Chapter Text
There was nothing but the sound of Will’s breathing when Hannibal returned, having left not long after finding William frozen staring at the piece of brutal ‘art’ that had been placed upon the side of his car in a blood like shade of red which managed to cause his gut to twist as though trying to knot itself into a straightjacket. Something that Hannibal sincerely doubted was an accident seeing quite how precisely the red stood out in the otherwise silent nothingness the night had to offer.
Hannibal’s voice had been soft and had come as a surprise from behind Will, colder than it had been in their past conversations yet clearly laced in what may have been surprise. At any other time Will would have turned to look at the new arrival on the scene, he may have questioned why another teacher was there as late as he was… and yet he didn’t even have the energy to look away from the horribly true words, standing out in the darkness and making it feel as though all the steps he’d tried to take to leave the past where it belonged had been smashed away.
He flinched when he felt the hand that came to rest upon his arm, eyes finally leaving what had been done to his car to look at Doctor Lecter, gaze flickering over his face whilst always remaining careful not to make eye contact. Eyes were problematic, always showing him far too much without ever showing him enough. Always more than anyone else would ever wish to know but not enough to give him any piece that he knew the full truth. In many senses it could be described as a middle ground formed of quicksand.
The older teacher had not said anything but his name when he’d stumbled across the scene, simply pausing to take in what had happened before his faltering had been corrected, placing his bag down near William’s car and telling him he would be straight back- a clear strain lacing his words rather than just the surprise that had come when seeing the car. A strain that had been caused by watching Will’s face manifest how difficult it was to look away, how difficult it was to deal with the sudden violent new pressure on his mind. Hannibal had reacted barely moments before uttering the words, slipping back in the darkness as though having belonged in it so long that it was a part of him.
(At the ridiculous thought Will let out a laugh, surprising himself by how alike to a sob it sounded when it had left his lips fully. He himself wasn’t all that certain what it was meant to be but he was past caring.)
(If he allowed himself to feel anything he feared he would shatter there and then like a faulty children’s toy, a train set where the wheels where unhinged and threatening to fall off if they were made to move anymore. Never having been made to last.)
It felt as though the very silence was suffocating him, sneaking up on him and wrapping fingers around his neck until there was nothing left in him but a dangerous hollowness. A hollowness he had fallen into before and that he knew falling into again would be very, very bad. It had been difficult enough to get out of it the first time but he doubted he could pull such a stunt off a second time.
Last time he’d brought a lot of the darkness back with him, tainting and staining him like his car was if not far worse.
Whoever had left the graffiti certainly wasn’t wrong in the insult- Will’s worse losses of control had certainly demonstrated to the world how broken one man could be.
Just thinking of the events though caused a shiver to run through him, jumping more than may have been normal even for him when Hannibal’s fingers rested on his arm- light and yet imposing at the same time. Not needing to be forceful to be grounding, Will’s eyes snapping to the hand as though confused at the contact. New or not, surely Hannibal knew enough about Will from rumour to know to avoid him.
Blue eyes moved from the hand to what Hannibal had brought back with him, two red buckets filled with water, each containing a sponge already on the verge of sinking at the weight it had absorbed. It took a moment for him to recognise them as the buckets used at charity events, often being the ones for the water for any offered car washes.
It made sense for Hannibal to bring him what he would need to clean the mess up, yet Will frowned when he finally registered the fact there were two sponges. Why would it ever take two of them to clean up what had been done?
“I thought you could do with a hand.” Hannibal shrugged as though it was the simplest thing in the world, taking a few moment to slip his jacket (probably worth more than Will’s yearly salary) off and onto the bag he’d put on the floor before getting the buckets. Not seeming to wait for a response he slowly folded his sleeved up, slipping his cufflinks (shaped, oddly enough, as what seemed like kitchen knives) into his pocket before slipping past William.
Nothing about the situation made sense, nothing of the situation fitting together as Will tried desperately to blink himself out of the stunned stupor he was finding himself trapped inside of.
“You really don’t need to do that, I… I appreciate it but I can do it. It’s hardly the first time someone’s taken out their dislike to how I am on my car.” Still, he made no move to look at how Hannibal walked to furthest end of the words with one of the buckets, not seeming to take any real notice. “I’m sure you have to get home or at least have better things to do than this.”
The borderline annoyed amusement that flickered across Hannibal’s features almost confused him as much as the other man willingly staying to aid him for no apparent reason. “I am fully aware you can deal with this alone.” He paused, looking over Will with well masked emotions. “That does not, however, constitute a reason as to why you should have to deal with it alone.” A pause no longer than a heartbeat. “Are you going to join me at any time?”
The fact that Hannibal almost sounded as though he was going to chuckle made Will feel twelve years old, trying to impress a teacher as he lifted his own bucket, the metal handles digging into his skin, gravity pulling a weight that felt double what it actually was down. The metal digging into his skin like a grave robber trying to find something worth taking- as though trying to find evidence that he still had something normal about him.
At least the blood in his veins had to be alike the one of others, at least that couldn’t betray him too. Could it?
It was a ridiculous question formed mostly from the cruel remarks and presumptions of others yet he couldn’t even deny he was uncertain as to what ran through his veins. Life has never been fair to those who are different and we are, in the end, no more civilised than savages stranded at sea when it comes to trying to step up against the crowds when we see someone being cornered and broken simply for not fitting in. Those who do stand-up are soon smashed down as though some self-righteous deity has better ideas as to who deserves to win.
In all our years of growth and claims that we are better than how we once were it often seems as though the only thing that has changed is on what scale we are able to scream how civilised and equal we are. As though the red that marks our hands is simply paint that will soon be only a stain on our memories.
Will swallowed the bitter taste of bile again as he made himself kneel by the car, shaking fingers grasping the sponge so roughly a great deal of the water left it when it was still in the bucket. He had had to clean his car of such things before, he had in the past had to try to hide the evidence of the truth from the eyes of others yet never before had he found himself kneeling near someone else who was willingly aiding him for absolutely no apparent reason. To someone who had been left as vulnerable and exposed as Will had he couldn’t understand why anyone would stay and aid him much more than he couldn’t understand why someone could do such a thing. The red words and the motives behind them made more sense than the perfectly composed man beside him, dark eyes focused on his work with the precision of a surgeon or artist, careful not to miss anything as he applied exactly the right pressure at the right moment in the right spot…
When Will was able to focus on reality fully again there was little difference, what had changed only marked by how the darkness was suddenly stained with all the more red.
The red already formed a river like mass on the ground as Will moved the soaked and quickly staining sponge over the still brutally clear ‘Freak’, eyes briefly flickering to where Hannibal had moved near his right, precise hands removing the other half with much more ease than he was finding. Both of their hands though were stained a deep red, seeping under their nails as though by cleaning the words away they were committing some form of atrocity. As though they were hiding something that should be known by everyone. And yet as Will struggled further to make the words away he still wished he could wash his madness away like he was washing the paint.
For Will, the worst thing about his ‘madness’ may simply have been that he felt as though he could never escape it. As though there was never going to be any way to cleanse himself of it no matter how hard he tried to scrub at his skin until it was raw. He could wash until his very skin had peeled away leaving nothing but his very bones and even then Will could not imagine himself as clean. Pitiful, really, how he had allowed himself to lose any hope he had once had but even he could not blame himself for a single minute. With so many people continuously telling him that he was worthless- less than everyone else and only useful because he was good at his job- it was certainly difficult to not believe it.
With so many people telling him it was getting hard to differentiate their views of him and his own. Everything seemed as ruined as the sponge he was holding so viciously, nails digging into it until the material had fully seemed under his nails giving even them a coating of the colour he had learnt to hate so much. Perhaps it was too much to ask that just for once those who left such messages for him would be more creative in their colour choices. Asking for a change to blue or green would at least mean his nightmares would have more colour options when haunting him into more sleepless nights.
“Whatever you are thinking of yourself, please do not.” Hannibal’s almost kind tone broke through the silence as if it was easy to slip in and out of something so heavy, not having glanced away from cleaning the car yet still knowing all he had to as to how the other was taking it. “Just because someone or a collective of people decide that you are not alike them does not make you inferior. It simply makes you a target for hatred you do not deserve.”
Hannibal could certainly understand that- it wasn’t as though a man of his skills and calibre moved to the area to take such a mundane job because he wanted to spice up his life. He clearly had the money to not need to work and yet his resume kept growing as he skipped between his skillsets to find different bits and pieces as to what he could do to fill his time.
Some rumours said he was on the run from someone.
Others simply said that he was on the run from the loneliness a mind such of his was bound to attract. It wasn’t as though anyone could see anything worth anything but money in his life.
(It was the rumours as to the second one that usually caused Hannibal to falter in his otherwise flawless sets of movements.)
(It was usually considering them that made the little colour on his face move away as though haunted by a ghost formed of memories, refusing to let him rest or get off his path until he had found whatever he sought with such a vivid, colourful passion.)
Nobody knew for certain and had it been simply for Hannibal’s determination they never would have. But as for everything there will always be an exception to a rule.
Had it been anyone else it was likely Hannibal would have walked away or simply offered a ride home, leaving the other to deal with the mess left behind. But it had been William Graham, the man he could not help but find a rare curiosity spiking for despite his knowledge to what had happened not all that long before he had joined the school to teach.
Had it been anyone else Hannibal’s hands would have been as clean as they usually were to the bare eye, no anger or interest daring to make itself known. Yet with Will it was difficult to not get involved, all too aware he would never accept a ride home. He would never be able to leave such a mark behind him because such a man had long since learnt to not leave such evidence of his problems behind.
He had to have had seeing he still had his job.
So the next best thing Hannibal could do was simply to aid him without having to interfere with how Will’s mind was working. By helping him clean up what others had done it would in the very least help him to get William to see him as someone genuinely getting to know him.
“With so many people agreeing on one fact it undoubtedly seems likely that it is true.” Will’s tone was far drier than intended, the man still struggling to keep it even enough he could hide in the hollowness rather than the light of day emotions could bring. Usually, when dealing with things like that alone, he could allow himself room to breakdown, to let something slip past his defences as he tried to fix things again. With Hannibal there he was uncertain how to act. “Doctor Lector, I still do not understand why you stayed.”
Eyes refusing to make eye contact or so much as glance at Hannibal he tried to focus on viciously trying to wipe away the red of the ‘F’.
“Many people have agreed over atrocities too but that does not mean they were correct.” An easy disagreement, Hannibal looking back at the barely visible words he had taken on, intentionally leaving ‘freak’ for Will to deal with. Intentionally taking on the one that described his life almost perfectly. “Seeing what subject you teach I have no doubt you’ll agree with me when I say the dominant ideology or general consensus of a group does not automatically become correct when in comparison to what morals variable by individual seem correct.”
At the lack of a reply Hannibal dared a glance at Will, knowing that had he himself been someone else his heart would have sank at how defeated the man looked. Like a dog beaten one too many times or an old racehorse with a broken leg.
There was never any chance of a happy ending in sight for such beings.
“You don’t know much of what happened to make all this shit happen, do you?” Will asked, voice barely above a whisper as his hand paused, sponge resting still against the car door and red lines dripping down from it as though coming from a wound that needed severe stitches. “At first I thought you were just being polite in not mentioning it but you really don’t know.”
“I do not.” Hannibal seemed to have no problem with admitting it, his own eyes remaining firmly on the psychology teacher. “I do not listen to gossip and rumours because they tend to be as true as the ones who started them. I do however trust my own judgement when it comes to people I wish to get to know.”
Will’s laugh was small and dry, eyes glistening slightly as though he could feel nothing but guilt that he had been able to feel something other than self-loathing even if the amusement was caused by only bitterness. “And what do your instincts tell you about me?”
To his credit Hannibal did not falter, he did not pause to phrase things and he did not show any of the usual clues that decorated people’s half-hearted lies.
“I see a very sad, lonely individual who’s been alienated because of factors beyond his control.” There was no need to dance around the matter because what Will needed was the truth, not people treating him as though he was fragile. “I do not require all the information to see that much, however I can see that what you need isn’t to be treated like Jack’s special tea cup only to be used on special occasions.”
Will’s smile was a hollow thing. “I feel far more like an old mug than special china.”
The silence that returned was nowhere near as bad as it had been previously, heavy but not to the point of unpleasantness. There simply seemed to be nothing to say, neither wanting to break what silent resolution of almost friendliness if not acceptance to the other’s presence, Hannibal’s honesty at least getting the other to no longer distrust him as completely as he had only minutes earlier.
The rest of the red washed away with surprising ease, spilling away with each stroke from the suddenly effective sponge, leaving only the faintest trace of what they had spent so long trying to clan away. Despite that though Will still could not move, mind clamping his legs so there was no way to push himself up as he let the sponge fall into the bucket of water, water having long since started matching the deep red of the bucket. It almost looked like what Will had seen the few times his father had taken him hunting.
“Would you like a ride home or are you feeling in appropriate condition to drive?” Hannibal offered as he finished getting up, hands smoothing out the few creases caused by staying in such a position for so long, in barely the blink of an eye becoming immaculate again and stepping closer to offer a hand to aid Will up. Not too close that he could not avoid him though, Hannibal clearly having worked out the boundaries with far more ease than anyone else Will had met.
Was he in the right state to drive? In all honesty even Will didn’t know.
He wanted to say yes simply out of his pride, wishing to admit to no weakness to someone he was fairly certain he couldn’t have understood less. His hands were shaking as he gave a glance at the offered hand, accepting the aid yet gripping the material of Hannibal’s sleeve rather than making any actual contact.
When he was up he let go as if scolded and Hannibal had the audacity to seem as though he understood, as though he took no offence at Will’s unusual manner and as though he simply found him interesting despite of it… not because of it.
Swallowing down his hesitance and annoyingly insistent pride he tried to hide how his hands were still shaking by curling his fingers into fists, nails digging into his skin with the attempt to ground himself. To focus on the bursts of pain rather than focusing on any of the other emotions that were running though him like the worst poison known to man.
Sometimes Will could only compare himself to a car crash, everything that had once been good about him turning into shards of glass, all flying at him before he had a chance to react. Slicing and dicing until the shocked gasp impact caused would be replaced by a hopeless, aimless plead that seemed formed by no real sentiment but the desperation of human nature to live even if there was nothing left to live for.
He was a car crash running in slow motion whilst the other cars involved swerved and tried to avoid the burst of flames certain to come when he hit the car that had been going to hit him from the start with a soundless prayer to a God he didn’t believe in on his lips.
Life, is a tragedy even to those who do not realise it.
It is all the more tragic for the fool who realised it though.
“I’m fine.” Will’s left hand dug out his bottle of pills from his jacket, shaking all the more as unsteady fingers tried to open the plastic lid, trying to get to the one thing that should be able to calm him down enough to think. When it wouldn’t open he swore to himself, getting to the point where he was tempted to just walk home.
Letting Hannibal take the small bottle from him he froze, almost having forgotten that he wasn’t left simply in his own company as usual. Hannibal said nothing though, opening the bottle before handing it back over. “I’ll give you a ride home if you wish- it’s too late to walk and I somewhat doubt you should be walking it after what happened.” It was a small town, he had a basic idea where Will lived. Not specific enough to not need directions but he knew it was a doable distance.
Will’s pause made it clear he was desperately searching for a reason to say no, a reason that made sense enough that he would be willing to refuse to do the most obviously correct decision that was available to him. His eyes traced over the other’s face as though desperately searching for a reply as to why the other was going out of his way for him, as to why anyone was acting of every little thing that had and would happen within his life.
As long as nobody questioned what had happened Will didn’t mind, avoiding any and all questions to linger and see more of the truth as he slipped deeper and deeper in sleep rather than waking from the all too clear grips of sanity. Not wanting people to know the truth and not wanting people to blame him for the sudden change in events that was all too obvious.
People had fallen and burnt for much less that Will was as he looked over the perfectly composed man, a nod causing curls to fall onto his forehead like a cascade, sticking to it yet neither close enough or far enough away from it.
He told himself, that just for once, accepting a ride meant nothing- allowing himself to take interest in someone outside his usual ‘bubble’ who was not his usual last moment choice.
(It was only much later that night when he was a hyperventilating ball of pain in the corner of his bedroom that Will final wondered what there was to gain by helping him.)