FOUND: A Hannigram Devil AU

22

Once again, Will was surrounded by darkness as he floated in and out of a dreamlike state. He imagined that he was flying, traveling amongst the crows like he was one of them. He imagined himself standing in the rain, letting the cool drops soak him to the bone. He felt a warm meal sitting in his stomach, his tongue numb from ice cold water. He imagined a campfire that warmed his insides. He stuck his hand out and let his fingers touch the fire, a slight burn spreading across his fingertips. It felt good.
Once again, he was sad to wake up. It didn't take long for him to realize that something was very different, though— he wasn't at home.
As he opened his eyes, he saw white, which confused him. He blinked a few times, and the scenery came into focus: he was laying on his side on a fluffy pillow, warm white blankets draped over him. The fabric was soft against his nearly naked body. He was covered only by boxers. His hands were folded by his head, and when he looked closer at him he noticed that the wounds on his fingertips were gone. His skin was smooth and intact as if it had never been picked at.

The curtains were drawn, but it was clearly late at night. Across the room, a fire crackled in a gas fireplace, making the dark room golden. The bedroom was large and beautiful. The walls were paneled with dark wood, and paintings were hung near the bed. Two leather chairs and a coffee table sat in front of the fireplace and cast shadows throughout the room. Will felt serene here, cozy.
But it was still unfamiliar.
"Hello?" He called out softly, afraid to disturb the room. His voice was scratchy. He heard quickly approaching footsteps.
"You're up." Hannibal appeared in the doorway. He'd shed his jacket, and Will saw how much he belonged in this room; it was comforting, lush, luxurious, just like him. This was his home. This was his bed.

Will slowly propped himself up. He still felt weak, but not nearly as bad as he had been before. He noticed a damp towel laying on his singed shoulder.

"You fixed my hands," was the first thing out of his mouth. He tried to remember the last time he'd seen clean skin in those areas; it was like they'd torn open when he was young and had never had the chance to heal since.

Hannibal appeared confused for a moment before nodding. "Oh, yes. You kept picking at them. Do you not remember that?"

"No. What.." he rubbed his head, "what happened? How did we get here?"
Hannibal entered, forehead creasing in concern. "I brought you here. You were awake not too long ago. You showered. I gave you something to eat, a lot of water. You really don't remember any of it?"
Alarmed, Will shook his head. "No. No, I don't remember that. Should I—"
"Hey, it's alright. You were probably in shock. It makes sense now; you didn't say a word the entire time." He came to stand by the bed. "You've been asleep another hour now."
Will flushed, hoping Hannibal couldn't see. He could smell the food now, savory and warm. "You fed me? It wasn't--"
"Hush. You remember what I said. It was just a light soup. Nothing wrong with it."

Will didn't think his face could get any hotter. "I..I don't know what to say. Thank you." Really, he knew exactly what he wanted to say. He yearned to know what the hell Hannibal wanted with him, why he was going to all of these lengths to take care of him if he didn't want something in return. He wondered if he'd unwillingly gotten himself into some kind of trap. Perhaps the warm bedroom was a ploy to get him comfortable. He stiffened. Should he leave?

He didn't want to.
     "It only takes a few minutes to make. Already had all of the ingredients." Hannibal paused, face falling slightly. "I was going to make it for Abigail."
     Will bowed his head and looked away. There was a brief silence.
"You hadn't been eating or drinking again."
Will frowned. "I'm not a child."
"No, you're not. Even children eat when they're hungry and drink when they're thirsty."
"I get too busy!" Will snapped. "I don't think about it much."
Hannibal chuckled. "I'm not attacking you, Will. I'm just warning you. If you keep putting it off, you're going to have more and more situations like tonight. Like the scene in the motel. Your body is going to shut down much easier, and there could be a moment where it doesn't have the strength to get back up."
"Maybe I don't care." Will rubbed his head. "Maybe then I could finally rest."
"You seemed rather afraid to die earlier."
Will got a flashback of earlier that night, Hannibal cradling him while his flesh was being gnawed away. He peeked under the towel— no wound. Just pink skin. A small dent.
"What did you do?" He asked. "How is it just..gone?"
Hannibal shrugged. "There comes a point where it just happens. It's natural for me."
     "Could you have helped Abigail?"
     "No. She was already in a coma. Wouldn't have done much good."
Will stared down at the blankets. "..Why are you helping me?"
The question seemed to perplex him. "I like to help those I care about."
"Are you trying to butter me up or something?"
"Can I not help without ulterior motive? Can I not just take care of my friend?"
"You're the Devil."
Hannibal kneeled by the bed, resting his arms on the mattress. "I am the Devil, but I'm not evil, Will. I'm just the antithesis of God."
"I don't see the difference."
"Darkness is the antithesis of light. Does that mean either of them is bad?" Hannibal shook his head. "Technically, there is no 'good'. What one considers to be good is different from another. Same with evil. The world was created in order to be very black and white: darkness and light, joy and despair. What we didn't realize at the time is that giving people free will guarantees that they'll live in the grey. The in-between."
"So good and evil don't exist?"
"Not technically— we didn't create them. But there's hatred and kindness. Acceptance and intolerance. All of these things are very objective, while good and evil are subjective."
Will pictured a paradise in the sky, two Gods perched on the clouds like they were weightless. A delicate balance of yin and yang, their creations harmonized with occasional dissonance that eventually came back together in the end. It was a beautiful image.
"You forget that I have human emotion, Will. Sometimes that means I just want to help." Hannibal rested his head on his folded arms and smiled softly. He looked young, human, in that moment. "And sometimes I just like to cook for people. Well, more like all the time."