WRATH: A Hannigram Fanfiction

2- Les Fantômes

     Hannibal and Jack agreed that Will should start out by going to therapy sessions twice a week. Jack gave Hannibal the details: Will lived about an hour from Hannibal's Baltimore office, and due to the constraints of his job it would be best to have an evening session. Hannibal agreed on seven o'clock, Tuesdays and Thursdays, and they would go from there.
     When the first session came, Hannibal found himself brimming with excitement. Finally, he could have more alone time with Will. He could study the man's every move, watch as he slowly began to form a complete picture. He was a man in danger, a man running from every part of himself, and it was going to destroy him without intervention. Hannibal wanted to be an anchor.
     He thought back to a conversation they'd had as they were leaving the office the day before. He'd pressed Will for his deepest desire, expecting a material answer. Humans were predictable. Money, fame, a lover, success.. anything that gave them short-term gratification was their first choice.
Just...some peace. To relax, to be actually happy instead of just surviving.
     Will had asked for peace. Hannibal had to hold back a smile in that moment; Will really was his Angel, through and through. What else could his Tranquility ask for, if not peace? He'd had it ripped away from him in the Fall, and he would never be himself again without it. His soul knew that subconsciously. It gave Hannibal hope for Will as well as himself.
     He wasn't surprised when Will was reluctant to talk about himself. He had entered the office carrying a file, and he was now relaying every detail of a crime spree that Hannibal was just now hearing about. There was one detail that particularly stood out to him:
"I just got done in the lab earlier today, and they think he's..he's eating them. He's taking their organs and he's eating them." Will seemed revolted by the concept, and Hannibal felt his stomach roil as well. What a shame; this killer was wasting good meat. Human was such a delicate protein, reserved for only the most special kinds of beings, and now some worthless killer wanted a monopoly on it? That, and he wasn't even brave enough to show himself?
Hannibal didn't even have to fake disgust— it was real and present inside of him. That was the extent of his sympathy, however. Now he was just bored.
"Will," he finally interjected, "I don't think I'm equipped to discuss official FBI cases. This is your first session. We're supposed to talk about you." He stared at the photos of the girls. They meant something bigger to Will, he just wasn't sure what.
"This..this is what I am now, Doctor Lecter. I'm focused on nothing but these girls."
Hannibal frowned. He knew Will too intimately to be called something so stilted. "You don't have to be so formal, Will," he said. "You may call me Hannibal."
Will's expression was slightly annoyed. "I..okay," he sighed. "You sure?"
"Yes. We're friends." At least, Hannibal wanted things that way. He needed to make Will comfortable. It didn't slip past him that Will refused to directly answer that part.
"These girls have become a part of me. I can't let go of this."
"Why not?"
"Because they won't leave my room!" Will cried out, his voice louder than Hannibal had ever heard it be. He placed his hands over his face and swayed slightly, like he was going to fall over from exhaustion.
"Why don't you sit down?"
Will sighed. He withdrew into himself as he sank down.
"You've been having visions?" Hannibal had heard Will discuss his ghosts, but he didn't realize that they were material to him.
"Every night. And every night a new girl from that list shows up. There's only four right now, but I can't handle there being nine of them. If it gets to that.." He looked terrified at the idea.
"It very well might. You have to be prepared for that."
"I'm not prepared for anything anymore."
There was so much defeat in that statement. For some odd reason, Hannibal was reminded of Franklyn— a pitiful husk of who he could be, resembling a wounded puppy on the ground. Will gave off the same kind of impression, but slightly different: Will was a pit bull, sharp teeth and guarded attitude. He could bite.
"You said this man is cannibalizing his victims? That's certainly a haunting concept."
"Yeah, and they're not happy about it. They scream at me."
Hannibal cocked his head. It was intriguing to speak of the deceased like they were still present, torturing Will. "What do they say?"
He shivered. "..'He found me'. That's what they say."
Hannibal blinked. Yes, he thought, just like I have found you. "Do you believe that if you catch this man, they'll leave you alone?"
Will didn't answer. There was a shiftiness in his blue eyes, and he was clearly lost in a painful memory. Hannibal waited and waited, but no answer came.
"Will? Your silence is saying something, but I can't exactly tell what it is."
"I think we'll just have to let it speak for itself for now."
Hannibal leaned back. There were those teeth. That growl. A warning. "I trust you'll tell me at some point. Therapy is for getting things off of your chest."
"I need these dead girls off of my chest, and then we can talk."
Hannibal gazed at him, anticipating more, but Will simply looked away. "I know you're trying to get me to fill the silence," he accused.
"I never said that."
"You never said I was crazy, either, but I know you're thinking it."
The words created an unexplainable irritation in Hannibal. He didn't want Will putting words in his mouth like that, isolating himself from the one person who was trying to help. "I'm not thinking that, actually." He leaned in. "There are ghosts on you, Will. I see them."
That grabbed Will's attention. "I see them in the way you hunch your shoulders," Hannibal continued, "your fearful eyes, the way you keep your cards close to your chest. You are indeed haunted: by ghosts, and by something else. I hope you'll reveal to me soon what that is."
Will was clearly taken aback. He was speechless for a while, studying Hannibal with something akin to suspicion.
"What do you do when the ghosts come?" Hannibal asked him, not wanting to seem too intense too quickly.
"Ignore them. At least until they try to hurt me."
A flash of protectiveness. The ghosts weren't real, they were stress-induced hallucinations— if anyone was certain of that, it was Hannibal. But the thought of anyone trying to hurt Will worried him. "Do you feel their bodies? The pressure, the touch?"
"Yes."
Tactile, as well. "Can you move?"
"Most of the time."
"So it's not sleep paralysis. Nor is it night terrors..it seems that there really isn't a wide range of explanations." He paused, wondering if he should ask the question before ultimately caving: "Do you believe in God?"
Will raised his brows. "I don't really know," he replied, and Hannibal knew it was the truth. "Do you?"
"Wholeheartedly." He held back a chuckle. It was amusing to him the way humans lived their entire lives without ever fully knowing the truth. Everything is uncertain, right up until it's too late. "That doesn't mean I choose to worship Him, though."
"Don't think I've ever come across that viewpoint before."
"If what you're telling me is correct, and these innocent spirits truly are roaming, then I don't respect a God who allows that to happen. Denies them their entry into Heaven for any reason." It was a carefully crafted line of reasoning, but he tried to filter in the same core belief: God will not hesitate to harm anyone. He is unpredictable and anything but merciful.
"So do you believe me?" Will asked.
"Absolutely. I never said I didn't. I'm simply intrigued as to why they chose you."
Will sighed. "I wish they hadn't."
Will's phone started ringing in his pocket. Flushing, he pulled it out and placed his finger over the off button before blinking at the name on the screen. "It's Jack.." He was sheepish.
Of course. Leave it to Jack Crawford to ruin their perfect time together. "Please."
Will put the phone up to his ear. "Hey, I'm at my session. What's—"
He fell silent, cut off in typical Crawford fashion. He closed his eyes in defeat.
"Minnesota?...We know who she is yet?" Another murder. Of course. "I'll be okay. I'll be there tomorrow."
Will shook his head and put the phone down. He closed his eyes; it looked like he could fall fast asleep right here in the office. Hannibal considered letting it happen. He could watch Will's body slowly fall limp, his eyes drifting closed as his face softened. It would be a lovely sight. Every second he was with Will, he found himself becoming more and more attached. Every little thing that Will did reminded him of his Angel. This was his other half, a part of him that had been missing for such a long time. Once those memories came back, they would be blissful together.
"Everything okay, Will?"
"I have another ghost."
The two of them basked in somber silence, Will's eyes shut and Hannibal's wide open. He could see inside of Will, peer inside of the raw wounds he had and see what Will really wanted. There was the desire to rest, to lay somewhere and feel protected from all of the dangers of the world. Sitting there, seeing the extent of Will's fatigue, he knew exactly how he could build Will's trust: give him what he'd always wanted.
Give him friendship, and Will would be more likely to listen to him, to spend time with him, to be grateful for him. Give him protection, and Will would lean into it. Give him instructions, and Will would listen.
"I am going to get rid of those ghosts, Will," Hannibal said. "I promise."