FOUND: A Hannigram Devil AU

31

     Will knew he would come. Hannibal had predicted this from the moment Will left his office. He'd peered at him from the top of the cliff, knowing that destiny would make its rounds. He'd been on alert.
Hobbs lay on the ground, mutilated and ruined. He resembled ground meat, the inside of his body visible through all of the stab wounds. This was pure violence. How could Hannibal not be drawn to this?
     Will heard his voice, but he was frozen in place, unable to turn around. He closed his heavy eyes for a moment and pictured Hannibal behind him, towering over the woods' tallest trees, his antlers stretching upwards and blending in with the branches. His wings unfolding and their sheer momentum sending a cool breeze through Will's hair. Crows landing on his antlers and deer bowing their heads in reverence. Nature was no match for Hannibal, as nature was the younger of the two.
The vision vanished as Hannibal repeated his name, and Will finally turned to face him.
     Hannibal was only a head taller than him, not counting the antlers, but he seemed so massive. He was in his true form, the form Will had only seen once in the hospital with Abigail. His skin was pristine marble, chest completely blank like a sheet of paper, no sign of genitalia. He was youthful and powerful. Unlike the first time, Will wasn't paralyzed by fear— he allowed himself to be fully captivated by the creature's beauty. He glanced at the wings and remembered what it was like to touch them.
"You've done such a wonderful job." He looked concerned. "Your face. Are you hurt?"
Will said nothing.
     "You have one more choice to make, Will," Hannibal said, "and then all of this will be over. Just one more decision."
     Will swayed, lightning dancing under his skin. He was rushing with adrenaline, and he felt more alive than he'd ever felt. He knew his eyes were wild, and he knew the rain had ruined everything about him, and he knew his face was drenched in blood, but Hannibal still looked at him like he was a piece of art. He felt uncharacteristically warm.
     "You can turn around now and go home," Hannibal said. "I'll take care of this. I'll tell Jack you were home with me all night. I'll do my best to bail you out of Elliot's case. I won't stop until you're considered completely innocent." He paused. "And then I'll leave. You won't have to see me again. You can live how you wish."
     Pain stabbed Will's heart just at the thought. It was an instinctual hurt.
     "Or," Hannibal held out his hand, "you may come to me. I trust you know what happens if you do?"
     Will nodded, his head moving outside of his own volition. "Us," he choked out, his voice hoarse. It was all he could think to say.
     Hannibal nodded in agreement. "Yes. Us."
     Rain pounded down on Will's head, soaking him, while Hannibal remained unaffected. His wings were dry, water passing through his skin like he was made of light. He was everything Will yearned to be, calm and untouchable.
     And was it just him, or was everything so much brighter? Were the colors more saturated, the sounds more musical, the raindrops cooling on his skin and sparkling in the moonlight? Was the blood black under the light of the stars? Yes, it was; it was black like the sky, like the feathers of a crow. It was the ink they would use to write their future, to sign their names on each other's skin like a promise. In that moment, Will felt that the world was his to relish in. It was their world in which to laugh and play and dance a deadly choreography that couldn't be done solo. After decades of letting the world chain him, he'd finally become the King. He wasn't a prisoner anymore, and the sheer idea of that was enough to nearly move him to tears. The world was extraordinary when he saw it this way; he couldn't believe he'd gone so long without this feeling. It was a Wonderland of whimsy.
     How could he choose differently? After having the feeling of a soft bed, a warm fireplace, the loving hands of someone who needed him just as much as he needed them..how could he want anything else?
     Every step he took towards Hannibal made his body thrum with tranquility. It was nourishment. Wiping steam from a window and watching the image become clear. When he reached him, Hannibal just stood with his hand still outstretched; he wanted Will to take it.
"Is this what you choose?"
     Will embraced him. He circled his arms around Hannibal's neck, pulling him close, and he leaned his forehead on Hannibal's shoulder. He felt Hannibal return the gesture, light arms holding him like he was precious. They stayed that way for a little while, simply listening to each other breathe. Will's face and clothes were dotted with sticky blood, his hands covered in scrapes. He tilted his head upwards, watching the full moon peeking out from the clouds. He felt euphoric, utterly serene.
     "Do you understand, Will? Do you feel it, too?"
     God, his voice was hypnotic. Will wanted that voice to be in his life forever. He wanted it to tell him stories and whisper his name. "Yes," he replied. "I see. I see all of it."
     "This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us. I wanted to share my vision with you." He pulled back slightly. He had the gaze of a child waiting for approval. "Do you like it?"
     The backs of Will's eyes stung, threatening to leak out tears. He could only whisper, afraid to disturb the moment. "..It's beautiful."
     Hannibal's face brightened with surprise. He looked as if this was the best news of his life. He pulled Will back to him, his wings encircling them. Will automatically reached for one of them, his fingers lightly stroking the feathers. His head was filled with air.
Hannibal held tightly onto Will's waist, clutching his shirt in his hand like he was scared Will would change his mind. Will leaned into him, letting the light envelop him.
"Are you ready, Will?"
"Yes." Will didn't even know what he was referring to— he would agree to anything that Hannibal wanted. He only trusted Hannibal. He only wanted Hannibal. Whatever it was, he was ready.
"I'll be right here, okay?"
     He tried to enjoy the warmth of Hannibal's hold, but it was like his agreement had triggered something in him. A soft ringing was set off in his ears, growing until it was all he heard. He felt his stomach suddenly lurch, a flash of nauseating heat running through him. He swiveled, breaking the tight bond between them.
"Will?"
     "Something's wrong," he managed to blurt before vomiting onto the grass. There was nothing to expel, just bile that burned his throat and the remnants of aspirin. "I'm sick."
     Hannibal ran a cooling hand down the back of his neck. "No, Will," he said, pulling him back upwards and making him dizzy. His eyes shone like he was witnessing a miracle. He was barely audible over the ringing. "It's time. It's finally time."
     Dread pooled inside him. "What? What..what's going on?" His head spun. Hannibal held him steady, but it didn't do much— he was so, so sick.
     "Just let this happen." Hannibal's voice quivered. He took Will's face in his hands. "Oh, my goodness, it's really you.."
     "What's happening to me?"
     "Something marvelous. The most beautiful thing in the world!" He cried out with joy.
     Will clutched onto him as hard as he could. He was scared and confused. He wasn't getting an answer. "I don't understand!" He cried. "I don't understand."
"Shh. I know. But you will."
His skin began to itch, spiders crawling across his arms and shoulders. It rapidly became unbearable, and he began to scratch aggressively at his skin. Hannibal grabbed his wrists and held them down. "Don't hurt yourself."
     "Tell me what's wrong! Please!" Will was desperate now. He squirmed, but he was no match for the Devil. Hannibal held Will's wrists with one hand and began to unbutton Will's shirt with the other. The air helped slightly with the heat, but not the insatiable itch. "What's going on?"
     "You have to just let it happen. Let it happen." Hannibal repeated the words over and over again until they meant nothing to Will. He felt a rush of betrayal; this had all been a lie. The Devil had manipulated him, and now he was going to torture him. He was being punished for his foolishness.
"I'm sorry!" Will keened. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry! Please don't kill me." He ripped himself away from Hannibal and tumbled to the ground. His head pounded and he could barely see around the static in his vision. He scratched and scratched at his skin. He didn't care if it tore open and bled. When he opened his mouth to cry out, his cheek screamed in pain.
He felt like he was going to burst open and send the bugs under his skin scattering across the forest. Maybe then he'd have some relief. There was no pain, just horrible discomfort.
"What?" Hannibal sounded genuinely concerned. "Oh, no. No, no, no, Will! I would never kill you. I'm not doing any of this."
"Then what is this supposed to be? I'm dying!"
"No. No." Hannibal reached for him again, and this time he didn't resist. He couldn't breathe. He just wanted to rest.
"You're not going to die. Quite the opposite, actually."
Will's chest seized. He closed his eyes tight, feeling the skin on his arms and torso begin to separate from itself. He was bursting open. Something inside of him was ripping him apart to get itself out.
"You're being brought to life."
     And then he felt a burst inside of his ears like fireworks, the world lapsing into silence. His heart skipped a beat, then multiple beats, and he felt all of the weight leave his body. He was light and free. Nothing hurt. Nothing itched. He felt like he could jump off of the ground and stay in the air, floating until he decided to come down. The world was his and his alone for that second.
He sighed and melted into Hannibal's arms, every little discomfort vanishing. He was at ease.
     "Will," Hannibal breathed, stricken with awe. "Look at you. Oh, my soul.."
     Will slowly opened his eyes to a confusing sight. His skin was paler, smoother, his chest flat like Hannibal's. He moved without weight. His curly hair still fell into his eyes, and as he made a move to sweep it back he felt an extra layer attached to his flesh. He turned his head and gasped, immediately looking away to bury his head in Hannibal's shoulder. He couldn't look. Couldn't believe it.
     A light grey pair of wings, the color of smoke, had emerged from his shoulder blades.
     "My angel." Hannibal's voice drew him back. "Oh, my dear, sweet angel." The tremor in his voice was from tears, shining in his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. He brought a hand up to his mouth. "You're even more beautiful than I thought you'd be."