Chapter Text
Will can count on one hand the number of times he’s cried since childhood, and most of them have involved mental illness or extreme physical pain. Now though, he finds his vision swimming as he tries to swallow around the overwhelming emotion that’s bubbling up in his chest. Abigail sits on her knees in front of him, dressed in the jeans and sweater she died in. The scarf around her throat is knotted prettily and soaked in blood. She is smiling, and as far as he can remember it is the first time she’s looked at him with any sort of tenderness in her eyes.
“Abigail,” he chokes, wiping at his eyes with filthy hands. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault…”
She reaches over, her lily white hands taking his. They’re so small and perfect and delicate, like a doll’s. They make his own look awkward and rough clasped within them. “It’s okay,” she says, eyes bright. “Sometimes it takes time to figure things out. You finally came around, that’s what matters.”
Managing to pull himself to kneeling, Will looks down at the sodden state of him. He pushes his dripping curls out of his face as he finally looks around.
The cave is gone. He now sits in what appears to be a well lit parlor, full of rich looking furniture and paintings on the walls. Sconces line the room and cast everything in a warm glow, everything cozy and clean. There’s no water, no lake to be seen. He sits on a thick red carpet that is slowly growing darker beneath him as water drips from his hair and skin.
“How did I-”
Abigail points over Will’s shoulder. When he turns his head he sees a large mirror mounted within a brass frame, the same sparkling silver that the water had been. He turns, clearly dazed. “This place…”
“It’s bizarre,” Abigail says with a grin. “It feels like I’ve been here for years, but looking at you I know that can’t be true. You look the same as when I left you. Well…” She reaches forward and lightly touches her fingertips to his forehead. “A few more scars, maybe. Here though, places change right before your eyes. Sometimes the laws of physics apply and sometimes they don’t. Sometimes you see someone you know and you can carry a full conversation, sometimes they can’t hear you at all.”
“It sounds terrible,” Will says softly, trying to fathom the endlessness of it all.
Abigail shrugs, getting up to take a turn about the room. “It’s not,” she says with a knowing little grin. “Time doesn’t pass like it does where you are. It feels like I’ve been down here for an age, but it also goes by in the blink of an eye.” She plops onto a soft velvet chair, smoothing her palms over the arms. “There’s a lot of exploring to be done. I don’t think I’ll ever be finished, really.”
Will stands, dripping his way over to a couch covered in a fussy-looking floral pattern. He’s overwhelmed by how little sense it all makes. “You seem to understand it better than the others that I’ve run into. Beverly Katz, and one of the men Hannibal killed in Italy...they talk like they don’t know any of the rules. You seem to fit right in.”
“I’ve always been that way,” she says, examining him. “Or maybe I have absolutely no idea, I’m just completely unflappable. Who knows?”
“I think unflappable describes you pretty well,” he says with a weak smile, pushing his hair out of his eyes.
Abigail hums thoughtfully, sitting back as she takes him in. He feels like she can see right to the center of him, past the bullshit and insecurities to who he truly is underneath. She must like what she finds, as she smiles and quirks her head a bit to the left. “You love him, don’t you? It took you some time, but you’ve figured it out.”
Will can feel his face heat at the question. He’s never been great at discussing his feelings, and this seems so much more important than any relationship that came before. Still, he’s come this far, walked for ages, faced his own failures and insecurities to sit here with Abigail. There’s no turning back now.
“I do,” he says, surprised at the assuredness in his voice. “I...I had to figure it out. I had to suffer, and fight, and I had to...to lose him. But yeah, I love him.” Looking away, he lets his eyes wander over the paintings that hang on the wall. He realizes with a start that they’re all people he knows, and all of their eyes seem to be focused directly on him. Jack, Alana, his father, even the dogs...every image is still and silent and hanging on to his every words. “I took too long though.He’s gone now and I don’t know how to live without him.”
When he turns back Abigail’s eyes are warm with understanding. “I get it, Will. I can’t say I always understood you, or that I was ready to accept you as a father figure like I did with Hannibal, but it really did feel like there was a space carved for us where we fit together like puzzle pieces.”
“And I messed it up,” Will says ruefully.
“I can’t exactly blame you for how badly you wanted to do the right thing,” she snorts, raising an eyebrow. “You can’t pity yourself though. If any of this is going to work you have to embrace the choice you’ve made, embrace who you’re going to be if you bring him back. Who are you going to be, Will?”
Without bidding his mind flashes forward to a life he’s already imagined extensively. To quiet dinners shared together, and dinner parties spent in the company of a carefully selected few. He knows he isn’t made for a life of hunting the innocent, but he’s more than willing to live in blissful ignorance of Hannibal’s proclivities if it means he can protect their life together. And who knows, maybe the day will come when he once more gets to admire the blackness of blood on his own skin as he stands in the moonlight.
“His,” he says with clarity. “I’m going to be his.”
Apparently it’s the right answer. Abigail nods in satisfaction, standing up and moving to an old oak desk situated in the corner. She searches for a solid three minutes, opening drawers and shuffling papers filled with writing Will can’t even place the language of, stopping every now and then and examining some old and highly polished knicknacks. He sees what might be a snow globe holding two men embraced on a clifftop - he decides not to ask. He merely sits in quiet curiosity, figuring that patience has worked for him so far.
“What are you looking for?” Will asks quietly. A sudden weariness settles over him, his limbs heavy and slow as his eyes blur slightly. He has no concept of how long he’s been down here; it can’t be more than a few hours, but part of him feels like it’s been days.
Abigail glances over her shoulder. Will can just make out her smile. “I’m not sure,” she says as she goes back to searching. “Something. This place has a tendency to give you exactly what you need, but you have to be willing to look for it.”
With a triumphant “a-ha!” Abigail pulls something from a drawer, turning and brandishing it towards him. With a curious arch of his eyebrow he takes a small key from her fingers. It’s old fashioned looking, something you might see in an antique shop.
Will heaves a sigh. “And what does this go to?”
“Probably that,” Abigail says, laughing and pointing to a door he hadn’t noticed before. Every door so far has been large and ornate, this one is almost laughable in its simplicity.
His heart starts to hammer in his chest. “And Hannibal...Hannibal is in there?”
For a moment Abigail looks confused, like she’s completely forgotten where she is and what they’re doing. The look of helplessness lasts all of four seconds before she smiles and shrugs. “Kind of. Just...keep walking. And don’t look back, no matter what. He’ll be there, but you can’t glance back to be sure.” She laughs at the look he gives her. “You have to have faith, Will.”
“Of course you do,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “This place makes no sense.” He takes a few resolute steps towards the door before something occurs to him. He turns back, eyes wide. “Come with me.”
Abigail laughs, almost in disbelief. “What?”
“Come with me,” he insists. “If I’m bringing him back can’t I bring you back too?”
She smiles sadly, shaking her head. “No, no I don’t think so,” she says, voice soft. “I don’t think it works that way. You love Hannibal in this way that no one can explain, not even you. It’s a special circumstance. A relationship like that doesn’t come along every day, you know?”
“I never thought I’d be that guy,” Will says, laughing softly.
“I didn’t think you’d be that guy either,” she grins. “Now go, get out of here. You don’t belong down here, you survived.” Just as he goes to open the door she gasps, catching his arm. “Oh! There’s...there’s going to be a price,” she says slowly. “You don’t just get to take someone back without giving a piece of yourself in return.”
Will turns, raising an eyebrow. “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” she says apologetically. “Just...a piece of you. Something you’ll miss. That’s all I know.”
He heaves a sigh, examining the key in his hand. “Well. He’s a piece of me too, so at least I’ll be getting that back in return.” He offers her a warm smile, fondly tugging a lock of her hair before sliding the key into the lock and turning it.
The door slides open easily, exposing a plunging darkness that steals a bit of his nerve. He grits his jaw and steps in. It’s warmer than his journey so far, a fact he’s grateful for as he left his shirt behind before jumping into the lake and his pants are still sodden. The heat seems to press in around him as he shuts the door and reaches his hands into the abyss. He touches walls on either side; they’re smooth and dry, full of catches and divots that suggest he’s touching peeling wallpaper.
A few steps in and a light switches on. It’s dim and warm, like the one in the room he’s just left. He was right about the wallpaper. From the looks of it he’s in a hallway that has no end he can discern. Underneath his feet the carpet is filthy, a far cry from the plush one on the other side of the door. Everything feels grimy and damp. With a sigh he starts walking, wondering how far he’ll have to go this time.
After what feels like hours he starts to wonder if this can go on forever. Maybe he did die? For all he knows he is in hell, that the fall did kill him as well. He’s destined to spend the rest of eternity walking, clinging on to a hope that he’ll never see come true. He’ll always be steps away from Hannibal and unable to save him.
He’s starting to worry for his already shredded sanity when he first hears the footsteps behind him.
They’re soft at first, distant and barely noticeable. He stops and listens closely but hears nothing, the path silent enough that he thinks he might have imagined the sound. Nothing but the empty echoes of a long, abandoned hallway. He continues on. The absence of noise is almost overbearing and for a moment he thinks he ought to sing to keep himself sane, but then he hears it again. For a moment he moves to turn, but Abigail’s words come rushing back. He draws a breath and continues on.
When the footsteps rejoin him they’re so close that he can feel the presence of something weighing heavily on his back. It’s an indescribable fear, having to move forward while unable to turn to face what pursues you. Sweat prickles at his temples and his mouth goes dry. How long has it been since he’s had a drink? Shouldn’t he be hungry by now? None of this makes sense and damnit his feet ache and he can feel blisters forming and he’s going mad and-
“Will?”
He stops in his tracks and nearly drops to his knees. While he half expects strong hands to reach out and grab him, there is nothing to stop his fall but a dusty, peeling wall. “H-Hannibal.” Once again he has to fight the urge to turn around, to grasp Hannibal’s face in his hands and make sure this is all real.
“I’m here.” The voice is just as smooth and steady as he remembers, though there’s an edge of curiosity to it. “Although I cannot say I know where ‘here’ is.”
“We’re...um…” Will braces a hand on the wall and rights himself, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s hard to explain. Do you remember...what happened?”
There’s a moment of silence that Will uses to catch his breath and his balance. “I remember falling for a very long time. I remember your arms around me, and how lovely you looked in the moonlight.”
“I don’t know how to explain this without sounding insane,” Will murmurs.
A soft chuckle from behind; it fills Will with a warmth he didn’t know he’d been without. “Will, very little in our time together has made sense, and yet here we are. I dare say I’m more accepting than most.”
This is true. Still, it’s hard to know where to even start. “When I proposed this whole trap for the Dragon I knew there was more to the story that I wasn’t telling Jack. I had it all planned out in my head, every minute detail, every possibility for deviation.”
“Perhaps I did succeed in turning you into me,” Hannibal says with amusement.
“God, don’t say that,” Will says, laughing weakly. “That makes it sound so much more twisted than I intended. Anyway, before you even broke out I knew how it had to go. And it all happened just as it was supposed to, everything down to the smallest detail played out how it was meant to. Dolarhyde shooting you, stabbing me. He needed to incapacitate you so he could do his work. He needed me to suffer because it was the surest way to make you suffer. It’s why he stabbed me in the face first, it was flashy, grand. Personal. He wanted to make me as ugly as he felt, he knew how you’d feel about that.”
Hannibal makes a small, irritated sound. “As if your beauty were merely superficial.”
Will feels his cheeks coloring, but presses on. “So we kill him. I knew we would. I knew I wanted to, for myself and for you. As my final gift for you.”
“Because you intended to put us over the cliff.”
Will would give anything to be able to turn around and see Hannibal’s face. Would his expression be as unreadable and impassive as ever? He swallows hard and nods. “Because I intended to put us over the cliff.” He huffs out a short breath and begins to chew his lip as they take a moment to walk in silence. “It was the only way I knew how to save us. To save myself. I couldn’t think of a life where we could comfortably live together without constantly looking over our shoulders for Jack, or the next Pazzi or Mason or whomever. I didn’t see myself as a killer, but I couldn’t fathom life without you. So it seemed like the only way.”
For a moment, Will can swear he feels fingertips lightly ghosting through his curls.
“I admire the sentiment, though I think perhaps we could have come up with a better solution,” Hannibal says thoughtfully, voice patient and calm. Underneath that smooth surface Will thinks he can hear a sort of glow as Hannibal begins to realize what this means about Will’s feelings. “And what, I’ve been unconscious?”
Here goes nothing. “No. You died,” he says slowly. “And you’ve been dead. For a few weeks now.” When there’s no response he rushes on. “I don’t know how to make that sound less insane Hannibal, but you died. They pulled you out of the water after I’d already been taken to the hospital. Jack let me ID your body. You died. And all of a sudden I knew I’d been wrong, so God damn wrong. About who I am, what I am, what I have the potential to be.” He swallows hard, embarrassed to find his eyes watering. “Our lives...we’re too tangled together to separate now. I don’t want to. So I came for you.”
“And how did you find me? How did you know where to go?” Hannibal asks quietly, as if he’s trying to process everything.
“Bedelia,” Will says, half laughing. “She just...gave me this address, told me to come get you. I didn’t know what I’d find but it definitely wasn’t this. I think she’s some sort of witch or something.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her.” Will once more feels a hand near to him, but this time it catches the waistband of his pants and stops him in his tracks. The hallway continues to stretch on before him like something out of a horror film. “Why will you not turn to face me, Will? Do you worry what I might think of your scarred skin?”
“No, trust me. I’m dying to,” he says wearily. “But it’s one of the rules. I think. I can’t look back.”
Hannibal releases him, lightly stroking his fingers along Will’s lower back before they resume walking. “My Orpheus. And what other rules are there?”
“Just one more. I have to give something up. No idea what the hell it is or if I’ll be able to live without it, but fingers crossed.”
“Lead on then, Orpheus,” Hannibal murmurs. They fall into a silence as comfortable as one can be on such a journey, footsteps falling in sync the longer they walk. Hannibal’s breathing pattern changes ever so slightly, and Will can practically hear the question just before it comes. “You say you don’t want to be apart from me. So much so that you came to...wherever we are to retrieve me. What does this mean when we return?”
Will has heard the question so many times by now, but this time he’s ready for it. Just as he goes to speak he sees something in the distance; he peers, heart swelling when he realizes it’s a door. “Whatever you want it to mean. I’ve never...God, it sounds too cliche to actually explain how I feel. I need to be near you. With you. If that means all I can do is kneel at your feet every night like a dog while you read by the fire? I’ll take it.” There’s a moment of silence before he presses on, feeling a bit frantic. “I don’t know, Hannibal. I mean I know, I just...I feel too old to be silly and romantic and it’s just not me, so I’m sorry if that’s the declaration you were hoping for. I just know that I want you, and I’m desperately hoping that you want me.”
The silence behind him stretches on. What’s more, the footsteps following him have stopped.
Will’s stomach drops and his heart jumps into his throat. He has to stop himself from turning, from reaching out to the man who’s supposed to be following him. “Hannibal, are you there?” he asks, voice breaking. Nothing. Panic rises in his throat with an acidic bitterness, stomach churning. He stops walking, trying to reach behind himself to grope for the body behind him. He encounters nothing but empty air.
The door. He has to get out, and then he can look. With that thought gripping his consciousness he breaks into a run, feet thudding hard against the threadbare carpet as he sprints for the exit. This can’t have been for nothing. He can’t live on without him. He has to be there.
It’s the same red door that he entered through, gleaming and bright. It beckons him forward like a lighthouse. It’s just as polished and perfect as before, and when he grasps the handle it turns easily and swings open. For a moment he thinks he’s once more been plunged into darkness, but after a few moments his eyes adjust and he realizes he’s once more in the basement of the ramshackle house in South Dakota. While he wants to turn and search for Hannibal, he doesn’t know the rules. Is he out far enough?
“Hannibal?” Still no response. He runs for the stairs, darting up and into the hallway that led him down into this maze in the first place. He can see moonlight streaming in through the windows, bright and gleaming as it’s reflected off of the snow outside. It’s been a few hours...or has it been a few days? He has no way of knowing and no real desire to check. He needs to get outside. He knows if he gets outside he can turn around and God, he’s never been a religious man but he’s praying to whomever might be listening that Hannibal is there with him.
Through few more doors, over a wooden floor that protests with each frantic step. He can see the front door, he’s so close. Just a few more moments and he’s throwing it open, and he’s out, and-
The world goes pitch black before him.
His foot catches on the step he was aiming for, sending him sprawling onto the ground. His body hits the snow, a thrill of pain rushing from his palms and through his arms as the shock races through him. He can’t see. He knows he’s outside, he can feel the bitter chill of winter clawing through his naked chest and back, but he can’t see. As he rubs firmly at his eyes he tries to get to his feet but only trips again, this time landing with his face in the snow. Something that feels suspiciously like blood drips down his lips and chin.
This is it. The part of himself he had to give up. The world is dark and he has nothing to show for it. He is alone
For the second time that day, Will feels hot tears welling in his eyes and dripping down his cheeks. His body feels like he’s been traveling for weeks. The snow manages to soothe the blisters on his feet, but every muscles in his body screams in agony. He starts crawling slowly, in the direction he hopes will lead him to the car. He can’t drive like this but he can at least get the heater started and pray help comes.
He was stupid to believe in fairytales. He is no Orpheus and Hannibal is no Eurydice, there is no magical underworld where he could go and bring his long lost love back from the dead. He is not a Greek hero. He is blind, and cold, and alone.
He is so, so, alone.
A wave of agony grips him stronger than any physical pain he’s ever felt. A strange noise fills the air - with alarm he realizes that it’s his own voice, screaming into the darkness he is lost within. He drags himself to his feet, staggering forward, arms clasped tight around his shaking body. He only makes it a few trembling steps before he trips once more.
This time he is caught mid-air. Strong arms pull him close, his body soon held tight to the warmth of another. Just as he begins to panic he catches the scent of a familiar cologne, soothing his mind and easing his fear. Hannibal brushes his lips softly over Will’s temple, his own body shaking. Soon a mouth covers his own, kissing him again and again with what is clearly reverence and a trembling affection that grips them both in fits and waves.
A soft voice washes over him, lips brushing against his skin. “You did well, Will. You did so very well.”