'' Repeating History ''

'' Confrontation ''

.Summary:

Experiencing severe exhaustion, Bowie nearly drowns in the bath, and their boss, not having heard from them, comes to their home to check on them. What starts as a concerned welfare check, turns into a traumatic experience for the young detective, and Hannibal takes advantage of this moment of weakness to get closer to Bowie.

Notes:

Trigger Warning for some themes that may be sensitive to some readers, including: Misgendering, familial neglect/abandonment, verbal altercation/yelling, physical abuse, childhood trauma, trauma responses, verbal threatening, acts of submission in response to violence, and some others I could be missing.

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After a long walk in the heavy snowfall, nearly falling asleep the whole way, and even being tempted to just toss themselves into the nearest snowbank and pass out, they finally trudge through the threshold of their home.

A wet trail forms behind them as snow falls off their boots and coat and melts on the wooden floor, but they can't be bothered to take any of it off right now, more focused on getting to their room.

Once there, they slip out of their wet, snow-covered clothes, and then shuffle their way to the bathroom, running a hot bath and settling in, shivering in pain from the shock of sudden heat stabbing at their icy cold flesh.

However once the pain subsides, they all but pass out.

'' Sitting in a quiet, moonlit room. I find my eyes glued to the forest outside. A man looking up at me from the yard. A deep frown on his tired looking face. His dark, curly hair reminds me of my own, as do many other things about him.

I take a deep breath, and watch as with each inhale, he gasps for air. Trails of blood soaking through his shirt and running down his abdomen as antlers stab through him, and soon he drops to his knees.

I watch him choke and cough, blood pouring from his trembling lips, but he smiles regardless of the pain, and knowing he's dying. And I only watch with silent reverence for him, for he is my predecessor. The one the universe used to prepare this thing to deal with me. His 'curiosity'.

And who is he? But the disembodied hands in my nightmares that grope and claw at my fragile body, hoping to tear me apart and consume every bit of me raw. But would he find satisfaction in my slaughter? Would he feel full after a feast of my flesh? Or would he be left disappointed with what amounted to nothing more than an ill advised snack in the early hours of morning? ''

Bowie wakes up gasping and gagging loudly, violently, choking on the bathwater that had filled their lungs, laying on their bathroom floor now with strong hands supporting their shivering body

"Oh thank god." Comes a firm, familiar voice from above them, and they look up with irritated, bloodshot eyes to see their superior kneeling over them.

"Sir? Wh-what happened?" They stammer, shakily clinging to the towel the man was now wrapping around their fragile form.

"I was calling you for damn near an hour, figured you'd return my calls when you got home, but when you didn't I got worried and came to check on you." He explains, helping the young detective off of the floor and onto their feet.

"Sorry. I haven't gotten around to paying my phone bill yet, so I don't have service." They murmur shakily, leaning on him for stability as he helps them to their room and gets them sat down on their bed.

"Well then. I'm glad you weren't just ignoring my calls, but you need to get on top of that, Bowie." He says sternly, pushing their hair from their face to get a better look at their face, which has grown paler than usual somehow.