibal just moved over to his desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out an unassuming file, holding it out to Will for him to take. Will eyed it suspiciously. When he didn't reach out, Hannibal finally opened it for him, and the first thing he saw was a photograph of the motel room scene: the angels, bowing before the bed and praying with spread wings. Below it was a thick spread of documents.
"Hannibal." Will blanched.
"I took it."
"Hannibal!"
     "Technically, I made a copy of everything. They'll never know."
     Will understood the smile now, and he couldn't hold back one of his own. He shook his head, taking the file. "You bastard. You weren't going to tell me?"
     "Not until you committed to finding him. I did something illegal, and now you're about to do something illegal. We're on even ground."
     Will didn't respond, instead busying himself with the file. He didn't want to admit that he never felt even with Hannibal— he thought back to his dream, waiting at the bottom of a cliff while Hannibal watched from above. Hannibal was always a step ahead, whether Will liked it or not.
     "Have you looked at any of it yet?"
     "I was waiting for you."
     Will began to sort through the papers, dividing them into stacks. He started with the motel victims, reading the summaries of why they'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The truth was surprising to read.
     "The victims were criminals." He pointed to their pictures. One man, one woman. "Rapist and accessory, respectively."
     "It's exactly what you thought. They were sinful, in need of forgiveness." Hannibal studied him, utterly captivated. "You're brilliant at this."
     Will continued, relishing in the victory of being right, when another photograph made him stop cold. It showed a dark alleyway, lit up by a lone streetlight that exposed a silhouette hanging from scaffolding. His arms were horizontal, crucified, and the skin on his back had been spread to resemble wings.
     "Another one," he said to himself. He whipped around to face Hannibal, jaw clenched. "Did you know about this?"
     "Not at all, no." It sounded sincere. Hannibal leaned over to take a look. "Cleveland." He pointed to the location and time stamp in the corner. "I don't remember Jack saying anything about Cleveland."
     "He didn't want us to know." Will frowned, betrayed.
     "He knew you'd make yourself apart of it no matter what he said, so he chose to say nothing." Hannibal grabbed the papers under the photograph, slapping them down on the top of the stack. "Read it," he said firmly. "You can figure this out much better than he could."
     Will complied, skimming the incident reports as well as the notes taken by the examiners. His eyes locked in on a paragraph towards the middle— disembodied male genitalia found on the ground, far from the victim. Genitalia doesn't belong to the victim; assumed to be that of the killer in an act of self-mutilation or castration.
     Will winced. "I think they're right about that," he said. "It would make sense. The killer's making himself pure, preparing to become an Angel. He knows he's going to die soon."
     "Will. They already have a suspect."
     "What?" Will's head snapped up, and he scrambled to find where Hannibal was looking. There, on another page, was an interview with a suspect's ex-wife. "How much shit did they do without me?"
     "They found him with DNA evidence," Hannibal remarked, pointing to another page with results that admittedly made no sense to Will. "I had no doubts that Ms. Katz could do her job. Jack simply followed."
     Both of them read through the interview, taking in the info on Elliot Budish— the suspected Angel Maker. When he neared the end, Hannibal suddenly spoke, expressing exactly what Will had also been thinking.
     "He had a near death experience."
     "A guardian angel." Will's breath hitched. "Shit."
     "It fits everything you've discussed, Will. The cancer, isolation, creating angels out of sinners, captivated by salvation." Hannibal stared at him like one does an illusion, trying to decipher every twist and admiring his complexity. "How? I didn't know a person could be this insightful."
     "It's easy for me to put myself in their place." Will stared at the patterns of wood on the desk. "I'm inside their heads."
     "And you certainly sink deep. I saw that in the motel."
     "The issue isn't sinking, it's that sometimes you run out of air. You lose yourself, and the killer is all that's left." He flipped back to the last page of the interview. "I never know how I feel, really. I just float along. But that fear— that was real." He exhaled. "It was the most solid emotion I've ever felt."
     "It doesn't matter the emotion, you just want something. You've put so much energy into feeling what others feel that you don't know how to feel for yourself."
     "..I don't know who I am. How much of me is Will Graham, and how much of me is Elliot Budish?" He gestured to the file. "Garrett Jacob Hobbs? How much of them have I absorbed?" He buried his face in his hands for a moment.
     "Will, don't spiral." Hannibal put his hand on Will's shoulder. "That's a question you can't focus on right now. It'll only ruin your ability to see clearly." He pointed to the papers. "You are Will Graham, and you're trying to solve this crime. What does Will Graham think?"
     Will read the last paragraph again. "..I think the barn where he almost died means a lot to him. He'll want to find his angel again."
     "He'll go back?"
     "He'll want to die there." Will's eyes widened. "When did you copy this stuff?"
"Yesterday."
     "There's still time, then." Will shoved all of the papers back inside, not caring that they were out of order. "Elliot knew he was close to death when he did the Cleveland crime, or he wouldn't have castrated himself. He's going to go to that barn to die, be it from his sickness or..something else." Will checked his watch— close to 8 PM. Their session was almost over already. "Cleveland was three days ago. If he's not dead in the barn already, he will be soon. And I need to get there before that happens." Will took off for the door. "I can't have him slip away that easily."
     "Will." Hannibal called out to him, his voice echoing across the office. He quickly moved towards him, tucking the file under his arm. "I'm coming with you."
     "You don't—"
     He held up his hand. "I'm coming with you," he repeated. "You can't do this alone."
     Will tried to think of an excuse to fight him off, but he couldn't think of one. Was he really so certain that Elliot would be in the barn soon? He needed someone there who could be a sensible voice, someone who could help him if Elliot, or anyone else, decided to strike. He still hadn't been eating or drinking much, a fact that he wanted to keep close to his chest. Hannibal wouldn't let him go otherwise.
     "It's potentially going to be eventful."
     "I don't mind." There was a malicious tinge in the way his lips turned up. "I don't get to have a lot of fun."