Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hannibal had been asked to speak at a gathering of sorts for the opening of a new psychiatric facility that would put Port Haven to utter shame. What Hannibal’s speech may entail was of no concern to Will, other than the fact he’d been expected to accompany Hannibal to the event not particularly as a date, but as “enjoyable company nonetheless”.

If Will was to be Hannibal’s date to the dreadful thing there may be questions, so as to avoid them all Hannibal had suggested Will stay out of sight. What Will was more clearly picking up was the mild request he stay out of trouble.

Even if Will huffed and scowled he couldn’t truly deny he’d be comfortable; warm and cared for in the pocket Hannibal had sown on the inside of his shirt. For you see Will, was just the right size.

While Hannibal got ready upstairs Will took the opportunity to demonstrate just how miserable he was by kicking a pencil off the edge of Hannibal’s desk. Then another. He ran across the wooden surface and straight into Hannibal’s phone, pushing it forward with all his strength until it finally slid over the edge as well with a bang.

“Will?”

It wasn’t like he could just jump off the desk and pretend he had nothing to do with the mess, and frankly he was all too aware there were never any damning consequences to any of his actions. So, he listened to the steps down the stairs and sat himself on the edge of Hannibal’s notebook with a dramatic scowl.

Hannibal doesn’t even sigh at the sight, simply walking over and kneeling down to retrieve his pencils, phone and whatever miniscule items Will had managed to knock over. Will knew Hannibal was really just getting down to his level without being too apparent, and that only made him angrier.

“It’s important to get out into the world, my dear.” Hannibal explains, and Will can’t help but notice how his tie is done, but not pulled up. He kicks thoughtlessly against the cover of the notebook before standing up and walking over to the edge. When Hannibal is preoccupied checking his phone, presumably the details of the night ahead of them Will turns around and goes back, waits for a second or two before running up to the edge.

“Will!” Hannibal nearly shouts and grabs him just before the big leap Will never intended to take, and it makes him grin every time. Hannibal can barely hide his smile either, lifting him up to seat him on the knot of his tie with a reminder to “hold on”.

“You continue to demand my constant attention,” Hannibal chuckles, pulling his tie up towards his collar until Will is curled up right underneath his chin. “Which I assure you is not a criticism but merely an observation.”

The scent of aftershave and the humming vibration in Hannibal’s every word is enough to make Will turn around and wrap his arms around Hannibal’s throat, almost crushing his windpipe with his body with a satisfied smile.

Will’s ears had been stuffed with cotton, and normally he would violently reject any cushy things Hannibal offered him to make his life smoother and simpler, but in this moment he was eternally grateful. Every single person at this event seemed awfully eager to speak to the esteemed psychiatrist, Dr. Lecter, whose suit jacket was currently Will’s prison.

He grabbed onto the edges of the pocket and pulled himself up, trying to find steadiness in the soft material underneath his feet. If only Hannibal would be still for just one second Will might have a shot of climbing out and actually getting out into the world Hannibal had deemed so important. But it was wobbly, and Will’s arms were soon aching and he resorted to using his legs instead, kicking against what felt like a slippery, tight sleeping bag. Why did Hannibal have to bring him here, anyway?

Will huffed, deciding to relax and regain his strength for another attempt at escape once the incredibly popular doctor and jailer was done mingling with dull colleagues and professors.

After a brief applause and some muffled words of introduction Hannibal’s much fuzzed about speech was commencing, and it wasn’t exactly Will’s fault that that was just the moment when Hannibal finally stilled, focused on expressing words Will really couldn’t be bothered to care about. Not when the world was right there waiting for him.

“This facility will be a safety for those who have lost theirs or are incapable of finding their own-”

In a sudden fit of unexplainable rage Will kicks wildly as he pulls himself up, attempting to bite at the closest thing possible but his teeth only graces the material of Hannibal’s shirt. It’s dark, warm and smothering. Just like Hannibal, Will angrily thinks to himself and clutches the material before climbing out of the pocket.

There’s the tiniest swell of pride by how Hannibal’s speech slightly falters when Will climbs up, intent on reaching the tender skin of his jailer’s neck to sink his teeth into before he suddenly slips. He’s sure his shriek isn’t audible even to Hannibal, and the possibility of harming himself falling to the ground scares him enough to fight his way past buttons and grab onto hair.

Hannibal’s chest twitches just a little in either pain or shock, or even worry, but he seems determined to deliver his speech flawlessly. Well, Will decides to demonstrate his determination too and bites as fiercely as he can at Hannibal’s chest.

Hannibal’s heartbeat doesn’t even rise, and god does that infuriate Will. He growls and tugs violently at skin and hair like a madman before he’s falling, making sure to scratch his way down until he’s simply curled up on Hannibal’s belt, waddled in his shirt like a fine hangmat with the weight of his suit jacket like a thick blanket. At least he can slam his fists against Hannibal’s belly.

“I’m honored to be a part of this wonderful evening-”

Another applause. Will simply bites at skin again until the taste of blood hits his tongue and he finally feels victorious.

As Hannibal walks Will uses the momentum to slide forward, pushing himself towards light and just getting a hand past buttons and into freedom until a thumb connects with his head and pushes him back as the jacket closes him in. Will can register the soft smile in Hannibal’s small talk, and it causes him to finally still.

Chapter Text

It must’ve been nearly three in the morning when Hannibal arrived back home. He would have preferred a snow storm to rain in the middle of November. He pulls his coat over his head as he hurries from the car and up the steps to the front door, but stops before he can make any move to go inside. Anyone else might have missed the small sound of rumbling, drowned out by heavy and angry rain and keys eager to get inside a lock, but Hannibal kneels to follow the sound and finds the most unexpected visitor on his doorstep.

A brown haired little creature is attempting to hide behind a plant. He’s soaked and shivering. Worried, light blue eyes meeting Hannibal’s in a mutual exchange of curiosity. The two desires to nurture and destroy run equally powerful in Hannibal’s mind, but after a second or two in stunned silence he unlocks the door and pushes it open.

“You may come inside if you like,” Hannibal says carefully, watching the tiny creature refusing to move or break eye contact for the moment being. “It’s far warmer in there, and then you can be on your way.”

The boy looks at him with rightful suspicion, narrowing his eyes almost as a threat and glaring moodily as he walks inside.

“You’re welcome.” Hannibal smiles in such a genuinely amused and confused manner. This boy was frustrated with his own vulnerability, wanting to refuse any offers of help or even worse; pity. He doesn’t want to need anything from anyone, which leads Hannibal to simply follow the tiny steps through the hall with patience.

Hannibal’s instincts all lead to questions. He wants to draw a bath, get the creature out of those soaked clothes and into some dry ones. He wants to cook for him, and the last time he checked he didn’t have any miniature clothes, furniture or cutlery to provide. He’s just as helpless as this tiny man, it seems.

“You’re welcome to stay in my guest room,” Hannibal starts, taking off his coat and following the trails of little puddles of rain and dirty footprints to the stairs. Before Hannibal can even think to offer to help the boy he’s already climbing, smudging dirt and wetness on every step. Hannibal just stands there for a second, watching the spectacle at a loss for both words and the right actions. “The first door on the left. I’ll bring you a.. Bowl. If you’d like a bath. Is that alright?”

There’s a small huff from the climbing figure and Hannibal goes into the kitchen, searching for a bowl with the right depth and width for his new, unusual acquaintance. He makes a conscious decision not to overanalyze said acquaintance nor the situation; allowing his mind to be freed to live in the now and to simply focus on filling the bowl with hot water before he takes it upstairs.

Although he’s certain the creature has learned to watch out for moving feet Hannibal still watches his step as to not cause unnecessary suffering, and soon finds the boy sat on the floor in the guestroom, looking positively drained. A tiny finger raises towards the nightstand in what can only be interpreted as a demand, and Hannibal obliges; placing the bowl there before reaching down, wrapping his hand around the boy’s midsection and lifting him up to put him on the nightstand as well.

Hannibal isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but the rise of two small eyebrows is a gesture completely of attitude.

“I’ll be just down the hall if you need me.” Hannibal says before leaving, almost hoping for a first word or perhaps a token of appreciation or just an inkling of who this creature was, but he has no such luck.

Hannibal is aware that sleep is a basic need required to function properly, and by the laws of nature he should at least be feeling a desire for it given the hour and the night he’s had, but the simple knowing he had stumbled upon such a strange and intriguing presence keeps him wide awake.

He lays there in the darkness, having listened to the faint sounds of water and then the splashing of the bowl presumably being knocked over but not coming crashing to the ground, thank god. He listens too to the little thuds across the floor when the sun threatens to rise, and thinks for a brief second this is the sound of his friend going back to whatever his peculiar life may entail, but the steps are coming closer.

Whatever the reason is for the boy to step into Hannibal’s bedroom he decides not to interfere; lying completely still in his bed as it shakes with every impact of small limbs climbing up one of the legs. He doesn’t move when he’s climbed upon, although he can’t help but smile when his arm is forcefully pushed to allow the boy to pull the covers over him as he curls up on Hannibal’s chest. What’s a snowstorm to rain?

It seemed the giant had been incapable of sleep unless he had a physical connection with Will to keep him calm. Whenever Will slid down from the man’s chest to curl up elsewhere on the gigantic bed he was soon grabbed and placed right back before the soft gumbling of sleep continued. Will couldn’t believe this man had made it this far in life on his own.

Hunger steers him to eagerly nudge at the man’s cheek, shoving and slamming his fists down against soft skin well after he’d blinked awake. The man looks at him with such fondness for a moment before sitting up and placing Will on his knee.

“Good morning. I must say I’m pleasantly surprised you decided to stay. Seeing as we may be spending some time together I should introduce myself. My name is Hannibal.” The man smiles, and Will can’t help but roll his eyes. What a pathetic creature. A friendly giant, yes. But how lonely he must be, the only soul to wander through this large a house with no one to cling to in his sleep. Maybe he’d offer the world to Will in exchange for nothing but company. And what kind of name is “Hannibal” anyway?

The giant seems excited, placing Will on the floor as he wraps himself in a robe. “You must be hungry.” he assumes before gesturing Will to follow him downstairs. Will resents the fact that he’s right.

There’s something satisfying about the muddy little prints Will’s boots leave along the dark wood as he walks over to sit next to Hannibal’s warm, steaming coffee cup. Everything in this man’s life seemed to be within his relentless, peculiar control. Every inch of his home nurtured with care and consideration, and now Will supposes that would apply to him as well. So, every small act of rebellion was to be considered a personal victory over tyranny.

Apparently tyrants insist on baking their own bread, which wasn’t to Will’s misfortune but rather further proves his point of his new friend’s need for control. Hannibal gathers a spoonful of coffee before carefully placing it down on a plate, but Will digs his fingers into Hannibal’s slice of bread and tears off a piece for himself instead.

The man has held a consistent smile throughout the entire morning. No matter how much Will smears mud and grass on his furniture or purposefully scatters crumbs across the table. Will gives up and leans against the warmth of the porcelain cup as he eats.

“I’d be dishonest if I said I wasn’t curious,” Hannibal says, taking a bite of the perfectly fluffy bread and from what Will can tell, actively attempts not to seem all too curious. “No doubt the story of your life up to this point would be the most captivating.”

Flattery, really?

Will rolls his eyes although he can’t say he’s entirely opposed to sharing. This giant may be strange and pathetic but thoroughly in control of his surroundings and with an undeniably sharp set of teeth. He clearly enjoys Will’s company, maybe Will would have to play along if he would ever be able to get on his way. Not that he knew which way that was.

After they’d both finished their breakfast and Will had pushed over Hannibal’s glass of water to wash his hands, a map is laid out on the table. Hannibal clears his throat. “I’d like to know where you came from, if you would care to show me.”

He’s not sure how or why, but Will can tell Hannibal is grasping the last straw. Even if he’s infatuated there’s a limit to his attempts at getting to know Will, so without as much as a judgemental look Will wanders down dark lines and printed text to Louisiana.

A piece of paper and a pencil cut in half is soon put in front of him, and as if the gesture isn’t enough Hannibal taps it. “As much as you’d like to share.”

Will finds himself appreciating this side of his tyrann. Respectful, honest. No hint of a smile or glimmering eyes with the look of endearment. Only mutual curiosity. He gives a small nod in agreement and picks up the pencil, leaning it back against his shoulder and presses graphite to paper. Their only source of communication isn’t very heavy or hard, but it takes a good three minutes until Hannibal is able to make it out.

“Will.”

Chapter Text

Will understood perfectly the necessity of the plastic suit. Covered from tip to toe Hannibal wouldn’t leave any incriminating evidence during his murderous overtures, although Will would’ve persisted he wore a hair net or even just a suspicious looking burglar-beanie to ensure the issue. But Hannibal is vain, and Will remains powerless as he watches his beloved, infuriating giant comb through copious amounts of gel through his hair.

The plastic creaks ever so slightly with the movement, and Will can’t help but roll his eyes. Hannibal must enjoy wearing the suit, otherwise he’d just slip into it when it was necessary. Will intends on finding out why.

“Would you stay in the car if you accompanied me, Will?” Hannibal rather threatens than asks. No matter how much Will bats his eyelashes he’ll never charm Hannibal’s memory to fail. Particularly the memory of Will’s escape at the florist.

Escape was what Hannibal had called it. Of course, being a serial killer and yadayada he would presume Will would want to do just that. When Will had furiously pointed to the old dog casually lounging behind the counter Hannibal had taken it as a serious deathwish, because Will couldn’t honestly believe a dog wouldn’t immediately swallow him whole at the sight of him. Hannibal’s constant babying did nothing but exceed Will’s small acts of rebellion.

Hannibal almost smiles. “I shouldn’t expect a promise,” he says fondly before resting a hand around Will’s torso and brushing the edge of the comb through the dark curls of Will’s hair. He squirms just for the sake of it, knocking the comb out of the tyrant’s hand before wrapping his arms around the wrist. Hannibal’s palm is warm and cushy, and wraps around him perfectly as they go downstairs.

“However if I leave you I’m sure you’ll find trouble well on your own,” Hannibal brings him up close for an almost-hug, cradling Will against his neck. He’s really laying on his loving concern thick, and Will demonstrates his understanding by nuzzling Hannibal’s skin. There’s a tug to laugh at the idea that Hannibal had attempted to threaten leaving Will for one night.

Will is squished against Hannibal’s neck, petted and utterly loved the whole way to the car, and Will finds it mildly disgusting. Hannibal gets in the driver’s seat, closes the door and fiddles with the keys, and Will slips. He glides along the thick plastic for an eternity, every grasp for stability simply slipping from his hands until he slides down the side of Hannibal’s thigh and bumps against the car seat.

Hannibal doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t seem to think much of it, as if Will had suddenly decided to go on the slowest and bumpiest slide in the entire world.

For a second he just glares, expecting Hannibal to provide him with a more comfortable and convenient seat than having to hold on to the edge of it with every turn on the road, which apparently is the most interesting in the middle of the night. Hannibal doesn’t take his eyes off it for a second, so Will attempts to climb into Hannibal’s lap.

He can’t get a grip to save his life, and by the way Hannibal is driving it certainly feels like a matter of life and death. After a few worthless attempts he growls, hitting and punching his awful giant’s leg for a good minute before he looks up for a reaction and finds a horrifying discovery instead. The plastic suit bears no pockets. Not a single little crease or flap that Will could slip into. He swears he’s never felt fury like this, until Hannibal’s hand finally drops from the steering wheel to lift him up, unzip the top of the suit and allow Will to climb into the pocket of his suit jacket.

The mildly amused look on Hannibal’s face reveals it all; the sadistic pleasure in watching Will struggle. Will wonders which is worse, the babying or this?

“I will not keep you on me the entire night. You will be much safer on your own in situations like these,” Hannibal explains quietly, almost as if not to offend. “As much as I’d prefer to keep you close.”

Another instance of the tyrant being right, and Will can’t begin to explain how much he despises that. Sadistic pleasures be damned, concern was definitely worse. Will’s rebellious nature ignites once again but for the moment being, he’s content listening to the slow beat of Hannibal’s heart.

Chapter Text

It appeared so soft. Gigantic and completely irresistable. It clearly wasn’t Will’s fault a beautiful golden retriever had just happened to jump the fence and sprint around Hannibal’s forbidden garden. Nose buried in fresh grass and excited limbs flailing as it runs around its new environment with a bursting curiosity, Will simply couldn’t help but shoot a glance over his shoulder for a sign of his giant before squeezing himself through the door and into the sun.

The dog didn’t notice him at first; continuing to explore and lift a hind leg to claim his newfound territory his own, but Will marched with the purest of intentions; to pet. And hopefully not be eaten. Similar intentions to his everyday life, if not exactly the same.

With vocal restrictions comes the dramatics, and the humor isn’t lost on Will that he’s a mute, pocket sized man trying to draw the attention of a dog. But he catches it when it stops to smell the planted burdocks —an Epicurean it seems— and grabs on to a furry front leg.

At first the dog tries to kick him off, jumping around like a fool between aggressive nudges of the snout and incessant sniffing. Will takes after his new friend and decides to enjoy the fleeting pleasures in life and buries his face in the silky soft fur while he has the chance. It doesn’t exactly smell good, but not entirely bad either. Just dog. And Will could kick himself for wanting to shed a tear or two.

While holding on for dear life, he approaches the endearing rolls of fat around its neck before a giant, slobbering tongue scoops him up and teeth the size of his head close around him. He barely has the chance to think a loving thought to his murderous other half before realizing his skin isn’t pierced. The wetness soaking through his clothing isn’t blood but saliva, and the heat isn’t the fiery hell awaiting but rather an excited breath warming his every limb. Great, now what?

The dog proudly prances around the garden, and even though Will was nearly vomiting from motion sickness he could sense he was being carried with care. God, if this wasn’t Hannibal in canine form.

Maybe he was going to be buried alive. Maybe the golden was just searching for the right spot to drop his prize and keep it a secret treasure forever. The similarities were endless, and all Will could think was please, for the love of God don’t bury me by the burdocks, before the face of pure confusion hit him like he’d just seen an angel flap its wings. Hannibal had never looked so stunned.

Granted it took him a second to even see Will trapped between the dog’s teeth, but the second he did it was all over. Not for the dog, but for Hannibal’s dignity.

“Will! What- Come here. Now!”

It was a circus. The saliva was endless, the motion sickness was unbearable, seeing Hannibal’s slim legs fly across green grass and desperate, clueless hands reach out to grab his captor almost made Will wish to just be crushed already. Just one little bite..

“Open!” Hannibal growls as he decides to just use force rather than reason and pry the dog’s jaws apart, leaving Will to fall a slimy mess to the ground. His head is spinning, he’s got dog saliva in his mouth and eyes. He vomits compulsively as Hannibal practices restraint and merely shoves the still playful dog away from the stolen treasure.

When Hannibal’s hand wraps around Will’s middle he vomits again, and shakes his head as much as he can muster. Ground is good. Stillness is a must. Hannibal sits quietly by his side, although still fuming. The dog struts around the garden without a care.

Will climbs into Hannibal’s palm once he can see straight, and briefly admires Hannibal’s silence and lack of disgust for having a handful of saliva slowly gathering into Will’s private, slimy little pool. Hannibal doesn’t need to ask why Will did what he did, nor does he need to explain his obvious worry. If he were to demonstrate his worries for Will’s safety, the man would never stop talking.

He’s carried with care, sure, but the steps reek of stress to make things right again. Clean, neat, orderly was Hannibal’s prerogative, and Will really wasn’t in any position to make another rebellious outburst. He lets himself be carried upstairs and sits patiently in his giant’s grasp as a bath is prepared for him. Hannibal shoots him a disapproving glance every once in a while, but it’s nothing that sticks. Not when Will is as slippery as soap.

The true horror sets in when he discovers something in the bath. Something that’s more chilling than sharp teeth surrounding his entire body; a floating duck is bobbing around the sea of bubbles. He glares at Hannibal with a matching look of disapproval and just a touch of pure fury.

“Haven’t we had enough of endangering our lives for one afternoon?” Hannibal asks so sweetly, and although he manages to withhold a smile, Will knows it’s there. “My only intention is to keep you safe.”

Sure. Nevertheless, Will doesn’t struggle when he’s put in the bath the size of a lake and dips his head under the surface, scrubbing his face and hair manically. He negates the thought of being Hannibal’s prize and evades the lingering eyes as he comes back up for air. He may be clean, but he was still one element out of his human captor’s control. Or at least that’s what he thought before his arms started getting tired. Exhausted from today’s adventures, he searches through the unnecessary amount of bubbles for support.

The rubber duck appears like a grim symbol of powerlessness, and Will refuses to seek its shelter and heads for the porcelain edge instead. Hannibal’s knee lingers over the edge, but as Will scrambles and slips along the surface it suddenly disappears from above him.

If he were to drown, Hannibal would rescue him. Wouldn’t he?

As the water seems to rise and his muscles ache, he takes one last breath before slipping underneath the surface. Death before indignity. Death by drowning before rubber duck rescuer. Drowning in a fucking bath tub.

“You and I are just alike,” Will can visualize Hannibal’s smile in his tone as he coughs up the small amount of water from his lungs. Probably did him good, as much as he’d never admit it to Hannibal he’d rather have soap than dog saliva and vomit. He tiredly reaches for Hannibal’s neck as he’s dried with a towel, and wraps his arms around his savior’s windpipe. The sense of calm that washes over him is quietly resented, but more than anything desperately needed.

“Aren’t we?”