FOUND: A Hannigram Devil AU REWRITTEN

Chapter Eleven

Will was back in the forest again. He didn't remember how he'd gotten there, just that in the blink of an eye, his surroundings had morphed into a never-ending tree line. His clenched fist went limp, his pistol falling to the ground with a clatter as the body of Nicholas Boyle came into view below him. His vision was dotted with red, nausea rising inside of his gut. The outdoors was drenched in a suffocating heat.  

Will opened his mouth to scream for help, but the only sound that came out was a starling call, scratching his vocal cords and sending a flock of them fleeing from the ground. Then, to his dismay, the body stirred; Nicholas, despite the gaping wound in his body, began to stumble back up. It took a massive effort for him to lift his head and look at Will, his entire body limp like a rag doll.

"You," he hissed, "are revolting." Blood spilled from the hole in his abdomen as he spat out the words. "You killed an innocent man."

It wasn't Nicholas's voice. It was one that he recognized from a different place, one that he'd been suspicious of from the moment they found Abigail Hobbs bleeding on the side of the road.

"Nicholas was innocent. You're not, Hobbs." Will reached down and picked up the pistol again. He knew it wouldn't work, not anymore, but it gave him comfort to have it. "Show yourself to us. Now. Before more people get hurt."

The body's jaw hinged open, its head lolling backward unnaturally. It let out a loud shriek, shaking the trees around them and making the wind howl. Its face contorted, becoming the face of Garrett Jacob Hobbs. The man that Will knew was the Shrike.

"You are not innocent either. When does the cycle end, Will Graham?" He spit out Will's name like it was something poisonous. "When is it okay to kill, and when is it not? Why am I the evil one, but you can do whatever you please?"

Will's eye twitched, his muscles stiff and sweat trickling down his forehead. "I never said I wasn't a monster."

"You're a menace. We both are. Monster is the wrong word— there's only one true monster in this reality." Hobbs shifted his gaze to something behind Will. Will resisted the urge to turn around, as he feared what he would see.

A freezing hand settled on the back of his neck, and Will's body sagged with relief. Whatever the monster was, he was conditioned into trusting it. Hannibal. 

Hobbs laughed, mocking him. "Oh, I get it. He's got his claws in you, and you're letting it happen!" He shouted, becoming maniacal. "What is wrong with you? You're just gonna blindly trust him, let him into your brain like that?"

Will didn't respond. He didn't know what to say; Hobbs was telling the truth. The hand moved from his neck. Hannibal's arm wrapped around his body and rested on his chest. It pulled Will backward until he was leaning against someone else— no, leaning against Hannibal. Will couldn't turn to see his face, but he recognized the figure, the touch, the voice. He moved to whisper in Will's ear, and ice-cold breath grazed his cheek.

"Kill," he commanded, a determined owner coaxing its loyal hound. The word crept from his lips like icy smoke, curling around Will's head and entering his ears. It was such a calming sentiment, the idea that this could all be over with a single move. 

Without a moment's hesitation, Will raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

At the sound of the bang, he bolted upright in bed, his blankets and clothes drenched in sweat. He looked down at his hands and was relieved to see them bloodless and empty. He was home, but he wasn't comfortable.

Still half asleep, he downed the glass of water by his bed before lying back down and staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. He couldn't close them again, lest he fall back asleep. He'd learned early on how well Hannibal's imprint worked— too well, in fact. When he closed his eyes at night, he would feel a sudden head rush before losing consciousness; the closest thing he could compare it to was being under anesthesia. It was a blessing and a curse.