FOUND: A Hannigram Devil AU

23

The cliff. The moon. Full and vibrant. An angel.
Whosoever will lose his life for My sake shall find it.
A kiss.
Will wants to find it.
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Will awoke to the sound of birds chirping, white light streaming in through a crack in the curtains. He was warm, comfortable, and utterly confused. This wasn't where he usually woke up.
He became aware of someone else breathing beside him, and when he turned his head the sight of a sleeping Hannibal startled him out of his daze. The memories of the previous night came rushing back. Fear wrapped around him— he was so reckless. What had he been thinking? He'd just let Hannibal see a part of him that no one had ever seen before, a raw side of him that he hated to show. Now he had whipped off his mask, and it wasn't to just anyone; the Devil knew his real face.
     He'd never felt more exposed in his life.
Hannibal stirred beside him, and Will quickly feigned sleep. He didn't want to talk, didn't want to face what the two of them had done. It hadn't gone far, but it was surely beyond the realm of professionalism.
     He felt Hannibal's hand stroking his hair, and he couldn't hold back the small hum of pleasure that escaped his lips. Damn.
     "We don't have to talk about this," Hannibal said, his voice thick with sleep. "As far as I'm concerned, this never happened."
     Will reluctantly opened his eyes. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I just—"
     "No need. We'll move forward from here." Hannibal leaned forward and planted one more kiss on his forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. The spell was soon broken; without warning, he got out of bed, picking up his shirt and exiting the room. Will caught a glimpse of the scars on his back before he pulled the sleeves over his arms.
     Will lay there for a moment, struck dumb by the night's events. The room had a different feeling in the daytime— it was almost too bright, like the whole world could look in and see how weak he was. How desperate. The fire had been put out long ago, he wasn't sure when, and the white blankets were now blinding. He finally summoned the strength to get up, rubbing his temples and slowly dressing himself in his clothes that Hannibal had washed. There was a large hole in the left shoulder of the shirt, so Hannibal had lent him a new one, simple and white. He donned it and ran his hands through his hair before following Hannibal to wherever he had gone.
     The smell of coffee was enticing. Will followed the scent into a large, open kitchen, decked with shiny appliances and a sweeping countertop. It was the kitchen of a chef, someone who knew their way around the fancy machines. The chef himself leaned on the counter near the corner, sleepy-eyed next to a coffee maker. His shirt was unbuttoned, hanging loosely off of him.
     "I believe they're going to go to Elliot's barn today," Hannibal said. "At least that's what Jack said." Before Will could ask about Jack, he poured coffee into a mug and offered it to Will. He took it and sipped, pleasantly surprised at how good it was. Hannibal even had better taste in coffee. He turned to make himself a cup, and it was then that Will saw the wings, out but folded like a bird at rest. They were visible under the white shirt.
     Hannibal noticed him staring, and the corner of his mouth turned up. "I hope you don't mind," he said, the coffee maker whirring behind him. "When I'm home, I like to have them out. They get cramped otherwise."
     Will shook his head. "No, no. Doesn't bother me." Frankly, he liked it— the more he saw them, the less insane he felt. It was comforting to have them become a normality.
"It took me a while to get used to them. It became a habit to just," he shrugged, "leave them out."
"Get used to them? You didn't always have them?"
"I've always had them. They just weren't always like this."
     Hannibal had only taken one sip of his coffee before migrating to the fridge, rummaging through it. "I'm fixing something."
     "Oh, I'm okay. I don't really eat in the mornings."
     Hannibal peeked out from behind the door to give him a teasing look, raising an eyebrow. Will flushed and turned away.
     "Well, I do. You're eating," Hannibal replied with finality. "I'll make a favorite of mine."
     "Thank you," Will muttered, but Hannibal was already distracted. He pulled out ingredients and utensils at a rapid pace, gliding about the kitchen like he could do it with his eyes closed. Will got out of his way, moving to the other side of the counter. He watched with interest as Hannibal worked.
"If you don't mind me asking—"
"What happened?" He cracked eggs one after the other, yolks falling perfectly into the bowl. "Are you aware of the River Styx?"
Will thought. "..Not really," he admitted.
"That's not the actual name of it. It's the name that you humans made up for it, named after the goddess Styx. She's not real, clearly." He simpered. "It's the river separating this world from Hell. You have to cross it to reach Hell. The water's thick and dark, like tar."
"Okay." Will leaned forward, chin in his hands.
"When God banished me from Heaven, I obviously wasn't welcomed in Hell with open arms. Not when I spent so much time in a privileged paradise." He mixed the eggs in with fresh vegetables in a pan. "The souls were angry that we had created a wasteland for them to be thrown away. They bombarded me. Tackled me, held me under the water of the River until my body was numb." Something unreadable flickered in his eyes. "The water stained my wings. I stood in the freezing rain for hours, washing it all off, but it never left. They'll always be like this, I guess."
"Shit, L— Hannibal. I'm sorry." Will fumbled over his real name, quickly correcting himself. He felt a flash of pity, the first time he'd felt that towards Hannibal.
"Oh, I'm just fine." He smiled mischievously. "I rose up to become their ultimate punisher, so I think I'm the winner here. Losing my flight is a small price to pay."
It wasn't long before Hannibal's breakfast was finished. He served up two plates and set one in front of Will, the two of them sitting at the breakfast bar. Will took a bite and his eyes widened; it was delicious. More importantly, there was no meat in it.
"Wow. Thank you," he said, continuing to eat. He didn't realize how hungry he'd been. Hannibal nodded, satisfied.
"You said they're going to the barn?"
"Yes. Jack just called me about it."
Will was reminded of earlier, how Hannibal had said that Jack called him. He'd ignored it to focus on the wings. "Right. He did?"
"Since he couldn't reach you. I told him that I assumed you were busy last night." Hannibal smirked. "He wants you there, if you're up for it."
"He doesn't actually care if I'm up for it. He'll always get his way." Another sip of coffee. "..So they'll find him. Elliot."
"They will."
"Should I be worried?"
"I did my best to hide any trace of us. Anything I may have missed should be unnoticeable. However, I can't promise anything. Tiny, tiny pieces of you could be left behind— you know how forensics works."
     Will felt a knot in his throat. He would just have to hope and hope. Whatever happened, it was what was destined to happen.
"What did you do to him?" He asked.
Hannibal froze for a moment, his hands coming to a stop as he lifted his fork. "I gave him what he wanted. Divinity."
"You made him an angel." Will felt dread squeezing his neck.
"He helped me as much as he could. Until he couldn't." His face was blank.
Will's breath hitched. "He was alive?"
"I convinced him to let me help. For a brief moment, he saw himself living out his dream. He watched himself become pure. But then he fell unconscious, and he never got up again. Never will."
"Was he scared of you?"
"He was delirious. He thought I was an angel."
Will had to force himself to swallow his next bite, the food traveling excruciatingly slow down his throat. "So he probably died happy."
"He did. He was overjoyed."
"How long will that last?"
"It's not up to me." Hannibal took a bite. "His fate is up to God."
     "..How do you get into Hell? Or, I guess, how do you get shut out from Heaven?"
     "Everyone commits sin. It's unavoidable. But you don't have to repent, or beg for forgiveness, or spend your whole life trying to undo it. The best you can do is move on. The issue begins when you let the sin consume you, and you begin to embody it. You spend the majority of your life doing harm to others."
     "Who decides that?"
     "God. Your fate, and Elliot's, is up to God."
Will was pretty sure God wasn't going to favor him. "Just like your fate was," he quipped, flinching when he realized what he'd said.
But Hannibal just looked amused. "We really aren't that different then, are we?"