Work Text:
When the stars threw down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
- The Tyger, William Blake
The Impala is parked outside Hayward Library. Sam and Dean have been inside for nearly 48 hours now, leaving only to get food or to catch their four hours of sleep. Sam is currently typing on his laptop while Dean continues to dig away at a book on wendigos. On the page is a picture of the vile creature in the gaunt and ashy flesh: ribs sticking out, lips tattered and bloody, eyes pushed back into their sockets.
“Let me guess,” a sweet voice comes from over their shoulders, “wendigo hunters?”
The boys turn around to find a young girl with brown hair and a colourful scarf around her neck. Barely legal, Dean notes. Sam clears his throat. “Uh, no, just curious.” The lie rolls off his tongue like always.
“Sure,” she says sarcastically, looking at the picture of the creature in the book, tracing its grotesque shape gently with the tip of her finger. “I’m sure you haven’t heard about the body, either.”
“Guy strung up in a forest, organs gone AWOL?" Dean clarifies, “kinda hard to miss, sweetheart.”
“Well, if you think a wendigo killed him, you’re certainly not alone,” she explains. “The town is hysterical about them. In fact, they’re too petrified to do anything other than carve Anasazi symbols on their doorposts. Maybe they should try lamb’s blood next,” the girl sneers.
“And what do you think?” Sam asks the stranger.
“I think,” she says slowly, “we have forgotten that a wendigo was once a man. Our hunger isn’t nearly as insatiable as our desire to do evil.”
“What woulda pretty thing like yourself know ‘bout evil?” Dean flirts. She barely blinks an eye.
“Plenty,” she says, as though she wore sorrow on her sleeve. “If you boys are going to hunt the evil plaguing Hayward, I insist you have a good meal first. My family would love to have you for dinner tonight.”
The boys exchange a glance, silently agreeing to have a night off from greasy diner food. “We’re in,” Dean accepts. He’s never been one for meeting the parents but he’s also not one to turn down a free meal.
“Dean Winchester,” he introduces, “that’s my brother, Sam.”
“Abigail Lecter-Graham,” she smiles, introducing herself in return.
“That’s a mouthful,” Dean jokes. Sam rolls his eyes.
“You have no idea.”
◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈
It has been one year since the shattered teacup came back together again. One year since the universe gave Hannibal a husband and daughter. Freddie Lounds calls them the “Murder Family.” Jack Crawford calls them "dangerous."
To Hannibal, it’s love.
They moved to Hayward and kept their hands clean until 29 year-old Geoffrey Cooper came along.
Cooper made habit of harassing Abigail when she worked at the library, even following her home on occasion. Hannibal thought he was rude. Will proposed his death. Abigail thoroughly enjoyed the taste of his kidneys. Geoffrey Cooper was their becoming.
God’s mercy halts dead in its tracks if His creation is jeopardized. Hannibal’s family is his favourite design yet, not to be tampered with.
The Winchesters would learn this for themselves, in good time.
◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈
It’s late afternoon when Abigail returns home from the library. She runs through the silent house to find her dads sitting in the den, the hot sun beaming down on them through the large glass windows. Will is sleeping soundly with his head resting comfortably in Hannibal’s lap while Dante’s Inferno is read aloud to him for the millionth time. One of Hannibal’s hands holds the book while the other mindlessly runs through Will’s curly hair. Abigail smiles at the sight, and greets her family with forehead kisses before sitting down on the carpet in front of them. “He dozed off around Canto IV,” Hannibal says as he sets the book aside and takes his daughter’s hands into his own. “Good day?”
“Something happened,” she confesses nervously. “I only hope you’ll be proud of me.”
“We’re always proud of you,” Will mumbles groggily, eyes still shut. Apparently he had heard her come in. Hannibal nods in corroboration. “Tell us, Abigail,” he assures her.
“I invited some boys from the library over for dinner tonight.” Hannibal's jaw visibly clenches. Will's head jerks out of Hannibal's lap, and he is suddenly wide awake.
“Wendigo hunters,” she continues sardonically, “visiting Hayward to hunt down whatever killed poor Geoffrey Cooper.”
Hannibal’s eyes meet Will’s, opening a line of silent communication; a form of discourse reserved for soulmates who can read their lover’s brain like a storybook. Will laughs incredibly and Hannibal brings his daughter’s hands to his lips. “Oh, Abigail,” he gushes, “what a beautiful creature you’re becoming.”
◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈
Cooper’s liver is sautéed and ready to be served. Hannibal is busy cutting strawberries for dessert when two arms wrap around his waist. The scent of aftershave blends sweetly with the smell of roasted rosemary, emanating from the oven beside them. “Hello, Will,” Hannibal says fondly.
“Hello, Dr. Lecter.” He nuzzles into the curve of Hannibal’s back, feeling the muscles move against his cheek with every slam of the knife. Will begins to kiss down his husband's neck, slowly but surely, until Hannibal turns around. Their eyes meet, Hannibal still holding the strawberry-stained knife as he raises his other hand to caress the side of Will's face. Will closes the gap between them, pushing Hannibal against the counter as they melt together. This, of course, is no longer a new occurrence, but somehow it always manages to feel like the first time. The knife clatters to the ground and Hannibal explores Will's body like they are teenagers -- pressed for time and ready to be caught at any moment.
Will locks his arms behind Hannibal's neck and allows himself to be fervently kissed. Will thrusts their hips together, causing a gasp to fall from the doctor's mouth. Down the hall, Abigail innocently turns up her radio, and the sudden burst of music brings the newlyweds back down to earth.
Hannibal breaks the kiss, and they can't help but begin to laugh. Will kisses Hannibal one last time before letting out a shaky breath. "She is creating her own design, Hannibal."
The doorbell rings. Abigail runs to the door. And so it begins.
◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈
Dean is shamelessly flirting with Abigail at the table while Sam admires a sketch hanging on the dining room wall. “Hannibal drew that,” Will explains as he comes up behind him. “A recreation of Achilles Lamenting the Death of Patroclus.”
Sam curiously points to Patroclus’ corpse. “He kinda looks like you.”
The older man stares affectionately at the drawing before him. His eyes gaze dreamily at the anguished man crying over the body of his lover, and Sam is nearly forgotten. “Patroclus died on the battlefield sheathed in Achilles’ armour. What is a better way to die than to be transformed into someone you love, if only for a moment?” Will says softly, before turning away towards the kitchen.
◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈
The meal is sophisticated, much to the surprise of the brothers. Sam and Dean have never had veal before. Little to their knowledge, they still haven’t.
“Boys,” Hannibal says amicably, smelling his wine before taking a sip. “Abigail says that you are hunting a wendigo?”
“Yes, sir,” Sam answers, offering his hosts transparency in return for their hospitality.
“Please, pardon my asking, but I assume this is related to the death of our friend Geoffrey Cooper?” Hannibal’s tone feigns sympathy. "What a shame, his passing." Dean immediately looks up, mouth half full. “You knew him?”
“Hayward is quite small. Every death feels,” Will pauses in thought, “intimate.”
The younger Winchester nods in understanding. "One could say my brother and I have been intimate with death ourselves,” Sam confesses, bringing his fork to his mouth.
“Giving or receiving?” Will asks, genuinely intrigued.
Sam laughs bitterly in response. “Both.”
Hannibal smiles at Sam, and proceeds to raise his glass. “A toast to rebirth, then.” Everyone happily drinks.
“Tell me,” Will places his glass down before speaking, "what has you so convinced that Cooper wasn’t simply murdered? Isn't it more rational to assume he was murdered by a man, rather than a creature?”
“Easy,” Dean replies roughly, “man ain’t capable of that kinda twisted stuff. Eating people, humiliating ‘em in death, no way. Only a monster could do that.”
“A wendigo isn’t a man?” Will inquires, to which Dean shakes his head and replies: “Not anymore he isn't.”
“Rebirth doesn’t necessarily ensure purity,” Hannibal observes, joining the discourse. “You said you both have cheated death before. Can you be certain death hasn’t cheated you? Transformed you into the very evil that you hunt?”
“We save people,” Dean retorts defensively, getting riled up at the accusation. “It’s the family business.”
“Is a killer of monsters not a killer?” Hannibal pushes further, with a mocking smirk on his face.
“Look buddy,” Dean snaps at Hannibal, slamming his hands down on the table and jumping to his feet. “I’m as much of a killer as you are.”
As Sam and Dean stare angrily at Hannibal, Abigail starts to giggle, slowly breaking out into uncontrollable laughter. Moments later, Will joins in. Hannibal can't help but follow soon after.
The Winchesters look around the table, confused and rather offended. “What’s so funny?” Sam frowns.
“It’s just,” Abigail wipes the tears of joy from her eyes, still endlessly amused, “for men who've shared a bed with Death himself, you would think they would recognize his face.”
Hannibal smiles.
◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈
The next morning two dead bodies are found and it is nothing Wisconsin has ever seen before. It was ruled a double homicide because they didn’t know what else to call it.
Sam and Dean Winchester were found eaten alive in the forest, by each other. Their mouths were tattered and bloody with flesh between their teeth. Some of their organs were intact, others had completely vanished. Perhaps the most horrifying of all, the autopsies discovered traces of poor Geoffrey Cooper’s liver in their stomachs.
At least Cooper’s killer was caught. Or rather, killers.
The Angel of Death has passed over the sleepy town of Hayward; the aftermath leaving the humble streets deadly silent. Shut your eyes and all you can hear is the faint sound of blades carving sigils into wooden doorposts. 2,000 people are on self-induced lockdown. Every home is occupied excluding one: the Lecter-Graham’s. People say the family fled to keep their young daughter safe from monsters like the Winchesters.
Miles away, the Lecter-Grahams are driving East to Minnesota. Abigail is lying down in the backseat reading a book she took off her father's library shelf before leaving, while Will is slowly drifting to sleep in the passenger seat, fingers intertwined with Hannibal's, who is gently running the pad of his thumb over Will's gold wedding band.
This is Hannibal’s design, and he is in love.