FOUND: A Hannigram Devil AU REWRITTEN

Chapter Eighteen

When his life was full of uncertainty, Will turned to what he could count on.

"Max, stop," he laughed, leaning backward as the German Shepherd nearly toppled him over. "You're not a lap dog. You're too big." He scratched behind the dog's ears and turned his attention to the other dogs clamoring over each other. He picked Buster up, hugging him to his chest, and let Rocky climb onto his lap. The pit bull nuzzled its head into the crevice where Will's knee bent, and Will smiled.

He always cherished the moments with his dogs before he went to bed. Animals loved unconditionally. They would never judge Will, let alone try to harm him. During his years on the force, these moments were sometimes the only times he felt safe.

It almost helped him forget about the bright target on his back.

Will got up from the floor and lay on his bed, letting the dogs surround him. They snuggled against him, leaving him cramped, but he was used to it. The bigger dogs preferred the floor, where Will had the highest quality beds he found. Hell, they were probably better than his own.

He turned off the light and closed his eyes, giving Smoothie a final pat on the head. She licked the back of his hand.

The peace didn't last long.

Will? Will, we're here.

He opened his eyes, and he was somewhere else. This wasn't his typical landscape, standing by the side of the cliff and staring up at his spirit guide. This was his life, grounded in reality.

He was in Hannibal's car, rousing from sleep in the passenger's seat. Groggy, and with his vision half-blurred, he glanced over at Hannibal, who had his hand on Will's forearm.

"We're at my home. Can you walk?"

Will was watching himself in the third person. His senses were intact, and so were his emotions, but he'd lost all sense of control. Every movement was predetermined, something he had already done and couldn't alter now.

He nodded, fumbled for the door handle, and exited the car. His legs were so shaky they nearly collapsed out from under him, and Hannibal rushed around the car to hold him up. Will didn't object. Light rain sprinkled down onto them, making Hannibal's hair sparkle under the porch light. He was beautiful.

Will stared at the floor as Hannibal led him back to the master suite. The edges of the floor were distorted, fine details of the home dissipating into nothing. His memory wasn't strong enough for that. His brain was only conjuring up the most important things, reminding him of how much Hannibal had done for him.

The two stopped by the bathroom door and faced each other, and Will finally lifted his head.

"I want you to shower, Will," Hannibal said, kind but firm. "I'll take your clothes and wash them, and I'll set you out something comfortable. I'll make the bed down, and you can get right in after that."

He was being so tender. His demeanor had completely changed from how Will had seen him before. This was merely a memory, and he was going to leave this house safe -- hell, he would leave with the ghost of Hannibal's lips on his body -- but his hackles were still raised.

That didn't matter, though. He still couldn't control himself. This was just a vision, a way for him to piece together the time he'd lost between fainting in the barn and waking up in Hannibal's home.

"Take as long as you need. Here." Hannibal went over to his dresser, pulled out a clean pair of boxers, and handed them to Will. As Will reached out to take them, he saw for the first time that his hands were drenched in blood. Hannibal winced, keeping the clothes to himself and ushering Will into the bathroom.