FOUND: A Hannigram Devil AU REWRITTEN

Chapter Seven

The dreams started the night before Abigail's vigil. 

Will had sunk into his bed, anticipating the comfort of sleep, but he'd instead been greeted by the chirping of crickets and a damp, suffocating fog. Rather than darkness, there was a forest. Rather than feeling safe, he felt alone and afraid.

He began to walk. The leaves underneath him were slick. Will figured it was because of the humidity, but when he looked down he stumbled over himself in shock.

His hands and forearms were covered in dark blood. With every step he took, he left a trail with an uncertain origin.

His stomach was wet, and he looked down at the crimson splotch that was slowly expanding on his shirt. Despite not feeling any pain, his legs were so weak that he could barely keep himself up. It hit him all it a sudden, and he felt leaden. Every step was torture, and he fell to the ground. Bloodied leaves left imprints on his cheek.

"Help," he rasped. "Someone help me."

An invisible hand swept the hair from his forehead. Its touch was cool, and Will felt something breathing in his ear. Gusts of cool air rushed right next to his neck as the presence hovered over him. It should have been threatening, but it wasn't. It was a comfort, the embrace of some powerful protector.

The nape of his neck tingled. Every part of him ached. A voice began to sing.

He woke the next morning in a cold sweat.

~~~

"Can you enlighten me, Will?"

The candlelight vigil for Abigail Hobbs was being held at her cabin in Minnesota, which meant that Will and Hannibal had to fly there. The two of them sat next to each other on the FBI jet, where Will had been avoiding his gaze the entire flight. The cockpit was cramped, stuffy, and Will felt thousands of invisible eyes on him despite Hannibal's head being turned away. Electric power wafted off of him, making the hairs on Will's arms stand up. Nothing was normal anymore, but none of the other officers were noticing anything out of the ordinary.

Now the devil was talking to him. Will looked over at him warily.

"I'm always interested to learn from my patients. What does grief mean to you?"

Will blinked. "Me specifically?"

"You specifically. When you think of grief, what do you envision? Do you feel grief for the victims you used to dream about?"

Will considered this. "I don't know if it's grief, so much as guilt. It's extreme guilt. I feel like I could have done something about it, could have saved them before something happened to them. But I wasn't fast enough."

"You are not the one that killed them. There is nothing to feel guilty for."

"It's easier said than done. Or thought."

"Have you ever grieved anyone directly, Will?"

Will hesitated. "I don't know."

"You aren't sure?"

"I've never lost anyone personal to me. I've never had anyone personal to me." Will rubbed his forehead. "Never had a mother. My father and I don't speak. No siblings. Never had a ton of friends, and the ones I knew back when I was a kid are all still alive."

"No one has to die for you to feel grief."

"I've grieved some of my dogs. Does that count?"

"It's nowhere near the same as humans."

"Grief is grief."

"Which is?"

"From what I can tell, it's...it's still guilt, I think. There's a lot of guilt involved in grief. Guilt over things you didn't say, things you missed out on, things you didn't get to give to that person you lost. Experiences that you'll never get to have again. Guilt over not living out those experiences to the fullest."