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Will Graham wakes early in the morning to go fishing. He grunts quietly as he gets up. He’s over 50 years old now, and hasn’t had the most peaceful life. His aches are starting to catch up with him more and more. He showers and dresses, and collects his gear to go down to the waterfront.
Hannibal is waking up too, adorably bleary-eyed as he shuffles to the shower. Will knows that under the right circumstances, Hannibal can flip instantly between asleep and awake, but also appreciates the trust Hannibal shows him in allowing himself to wake slowly.
Will kisses him on the cheek before he leaves. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“I’ll have breakfast ready,” Hannibal says.
Will smiles and pats Bee as he passes her in the yard. He’ll play with her when he gets back.
Hours later, Will has had very little luck. It’s not the end of the world - if he catches something, Hannibal will cook it for their lunch, but if he doesn’t, Hannibal will make something else. They’re both adaptable that way.
Most of the other fishermen have given up for the morning, doubtless planning to try again in the evening, but Will enjoys the sound of the waves and the calm stillness for a little while longer.
It’s only when he turns to pack up that he sees something curious. Just behind him on the pier, there’s a small light. Not emanating from anything, just… there, and getting bigger. Will steps closer, tilting his head. A hallucination? He’s certainly prone to them, but he hasn’t had any recently. It grows bigger and bigger, until a door of light stands before him.
He reaches out to touch the door, just to see if it feels solid, and the world turns white. Just before it fades, he hears a shout.
---
Will Graham is not having a good day. Or a good week. Or a good year, for that matter. He’s been sleepwalking, he has a headache, and chasing after the Angel Maker has made him exhausted and irritable.
He and Jack are driving to the farm where Elliot Buddish once died as a child, and Will just hopes that one way or another, this case will finish here so he can rest. At least until the next case comes around.
They find Elliot Buddish hanging angelically from the rafters, just like his victims.
He and Jack fight - of course they do, they’re both on edge. They’re both disappointed they couldn’t catch him alive, but Will is angry enough to turn the blame on Jack for once. Isn’t it just like Dr. Lecter said? Jack is sending him to dark places alone, and doesn’t care what it does to him as long as it gets results. Jack leaves after telling him to quit if he wants to, but they both know he won’t.
When he turns back to Buddish, he’s standing in front of him. Will’s heart starts pounding and he reaches for his gun, only to blink and find the man, dead, hanging from the rafters again. He takes a shaky breath and turns to leave when he hears a thumping sound behind him.
He closes his eyes tightly. No, he will not fall into another hallucination right after the last one. No, no, no.
He hears a low sound of pain behind him, and the creak of joints. He can’t help it, he has to look.
He turns and there is… himself. But not himself. The man before him is older, with greying hair and more lines on his face. A fading scar on his cheek from what was clearly once a severe wound, and a thinner, straighter one high on his forehead. His clothes are too light for the winter weather, and look to be better quality than anything Will currently owns. He has a better haircut too. If it’s a hallucination, it’s totally different from any of the others he’s had.
---
Will groans as his stumbles to the ground. It’s not the faded planks of the pier, but packed dirt. It smells like a farm. He looks up and sees a man turned away from him. He’s wearing a jacket, and there’s a chill in the air, like winter somewhere farther north than where he currently is - or should currently be. He cranes his head around as he stands and sees, to his shock, Elliot Buddish, his skin spread like angel wings hanging from the rafters.
Well that’s… interesting.
The younger him turns around, looking shaken and flushed with fever. He remembers exactly what happened here, the hallucination of Buddish speaking to him due to his advancing encephalitis.
Will wonders briefly if he’s travelled back in time or to an alternate reality, but doesn’t really care. That seems like the kind of thing Hannibal would mull over for years, but Will is more straightforward about it. If this is his past, he’s changed it just by coming here, and if it’s not then it doesn’t matter. He only hopes he can get home somehow, or else Hannibal can find him.
There’s no reason he can’t meddle a little while he waits.
Resolved, he reaches out with a hand. “Hello, Will Graham, it seems like I’ve time travelled.”
The younger Will reaches out to shake his hand tentatively. “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but I’m fairly certain I’m talking to a hallucination,” he says.
Will smiles at him reassuringly. He knows exactly how Will feels right now and doesn’t blame him. “Don’t worry, I had those a lot too. Let’s go to Quantico and see if other people can see me. That’ll help.”
“Fine.” the younger Will says.
They get in the car together and Will turns up the heat. He’s dressed for balmy warm weather next to mild seas, not December in Virginia. It’ll be farther to drive to Quantico than it would be for this younger Will to drive home, but he wants to get this squared away as soon as possible.
But maybe they can stop and get him a jacket, at least.
The younger Will agrees, and they stop off at a crumbling department store on the way. He doesn’t have any American money on him, so he just picks out the cheapest, warmest jacket he can. The Will of this time has some money to spare, since he lives cheaply except for taking care of his dogs, but he doesn’t want to burden him too much regardless. He makes sure to talk politely with the clerk at the register, and can tell the other Will is feeling both more hopeful and more confused.
When they arrive at Quantico, Will approaches someone sitting near the entrance with a friendly smile and strikes up a conversation while the younger Will watches carefully. He makes sure to at least exchange a greeting with anyone else who comes by. After a few minutes, he says goodbye and walks back to the other Will.
“Well?” he says. “Satisfied I’m not a hallucination?”
“Yeah, you’re definitely real,” the other Will says, “but that still doesn’t explain how an older version of me got here.”
“There was this light hanging in mid air. When I touched it, I found myself in the barn with you. I don’t know what happened, but it’s fine,” he says. “I’m sure I’ll get back eventually somehow.”
The other Will rubs his forehead and grimaces, turning to walk towards his car.
“Headache?” he says knowingly as he follows.
“Yes. Did you have these?”
“When I had encephalitis, yes,” he says. “That’s what you have now. I remember I’d been feeling a little… overheated for a while, but the hallucinations and headaches started after I shot Hobbs.”
The other Will turns back to him, stunned, with naked hope on his face. “I’m not… I’m not crazy? I just have encephalitis?”
“No, Will,” he says, “or at least, if we’re crazy, we’re not that kind of crazy. Let me take you to the hospital right now. I’ll get you the help I wish I’d gotten.”
The other Will takes a breath that sounds like a choked gasp, looking near tears he’s so relieved.
---
When the arrive at the hospital, Will heads straight to the reception, tugging his younger self along by the arm.
He puts on his most paternal, worried expression. “Hello, my son here has been acting very odd lately. He seems like he’s running a fever, and he’s been sleepwalking. Sometimes he seems to be looking at things that aren’t there, or forgets entire conversations we’ve had. I have him booked to see a psychiatrist, but I was wondering if a neurologist would be able to take a look at him too. I’m very worried.”
The receptionist is a kind young woman - the type working there because she wants to help people but wasn’t able to become a nurse. She gives them some forms to fill out - which Will lets younger Will do because he could probably recall the information if he tried, but he really doesn’t care to - and they wait.
The other Will is eventually called in, first to see a general doctor, then referred to the hospital’s only neurologist. The neurologist had luckily had a cancellation, and is able to see them the same day. After a brief examination confirming Will’s fever and checking his neck, the doctor orders an MRI.
...Which, of course, isn’t going to be done that day. Will knows Hannibal had used his connection to the late - currently not-yet-late - Dr. Sutcliffe to further convince Will that he was going actually insane, but on the other hand at least he’d gotten an MRI quickly. The average wait time at this particular hospital is about two weeks. Considering how quickly they’re going to “catch” the encephalitis this time, a couple of weeks probably won’t hurt. In the meantime, the other Will is prescribed a high-dose aspirin for his headaches, which has the side benefit of being an anti-inflammatory.
Will drives both of them home despite his lack of driver’s license in this country. It’s a risk, but a small one. He drives exactly the speed limit the whole way home, and they have no problems.
---
It’s only when he arrives that he really remembers the dogs. He has, had, will have Bee in the future with Hannibal too, but just the one and she’s purebred and very well trained. He loves her to bits, but it’s not quite the same as this. He’d forced himself to forget about his mangy pack of mutts - no use dwelling on something he could never get back - but he’d missed them all the same.
Of course they run to greet the two of them when they arrive, and as he kneels down to pet them he feels himself tearing up a bit. Their unconditional affection washes over him. This trip - which hopefully still is just a trip and not something permanent - is worth it just for this.
He whistles for the dogs to come in and automatically starts making dinner using the other Will’s meager supplies. Hannibal usually does the cooking, but one doesn’t live with a master chef for more than ten years without playing sous-chef more often than not. He’s picked up a few things.
Over dinner, the other Will remarks, “I should tell Dr. Lecter about this. I’m sure he’ll be relieved to know that at least some of my symptoms are physiological.”
Will highly doubts that. As he recalls, it was only a short while ago in this time that this other Hannibal would have identified his encephalitis by smell during an appointment. And decided to let it be to see what would happen. Will is meddling with Hannibal’s plans, but on the other hand, he doesn’t want to give too much away. He has faith in Hannibal’s ability to change the both of them, but he needs to give him time to do it. This Will is still too far away from his Becoming.
He probably shouldn’t be changing anything, but he can vividly recall how terrifying it was to lose control of his body and mind, exacerbated by Hannibal’s manipulations or outright lies. He’s giving his other self the gift sanity, with the hope that the two of them will still find their way together despite the change.
He says, “I would wait until the official diagnosis. Hannibal doesn’t like to be wrong, so if you wait until it’s confirmed and you’re admitted, he’ll be able to distract himself by taking care of you.”
“Did he take care of you?”
“When I had encephalitis? Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to. But when I was in the hospital before that he did.” Will laughs. “He brought me chicken soup.”
“Chicken soup? Doesn’t sound like him. Seems too… average.”
Will grins - that’s Hannibal alright. “Well, it was pretentious black chicken soup. Some kind of medicinal black chicken from China or something. Looked off-putting, tasted delicious, I think. But basically, chicken soup. I think he was slightly offended when I called it that.”
“You seem… close with him,” the other Will says.
“We are. But just because we are doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll be, so don’t feel like you have to become closer with him unless you want to, okay?” He claps his younger self on the shoulder and looks him in the eye. “Hannibal has his own secrets, and some of them are… unpleasant. I decided to accept them, but that doesn’t mean you have to.”
The younger Will looks away. “Alright. If you think I should wait, I’ll wait.”
---
The next two weeks pass both slowly and quickly. Will remembers most of what happens during this time - Jack finding out about Phyllis’ cancer, and then after a while, the whole mess with Abel Gideon, the fake Chesapeake Ripper. Who knows if this time’s Will will even be involved in that, he might be in the hospital.
He doesn’t know when he’ll go home, so there is low-grade anticipation permeating everything he does. Will the light just suddenly appear again? Is he here for good? Will Hannibal find him? Nothing happens, and so his tension stays.
Will stays at home while his younger self goes to work, his appointments with Hannibal, or anywhere else. He takes care of the dogs or goes fishing. The two of them go grocery shopping together, and Will stocks the fridge and pantry significantly better than they were before. He’s become somewhat of a snob about food, though not nearly as bad as Hannibal. He asks Will to buy him a cheap cell phone just in case he needs to make some calls.
Around two and a half weeks later it’s time for the MRI. Will drives both of them to the hospital again, and waits. The MRI itself is actually pretty quick, but after confirming the diagnosis - meningoencephalitis - the hospital admits the other Will for treatment immediately. They tell him he’ll be there about two or three weeks, providing the treatment goes well.
Will visits himself and assures him he’ll arrange everything for his time off. He then asks the hospital not to allow any visitors without calling him. He says ‘his son’s’ boss and colleagues are kind of pushy, and might try to convince Will to work while he’s recovering, and that there’s an overly exuberant reporter that sometimes stalks him. The reception staff, charmed by his open care for ‘his son’s’ wellbeing as well as the other Will’s vulnerability, assure him they won’t let anyone through without his approval.
He calls Quantico HR and pretends to be his younger self, informing them of his impending hospital stay without telling them the specific reason. He tells them to please inform anyone that asks about the situation, as he won’t have time to. He deliberately doesn’t call Hannibal or Jack.
Will drives back to Wolf Trap, plays with the dogs, and makes dinner for one. For the next few days, he goes fishing in the morning, and visits Will in the hospital in the afternoon. It’s been… interesting, getting to talk to himself both before Will was admitted and now while he’s in the hospital. They don’t talk about the future, since the other Will seems to sense he won’t say much, but instead chat idly about fishing, or psychoanalysis, or dogs, or how bad hospital food is. The conversations are engaging without being taxing, and neither of them mind if the other decides to trail off and sit in silence for a while.
The night of Will’s regular appointment with Hannibal rolls around, and Will can’t help but want to see what happens. And also, just see Hannibal. Not that they haven’t been apart sometimes these last many years, but three weeks is definitely one of the longer stretches. Plus, he’s sure Hannibal’s face when he realizes both who Will is and how his plans have gotten away from him would be incredibly entertaining. Will loves Hannibal, but they both still enjoy engaging in some friendly manipulation upon occasion. He wonders if the Hannibal of this time will find it amusing or attempt to kill him for his rudeness. Oh well, only one way to find out.
He buys a ball cap and some cheap, nondescript clothes then takes a taxi to Quantico so Hannibal won’t see Will’s car there. He grabs a newspaper and sits close to his usual lecture hall, but far enough away that Hannibal won’t notice him. With his grey hair under the cap, and the newspaper in front of his face, it’s unlikely that anyone who knows him well will connect him with Will Graham.
A couple hours later, Hannibal comes around the corner. Will can’t help but stare at him out of the corner of his eyes. He looks so young. He’s in his mid-forties already, but compared to his own Hannibal who’s over sixty, he’s practically a young man. No grey in his hair, fewer lines on his face. A strong stride with no clicks in his knees. Not that his Hannibal hasn’t adapted extremely well to growing older, but having a younger body is different.
Will can tell by Hannibal’s slight moue that he’s both annoyed and a little hurt that the other Will has either forgotten his appointment or is harrowing off after another killer without keeping him in the loop.
He wonders which idea bothers Hannibal more. Probably the latter.
Hannibal enters the lecture room only long enough to verify that Will isn’t there. It’s late enough that there aren’t really any support staff or other teachers around to ask, so his next stop will be Will’s home before calling Jack.
Will waits until Hannibal is far down the hall before getting up and leisurely making his way after him. He spots Hannibal’s Bentley in the visitor parking. At this point, he hurries a bit to make his way over before Hannibal leaves, pulling his cap off and discarding it as he goes.
He opens the passenger door, and Hannibal turns and stares for a long moment.
“Going to Wolf Trap?” Will asks cheerfully.
“...Yes,” Hannibal replies, obviously confused.
“Mind if I join you?”
“...By all means. I’d be happy to give you a ride.”
---
Will sits placidly in the passenger seat while Hannibal drives them to Wolf Trap. He can see Hannibal’s eyes glancing at him every few moments, taking in both the similarities and differences. He knows Hannibal’s first thought would be ‘Will’s father,’ but the father Will spoke about - the transient blue collar worker - doesn’t fit the person sitting next to him.
Neither of them speak the whole way there, with only the sounds of a classical music station on the radio to break the silence. They drive up to Will’s house and he gets out first to greet the dogs. He sends them off with a tsk and stands to face Hannibal.
“Will’s in the hospital at the moment, but would you like dinner?” he asks.
“The hospital? Is he alright?” Hannibal affects an expression of mild concern, but Will can tell his thoughts are racing.
“He should be right as rain in a couple of weeks. Encephalitis, but it was caught very quickly.”
“...Are you Will’s father?” Hannibal finally asks.
Will smiles. “Do I look like Will’s father?”
“You look like you could be.”
“But I also look like I’m not. Who do you think I am?”
Hannibal takes a slightly longer breath - for him it’s almost a sigh of annoyance. “You look like Will Graham, maybe ten to twenty years from now. But that would be quite impossible.”
“Well, as impossible as a teacup reforming after it shatters, I suppose,” Will says. “Come inside, I’ll cook. I promise it’ll be up to even your standards,” he tempts playfully.
Hannibal’s looking at him as though he were something fascinating - like something he wants to get closer to, but knows he shouldn’t.
Will heads inside and hears Hannibal follow him. He bangs around in the kitchen, deciding to cook the fish he’d caught earlier that day. He’s not nearly as graceful or theatrical as Hannibal, but what he makes tastes good.
While it cooks, he sits across from Hannibal at the table.
“I have to admit I didn’t call you to cancel Will’s appointment on purpose,” Will says.
“Oh?”
“I wanted an excuse to run into you. I debated showing up in Will’s place, but I suppose I also wanted to have you come here. Home turf,” Will says.
“Do you still live here then, even in… your time?” Hannibal says the last two words as though he can’t quite believe he’s saying them.
Will laughs. “No, not for years and years. But I lived here so long that Wolf Trap is still a comforting place.”
“And you felt you needed… comfort to be able to see me?” Hannibal asks.
“To see the you of this time? Maybe, I hadn’t thought of that.” Will contemplates the idea. “I think it was more that I wanted you away from your home turf in case you tried to kill me.”
He can see Hannibal is rapidly creating and discarding plan after plan. His eyes flick around the room, resting on the knife on the counter, or stack of wood in the corner. Will knows he doesn’t typically walk around armed, just in case he’s stopped by the police for some reason, but he definitely has a scalpel hidden in his car.
“Oh relax,” he says. “If I was going to turn you in, I would have done it when I arrived here three weeks ago and just told Jack to test the meat in your fridge, or look under the trap door in the pantry. Or where Miriam Lass is.”
“And why didn’t you?” Hannibal still looks stiff, as if coiled to attack, but is clearly also prepared to listen. “After all, you took Will to get his encephalitis cured. Why not fix everything?”
“It’s not really ‘fixing,’” Will stands to set the table. Hannibal will wait to attack him at least until they’re finished the conversation, since they’re all alone, and hopefully by then Will’ll have convinced him he doesn’t have to. “It’s… meddling, maybe a bit of selfishness. Last time everything played out exactly as you wanted. This time you’ll have to do something else. As a bonus, the other me can get to know you unencumbered by his brain cooking itself. And Hannibal,” Will looks at him in the eyes as he sets down the utensils, “there’s nothing I would change about you, so nothing would be fixed by turning you in.”
Hannibal holds his gaze with rapt wonder. “Nothing at all?”
“Well,” Will says wryly, “perhaps there are a few things. But your penchant for murder and life-long devotion to developing the best ways to sneak long pig into everything you consume are not among them.”
“Would the Will of this time think so?”
“I think you know the answer to that. The Will of this time and I are different people, and you’d do well to remember it.”
He gets up to pull the fish out of the oven, and plates it together with the vegetables he’d made. It’s a vaguely French-style dish, and he pours them each a glass of white wine to go with it. He hopes the other Will doesn’t look too carefully at how much he spent at the grocery store the other day.
Hannibal takes a bite and hums approvingly. “Did I teach you how to cook like this?”
“A bit narcissistic of you don’t you think?” Will teases. “But yes, I couldn’t live with you without you forcing me to learn how to cook up to your standards. Once I knew the whole of you, your manipulations were not exactly subtle.”
Will changes the topic. Hannibal’s going to need time to think this over, and Will wants to give him that time. They discuss the food, mostly, with Hannibal naming each herb and spice individually, before naming the year of the wine by smell and taste. Will would be more impressed if he hadn’t seen the same party trick a million times, but lets Hannibal have his fun.
After dinner, Hannibal naturally moves to wash the dishes. It’s a reversal of how it usually happens in Will’s time, with Hannibal cooking and Will cleaning up after. After Hannibal finishes, Will gently guides him out the door.
“Go home Hannibal. You’ve learned a lot tonight, and I think you need more time to think about it. I’ll see you during Will’s appointment next week.”
Hannibal looks like he wants to say more, to ask every question flying through his head, but holds them back. He nods, and heads to his car before driving away.
Will watches him go.
---
The next day, the hospital calls to tell him a “Jack Crawford” is attempting to see Will. He informs them that this is Will’s rather pushy boss, and asks them to make up some excuse why he can’t visit. It hasn’t been long enough for Abel Gideon to have killed the nurse yet, so he thinks it’s more likely that Hannibal called Jack to inform him of Will’s condition, and Jack wants to know if Will is going to be using this as a reason to avoid field work.
Jack probably would have figured it out without Hannibal’s help, but had been distracted by his wife’s cancer. Regardless, Jack can wait until the younger Will is back on his feet.
---
The next week, after daily visits to the other Will in the hospital, Will drives to Baltimore for his appointment. He arrives just in time, and practically beams at Hannibal when he opens the door. It’s quite nostalgic for him, coming here.
Hannibal has a bottle of wine out on his side table, which Will ignores for now.
He wanders around Hannibal’s office, taking in the books and sketches, the paintings and stag statue. A lot of things had happened in this office, both good and bad.
Hannibal sits and watches him.
When Will finally sits, he doesn’t remark on the wine except to accept the glass Hannibal gives him.
“Chat to Bedelia before I came?”
Hannibal’s eyebrow twitches slightly, “Yes, actually. I felt it best to enter this conversation with a clear mind.”
“But not a sober one,” Will remarks.
“Did you know Bedelia?” Hannibal asks, changing the subject.
“Yes. Although I’m sure we both would have preferred we’d never met. I know I certainly could have done without meeting her.” Will takes a swallow of his wine. He never likes talking about Bedelia, even after all these years.
“I would have thought the two of you would get along. After all, her and I get along very well.”
“Yeah, that was actually part of the problem,” Will says. “We were both jealous of the other’s relationship with you. But I guess I can’t be too angry, after all, I won.”
“Won me?” Hannibal asks - and Will knows he’s enjoying the thought of Bedelia and him fighting over him.
“You’d like that wouldn’t you? But no, you aren’t a thing to be won. She thought I would never bend enough to accept you in my life, but I did.” Will sighs. “I still wish we’d gotten the chance to kill her, but I guess it was enough to eat her leg.”
Will knows Hannibal has never had someone to discuss his… hobby with so openly, and it shows in his expression. Hannibal leans forward. “How did I make you bend?” His voice is hushed, like he’s imparting a secret.
“Oh, Hannibal,” Will said amused, reaching forward to brush his fingers lightly against Hannibal’s brow and down his cheek before falling away. Hannibal sits perfectly still and barely seems to breathe. “This is going to sound condescending, but you’re so young. I haven't changed you yet, and you haven't changed me yet. Even with what I've changed here, I have faith in you. We’ll come together somehow. I feel like two of us are... inevitable. We might tear each other apart, but we will eventually become a new whole.”
Hannibal looks almost lost in the face of his certainty. “Do I… love you?”
“I think love is inadequate to describe what we have. We fill the cracks in each other’s souls completely.”
“My counterpart must be frantic to find you,” Hannibal says.
Will grins fondly. “I'm sure he is. I look forward to our reunion.” His smile turns sly. “But a little distress now and then is good for him. Just because we're happy together doesn't mean we don't push each other too. Life would be boring otherwise.”
Hannibal gazed at him for a long moment. “May I ask… did I give you the scar on your cheek?”
“Oh, this one?” Will raises his hand to it. “No, this was from a dragon,” he says without irony. He wonders if Hannibal thinks he’s talking about a fantastical fire breathing lizard he hallucinated, or something else. He raises his hand higher, to a straight scar on his forehead. “This one was you though. You tried to saw through my skull so you could eat my brain.” He sounds almost nostalgic about it.
“I suppose you've forgiven me for it, then.”
“Oh trust me, this was the least of your trespasses. If I could forgive you for-” he stops abruptly. “Well, that would be telling. But we both betrayed each other over the years. I have forgiven you everything you did to bring us together, just as you have forgiven me everything I did to resist you. You didn't escape me unscathed either.” Will’s eyes linger over Hannibal’s wrists.
Will thinks that’s probably enough, and finishes his wine before walking to the door. After opening it, he pauses and looks back, admiring Hannibal standing by his desk. His expression is one of a man whose world has suddenly shifted sideways. To imagine that Will Graham could be an equal, a partner… he must have had some idea, after their last conversation, but he saw it clearly today. It must be unfathomable to the lone hunter Hannibal is now.
Will has seen a great many expressions on his Hannibal’s face after all these years, but to see him here, now, at the height of his vitality and control with such an expression… well, it pleases him. He had never rattled this Hannibal so badly.
He walks to his car, and drives home.
---
A few days later, he’s visiting the other Will when one of the staff comes to inform him a “Hannibal Lecter” wants to visit. Will tells them to let him come.
Hannibal steps in, his armor wrapped around him like his suit. Will offers the rickety plastic chair to him and stands at the end of the bed. Hannibal sets his two expensive not-tupperware bowls on the food tray. “I apologize, if I’d known you’d be here as well I would have made more.”
“It’s fine,” Will says. “I’ve already eaten anyway.”
Hannibal turns to the other Will. “Silkie Chicken in a broth. A black-boned bird prized in China for its medicinal value since the 7th century.”
His younger self glances at him and grins. “So, chicken soup.”
Hannibal pauses in his assembly of the dishes and utensils on the tray. “...Yes.”
Will feels the urge to giggle.
He turns around to give them some privacy and notices a small light, just like the one he’d seen on the pier. The light slowly expands, until a round doorway of light is there in the middle of the hospital room. A hand reaches out to Will. “Will,” Hannibal’s voice says from the door, “there you are.”
“Yes, here I am,” Will says. “I suppose it's time to go home.”
He looks at this world’s Will, laying in the hospital bed staring weakly at the door of light, and this world’s Hannibal, sitting carefully in the cheap plastic hospital chair.
“Good luck,” he says, before taking his Hannibal's hand and stepping into the light.
The doorway becomes smaller and smaller, until it winks away into nothing. There's no evidence that the older Will Graham had ever been there.