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“You’ll be sure to let me know if this hurts, won’t you?”
Cold pierced through Will like the stag’s antlers, the stars above sparkling, shining like fresh blood spilled under the moonlight. Every stumbling step Hannibal made jarred Will’s aching body, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Couldn’t do anything but stare up into the empty sky. Couldn’t do anything but listen to the soft crunch of snow underfoot. Couldn’t do anything but let himself be carried away, wrapped in an invisible straitjacket. His eyes landed on the blood spattered across Hannibal’s face, faded scarlet stains he could almost see happen. Hannibal, whose breath came in short, uneven puffs, stark steaming bursts, outlined perfectly against the frozen air around them.
Will gave a languid blink when Hannibal glanced down, his expression full of harsh determination and something else that Will couldn’t decipher, not now. He didn’t try to figure out whether the silenced shots were real or imagined as his eyes slipped closed. The angry throbbing in his shoulder where Chiyoh’s bullet had struck him was all that kept him from going under completely. Awareness ebbed and flowed, the tides relentless and unpredictable.
Hannibal readjusted his hold, and the consciousness came back like the surging ocean crashing mercilessly against rocky bluffs. Will couldn’t prevent the tiny moan that came unbidden from his throat, head lolling back helplessly. His body screamed out, voiceless, in newfound agony. Bruises flared up and the slash on his forehead whined like the saw used to create it, all in tune with his shoulder. The grip on him loosened unexpectedly, changing position once again so that Will was cradled gently, becoming about as comfortable as being carried through the night can be. He lost himself again, sinking beneath the warm black water.
Will didn’t know how long it had been when he broke the surface again, gasping for air. It was violent and sudden and he gave another inhale of panic. Red splashes and silver glinting scalpels were imprinted on the backs of his eyes. The taste of blood was fresh on his tongue, choking, overwhelming him. And Will couldn’t move. His terrified heart joined in with the mess, each breath harder to find. The water was rising, drowning him, filling his lungs—
Someone above him muttered something, the mellow rumble accompanied by arms clenching around him reassuringly. Hannibal. They—he was still walking. Will regulated his breaths, heart slowing as he focused on the limping gait and the arms surrounding him. He tried to move his fingers, splayed open and vulnerable. Kept trying until he thought he could feel the smallest twitch. Did it again and again, so fixed that the irregular strides beneath him faded out until they gave way to darkness.
Claws clacked against scuffed wooden floors in a frenzied cacophony. Excited panting and a few muted barks tried to pull Will out again. He didn’t open his eyes as he attempted to reach out his hand to them, calm them. Said, “It’s all right,” but didn’t understand what came out instead. He realized he was being put down. Soreness punctuated the action. A bed creaked beneath him. Home, Will’s brain produced helpfully through the fog of exhaustion that hung over him. He peeled his eyes open, his limbs seeking movement that’s hidden beneath the dark depths, out of sight. Out of reach. Will gritted his teeth and his fingers curled in a pathetic imitation of a fist; frustration frothing up at his body’s refusal to obey him.
Hannibal’s voice returned, and this time Will could hear his words. “You’re fine. Sleep.” A blanket was draped over Will, collecting welcome warmth. The sound of something scraping against the floor harshly didn’t help the return to sleep. Will glanced to the side, straining to see. It was dark, but the windows lent moonlight that illuminated the room just enough. Hannibal met Will’s eyes as he finished pulling a chair up. Will stared right back, discomfort crawling down his spine for a moment as he ignored the habit—instinct, almost—of avoiding eyes. A brief half-smile crept over Hannibal’s face at the gesture. They remained in silence, Hannibal settled back comfortably, hands folded in his lap. Silence broken only by the dogs’ panting in the background, and, quieter, closer, their breaths, in and out. It was soothing, rhythmic. Something Will could hold onto while he fell into sleep once more.